A Blind Date


This is part one of a fictional story, told in the first person, about the discovery of arousal for a woman like many that you might see at the mall, a PTA meeting, or in the corporate conference room, just one mistake away from being on a journey to exposure and submissive exhibitionism.

In order to understand my story, you should know, one of the first sexually stimulating things I can recall, had to do with an unlikely source of inspiration. I was watching one of those light hearted romantic comedies from the 1950s. You probably have seen the type. They often starred somebody like Doris Day or Rock Hudson and had a completely sophomoric plotline and sexual viewpoint. The one that affected me, had as a secondary plot, a young, buxom, very blonde secretary of a much older man who was always being completely chauvinistic and inappropriate. She had the little mini uptwist hair-do and wore the kind of super thin pencil skirt that showed off the wearer’s shape and made a mincing gait necessary.

It was a pretty stupid movie, but the climax included a situation in which the older boss in his light gray tweed suit had given in to his amorous desires and was chasing her around the office. She was in a squealing distress and as she “ran” away around the desk, parts of her wardrobe either snagged on something and ripped off, or he “accidentally” grabbed and her momentum caused her clothing to come away. It was a G rated film so the cutaway shots always had an arm or hand over the truly naughty bits that were exposed. Eventually she got caught and loved it. Of course, the protagonists burst into the room and she was embarrassed to be discovered de flagrante, but the insinuation was that she had submitted as the boss had red lipstick prints all over his face and her bra tangled on his arm as she fled the room in the buff.

It was the pursuit, her capture and--though apparently unwilling--a major source of arousal for her that got me. I thought and feel exactly the same way. I hate the embarrassment, but I love the situation or someone compelling or creating a situation in which I am involuntarily exposed. Though my story is initially seems oppositional, it was immensely arousing for me and has led to an awakening of an intense form of erotica for me, so much so, that I seek it situations that will render me in an embarrassing or compelled exposure. In short, I hate the embarrassment and love it, a true love/hate situation where I have no choice.

“You know, Jana, it’s not as undignified as you seem to think, letting someone help you out a little,” said my best friend Jennifer.

“I don’t think so,” I said. “I’m not so pathetic that I need you setting me up on blind dates.”

“It’s not like that at all,” she said, “You work all the time, girl. And I know how picky you are.”

“Picky???” I said raising an emotionally outraged eyebrow.

She laughed.

“Yes! You are the most intellectually snobby woman I have ever met... at least outside of my Ivy League friends.”

It was a little bit of a verbal jab by her. I knew that. Jenn and I had known each other years before she had gone to Brown. I wanted to go to Harvard, but I had contracted the flu the day I was taking the SATs my senior year of high school and the poor scores had done me in. Instead of Harvard I ended up at the University of Centrificial Florida. It was a good school, but she knew I always felt a little self-conscious when it came to others with more highly regarded academic credentials. It was probably due to such motivation that, these nearly twenty years later, I had become such an overachiever and workaholic, which was why she was trying to set me up on a blind date.

In fairness, I was somewhat lonely. I did bury myself in work. Granted it had led to great professional success and a certain stature in the community. I was a member of the chamber of commerce, the Junior League, and an awardee of an outstanding business women’s association recognition, but at times I did also wish I had someone. It wasn’t like I was homely or anything. In fact, I am considered “pretty” though I wish I had a slightly smaller nose. I have a long-- what I would call patrician-- face. Think Sara Jessica Parker, sort of, I guess. I have hazel eyes and blonde hair that is not exactly my real color...And there is one other thing, and it requires some further explanation, or maybe justification, is a better word. I have had a breast augmentation. It goes back to a wild hair I got after someone I liked very much sort of dumped me and ended up married to a very buxom rival just six months later. I reacted and should probably have considered it when I wasn’t as emotionally driven. The competitive nature had kicked in yet again, and my surgeon had been accommodating, so much so that now I am a bountiful thirty-two D cup on a five foot four inch, one hundred and seven pound frame. It has been something of a regret as I find that not only does wardrobe shopping require much more effort for something to fit, but there is a certain attention-- judgment from other women and assumptions and stares from men—that is not all that positive.

“So who is this guy?” I asked. “Some stereotypical, middle --aged, divorced Floridian you dredged up?”

Jenn smiled.

“His name is Ron. He owns his own communications equipment firm. “

“Where did he go to school?”

She gave a little laugh.

“God, Jana, you are the ultimate snob aren’t you?”

I looked away. It was true and she had called me out.

“He went to Yale,” she said.

I looked at her with interest.

She just laughed again.

“So, why is he not married?”

“Why aren’t you?” she said.

“Touche’,” I said.

“Actually, he’s a workaholic just like you, dear,” she added. “But if it would make it easier, Tom and I can double with you guys.”

I nodded. “I’d be much more comfortable with that.”

So it was set. We were going to meet up at a local sports bar and grill. It was a little casual for my taste, but it would at least make the mood light, like not a lot was at stake, and I liked that. We also agreed to make it a week night so if the chemistry was not working out, there would be the excuse of an early meeting the next day to bring it to a short conclusion. It all seemed pretty safe.

As I got dressed that evening I considered the kind of impression I wanted to present. I didn’t want to seem too distant, but I wasn’t exactly interested in looking, well... interested. Elegant but casual was what I was after. After a quick consideration, I put on a button down blouse, and slacks. I kept my makeup understated. I was all ready to have a very non-committal double date, then the phone rang.

It was Jenn. Tom had broken a crown and had to see the dentist immediately. She apologized and asked if I wanted to cancel. For a second I thought about it and then it hit me, “what was I in junior high school?” I could handle a dinner without help. I told her it was fine and that I’d go ahead.

I was halfway to the sports grill when it occurred to me that I did not actually know what my date looked like. I took it as self-congratulatory that I was just interested in the inner qualities of a suitor rather than the superficial. Still, I wasn’t sure I wanted to look foolish as I wandered around hunting for my “mystery date”.

I arrived and parked and got out of my car. I walked in and didn’t see anyone waiting by himself for the rest of his party so I walked up to the hostess who was dressed in a very tight golf shirt and shorts and said, “I am meeting someone, could I take a quick look around?” I hoped that I would see a single man looking as clueless as myself.

She allowed that I could and I started my process of trying not to search, but look too obvious. At the same time I was also trying to gage faces to identify him with some assurance. I mean I didn’t want to embarrass myself by guessing wrong, which brings up another quality about me. I have a substantial amount of pride and I detest being embarrassed. In fact, it is almost a pathological pet peeve with me to be embarrassed. So, I walked through the restaurant with no luck, unwilling to ask and was just about to head back out to the front when I heard a voice say “You must be Jana.”

I turned and seated at a table for four was a man that could have been a winner in a Danny Devito lookalike contest.

“Uh, yes,” I said.

“I’m Ron,” he said standing.

I smiled, shook hands and sat down across from him. I noticed his eyes drop instantly to my chest. To his credit he looked back up fairly quickly.

“How did you know it was me?” I asked.

“Jenn called. She said Tom had a dental emergency and that I should be on the lookout for a lost blonde.”

He chuckled. I started to say something reactively scathing, but I bit my tongue. Again his eyes dropped to my bosom. If first impressions mean anything we were starting off badly. He was making his estimations based on my looks and I was making mine based on his attitude and behavior. At the same time I felt an odd little charge. I dismissed it, driving it from my mind.

‘Yes, well,” I said “be that as it may, I hope his tooth isn’t too serious.”

“Me too,” he said. “Would you like something to drink?”

The waitress had arrived. She was pretty, young and bosomy. I noticed him give her a once over as I ordered a white wine. I was already planning on making it a short night and that just confirmed it. He was a letch. He ordered a beer and as she left I said, “so I understand you went to Yale.”

He smiled.

“Jenn said that impressed you. I did. She didn’t say where you went.”

I sat up straighter.


“Oh,” he said.

I watched for some judgment. He just smiled slightly and gestured at a screen over the distant bar.

“Your guys are playing tonight, I see,” he said.

I looked over. They were.

“You are a football fan right? Jenn said your dad was a coach?”


It was true. My father was a high school coach and it was a huge part of our home culture. My brothers had played. I had even cheered in junior high and high school.

“Jenn said you were a cheerleader?”

“Yes,” said.

“I’ll bet that was quite a sight.”

The way he said struck me wrong. I glanced away to hide my evident flash of disturbed propriety and how it was really affecting me. I looked back at him only to find him locked on my chest again. I think I even reddened a little just then, partly from the offense and partly from embarrassment. At that moment the waitress returned with our drinks and I took a sip. It was obvious we were not going to be a match made in heaven, so we ordered quickly and she was away again.

His comment still bothered me. I was just about to say something about how inappropriate I thought it was, when he let out an anguished “Ohhhhh”.

I followed his attention to the television screen. My team had just scored a touchdown. He seemed to be rooting for the other squad.

I smiled. He looked back at me and saw it.

“Oh sorry,” he said, “My brother went to Duke.”

“Your brother will be disappointed,” I said confidently.

“Mmmm, I don’t know. Your guys have been chokers lately. “

I think I was as offended by that as I had been by his open looks at my chest.

“Strike two,” I thought

“Uhhh noooo, I don’t think so.”

He smiled.

“Care to back that up?”

“What do you mean?” I asked wrinkling my brow.

“Wow you really did graduate from UCF didn’t you? Would ...you...care...to make...a wager?” he said spacing the words like I was too dense to follow his question otherwise.

I kind of glared at him. As I said earlier, I am really proud. His condescending attitude was already grating, and now he was insulting my alma mater. Unfortunately that is also just the sort of thing that can trigger my temper and cloud my usually good judgment.

“What do you want to bet?”

“Well, how about the loser has to do whatever the winner says?” he grinned.

I sat back and folded my arms.

“I am not having sex with you.”

“Wow, hon. Some ego on you, I mean really, just assuming that was what I was going to ask for?”

I realized how arrogant that had sounded. I was instantly embarrassed.

“Oh..uh...no I just thought,” I stammered.

“Uh huh, I think we both know what you assumed.”

“I...uh...I’m so sorry.”

“No problem,” he said. “But I am not letting you off the hook just for being egotistical. If you win what do you want?”

I tried to resume my air of confidence, though I was still feeling foolish.

“If I win, you have to donate a thousand dollars to my school’s alumnae fund,” I said.

“A ‘k’ ,huh? Wow. Okay. Well, if I win you have to head up to Brover’s Beach with me this weekend... on my terms.”

“Brover’s beach?” I said.

“Mmm hmm.”

“That is a nude beach!” I said shocked. “I thought I said no sex!?”

“Nude is not sex, hon. But if I win, you will go with me to Brover’s and you will dress, or not, as the case may be, for a day out in nature according to my specifications.”

At that moment, UCF took a punt return and the runner broke a long run that ended in the end zone. The clock showed sixty seconds left in the half. My guys were up by twenty one. It looked like the rout was on. I looked back at Ron.

“Fine, it’s a bet,” I said.

He extended his hand. I shook it and glanced back at the screen. The risk of nudity was actually kind of titillating, especially when I was all but assured it would not happen.

Suddenly something was happening.

“Penalty,” said Ron.

He was right. Apparently one of the Knights had run into the punter. That gave Duke a first down. All of the sudden it was like I had just made some awful bet with the Devil. On the very next play the Duke quarterback launched a bomb and the receiver broke for the score. I swallowed hard and tried not to show the flip flops my stomach was doing.

“I just have to ask. When you were a cheerleader did you ever go to a game without those little panties on?” he said salaciously. “Maybe on a dare... or due to a lost bet?”

He was needling me. It was obvious he was trying to get a rise out of me. I shouldn’t have let it bother me, but it did. It bothered me and it took me back to a familiarity with my favorite film from the fifties. The idea of showing...off due to a bet...having to cheer...without, was deliriously, intensely embarrassing. It was the kind of embarrassment that triggered something horribly arousing, something that I refused to acknowledge. It was just too unladylike.

“Uh nooooo. I never did anything even like that,” I said giving him a look like he was something stuck to the bottom of my shoe.

He just laughed, which showed he knew he had found my “buttons” as my grandmother used to say. Oddly, that had the same effect as it would if he chased me around an office as my wardrobe flew helplessly off.

“Too bad. I know you’d have gotten my spirit up if you had. I can just imagine you kicking up high and flashing. Question is, he said leaning forward and smiling like a perverted schoolboy,” would I see a blonde or...a not quite so blonde?”

I think my jaw actually hit the floor. I could not believe this guy. Yale or not, accomplished or not, friend of my friends or not, he was completely out of line.

Our waitress arrived, keeping me from telling him off, and set our dishes before us. I looked over at the screen just in time to see our quarterback get walloped as he dropped back to pass. To my horror, he didn’t get up.

“That doesn’t look good,” said Ron. “Guess you’ll be staking it all on the old backup now, huh?”

He was right. I saw with a sinking feeling that our backup, a true freshman who had a notorious interception rate, was trotting onto the field. Fortunately he took a knee on the next play and we escaped to the half with a two touchdown lead.

“Please,” I prayed silently to the football gods.

But it wasn’t to be. Right from the start, the second half was a nightmare, a true catastrophe, like the fates had been bribed or something. The freshman quarterback started off with a pick six. Then on the ensuing kickoff our boys fumbled and Duke recovered. By halfway through the third quarter it was a tie game and Ron was talking the worst possible trash. He was asking if I tanned or burned easily. He asked if I had trouble buying bathing suits then corrected himself that I wouldn’t need to worry about that this coming weekend.

Just when it seemed I was doomed, the guys seemed to get their act together. A tipped pass ended up being caught for a huge gain. I actually forgot myself and stood up as he high stepped toward the goal line. We were going to score!

Then out of nowhere, the duke defensive back had a hand on the ball, it popped free and took a cursed bounce. A Duke player scooped it up and ran the other way, in the confusion he managed to go completely untouched for another touchdown. I sat down with a sense of complete deflation. Ron smiled like he had won the lottery. It was about to get even worse. As the fourth quarter commenced Duke intercepted yet another pass and raced down to the five yard line. I watched in sick despair as a few minutes later they pushed in for the score.

When I looked back at Ron he was eyeing me up and down like he had the waitress. Ten minutes later Duke iced the game with another long bomb to score.

“Well, I guess we will be getting to see a lot more of each other this weekend, unless you are planning to welch on the bet?” he said.

I thought I would at least try and appeal to his sense of decency. I was desperate after all.

“Look Ron, you can’t expect me to go through with that?”

He looked at me as amused as a cat playing with a mouse.

“And why not?”

I leaned toward him and lowered my voice.

“I live around here. I am a businesswoman for crying out loud. I can’t go out nude in public. What if I were seen?”

He smiled.

“Oh, I’m planning on it. But don’t worry. It’s a nude beach. I’ll be there with you the whole time.” Then he added, “you know, for uh, moral support.”

I just stared at him.

“I’m not doing it.”

“He smiled again.

“I kind of expected it from a UCF alum.”

I am not sure why, but that really got to something in me. The whole superior assumption on his part, I suppose. I just blew a fuse and reacted.

“You are a real jerk. I don’t welch.”

“Oh really?” he asked ever so smugly.

“Yeah,” I hissed. “I’ll go.”

“Excellent,” he said waving for the check.

When the waitress arrived he looked at her and said, “Have you ever heard of Brover’s Beach.”

The way her face changed, it was obvious she had.

“Uh yeah, it’s a nude beach,” she said uncomfortably.

He looked at me.

“It’s a nude beach,” he said like I had been asking him.

I turned bright red as she looked at me.

“Have you ever been there,” he asked her.

“Uh noooo,” she said disgustedly, “It’s mostly voyeurs that go there hoping to get a look at nude women.”

Ron just smiled as he paid the bill.

We got up and walked out of the restaurant. As he walked me to my car, I couldn’t help but notice that he was only a few inches taller than me, and sort of thickset. His bald spot was almost in contact with his receding hairline and he wore the length a little longer in the back. It suddenly seemed to me that he looked like a perverted Hobbit. We arrived at my car and without warning he took my arm and pulled me close. Before I could react, he planted a kiss right on my lips.

I think I just looked stunned as he gave broke it off and gave me a little pat on the bottom.

“Might want to make sure and get wax before Saturday,” he said grinning. “I’ll see you then?”

He laughed as he walked over and climbed into his Corvette convertible. With a wave he was gone leaving me wondering how I had gotten myself into such a stupid spot.

The rest of the week leading up to Saturday was a blur. I told Jenn that the dinner had been “okay, but omitted the details. There was no way I could let her or anyone know what I was about to have to do. She seemed willing to take it on face value that the date was a failure.

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byAccidentalExhibitionist© 9 comments/ 89453 views/ 59 favorites

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