tagExhibitionist & VoyeurA Formerly Shy Person

A Formerly Shy Person





I'd been shy most of my life and I was more likely found with a book in hand, reading in a quiet corner of the school grounds every recess and lunch break. I'd walk home, still reading, and always alone. It wasn't that I was hated, disliked, or even purposefully ignored; it was more that I was invisible to those around me. I didn't get in people's way, I answered correctly most of the time when asked questions in class, and I played adequately in gym; but when given the option, I remained silent and I pulled away from those around me, not really being missed. I wasn't yet confident in, and sure of, who I was yet and I just didn't know how to relax around others; I was more comfortable in my own company.

That would change.


I remember that it was a Tuesday afternoon in September of my last year, because it was my birthday. I'd just turned 18, not that anyone at school know, though. The cool grass under my body contrasted with the heat of the late-summer's sun striking my back; I was lying down, propped up on my elbows, with book, in hand, as usual. I was reading "Sophie's World", concentrating hard to understand a section, when Joey Adams walked past me, barely noticing me, I was sure. I returned to my reading with a forlorn shake of my head, wishing, just for once, that someone would notice me. I must have read for a few more minutes before I heard a shout, "Joey, come check this out!" from the nearby basketball courts, where a few of the guys were clustered.

A few seconds later, Joey walked past me, and I realized that he actually looked back toward me and smiled at me. I was sure it was my imagination, and then realized he was probably smiling at whoever he'd been with behind me. I looked over my shoulder expecting to see a few girls, but there was nothing within 50 meters. But then why had Joey been doing standing so close to me. Maybe he was reading or just sitting and thinking.

I looked back toward him, to catch him turning away from me quickly and joining what was now a tight huddle with his buddies.

I returned to my reading hoping for a lightning-bolt of understanding about some philosophical point in my book. A few minutes later though, it was a lightning-bolt of a different sort that hit me. I was laying on the grass, on my stomach, comfortable with my ankles shifting between crossed and uncrossed up in the air. My knees about 30cm apart. That in itself wouldn't have mattered, but today I was wearing a skirt - taking advantage of the last days of summer. It wasn't a short skirt, actually reaching my knees when I stood. Laying down, and with the movement of my legs, the part covering the back of my legs had risen somewhat - as a quick shoulder-check told me - and was pulled straight across, the fabric trapped under my thighs from when I had lowered myself to the grass.

It seemed crazy - why would Joey have been looking up my skirt - what would he have seen anyway. I was wearing underwear that covered as much as my bathing suit, and it would all have been in shadow anyway. I sniffed the air to see if I could smell smoke or pot - perhaps that's what he'd been doing behind me. Either way, he couldn't have seen anything and why would he want to? Stupid boys.

I returned my eyes to my book, deciding it didn't matter. Joey hadn't noticed me before today, and I doubted he'd remember me tomorrow. The ringing of the end-of-recess-bell allowed me to ignore the fact that I had not read a word since looking back to my book. I gathered myself up, and went back in to class.


That night I spent at least an hour on the floor in my room, my mirror propped against the wall. I was trying to figure out what Joey may have seen, if anything, and realized that at worst, it was my thighs and the dark blue of my panties, no more than at a beach. More likely, he wasn't even looking.

I went to bed telling myself that.


I awoke the next day, a bit hot and flustered, but unable to remember any of the dreams I was sure I'd been having. My mother knocked on my door every 2 minutes after that first knock awoke me until I was out of my room. It took ten minutes, but I emerged from my room in my bathrobe, shuffling toward the bathroom.

By the time I'd left home for school, I'd managed to shower, have breakfast, and try on six different outfits, something I'd never done before. I settled on a jean skirt that came mid-thigh, longer that what some girls wore, but short for me; I don't think I'd worn it for at least a year. I had decided to conduct a test today, but didn't want to be sleazy; the result was this skirt, and a proper pair of bikini-bottoms underneath, bright red with white polka-dots, so that there was no thinking they were underwear if indeed Joey did try to look up my skirt again. The nerve of that boy, well, almost-man. He was older than me after-all.

I wore one of my normal baggy t-shirts over-top of the bikini-top, and sandals topped off my ensemble.

I walked to school, my mind trying to come up with things I'd say to him if I caught him looking up my skirt again. It didn't really cross my mind, then, that I was doing everything in my power to encourage him to look up my skirt.

At the morning break, the sun was out, and I couldn't quite get up my nerve to lay on the grass again. I did see Joey, though, as he walked back and forth. It may have been my imagination, but I was sure he was looking for someone. I was invisible though, hiding in a doorway far from yesterday's reading spot. Before I could get up my nerve, the bell rang and I returned to class.

I didn't take my lunch down to the cafeteria during the lunch break. Instead, I went immediately outside, before I lost my nerve, and lay down on the grass, my body pointed toward a fence, and my neck propped up on my book-bag. I'd thought about my best location, and the only reason for anyone to stand in that spot along the fence was to look up my skirt. If Joey went there, I had him.

I lay there reading, trying to relax and likely squirming more than ever before. Should my feet be together or apart? Should my knees be up or down? Should THEY be together or apart? I finally settled on a set of three alternate positions: one leg down, one leg bent at the knee and foot pulled up beside my calf; both knees pulled up, with knees together, but ankles splayed apart; and legs together, straight along ground (this last was my safety position).

I soon gave up, and realized I'd actually hoped he'd show up. I was that desperate for attention, I thought, that I wanted a boy to try to look up my skirt. I returned to my book, resigned that my life was still the same old boring life I'd led for the past 18 years (and a day!). I was in a groove, reading page after page of "Sophie's World", considering the ideas put forth etc. And noticed someone walking along the fence-line. I was smooth, not shifting my eyes to look - I didn't want to give myself away or let them know I'd seen them. Right now, I was in position 2, my knees forming the point at the top of a triangle, my feet about a foot apart, flat on the ground.

I flipped a page, hoping it seemed like I was still reading, suddenly aware of what I had orchestrated. Sure it was just a bathing suit he'd see, but would he realize that? And why was I feeling so warm and flush, breathing heavy, and wanting desperately to squirm?

You laugh knowingly, I'm sure, but at that time I was a shy introvert and had never so much as held a boy's hand outside of a folk-dance lesson in 6th grade gym. I'd read books about sex, but never had sexy feelings. I look back now and realize that this is where I first had them - the sexy feelings, I mean.

Sure enough, the body stopped just out of my line of site, directly between the fence and my -to be crass- ass. Whoever it was, was definitely able to see up my skirt. I flipped another page, wondering how long before I needed to flip another. I couldn't concentrate on reading, but didn't want to break cover. I shifted to position one, dropping a leg down, and revealing, I believed, less to my viewer. I was also able to quickly glance over the top of my book and confirm it was indeed Joey.

And he was looking.

The bell went, and I gave in to instinct, not knowing what else to do. I gathered my bag, book, and self, and went back in to class, pretending Joey wasn't even there, just 15 feet away from me.

I did notice he was blushing. But then, so I was probably a bit flush too.


That night I masturbated for the first time. My mirror was against the wall, my feet on either side of it, and I was wearing the bikini bottoms and skirt...rubbing myself through and with the fabric...sliding the fabric around and seeing what could be seen normally, or what could be seen with some careful positioning. And then it happened, a pulsing heat rushing through my body along with intense pleasure.



Now don't think I just went out and flashed everyone I saw. I was actually a bit scared. Not of the pleasure, no, but of what people would think if they found out. I dressed like a nun for the next few weeks, avoiding anything remotely revealing - except at night. I locked myself in my room each night for two weeks straight, putting on different outfits, and seeing what could be seen depending on how I moved my body or the fabric. What happened if this extra button was undone. That sort of thing. And always with the mirror - I wanted to see what was "Joey" would see. And above all but my carefully crafted fantasies, I touched myself. My fingers explored every part of my body. They were soft then rough, slow then rapid...and I revelled in it. I also did a lot of laundry. I really get wet.


Summer ended as October hit, and before I'd done anything risky outside my fantasies, a reason to lay on the grass was gone. A cold front has settled in, and downpours were interspersed with brief crisp grey moments when the rain briefly stopped. I spent much of that time indoors - again in my room; this time, in addition to my new nightly ritual, I explored the world of exhibitionism online.

It was here that I learned that I was not alone, but also to be very careful. Safety, health, and reputation were at stake. But there were others like me, who got off on showing off. I wasn't a total freak.

It was a release to know that I wasn't alone and that everyone wasn't repulsed - and especially that a lot of people loved to watch. The term voyeur was added to my quickly forming vocabulary of this new world. Alas, not much of this new vocab would make it into that week's English assignment.


At school, while dressed demurely, I'd not been idle. I'd continued to scout out locations that might be of use should I ever give in to my new fantasies. A bench there, at the top of the stairs, and there's another at the end of the hall. How about there on that ledge? And really, those stairs always have people sitting on them reading and talking. And in class, any desk in the front row could give the teacher a thrill, and the lab stools in science could be useful too. There were the bleachers in the gym, open to us now during breaks now that the weather had turned.

And outside there were ledges and wide stairs to sit on, should I dare the wet and cold.

My mind raced each day, thinking "what if" and "dare I?" but resisting each time. I'd return home at the end of the day only to rush to my room, emerging only for dinner and "face-time" with my family. I told them I was studying.

I took to writing down my fantasies which included both potentially real and undeniably impossible scenarios. There were challenges and dares I was making up for myself, and that itself proved immensely satisfying and sexually gratifying. And it kept me from doing anything for real. It was safe and mostly satisfying. But yeah, it wasn't enough.


I took these lists and figured out which dares I was sure would be easy to accomplish, as the risk to "getting caught" was low in my reasoning.

I decided to try one of them on a Wednesday night down at the local rec centre. It was a teen-night, and I went sometimes at my parent's request, if they couldn't take him and pick him up. There were surprised when I said I was going, even though he wasn't that night, but I told them that one of the girls from school was going. They were so pleased that I was going out with a friend that they even let me take the car. I wasn't going there, though - but instead to a rec centre several km beyond. On this night was their Adult "Lengths and Relaxation" night in which the lights were lowered, and the main pool divided between lap lanes and an open space.

I drove down promptly to arrive at 7:30, 30 minutes after it had started. The change room was empty, for which I was thankful. I didn't want to risk anything scaring me off from completing my first challenge. I'd taken an old bathing suit of mine, a black one-piece that was, perhaps, a size or two small - it was three or four years old, after all. I'd then removed the lining in the chest. I pulled it out, realizing I'd grown quite a bit since last wearing it. I quickly stepped into it, pulling it up and sliding the straps over my shoulders. I moved to the mirror, concerned someone might come in and wonder what I was doing. I quickly made sure that no pubic hairs were visible outside what I now realized was really a too-small-suit. The suit hadn't grown taller with me, and it was pull tight, the hips higher and the crotch thinner than it was designed to be - but no pubes were showing. What was obvious were my nipples hard and pushing through the thin fabric of my suit. I could count each goose pimple.

Before I could chicken out, I locked away my clothes, attached the key to the hip of my suit, and bravely (in my mind) walked out into the pool area. It was quiet, and with the low lights, I felt quite safe. I walked, with as much confidence as I could muster, toward the lap lanes in the large pool. An attractive man smiled up at me as he reached the end of a lane and paused before starting another lap. I smiled in return and liked the idea, whether true or not, that he was checking me out. My nipples were aching.

I lowered myself down to sit at the edge of the pool, and seconds later slid down into the water. I began to swim laps in the slow lane I'd chosen, taking up a basic breast stroke. I luxuriated in the feeling of the suit, tight against me, as I moved. I could feel the fabric pulled tight against my pussy with each kick, and rub across my nipples with each stroke. And I imagined the view that might be presented to anyone with goggles. Were my nipples as obvious as I hoped they were? Was the view of the black fabric stretched across my wet [ha!] pussy something being enjoyed by the swimmers behind me?

I finished a full kilometre of laps - a full 20 - and swam to the edge of the open area of the pool. People were scattered around, usually in small groups of 2 or 3, talking, whispering, and even making out. I lay on my back and just let myself float for a minute, closing my eyes and imagining everyone was looking right at me.

After a few moments I opened my eyes, and without pausing got up and walked toward the steam room. I went in, gasping in surprise at the heat, and looked through the fog for a suitable place to suit. The room was mostly empty, and I reclined against the wall farthest from the door, on the bottom bench. I Put one leg up, my left arm stretched out over the top, my other leg straight along the bench, my right arm over top my head. I was, at this stage, the only one in the room, so it helped me to feel brave. I'd promised myself I wouldn't look at myself in the suit, wet, until I went to the change room after my swim - I was worried I'd chicken out if the suit was too revealing. I did, however, run my fingers over my nipples, able to feel every bump as though the fabric wasn't even there.

I relaxed more, alone with my thoughts, and lowered my right leg to the ground, pointed away from the bench; I didn't think of it that way, but it was a pretty lewd pose, but one I'd set only in trying to relieve the pressure of the suit against my pussy.

I'd fortunately stopped rubbing my nipples when the door opened, and I quickly closed my eyes and pretended to be dozing. I wasn't sure if it was a man or woman who's come into the room, and wasn't sure if I wanted to open my eyes and find out. My hair was fairly long and did fall across my eyes, and I took the chance that I could peek through narrow eye-slits and hair, and not have them realize I was watching.

It was the man who'd smiled at me when I'd first approached the lanes at the edge of the pool. He was sitting opposite me on the middle bench, mimicking the pose I was in, more or less. I wasn't sure, but sensed he was looking at my body. I slowly closed the narrow gaps in my eyes and tried to imaging what he'd be seeing.

I waited, hearing nothing but the sounds of my own breathing in the hot, wet air. I chanced another peek, and almost caught my breath realizing that he was hard in his red Speedos, they, like my suit, were tight, and I was sure I could see the outline of the first hard cock I'd ever been in the presence of. Of course, I was looking through squinting eyes and layers of hair, and could be wrong, but was fairly certain I wasn't. He was aroused by looking at my body - at ME - in a tight, too-small, wet bathing suit, with no lining in the chest. My hard nipples pushed through the fabric, and when I looked down, I gasped - for they really were obvious. It was as though the suit was painted on, not actual fabric.

I gasped at that and tried to cover my shock by yawning and pretending to wake up suddenly. I did get a good look, as I stood, of the man's "package" straining against its fabric cage. I didn't look him in the eyes as I walked out of the steam room.


I walked straight to the change room showers, my heart pounding in the realization that a man had actually looked at me and noticed me. I was worried I'd collapse in orgasm at any moment, and quickly turned the cold water on full and plunged myself under the shower head.

I gasped now, the shock of the cold water bringing clarity to my thought. I turned off the water and walked toward the sinks and mirrors, looking myself. My nipples pushed through the suit with such clarity that nothing was left to the imagination of my voyeur other than the colour of my nipple themselves. And the rest of the suit similarly clung to my body, showing the outline of belly button, and the curve of my ribs. I looked at myself anew at that moment, realizing that I was a bit skinny, but fit. I had B-cup breasts, but they matched my slender body. I wasn't ready to appraise my face, but I acknowledged that men might enjoy my body. That was a first.

I quickly changed and left the pool; the idea of having an orgasm in public - in front of others - was so beyond my imagination that I had to think and I ended up driving aimlessly for an hour before heading home. Tossing my swimming stuff in the laundry, I went up to my room to think (and play). I was up until 3AM.


The next day began far too soon for my liking. I groggily emerged from under my covers on the third set of knocks from my mother, and worked through my morning routine. Getting dressed, though, took less time than the last time I told you about. I'd decided what to wear the night before, and immediately dressed. It was cold and wet out, still, so I couldn't go crazy; I dressed like a catholic school girl, in my kilt, a white blouse, and with warm knee-socks on. I opted for a pair of white briefs and a matching bra, and really looked quite innocent, I thought. With my long wool duffel-coat, I'd be quite presentable at school and not look out of place on this cold day.

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