Confessions of a Fledgling Flasher Pt. 02

Conveniently forgetting to pick up my gym bag, I walked through the swinging doors and into the bathroom. Even though I'm an exhibitionist, sometimes I can be a little funny about bathrooms. I had never seen anyone put swinging doors on a bathroom before. Though I had no plan to use the toilet, I couldn't imagine anyone actually, well, you know, going to the bathroom in a major way in a bathroom with doors like these. Fortunately, I didn't have to worry about any of that. All I needed was to change clothes.

'Well,' I thought. 'Here you are. This is what you wanted. It's now or never.'

Purposely, and hoping Mr. Taylor would remain outside watching, not only did I not close the doors, but I made sure to leave a big gap between them when I stepped through. Inside the changing room there was a mirror behind the sink. The toilet was to the right away from the swinging doors, and the shower was on the left side of the sink. I closed the lid of the toilet to have a convenient surface on which to put my clothes. Then I turned toward the mirror up above the sink and simply pulled my blouse up and over my head. I thought I detected the sound of a slight intake of breath from out in the exercise room, and when I moved slightly to my right, over my shoulder I could see Mr. Taylor watching me in the mirror. Realizing that if I could see his reflection in the mirror, Mr. Taylor could see mine it was so exciting to be able to fall into my role of a sweet and innocent young girl who is completely unaware she is revealing her body to a secret admirer. My thrill of the moment growing stronger every second, I quickly reached behind me, unhooked my bra and took it off. When I caught sight of myself in the mirror, I could see my nipples were already beginning to grow stiff and stand up. Light pink like my lips and surrounded by slightly darker areolas about the size of a quarter, in this light I thought my nipples looked so feminine and pretty. I didn't know if my breasts had finished growing yet, but I hoped that if I could manipulate things as I had planned, Mr. Taylor would soon have not just his hands but his lips upon every inch of what I fitted into my 35C cup bra.

Usually when I first remove my bra, as a habit I'll massage my breasts. Yet being aware Mr. Taylor could see my reflection in the mirror, even though I was purposely allowing him to peek at me, I felt strangely self-conscious about massaging myself. Deciding it would be best to get back to business, I removed my shoes and socks, then next I took off my skirt and tossed it on the sink. I tried to think of a reason to turn and step up to the gap between the swinging doors to allow Mr. Taylor to see how totally transparent my panties were, but it was just too exciting to pull them down, step out of them and feel myself without a stitch of clothes on my body. Now, I did turn towards the doors. Seeing Mr. Taylor leaning up against one of the machines and looking my way caused my heart to catch up in my throat. I considered just swinging the doors wide open and letting him see me fully naked from the front, or even more exciting, to walk straight out to him as naked as could be. Yet I knew it would be so much better if we were to take things in steps. So I moved up and stood so that my left hip and most of my left breast would be visible between the gap in the doors.

"Oh, Mr. Taylor." It felt simply too delicious to be completely naked and call out to him. "I'm sorry, but I forgot to bring my gym bag in here with me. Would you please bring it over to me?"

"Of course." I could see him look around. "Oh, there it is. Hang on. I'll bring it right over."

From where I stood only partially concealed between the two little doors, I focused on Mr. Taylor as he walked over to retrieve my bag. I wished I could say I had been clever enough to deliberately forget to bring my bag into the bathroom with me, but the truth was I was so excited at the thought of getting undressed in a place I knew he could watch me, I had simply forgotten.

As Mr. Taylor walked up, by moving over behind the other door, I flashed him a quick peek of me passing between the open gap. Teasing and flashing like this is just so exciting to me, it was quickly becoming what I live for. Now, I had the right side of my body, including most of my right breast and hip and leg entirely exposed in the gap between the doors. As he came walking up carrying my bag, every step of the way he was staring straight at me, though not my eyes. The nearer he came, the more the intensity of my excitement increased. I stood there trying not to tremble as he walked right up to me, standing only a few inches away with me completely naked and nothing more than these little doors separating us.

Mr. Taylor held out the bag. "Here you go, Jenny Lynn."

Opening the door more than just a little bit wider, when I reached out, my hand momentarily brushed across his. With the way my heart was pounding, it was so very hard to keep my voice from trembling, but somehow I managed to say, "Thanks, Mr. Taylor! I'll only be another minute or two."

He took a step back, drinking me in through the gap in the doors. "No hurry, Jenny Lynn. We have all evening. Take your time."

I saw Mr. Taylor's eyes fall and knew he was looking at pussy, which I must say was rapidly becoming quite moist. Making no effort to close the swinging doors, I turned around to afford him a view of my bare butt through the gap. In the mirror in front of me I could see myself, and over my shoulder I could see Mr. Taylor taking me in from behind. In my wildest fantasies never had I imagined that using a mirror to reveal my body would be an exhibitionist's dream come true. This is exactly the kind of thing that makes being an exhibitionist so exciting to me. Yet being a young girl, when I'm extremely aroused, not only do my nipples grow stiff, but my secret spot up between my legs gets very, very wet. Aware of how wet I was becoming, this is when a thought hit me. 'What if I my pussy gets so wet, I make a big wet spot on my leotard? How embarrassing would that be?'

Yet on the other hand, I had to ask myself if I really thought such a thing as a wet spot between the legs of my leotard would actually bother Mr. Taylor? I seriously had to doubt that he would be offended by knowing being with him was making me so hot and wet.

Falling back into my role of an innocent girl simply interested in working out, I opened my gym bag, took out my workout clothes and prepared to put on my leotard. Then I suddenly reconsidered, thinking better of it as I wanted to have this bit of fun last a little longer and flash him from between the doors and with the mirror for as long as I could. So I took out my sweat socks and tennis shoes. I then moved over to the toilet, and sat down sideways on the closed lid. Through the gap I had left open between the doors, I could see Mr. Taylor had stepped back away from the doors and moved to his left to have a better angle to see me. The gap wasn't wide enough for him to see all of me. I could have reached out and moved the door on the right a little more open, but playing a little peekaboo with Mr. Taylor and just giving him glimpses of me as I was getting dressed was simply too exciting for an exhibitionist like me to pass up.

Crossing my ankle up over my knee, I took my time leisurely putting on one sock and then the other. The way in which I was sitting with my leg crossed, I was intensely aware of my innermost lips spreading apart, as they always do when I'm so wet and I open my legs. That feeling of having the most intimate parts of my femininity so openly exposed to the air filled me with such a wild thrill, it was everything I could do to keep from running a finger up between my lips and give my little, pink rosebud just a tickle. Perhaps the reason I didn't was I knew if I did, I probably wouldn't be able to stop.

Once I had my socks on, I stood back up and grudgingly slipped into my leotard. I would have so much preferred to have just suddenly pranced out there naked, not a single thing on my body except for my little shorty socks, and called out, "Okay, Mr. Taylor, I'm ready! How do I look?"

Though I flashed on the idea of doing just that, I simply couldn't, not yet anyway. Everything in its own time. Yet, the game was definitely afoot, and I was reveling in enjoying every thrilling and naughty moment of it. I turned around so that my back was to the swinging doors and so that Mr. Taylor could see my leotard was a thong and my entire bottom would be bare while I worked out. My leotard was definitely the kind a modest young girl would have worn with tights. Yet since I was anything but modest, the thong strap was very thin and disappeared completely up into the crevice between both of my cheeks. Which in itself felt so exciting. Taking my tennis shoes out of my bag last, I then turned back around, sat down and put them on. Now that I was ready to step out, first I had to take in a deep breath to try to calm my nerves. My heart was racing as though I was walking out on stage for some huge audition. Getting up, I drew in a deep breath, and then stepped out through the swinging doors and into the exercise room.

Mr. Taylor, standing back with his arms crossed and watching my every move, smiled broadly. "That's a very pretty leotard, Jenny Lynn. It really becomes you."

"Thank you, Mr. Taylor." Wanting to show how pleased I was by his compliment, I tucked my hands behind the small of my back and swiveled at the hips exactly as would an excited young girl. "It's new, and this is the first time I've worn it."

Suddenly thinking of the little girl in the Coppertone ads, I turned slightly to give Mr. Taylor a quick flash of how exposed my left hip and my cheek were. Then peering back at him over my shoulder exactly as the girl did in the ad, ever so coyly I smiled at him as we made eye contact. "I hope this will be okay."

"I think it suits you just fine, Jenny Lynn." His eager eyes and broad grin were as flattering as they were sincere. There came a pause while we both stood looking at each other, then suddenly Mr. Taylor came to life and walked over to the treadmill. "Why don't we get you started with a warm up? I always do ten minutes or so on the treadmill and then another ten minutes on the stationary bike or the rower before using the other equipment."

"Okay, whatever you say, Mr. Taylor." Thinking quickly, I added, "I'm all yours."

It was so thrilling to act as though our encounter in his kitchen never happened and to to be playing our game of me just being a girl interested in a work out, and Mr. Taylor's only interest was to help a friend of his daughter. Almost skipping like an excited little girl as I walked, it was so exciting to pass so near to him while being aware of the sensation of the air upon the skin of my openly exposed bottom. When I stepped up to the treadmill, I made sure to keep my back to him as I focused on the machine. "I've used some treadmills before but never one quite like this. It looks really nice, though."

In strolling around past Mr. Taylor, because I could see him in a mirror I knew he turned as I passed him by so as to get a better and more up close look at my bare bottom. While I pretended to concentrate on the treadmill, reflected in another mirror, I could see his face. He appeared so transfixed by the sight of my bare bottom; it caused me to wonder how much of me had he seen through the changing room doors while I was putting on my leotard. Perhaps he hadn't seen as much as I would have liked because it definitely appeared as if hadn't been aware that my entire bottom would be essentially naked. Rather than disappoint me, I positively tingled with excitement as I stood next to the treadmill waiting for him to make the next move.

Obviously, Mr. Taylor had nerves of steel, as he acted so entirely nonchalant in stepping up and wasting no time in instructing me how to use the treadmill. The pretense that he really was here only to help me exercise was simply delicious and only served to make me that much more excited. It was as if I wasn't this eager and overly excited young girl with her naked bottom exposed and all alone with him in his basement. It was as though we were in the gym by the mall. While I did my best to try to pay attention, as a reflex I brought my hands around to my back. Feeling the bare skin of my own bottom against my hands was so distracting as he explained the various settings to me, I really had quite a bit of difficulty paying attention. There were so many different programs I could choose, and Mr. Taylor took his time showing me what each one was.

Finally though, he moved aside, swung out his arm as an invitation to try it out, and I stepped up and onto the belt. I started out on low and gradually increased the speed until I was jogging and finally, running as hard as I could. All the while as my breasts were bouncing and I was breathing harder and harder, Mr. Taylor moved around, watching me from different angles. Yet from where I was on the treadmill, I could see at times he was also looking past me to my reflection in the mirror behind me. Having these mirrors all around were simply just too much fun. In the mirror in front of me, I could see a reflection of myself in the mirror behind me with my blonde ponytail bobbing. Unfortunately, due to another piece of equipment blocking my view I couldn't see my own butt, but I could feel the muscles of my bare bottom flexing with effort of my legs. From the front and the back, I felt confident I was giving Mr. Taylor a pretty good show.

Because I wanted to have time to try most of the other equipment, I didn't do a full ten minutes. I most definitely got my pulse to match the speed of my heart, which had not settled down one bit since even before I had first taken off my clothes.

By the time I got off the treadmill I had worked up quite a sweat. The moisture was seeping through the leotard and turning it dark below my breasts and my waist. Though I've always been self-conscious about sweating, Mr. Taylor didn't appear to notice. Or if he did, he didn't care. With Mr. Taylor leading the way, we went over to the stationary bike, which I told him I preferred to the rower. However, in retrospect, the rower could have offered some rather interesting possibilities.

This bike was the most complicated I had ever seen. It had a large screen, which changed with each program selection. As Mr. Taylor began explaining, whether he was conscious of it or not, he placed his hand on the small of my back. Just that first, gentle little touch had such a powerful effect on me I couldn't help but shiver. I was hoping he might actually go ahead, slide his hand down and cup my bare bottom. Yet no such luck.

Once he finished with his instructions, I put one foot on a pedal and climbed up onto the bike. As I did so, I felt his hand slip down from the small of my back and down onto my bare bottom. I think I gasped, but kept looking ahead. It was so delicious to feel him let his fingers linger over the crease between my bare cheeks for just a moment before lifting his hand away.

That next touch was exactly what I needed, a subtle little signal that things were in deed well on their way. With that ice broken, my pussy had grown so wet, I was sure it must be adding a lot of its own moisture to the sweat I could feel seeping through the crotch of my leotard.

I spent several minutes on the bike, during which I became significantly sweatier. Now, the whole top of the leotard had turned dark with sweat. The wetness against my nipples in the air-conditioned room had caused them to turn into tight little rocks standing up so hard and stiff under the fabric. I know it's a strange confession for an exhibitionist, but I've always felt self-conscious about my "headlights' shining out. With how much I enjoy flashing, this has to be some weird psychological thing. At school and other places I was never too modest to flash my breasts, but for some reason, I was always self-conscious when my nipples would grow really stiff and stand up under my clothes. This flash of anxiety did strike me as odd, considering Mr. Taylor had seen me veritably topless out in his den, and in his kitchen he had even groped and fondled my bare breasts and nipples. So what could cause this flush of modest self-consciousness? Though I had no idea, nevertheless every bit of nervousness and angst was simply more fuel for my fire, which was driving me forward headlong and causing me to savor every second of each deliciously thrilling next step.

Not lingering too long on this bike, when I began to step down, Mr. Taylor was such a gentleman in the way he immediately came over, took my hand, helped me down, and then guided me over to the next machine. In the mirror to my left, as we walked I could see him looking at my bottom as he remained behind me with his hand on the small of my back just above my bare butt. The sensation of this relatively minor contact was once again, exactly what I needed.

I didn't really realize it then, but the fact that we were going slow; the fact we hadn't just given in to our excitement and immediately resumed where we had left off in the kitchen made what we were doing all that much more exciting all over again. Would we or wouldn't we? How far would we go? I was only just learning the anticipation of sex can be such an important factor in making the actual sex, when it does happen, so much more exciting.

To tell the truth, I wasn't sure exactly how to get up onto this new bike he guided me to. Yet Mr. Taylor proved only too eager to help me position myself properly. As I began to step up, he used both his hands to cup each cheek of my sweaty, young bottom. Of course, I reacted as if he was doing nothing more forward than patting me on the shoulder. This game we were both enmeshed in was so delightful. Mr. Taylor was doing such a believable job of pretending his hands upon my naked butt weren't there to enjoy touching me. He was only doing this to show me how to use the bike properly. And I, in my role of sweet, young innocent was pretending I wasn't even aware that he had both his hands on my bare bottom, much less that I was reveling in the sexual thrill of feeling his hands on me.

As enjoyable as this was, I finally had to sit down on the saddle. Yet eager to keep moving on, after spending a few minutes familiarizing myself with the settings while he stood beside me telling me what to do, I asked him about the recumbent bike to our left.

Though there was no missing the flush to his cheeks and the heat in his eyes, Mr. Taylor responded with such an amazingly calm, "Sure, Jenny Lynn, you can try out any piece of equipment you like."

Again being such a gentleman as he helped me step down, when he assisted me with stepping up onto this bike, much to my delight, we repeated the entirely provocative process of him cupping my cheeks all over again. Of course, since he had agreed to help me learn how to use his equipment properly, Mr. Taylor had no choice but to demonstrate his responsible concern for my welfare by making absolutely sure I moved my body into exactly the right position. This time, he allowed his hands to linger on my bare bottom while he took his time explaining the reasons why it was so important for me to be positioned just so. As I listened, I was more than happy to oblige him, standing up with my feet on the pedals and my elbows on the handlebars, simply looking out across the room at our reflection in the mirror, and eating up every second of it.

It was all going so well. I was so excited. And I was so ready for it when he took the next step I so desperately craved by not simply touching my bottom with his palms, but in actually caressing both cheeks as he explained the benefits of proper posture while exercising. Oh, how I reveled in the sensations of having him touch me like this. All I wanted at that particular moment in my life was more and more. I craved his touch so much, even when he said I was positioned properly, I still found an excuse to move. Stepping back down off the machine, I then climbed back on. Yet I made sure not to position myself in exactly the right way.