DotCom Ch. 01

I don't know how I got into this. Well, OK, I know how. I just don't know why. Yeah, I know why, too. It's just the way I am. I guess now's the time to say I couldn't help it, but that wouldn't be true, either. I mean, I don't just strip off my clothes and show my body to anybody. Not that I don't like to; I've been flashing since I was twelve. By now, I guess you could say I'm addicted to it. But I've got my standards. It's got to be the right place, and the right time, and above all the right guy. And that's what surprises me about this whole thing. I never dreamed I'd be showing it to all the world.

It started like this...

I slammed the file drawer shut, cursing my boss under my breath. The big ass-hole had waltzed out of his office at lunch-time and thrown a pile of papers on my desk. "See if you can find someplace for these, would you, Laura?"

I knew just the place for them, but I smiled sweetly and said I'd get right on it. I also knew exactly what else he'd love me to get right on. I'd been listening to his macho bull-shit and his endless innuendoes since the day I started working for him. At first it was kind of fun, and I admit I flirted a little with him. But he seemed to think the way to impress me and get into my pants was to brag about all the big deals he had going and how he was going right to the top. By the time he got on to how his wife didn't understand him and couldn't or wouldn't do the things he wanted her to, I was on her side, cheering her on.

Anyway. I got all the stuff filed and took the elevator down to the lobby to get some lunch. The cafe there makes some really tasty things, befitting a classy building like ours, and there was a line at the counter. I knew what I wanted long before it was my turn. The chicken-pesto salad on a soft white roll was to die for. Still, when I got up to the counter, I put my finger to my lips and looked everything over, like I was undecided. The sandwich guy just stood there and watched me, as if he had all day and there wasn't a long row of people waiting behind me. He was a cute Latino, maybe twenty. We'd gone through this charade every work-day since he'd started working there a couple of weeks ago. I'd rub my lip and glance back and forth over the menu, flicking a look at him every so often. I'd shrug and wriggle, as if making up my mind, and he'd stare until I'd chosen, and then put my sandwich together and hand it to me with a big smile.

Today was no different. I paid and turned away, fluttering my eyes at him over my shoulder. All the tables around the sandwich stand were taken. Through the forty-foot tall glass of the lobby I saw the sun shining brightly and people sitting around the plaza outside. I decided to join them.

In the middle of the plaza stood a fountain surrounded by a wide, shallow pool and a low retaining wall. I walked over and sat on the wall, letting my short skirt ride up under me. When I crossed my legs, a long stretch of thigh was exposed, almost to my waist. I twitched my foot and let my shoe dangle from my toes.

I guess I should explain that whole right guy, right place, right time thing. That's personal. One on one. It's why I'd never flash my boss in the office. Wrong guy, wrong everything. And why the sandwich-guy only got a sexy smile and batted eye-lashes. Oh, yeah, and a glimpse of my legs as I spun away from the counter and my skirt flared up. If he was even watching.

But on a wider stage, like here on the plaza outside my building, full of people I didn't know, I liked the idea that everyone was looking at me. I knew it wasn't necessarily true. That secretary sitting ten feet away from me on the wall was definitely not looking. When I'd crossed my legs her eyes had popped, but ever since she'd been studying her sandwich like it was the Rosetta stone. OK by me. I wasn't putting on my little show for her, though I had nothing against women watching.

That guy on the bench across the plaza, though, leaning his elbows on his knees, flicking ashes from a cigarette he hadn't taken a drag from since I'd sat down. Young guy, nice suit. Up and coming. I kicked my toes again, flopping my shoe. I saw his eyes turn up toward me under his brows. I uncrossed my legs, letting them slip briefly open, and re-crossed them. The guy's head jerked up, but he pulled it right back down. I could see his shoulders ball up as he tried to hold his head down and still watch me.

I knew I had him, and I made a show of eating my sandwich, licking my lips and occasionally running a finger over my mouth. I let my glance wander over the rest of the plaza. There were plenty of men there, and most of them seemed to have noticed me. I laid my hands behind me on the edge of the wall and leaned my head back, facing the sun. My breasts pushed out against my thin, loose top, and I felt my nipples hardening. I didn't have to open my eyes and look around to see who was watching. They all were.

A shadow fell over me, interrupting my reverie, and I knew without opening my eyes that a man was sitting next to me. This seemed to be an unavoidable draw-back to my flashing: some guys took it personally, apparently, and thought it was all for them. I pulled myself upright and prepared my iciest glare.

Surprise. He was actually kind of cute. No. Really cute. Short dark hair, an ingratiating grin, and as far as I could see, under his designer jeans and T-shirt, a nice tight body. So I didn't blow him off. As a matter of fact, I liked the way he looked at me, and I may have slipped back onto my hands and given him a good look at my tits. I might even have crossed my legs so that the thigh closest to him was on top and bare up to the hem of my skirt. Then I remembered my rules and sat up and tugged my skirt down.

He was smiling at me when I met his eyes. Not a bold, brash, coming-on sort of smile. Not a shy smile, either. Just friendly.

"I couldn't help noticing you here."

Notice me? After all I'd done to shield myself from prying eyes. I batted my eyes bashfully at him.

He had the sexiest dimples when he grinned. "Listen. I know you must have guys hitting on you all the time. I would, too." He blushed, which was even sexier than his dimples. "But I've got an interesting proposition for you."

Oh, you, too. I'd had tons of interesting propositions. The last one from my boss, not an hour ago. When I'd declined, he'd dumped all that paper-work on me. Remembering that got me pissed off, and my new suitor must have seen it.

"OK. Maybe now's not the time, or maybe you're not the one."

Not the one? Moi? Now he had my interest again. I softened my look and flashed my baby-blues at him. "Sorry. It's just my boss. You know. Jerk. Gets to me, even when I know I shouldn't let it."

"That's cool. I understand." His eyes deepened. What color were they, I found myself wondering. Grey with a hint of blue? Blue with grey high-lights?

He reached into his back pocket and pulled out a slightly crumpled card. "I'm Marc. With a C." He laid the card between us on the wall and stood up. "If you're in the mood for something different, give me a call. My number's right there." Then he stood up and walked away.

That was something new. Mostly they just kept trying and trying until they could see the indifference in my eyes. I picked up the card.

Marc Walters. Marc with a C. I looked up and saw him disappearing into the distance. "I'm Laura," I whispered, then turned back to his card.

UCBABES.COM it read in bold print under his name. University of California? Connecticut? Then I got it. You see babes. Clever. I giggled, delighted I'd caught the joke. At the bottom of the card was a telephone number. I got up and threw the wrapper from my sandwich into a trash can. I held the card in the palm of my hand and went in and punched the elevator button. I rode upstairs alone, thinking about Marc and reading his card over and over.

Maybe I'd just call him. Whoa. No way. I couldn't. As cute as he was, he'd probably laid these cards on half the girls in town. With his smiles and his dimples. And what did he mean, something different. OK. Maybe I was in the mood for something different. God knows this job was driving me crazy. So maybe I'd call him.

No. Forget it. He'd come crashing into my world and violated my first principle of flashing. Nothing personal. I had a gorgeous body (the mirror doesn't lie) and I loved flaunting it. I loved flaunting it publicly. But no contact with viewers. I didn't need their stories or their greedy hands. Just their looks. Their eyes. At a distance. No Marc with his sexy dimples. No cards with riddles. He could call me if he was so interested.

Of course, he didn't know my name, much less my phone number.

Ohmigod. I'm such a ditz. I can't believe I'm going on like this when all I wanted to do was tell you my story.

So when I got home I called him. Of course you know that, or else you wouldn't be reading this.

"Uh. Hello. Marc? It's me. Laura."

Nothing. Nada. Zilch.

"You know. From the fountain? This afternoon? You gave me your card."

"Oh, yeah. The fountain. Laura. Is that your name? Hey, I'm glad you called."

There was more silence on the line.

"Um, you said something. If I was interested in something different."

"Well, are you? Interested. Because I'm certain I can offer you something different. When I saw you I was sure you were the one."

"Me? The one?" This was more like it. I didn't know what he was talking about, but I definitely wanted to be the one.

"Absolutely. Where are you now?"

"Home," told him.

"Where's home?" I wasn't sure I should tell him. Oh, what the hell. I really was interested in something different. And he had that great smile. And those dimples. I gave him my address.

"Hey. You're not even that far from here. Can you come over now? 114 Canal Street. You know where that is?"

I knew pretty much where it was. He was right. It wasn't far from where I lived. Still, I hesitated. This could turn out to be something creepy. But somehow I trusted him. And anyway, if he was an axe murderer or something, he already had my address.

"OK. Sure. I can be there in, what, fifteen minutes."

"Great. See you soon."

114 Canal turned out to be a big old converted warehouse down by the docks. M Walters was the top bell. I rang it and the door clicked open. The stairs were shallow and precipitous, and I was careful to keep my balance in the heels I still had on from work. When I got to the top, the door was open and Marc was smiling out at me. Same sexy dimples, same tight bod in his T-shirt. Only now he was wearing shorts.

"Laura. Come on in." I slipped between Marc and the door-frame, and my breasts brushed lightly against his chest. I looked at him, half expecting a leer, but he seemed not to have noticed. He pushed the door shut behind me and took my arm and led me to a comfortable-looking leather couch.

"Glass of wine? I have some cooling in the fridge."

"Sure. Whatever you're drinking." I looked around me. Marc's apartment took up the whole top floor of the building and was one big room. Over where he was opening the refrigerator there was a compact kitchen. Behind where I sat was an expanse of empty floor and in a far corner a bed. Big windows showed the sky-line of the city. Not a bad place to seduce a girl, I thought, and wondered if that was what he'd got me up here for.

Marc handed me a glass and sat down next to me on the couch. I didn't mind being seduced, not at all by a guy as cute as him, and I sipped my wine and leaned back and let it come.

"So you kept my card." he said. Not the line I'd been expecting, but whatever.

"Yep. Kept it, read it, got the joke. Even saw your number at the bottom. And here I am." I crossed my legs. Right time, right place, and right guy. Marc's eyes were like lasers streaming over my thigh.

"The joke?" he asked.

"Yeah. You know. UCBABES. I got it."

Marc tore his eyes from my legs and looked into mine. "So. You got it. I knew you were a bright girl. So you know what I do here, and why I wanted you."

I had no idea what he did here, but I was pretty sure why he wanted me. He took the glass from my hand and set it on the table beside his. I don't know if he led me or I led him, but we ended up in the corner of the room where the bed was.

I sat on the edge of the bed. A big, square bed, king-size. Fresh sheets, I noticed. Nice. I like it when a guy makes that little extra effort. I was tugging at the top button of my blouse when Marc pulled a closet door open and got out a big lamp on a sort of tripod. Then another one, and what looked like an umbrella, but silver. He plugged the lamps in and a brilliant white light washed over the bed. The silver umbrella caught the light and reflected it back at me.

Then Marc grabbed a big black camera from the closet and pointed it at me, fiddling with the lens. Oh. Oho. How could I have been so dumb. UCBABES. No, not just UCBABES. UCBABES.COM. It was a web-site. You see babes. And he thought I was going to be one of the babes.

I was livid, if that means what I think it does. Anyway, I was really pissed off. Marc had tricked me into this. All his dimples and smiles were just lures to get me to take off my clothes and show myself to his camera, and then to the world. To who knows how many men, sitting at their computers and getting off to my pictures.

Ah. Aha. Marc was miles ahead of me. I don't know how he'd figured me out, but he definitely had. Suddenly I wasn't angry with him any more. I settled back on the bed and let my skirt ride up over my thighs. Marc's camera was clicking almost constantly. I looked into the lens and pouted my lips.

"Oh, yeah. That's it," Marc said. "I knew you'd be good."

"Only good?" I popped another few buttons and thrust my chest out at the camera.

"No. You're perfect. You're the one, Laura."

That's what I wanted to hear.

Marc had a few suggestions as I began to peel off my clothes, but as I got into it, he grew silent. Then, for a long time, the only sound was the click of the camera. I stripped each bit of clothing away slowly and posed in every position I could think of. On my knees, looking at the camera over my shoulder. On my back, my arms stretched over my head and my toes pointed at the ceiling. Catching my long dark hair up and arching my back, pushing my boobs out. On my side. On my stomach. Sitting. Standing. Kneeling. Sometimes a smile, sometimes a serious look. Sometimes just goofy. Whatever came to me.

Maybe it was the lights, or maybe it was all my exertions, but a sheen of sweat popped out all over me. I rubbed my hands through the slickness on my chest and stomach. That wasn't all that was wet, I realized as my hands slid over me. I flopped onto my back and let my fingers glide over my thighs. My feet dug into the bed and my hips rose.

Then the bright lights went out and I opened my eyes to see Marc bent at the floor, pulling the plugs from the outlet.

"I can't keep these lights on forever. They overheat, and I'm not too sure about the wiring here. But Laura, you were amazing."

I sat up and felt my body begin to relax. "Really? You think so? I could have gone on, you know."

Marc grinned at me and his dimples deepened. God, he was cute. "Yeah. I could tell."

I blushed.

Marc reached out and grabbed my hand. "Come on. Let's see what we got." He led me back over to the living area and slid into a swivel chair in front of a desk with a computer on it. He touched the keyboard and the computer sprang to life.

"Pull up a chair," he told me.

"In a minute. You want some wine?" I picked up our glasses and walked to the fridge.

"Sure. Great."

I filled the glasses and came back to him. He was bent over, plugging a wire from the camera into the computer. His T-shirt pulled tight over his broad back, and I could see his triceps flexing. "Oh, god," I thought. "Cute, and dimples, and all those muscles, too."

Marc straightened up and looked at me over his shoulder. "Ready?"

All of a sudden, I didn't know if I was. Flashing's one thing. I loved it for the feeling it gave me. The power over all those guys watching. But it was fleeting. Momentary. I could walk away from it whenever I wanted. Pictures were something else. Lasting. Permanent.

I handed Marc his glass and took a deep slug out of mine. "OK. If you are."

He clicked through some icons, and then a bunch of little pictures filled the screen. He moved the mouse, and an arrow pointed at the image on the top left. Another click, and a photo of me washed over the monitor. My hands were at the top button of my blouse, and a look of uncertainty was clear on my face.

"OK," Marc said. "That's just the first one. Let's see some more."

Marc kept clicking the mouse, and as picture after picture of me popped up onto the screen, I could see myself beginning to relax and get into it.

"Jesus, Laura. These are fantastic. They can go right on the web-site.'

"You think so? They look pretty good to me, too. Oh, that one there." I didn't know if it was Marc's talent as a photographer or mine as a model, but the pictures were beautiful. Stunning.

I leaned over him, pointing out shots I thought were particularly good. I felt my hair brush him and smelled his scent. Man-scent. A little sweat, clean and sweet. A latent dash of perfume. Armani?

All my fantasies were coming together at this moment. I'd be on the net, showing myself not to ten men, or twenty. Who knows how many men would look at me. Thousands, I guessed. They'd do whatever they had to do, flicking back and forth over at my pictures with one hand. And I knew just what it was they'd have to do with the other hand. My knees weakened. This was fantasy squared, cubed, whatever came next. Years of sitting outside at the fountain couldn't touch this.

And then there was the personal side of all this. My standards. You remember. Right time, right place, right guy. My hands slipped down over Marc's chest. God, he had more muscles on his front than I had on my whole body. He was still staring at the computer screen, bringing up shot after shot of me getting out of my clothes and showing myself to the camera.

I shuddered as I realized I was still naked. I pushed my hands down over Marc's torso and snuggled into his neck.

"Like what you see?" I asked him.

"Are you kidding? Just look at this. You're a natural. I knew it the moment I saw you." His eyes were glued to the screen. I backed away and sat on the couch.

"Hey, Marc."

He spun his chair to look at me.

"Ever see anything like this on your computer?" My fingers flicked over my skin. I hadn't realized how close I'd been to coming while Marc took his pictures, but now I was right there. Right on the edge.

"Well, yes, as a matter of fact I have. But pictures are one thing, and you, on the other hand..." He didn't finish his sentence. Instead, he stood up and pulled his T-shirt over his head and un-buttoned his shorts.

Oh, my goodness. What a body. All muscles. Not gross body-builder muscles. Just tight and lean. And tan. All over tan. Not even a little white Speedo-patch. I was wondering where he sun-bathed to get a tan like that when my orgasm hit me. My first orgasm. I shut my eyes and rode it out, taking my time as electric shocks rippled over me. No rush. I knew there'd be more.

When I could, I opened my eyes. Marc was watching me, his hand stroking slowly over his cock. God, his cock. I won't tell you some porn-story nonsense, where the guy's dick always seems it should be part of a horse or something. But Marc's was big. Big, and thick. And way hard. I felt my pussy gushing and gaping as I looked at him. His hand was wrapped loosely around him. When it slid down to the base, the head poked out at me. He wasn't actually tan all over. His dick was more like red. Bright, shiny red. Red turning to deep purple. Then when his hand slid back up to the head of his cock, I could see a few inches of shaft below it, and his balls. I was expecting them to be as big as his cock, and maybe they were. But just now, they were pulled up tight against the base of his prick.