Flashing Fantasy Backfires

He was almost there; she knew what she had to do. "Yes," she told herself, "I will be a slut in public." She had expected the thrill of exhibitionism to be a private show, now he was forcing her humiliation in public. He was almost to her bench, only a few paces away. Now was the time, the signal must come, the moment was now; she must do what every mother taught their daughters never to do.

He tried not to stare and looked askew towards her, hopeful for a flash of white in his peripheral vision. She looked directly at him and began to turn, holding one leg steady while the other leg slowly opened. The sense of thrill was exhilarating. She seemed to leave her body and view herself from the outside, gazing at brazen woman, this unknown person who inhabited her body, a woman she desired to become. "It will only be a second or two and then he will be in her arms," she reminded herself. The dress crept further up her thighs and he slowed slightly. Looking directly in his eyes, she readied herself to turn towards him and began to spread her legs.

Then it happened.

The middle-aged woman behind him had gained; while he was slowing down, she sped up. Her steps were curt and she walked with the intentness of hurrying to deliver an important message. All the while she was staring directly at the young woman on the bench with a disapproving grimace.

"What does she want with me?" the young woman pleaded, and she felt herself ripped down the center of her body, as if she was a rag doll and hanging from each leg the limp and torn halves of her body. She froze. The familiarity of middle-aged woman with the inquisitional glare pinched in her face haunted the woman.

She looked to the man, desperately beseeching his rescue. Her legs were just slightly open and her dress still covered her thighs. Seconds turned to hours and she had become immobile. It seemed like slow motion; she had frozen in time while the world kept moving. The man was there in front of her and she had only an instant to open her legs and show him her panties. This was the signal. She knew that she must act; he would have no other way of recognizing her.

In the moment of her pause and indecision, he passed her and walked by. She could hardly believe what had just transpired. He was already two paces past her. The matronly hag approached and with a subtle snuff and twist of her head walked by as well. The great tug of war between the good girl and the bad girl ended. It was over. The good girl had won.

He was gone.

"Just another pretty woman on a park bench," he told and looked further down the path for the next bench. Maybe she was waiting for him there. "It was not her," he concluded. "Sure her legs were parted a little, just barely, and it was not that crowded." He stopped on the path to make sure and only a single middle-aged woman passed. "Maybe she never intended to meet me," he thought and fought back the idea that this would become another failed internet adventure.

He considered turning around, wavered and continued walking looking for the next bench. "This was the right bench," he told himself "and if it was her," he reasoned, "maybe she did not like my looks." He felt the heat of rejection rise and he combated it my telling himself, "I am not going to throw myself on her. She had the opportunity if she liked what she saw," he stated. "Appearances" he muttered and squinted down the path, hopeful that she would be waiting over the next bend. "Tall, dark and handsome . . . right," he murmured and kept on walking.

Time had stopped for her. Every muscle in her body was clenched and she strained to hear his footsteps until they grew fainter and fainter and then disappeared.

"Why did he have to ask me to do this" she cried out in anguish. Fists of anger reached to strike out at the middle-aged woman or herself in blame. Yet, her body remained paralyzed; she was unable to move. When the anger subsided, a great sadness and loneliness toke hold of her. She had wanted to meet this man. Desperately, she had wanted to meet him. Her good girl upbringing had been such a prison for her and he offered her the chance to break out, to escape. She had never flashed her legs or panties to the boys at school, and now, that she was a little older and the shackles of convention and respectability tormented her even more. She needed some excitement in her life. He had seemed a godsend to her, an angle dangling a key to the forbidden mansion.

But not even a "Hi" or a "Hey" was uttered. The steel bars of convention wrapped their cold reality around her. Her heart ached and her loneliness turned to despair. The history of her failed relationships taunted her and she knew that she would not be sitting all alone on a park bench if she had not spurned her past boyfriend's desires as being perverted or sick. Now, this man had come into her world and he was gone. She had failed again and felt utterly alone in the world.

Tears came. She cried. "It was all so foolish," she lied consoling herself. She wished that she had the courage to break the bonds of convention; shackles which enslave us. Even now, she could feel her mother's hands clenched on her ankles. There was no strength to spread her legs.

Looking down the path, she searched for him, and through the mist in her eyes, knew he was gone.

Part three

He passed a second empty park bench on the side of the lake and became surer that it was really her sitting back there. He was confused why she did not signal him, even if there were people around, she could have done a little something and make it appear as if an accident. She could have surely feigned picking up something from the ground, or adjusting her shoe. He had not expected her to do anything blatant. She hardly looked at him as he passed and was staring down the path.

The man was not one to give up so early. The hunter in him perked up and he decided to double back and watch her. He would see what might happen. Hope springs eternal, this he learned after the many rises and falls in his life.

He stepped off the path and walked back along the lake shore and worked his way behind where she was still sitting. He found a little knoll where he could watch her unnoticed and yet not appearing if he was stalking. As he observed her, he wondered, "What is she doing?" Her body was bouncing up and down in the little convulsions. It became clear. She was crying. "What was going on?" his brain screamed.

He must take action -- now. He walked quietly behind her and could hear muffled sobs. He was now only a few steps away and he knew he must do something. Standing behind the park bench he placed his hands gently on her shoulders. His touch sent shudders through her flesh and she froze. Slowly, he brought his lips to her neck and softly nuzzled her.

The roller coaster of emotions was incredible. The touch of his lips seemed to catch her from her emotional freefall and the warmth of his touch a safe landing pad. "Are you OK?" he asked tenderly and she stood and turned towards the man.

"Yes, I think so," she uttered as she wiped the tears from her eyes.

"I was supposed to meet a woman here," the man informed her. "I was looking for her when I saw you crying," the man explained, with genuine uncertainty in his voice, hopeful that he was not mistaken.

She looked into his eyes and she saw that he was much more handsome in person than in his photos. Sexual tension flared and raced through her body sending chills down her spine. She could feel the tiny hairs on her arms rise in the wisps breeze from the lake and she felt herself becoming wet.

She did not speak and he felt himself grow self-conscious. She had not shared a picture with him and he could not be sure it was her. He lifted his hand off her shoulder and turned to leave when she said, "She is here," in a bold voice.

Her eyes were riveted to his and the force of her stare held him immobile. "Oh," was all that leaked from his mouth. Then, without looking down the path, she let her arms fall to her sides and she slowly grasped the hem of her dress.

His heart leapt. "It was her after all!" his mind exclaimed and in a slow deliberative motion, she lifted her dress up. Her back was to the path and he could see the walkers over her shoulder, just paces away.

Higher and higher she lifted her dress, not just lifting the front for his private viewing, but lifted her whole dress up her legs. This was too much for him to believe. He was expecting only a demure flash of panties, but now this woman seemed intent on lifting up her whole dress, exposing not only her panty clad pussy to him but her panty clad ass as well. Behind her people were watching. He wondered briefly what her ass looked like and wished that she was only teasing him, and would stop now, before they were both exposed.

Sweat broke out over his skin and his throat constricted. Still, she lifted the material higher and higher until the tops of her stocking were exposed. He had become frozen to the spot as he watched this spectacle. In his peripheral vision, he noticed the walkers look in their direction. Some of them slowed down and others cast looks over their shoulders.

"What was she doing?" he shouted to himself as her dress rose across her stocking tops to the tender flesh of her thighs. She could not see the on-lookers and paid them no attention. He wanted her to stop, he was becoming embarrassed, and people were looking not only at her but at him.

This was public exposure and it was wrong. He hoped that the park police were not in the area. He had become an accessory to a crime. She would tell them that she was only following his directions. Still, he stood transfixed as the young woman stared deeply into his frightened eyes and lifted her dress higher. In one instant he wanted her to stop and in the next, wished that he could lift his frozen feet and tear the dress from her body.

Sweat pored over his brow, as he watched. Her legs were long and the dress traveled up and over her thighs until the white of her panties were revealed. Regret filled his mind and he feared this woman. He was looking for a good girl that wanted to unleash the naughty girl inside but never in his wildest imagination did he think he would find a woman who would become such a public slut. Never did he realize it was he, not her that was feeling the shame and humiliation.

His eyes continued to flit between the lace of her panties and the gawkers behind them and he felt the blood rush to his penis. "Surely they will see the bulge in my trousers," he feared and he now he became the criminal, the bad boy and could hear his mothers words wringing in his head. "I am going to jail," echoed in his confused mind.

Her panties were french cut and the lacey edges rode up her legs almost to her waist. They fit tightly and he could make out the shape of her pussy as the material clenched her vulva. Her dress was now at her waist and she looked absolutely adorable, almost saint like in the sheer and lacy fabric. Fear mixed with passion in the man. He could hardly breathe. She stood with legs slightly apart with eyes boring into his soul. He felt naked standing before an angel of heaven and there was guilt in his heart. He could speak no words. He could not move. Redemption could only come from the woman who stood before him baring her legs and exposing her most private of privates.

"She is here," the young woman restated with conviction and then let her hands drop the fabric of her dress so that she was covered and decent again. A small group of people had stopped on the path behind her, murmurs could be heard and they started dispersing and returned to their walk.

His relief was enormous. In the brief instant in which her dress and fluttered down from her waist to her knees, he knew that he had reached safety. It was as if he was crossing a fiery bridge and was on the other side. His erection remained noticeably visible but he did not care. He had wanted to play with fire and had escaped unscathed.

The woman looked at him and smiled. She had seen the emotions play out in his face. His fear had given her strength. Never in a million years would she have showed her lacy covered ass and panties to a crowd of gawkers but she focused on only one thing -- his eyes. She watched as he furtively glanced between her stocking clad legs and the crowd; she saw his fear, she sensed his desire and with each inch that she lifted her dress a sexual tension emanated from these conflicting emotions.

The thrill was exhilarating. Not only had she broken through the iron door and been "naughty" for the first time in her life, she had been totally empowered by its effect on a man. Her nostrils flared as she breathed deeply of the lake breezes and fancied smelling the pungent odor of her womanhood. Her sense of power was overwhelming. She owned this man and in doing so had discovered her own sexuality.

The young woman composed herself, smoothed the fabric of her skirt against her legs and reached out her hand to the man. He took her hand and after glancing up and down the path, said "Let's get out of here."

"Hi, I'm Ellen," she said as she matched his fast gait towards the parking lot and thought to herself, "Men are really such simple and stupid creatures."