M: An Exhibitionist Woman

I haven't had many knee-tremblers in my life. This one was a revelation. She pulled her skirt up and hooked one long leg round behind my thigh. Then she tried to feed my cock inside her. It felt incredibly clumsy, but it was exciting. No - that's a weak word. It was mind-blowing.

I remember the head of my cock bumping against her pussy as she tried to get the angle right. I was so hot and hard, I very nearly came from that alone. But we managed to make the connection finally. I sort of scrunched down and pushed my cock right up her. M stiffened instantly. Then we fucked really hard, with her back against the wall. It didn't last long but it was so intense! Towards the end, she raised her other foot off the ground and wrapped both legs around me. She was completely impaled on my prick, hugging me tight with both arms and legs, sandwiched between me and the brickwork. Our position was so precarious, we nearly fell. I think that - our teetering on the edge - was what made me cum. I remember standing there as I spurted, pumping into her. Her arms were round my neck; her mouth was on my mouth. I knew she'd cum as well, though I couldn't tell when. But she was suddenly limp in my arms - limp and soft and warm.

We stood like that for as long as we could, not wanting to break the spell. But she was heavy. Eventually, I had to let her down. I thought of my semen leaking out of her, down her pale inner thighs.

"Do you need to go and clean yourself up?" I whispered.

"No, darling," she whispered back. "I'm going to let it drip."

She let out a dirty laugh. Then we sneaked out of the shrubbery, and back to the main path. We strolled across the heath, and found a pub for a late lunch. I was full of questions, of course, but when I started to ask them, she laid a finger on my lips and said: "Shh."

"I know we have to talk about this," she told me. "But tomorrow - OK?"

So we've left it 'til tomorrow. We're home now; she's asleep. I've been writing this for hours - trying to make sense of it all.

*****

17th June: The morning after the day before.

Well, we had the conversation. Over breakfast, actually. It went on a long time.

I was trying not to badger her, but I was so mixed up - there was a lot of pressure, there. Pressure to let things out.

I told her how I felt. How yesterday had been so sexy, but so bloody frightening. How I'd been scared for her. How that had made me angry even when I had a raging hard-on.

I was on the verge of telling her she mustn't do it again. But I knew that would be stupid. I'm glad I didn't fall into that trap. As much as I wanted to, I didn't have the right to say it.

M listened and let me talk. That's the problem with clever women. She can just sit and say nothing and I flounder deeper into the morass.

In the end, I ran out of steam. Then she took over.

"We're getting very close, aren't we?" she said. "I mean, we like each other. I like you anyway. A lot.

"That's why I needed to show you what I did yesterday. I've lived with two other men before, but neither of them could take it. My kink, I mean. They both left me. It was hard for me, both times. Really hard, because I loved them. So I didn't want us to get too far along before you knew."

She let me think about that for a minute. Then:

"I need to do what I do. I'm careful - I never do it here in town. I always go away somewhere. But I can't give it up."

"But the risk - ," I said.

M repeated: "But I'm careful."

"Careful!" I exploded. "You could have been raped yesterday! Those two blokes - you couldn't have stopped them if they'd tried."

"But they didn't," she said. "I've been flashing my cunt at strange men for a long time now. I can tell the really dangerous ones. I let them go by."

I don't remember what I said then, but it was decidedly sceptical.

"Listen," she said. "The risk is part of it. Without the risk, there'd be no point in it. But I never let it go too far."

"And the police ...?" I asked.

"I've never been arrested."

"Maybe you've been very, very lucky."

"Perhaps I have," she said.

"But I can't give it up," she added. "I really can't."

We left it there. I'm sleeping at my own place tonight. I feel terrible. I can't stop thinking about it. I want to have her even more than ever since that thing in Greenwich. It excited me - of course it did. But I can't let her keep on doing what she does.

*****

18th June: We met for lunch in a pub - out in the beer garden, where we could talk without being overheard. We'd both calmed down a bit, but there was still some tension.

She talked about the ethics of what she does. She does have ethical doubts. "I know I embarrass people sometimes," she said. "Even men. And it is part of the fun, seeing them squirm as they go past. Seeing them try not to look.

"But I feel guilty about that. It's like an assault isn't it? I don't really want to upset people. That's my only reservation."

After the pub, we went back to her place and made love. It wasn't nearly as fierce as that fuck in the park behind the toilets. It was as if we'd been married for years.

Afterwards, I left and came home. She didn't try to stop me. We may be drifting apart. I can't do much about it.

*****

14th July: Almost a month has gone by since I last wrote about M. We're back in the old routine. I've almost moved in with her. Everything's good.

I think she's given it up. She hasn't told me, but I haven't seen any signs.

I'm keeping my flat on though. Just in case.

*****

3rd August: We had a row. A big one.

M came home late last night. I was already in bed. She wanted sex. She was desperate for it.

We fucked each other like maniacs. It was brutal really. Even after we'd cum she was still at me. She sucked me 'til I got hard again, then it was Round 2. And so it went on.

When we finally finished, my cock was sore. I expect M was too, though she didn't mention it.

Then I did something stupid. I asked her what had happened, to make her so incredibly horny. And she told me. I wish she hadn't.

She'd been to Norwich for the day. She'd walked round the town for hours, displaying herself. Showing her cunt to people, as she put it. On the train home, she masturbated under her skirt, with the people around her watching. (Or trying not to, I thought. I could imagine the tight, embarrassed silence in the carriage.)

I didn't say anything at first, but she took my silence as an accusation. Which it was. I think, now, that she told me about Norwich to provoke what happened next. She was bringing things to a head.

"Why are you so prudish about this?" she asked me. "Are you jealous of the men who look at me? I don't fuck them, you know. I don't have gang-bangs. I just let them peek at the goods, that's all."

I said I wasn't prudish. I wasn't jealous either. I was just concerned for her. We'd been through it all before.

I said I'd thought she'd stopped doing it. She laughed at me.

"I've been going off on my little jaunts for the past month," she said. "I just didn't tell you. I knew you'd be awkward about it. But now I have, because you asked. Would you rather I'd lied to you?"

I said I'd rather she didn't do it at all. That I'd never be able to relax, thinking of her getting raped or murdered.

"And if you're arrested," I asked, "do you think you'd keep your job?"

"I won't get arrested," she told me.

"For a highly intelligent woman," I said at that point, "you're incredibly fucking stupid!"

"For a supposedly enlightened man," she countered, "you're bloody repressive, aren't you? You're a bloody conformist, would-be patriarch in your own hypocritical way."

It was around then that I got out of bed and started putting on my clothes.

The last thing she said - well shouted - as I left, was: "You really ought to read some Queer Theory! And, no, it isn't just about gay people, if you're jumping to that conclusion! It might open your eyes a bit!"

I had no answer. I slammed the front door as I went. Childish, I know.

*****

5th August: Two days without hearing from M. I know I could phone her but I can't bring myself to do it. I'm so fucking miserable and worried - worried about what she may be up to.

*****

12th August: Still no word from M. I phoned her this morning. She wasn't in. Tried again around lunch time. Still no answer. Tried at eight o'clock this evening. Still not there.

I think she may off on a 'jaunt'. Well, fuck her. I'm not my ex-lover's keeper!

*****

19th August: Now things are really difficult. I don't know what to do. I feel like a rabbit caught in headlights. I'm frozen.

M phoned me out of the blue around ten o'clock last night. It was the first time we'd spoken since the row. I thought she'd try to make peace, but she was very brisk.

"I think I've found a compromise," she said. "Come over."

So I went to her place. I still had a key, so I let myself in. The living room was in darkness, but there was light coming out of her study door. I heard her voice before I got there.

"Yes, Bigboy," she was saying, "I am a fucking slut."

"Yes, Hardman. Of course. I love it up the arse."

"Do I what, JB? Eat pussy? Only when I can't get cock."

"Am I wet? You bet I am, JoJo. It's pouring like Niagara down there."

When I went in, she looked up immediately. And smiled. She was sitting at her computer, wearing just a tee-shirt, speaking into a microphone.

"Hang on a minute," she said to her audience. "I have to deal with something quickly."

Then:

"I've set my laptop up in the spare room," she told me. "It's ready - you don't have to do anything. Just switch the speakers on, that's all - otherwise you won't be able to hear me."

She flashed me another smile, then turned back to the computer.

"Sorry about that," she said. "A visitor. Yes, my boyfriend. Will he join in? Not tonight, JB. At least, I don't think so, anyway."

I tore myself away and went to the other room. I jogged the mouse to bring the laptop out of standby, and there was M in her study on the screen. It was a webcam site. She was on one side, looking into the camera. On the other, there was a box for 'chat' - which was rapidly scrolling down.

It contained a stream of filth, all directed at M. Most of it was barely literate. All of it was obscene.

I sat down and switched the speakers on. M was responding to her admirers, as she had been when I came in.

"You want to see my pussy, JB? Well, OK then."

She adjusted the camera so it focussed on her belly and thighs. Then she pulled the tee-shirt up. She was nude below. She touched herself between the legs, tracing the thin shadow of her naked slit, then brought her spread fingers up, into view of the camera. There was a distinct silver thread stretching between two of them.

"Now do you believe I'm wet?" she asked them.

The lower case responses rattled by:

'fuck yeah bb';

'UR HAWT';

'i wanna cum on you biatch';

'i wanna ream yo pussy';

'pm me bb';

'open my cam bb. I wanna cum for you'.

M readjusted the camera to show her face, put her sticky fingers in her mouth, and sucked.

"I taste so sweet," she said. "Aren't I a dirty girl?"

There was a broad grin on her face. I could see she was having the time of her life.

She took the tee-shirt off. Her lovely breasts were bare. She put her hands on them and jiggled them.

The chat screen said:

'show pussy bitch';

'show ass';

'show asshole';

'you got a dildo bb?';

'ASS ASS ASS';

'PUSSY';

'ASS';

'FEET FEET FEET';

'show me your cunt you dirty whore'.

How did I feel? There was something in the pit of my stomach, something curdled between revulsion and excitement. I was sure now she was mad. But my cock was erect. Whatever my head was thinking, simple biology governed my prick.

M was laughing. She stood up, took a pace or two away from the camera, and turned round, bending. There was a plug in her arse, jammed right up it. It must have been there when I'd stepped into her room a few minutes before. She must have been sitting on it.

I was in shock. Perhaps incongruously - or maybe not - Rochester floated into my mind. He'd have been delighted by this. He'd have called M a whore too, but he'd have liked her. He'd been friends with the King's whore, Nell Gwynn. His attitude to whores and sluts was as ambivalent as our modern one. I remembered Nelly's verse from the Dialogue of the King's Mistresses:

'When to the King I bid good morrow,

With tongue in mouth, and hand on tarse,

Portsmouth may rend her cunt for sorrow,

And Mazarin may kiss mine arse.'

I'd been so drawn to Rochester that I'd written my Ph.D. on him, but I'd never really entered the sleazy-sexy world he inhabited until now. M was already part of that - and immersing herself in it with abandon: with gusto. As I stared at the screen, she pulled the butt plug right out of her bum for a moment, then plunged it back in again. She gave the most erotic groan I've ever heard - much deeper, much earthier and much more heartfelt than anything I've evoked from her myself.

I went on watching. She buggered herself for a while, then took a vibrator and began to stimulate her clitoris. She'd put the camera on close-up. Her cunt and arsehole filled the screen in perfect definition. We heard her groan as the vibrator touched her. She grunted: "Oh, fuck!"

Then her cunt contracted and clear liquid pulsed out. 'SQUIRT! SQUIRT! SQUIRT!' said the chat box. "But I did already," said M with a throaty laugh.

I think she went on for about an hour. At one point, I remember, she said: "I hope you're wanking hard, boys!" And weirdly, even though I knew I could fuck her later, I realised that was what I wanted to do as well. There was no dignity here; no control. There was just rampant need and sex: a nightly Saturnalia; a virtual orgy.

I didn't masturbate. I nursed my erection 'til she went offline, then went back to M's study. She was slumped in front of the computer, looking exhausted, as if she'd just finished a marathon. But she looked up when I came in. Her eyes were shining.

"Isn't it marvellous?" she asked. "Isn't it exciting? This is so much safer than flashing in streets and parks. It's completely risk free. I can show off to thousands of people with no chance of being touched, let alone being raped or arrested. And if I want to, I can watch their cams too. I can watch them wanking over me! I can see them spunk!"

"Does this solve your problem?" she asked. "If I just do this - no jaunts? Will it put your mind at rest?"

I didn't answer. I grabbed her by the shoulders, then lifted her up and half-carried, half-dragged her to the bedroom. I threw her down on the bed, got my jeans off, and stuck my prick in her without preliminaries. She was wet enough. She squealed and laughed.

I fucked her as hard as I could for as long as I could. I didn't think or care about her orgasm. I don't know if she had one or not. When I came, I rolled off her and just lay there, breathing.

"So, what do you think?" she asked almost immediately, as if our previous conversation hadn't been interrupted. "Would you like to join in next time? I could suck your cock on cam. You can cum in my face."

"I'm going to get my breath back first," I told her. "Then I'm going to fuck you up the arse. Alright?"

"Alright," she said. "I can't wait. Really."

And when I was hard again, I did just that. I buggered her brutally. She didn't complain.

Now, eighteen hours later, I don't know where I stand. M is happier than I've ever seen her - radiant, in fact. She obviously doesn't blame me for acting like a pig in bed last night. But I do. Do I want to become that person all the time? Am I going to spend my evenings fucking her before thousands - doing every dirty thing imaginable - a complete slave to my prick?

What is she turning me into? Is it what I was all along?

I don't know what to do. I'm still at M's place now, but I may go home tonight. Perhaps I ought to leave her for good. She's completely mad after all.

But is that true? Is she mad, or simply honest? If I were Rochester, I'd fuck her and think nothing of it. I'd enjoy her for what she is: lover or slut, no matter. But I'm not Rochester. I haven't got his balls - his arrogance.

I'm worried about what happens when somebody notices - when all this gets out. It could ruin our careers. We'll have students sniggering in the corridors behind our backs.

She came into the room just now. My prick stood up instantly. I think she's going online again. I can hear her fiddling with the camera. I ought to go and

*****

Editor's End-Note:

And that, I'm afraid, is where the diary finishes. All the other pages are missing. I have, of course, scoured the flat for other clues to the identities of these two people, but so far without result. I've also been online, searching for a tall, pale English woman with grey eyes - but I've drawn a blank so far.

So the diary has to stand, I'm afraid, as a mere momentary glimpse into two other lives: as if the curtains had been opened on a lighted window, then swiftly drawn closed again. - P.B.

*****

[AUTHOR'S NOTE: The first Rochester poem quoted ('Quoth the Duchess of Cleveland to Councillor Knight ...') is just called 'Song'. He may have written it between 1671 and 1676, though dating Rochester's writings is notoriously difficult, since almost nothing of his was published in his lifetime. The second quotation, which I've called 'The Dialogue of the King's Mistresses' for the sake of clarity, is normally titled 'Dialogue' alone. It's tentatively dated to 1676.

If anyone's interest in Rochester has been piqued as a result of reading this, there are several good modern collections, including:

i) Vieth (ed.): 'The Complete Poems of John Wilmot, Earl of Rochester' (Yale, 1962)

ii) Lyons (ed.): 'Rochester: Complete Poems and Plays' (Everyman [Dent], 1963)

Beware, however, of earlier editions. They were heavily censored and usually bowdlerized. - polynices]