Please Don't Make Me Do It!

It's a stereotype but so often true -- people from strict backgrounds are usually the really weird ones, right? At least, that's how I explain it to myself sometimes, when I'm feeling guilty about being a bit of a perv. I blame it on my parents. Sex is dirty, nudity is bad, pleasure is evil ... you know the story. It was their fault.

But since this is anonymous, I can just come right out and tell you all the pervy stuff. And it's true, even if I could never tell anyone in person. I mean, it's way too embarrassing, especially for a middle-aged guy like me, with a regular job, a wife and kids. How did I end up with this secret life?

The thing is, I like to show off. You know, getting naked and, well, playing with myself in front of an audience. People who want to watch me, not just random strangers. That would be flashing and I am definitely not into that stuff.

To be more honest, I actually don't like it. In fact, I find it all extremely embarrassing and humiliating. And that's my problem. It's the combination of sexual excitement and humiliation that keeps me doing this weird stuff.

As long as I can remember, I've had exhibitionist fantasies. When I first saw what used to be called girlie magazines, what turned me on was the look on a girls' face that said, "I know you're looking at me and I like it." So while my buddies talked about screwing those girls, my fantasies were about posing naked like that in front of other people.

And they were pretty powerful fantasies, especially if I'd had a few drinks. I'd pretty much lose my common-sense inhibitions and get a bit too close to actually getting caught doing stuff. For example, my fantasies would usually start out with me doing a slow strip, pretending I was in front of a small group of strangers. Maybe it was some kind of exclusive club established for this purpose. The audience was always very serious and intense, no whistling or rowdy stuff. They were usually male only, although sometimes there might be some women in the crowd.

Often I would set up a mirror so that I could watch myself and imagine what I would look like putting on such a show. My cock would soon be hard as a rock and one of the most pleasurable parts of my little act would be to try to slowly wriggle out of my underwear with this extremely stiff cock in the way, rubbing against the soft material. I would try as much as possible to avoid using my hands, which just extended the whole procedure and heightened the tension.

The high point came, of course, when my rigid penis finally sprang free and I imagined the audience people staring intently at me. I would be filled with feelings of both intense excitement and exquisite shame. It was -- is -- a very powerful combination.

At first I just let the mood take me and indulged myself spontaneously, with no planning. Later, thinking about those pin-up models I used to see in the magazines, I might "borrow" my girlfriend's panties or a negligee in advance to make the fantasy -- and the humiliation—more powerful. I even ordered some lingerie by mail order. I'd put these things on and again pretend I was stripping for an audience, but of course this time it was even more shameful, showing people that I was aroused by being in women's clothing.

My psychological preparations also became more elaborate. To achieve the right level of realism, I needed to show people in my fantasy that undressing in front of them not only excited me but also humiliated me. This took the whole experience to an even higher level of intensity. It meant showing greater and greater reluctance as my clothes came away, as though I were doing it against my will. Asking them not to make me go any further, but eventually giving in to my basest urges and showing them everything.

At first I really was embarrassed about what I was doing. Dressing up in girl's stuff? Pretending to whimper about being forced into something I didn't want to do? That was about as messed up as you could get, I thought. But the feel of the sheer, silky materially sliding gently over my hardness, the pulsing heaviness in my cock, the fantasy that I was being watched, a glimpse of my erection in a window or mirror, the knowledge of the climax that was soon to come ... all of that was more than enough to keep me going.

This would take me quickly to the peak of excitement, which I tried to draw out as long as possible. At this point in my fantasy, when I lived alone or when my wife was away, I would go near a window or peek through a door. The idea was to make it all a little more realistic by actually showing myself off. This would usually be at night, after I'd had a few drinks. Of course, by peeking out the window or door, I was checking first to make sure there was nobody actually looking. And I would be sure to turn out the lights. I was not crazy enough at that point to risk being caught. But if I was sure there was no one looking, or that it was dark enough that even if there were someone out there, they couldn't see anything ... well, that added a lot of buzz to the whole thing. It was a lot more realistic, knowing someone could be watching.

Standing nervously at the edge of a window or slowly opening a door onto the backyard, surrounded by darkness and maybe feeling the cool air on my skin, completely nude with my rigid cock straining almost straight up -- that was usually enough to send me over the edge. Sometimes I didn't even have to touch myself. My excitement would be so great that I would just squeeze the muscles at the base of my erection and a wave of intense pleasure would rush through me, an enormous release of pressure as I repeatedly spurted my semen across the window or onto the porch. All the while, I imagined this group of strangers watching me, showing them the ultimate personal intimacy. The jets of cum shooting from my hard-on were the clearest demonstration of my excitement that they created in me with their watching.

With the arrival of the digital age, things got even more intense. Then I could set up a tripod with a digital camera or video camera and imagine that I was being filmed by strangers, films to be viewed by even more people. Later I would look at the images on my computer and pretend they were being shown to a group of people, with me present, and that when the show was done, the viewers would turn to me with expectant looks on their faces.

And that is when my problems really began.

To be continued ...