Showing Pink

When I came back, another poster, Moniker77, had started a new thread under the title Boobtime. She had posted a picture of her own boobs escaping from a bra that appeared to be a size or two too small. And there was an invitation for others to join in. Oh well, I thought, here goes nothing. I registered myself as TinkerBel and posted a picture of my own bra-clad breasts.

By the time my picture was posted, three or four other women had also answered the invitation. And there were already a number of appreciative comments. For several minutes I sat there, refreshing the screen every 30 seconds or so, wondering if -- hoping that -- someone would say something nice about my boobs. And then, suddenly, there it was. Dodger21 had written: 'Very nice TinkerBel!!! More please!!!' My spare hand gently rubbed my knicker-covered vulva. I had done it! I had joined the ranks of the exhibitionists.

Of course, the next question was: Was I going to answer Dodger's request? And, if so, what was I going to post next? I had another bra shot that really showed off my cleavage. I decided to post that. After all, Dodger had said please.

A minute or so later, Dodger was again showing his appreciation. 'Better and better TinkerBel! How about a shot without the bra.' Maybe later, Dodger, I said to myself, mentally adding a comma to his first sentence and a question mark at the end of the second. But now it's time for me to head off to the pub for a Friday night drink with my real-life friends.

By the time I got back from the pub it was already gone seven and starting to get dark. I was about to walk into the sitting room when I noticed, at the top the stairs, the same cast of light that I had seen the night before. It seemed that my new neighbour was already home. I walked up the stairs and into my bedroom, being careful to stay in the shadows. And, yes, my neighbour was there, once again standing in front of his laptop, this time with his trousers down around his knees and a firm grip on his erect penis.

For a while I stood there, quietly, as he tapped on his keyboard and tugged on his todger. And then I slipped back downstairs and grabbed my own laptop. When I got back upstairs, I set the laptop up on the edge of my bed and logged in. I quickly scrolled down and found the Boobtime link. While I had been away at the pub, another three or four women had added their contributions, and there must have been at least 20 more comments -- several directed specifically at me. I read each of the comments and smiled to myself as I thought about each of these strangers looking at my breasts. I must say that I was rather enjoying being an exhibitionist.

I clicked back to the top of the page where someone had started a new thread: Friday Night Pussy -- All Join. I didn't feel that I was quite ready to start showing strangers my own pussy. But I decided that I would grant Dodger his request and post a shot of my breasts without the bra. 'Here you go, Dodger,' I wrote. 'Since you asked so nicely.'

The first person to leave a comment was not Dodger but Baxstreetboy. 'Oh fuck yeah TinkerBel! Top tits, top shelf!'

'Why thank you, Baxstreetboy,' I replied. 'I'm glad that you approve.'

When I looked up from the screen and across towards my neighbour, he was well into his work, with one hand on his keyboard and the other furiously pumping his erect penis. And I must admit that, from the shadows, I joined him (so to speak).

When I drew back my bedroom curtains a little after ten o'clock on Saturday morning, my new neighbour appeared to be installing some sort of roller blind. It certainly helped to explain why he hadn't covered his window on the two previous evenings. At one point, I thought that he looked across at my window and so I gave him a casual good-neighbourly wave. But he didn't acknowledge it, so I assumed that he was concentrating on something closer to home and therefore didn't see me.

I was so preoccupied with my new neighbour, and with my developing adventures in the world of exhibitionism, that I almost forgot that my old friend Barrington was due over for lunch around midday.

Barrington and I had been friends from university days. We had even slept together a few times. But that was back before Barrington finally acknowledged that he was gay. Happily, he and I have remained friends, and hardly a month goes by without us getting together to share a meal or a glass of wine.

I took a couple of sheets of frozen savoury short-crust pastry out of the freezer and set it on the kitchen counter to thaw. With the addition of some chopped bacon, some mushrooms, some eggs, and some cream, a delicious quiche was less than an hour away.

I had just taken the quiche out of the oven when the doorbell rang.

'Watch the birdie,' Barrington said, as I open the front door. And the next thing I knew he was pointing a small-but-expensive-looking camera in my direction. Flash! 'There you are, Bella. You are the very first person to be captured by my new camera. Well, apart from the feet of the sales assistant in the store. But that was an accident. I'll get rid of that -- once I work out how to.'

Barrington pushed a couple of buttons and squinted at the small screen on the back of the camera. 'Oh yes. Not bad,' he said. 'Not bad at all. Mind you, with such a beautiful subject, how could I go wrong? So ... what do you think?' He turned the camera around so that I could see what he had been looking at.

I was impressed. 'It's ... umm ... very good,' I said. (And it was.) 'You know ... especially considering what you had to work with.'

Barrington laughed. 'Sixteen megapixel. Twenty times optical zoom and two times digital. And it was on special. Fifty quid off the list price. A bargain or what!'

'Boys and their toys,' I said.

'And he who dies with the most toys wins,' Barrington replied. 'And anyway, you collect antique toys. I just prefer hi-tech toys.'

I guess he had a point. I poured each of us a glass of white wine and started throwing together a simple salad to accompany the quiche. As I sliced and diced, Barrington snapped away with his new toy, pausing every 20 seconds or so to review the results and pronounce which shots were 'keepers' and which were 'chuckers'. He certainly seemed to be pleased with his purchase. 'Excellent picture quality,' he said, on more than one occasion.

We had eaten almost half of the quiche and we were partway through the third glass of wine, when an idea suddenly occurred to me. My second lot of 'selfie' photographs were OK. Or at least the online comments seemed to suggest that they were OK. But what if I got Barrington to take a few 'proper' shots with his new camera? 'I have a favour to ask,' I said. And then I immediately had second thoughts.

'Oh?'

I hesitated. Should I? Oh, what the hell! 'Promise me you won't laugh.'

Barrington frowned.

'I'd like you to take some photographs of me,' I said, summoning up all my wine-fuelled courage. 'Some special photographs.'

Barrington smiled. 'Every photograph I take of you is special, Bella. How can it be otherwise?'

'I'd like you to take a few photographs of me ... umm ... in the bedroom,' I said.

Barrington raised his eyebrows slightly, but then he smiled again and shrugged his shoulders. 'Yeah. Wherever,' he said.

I gulped down the last of the wine in my glass. 'Thank you,' I said. 'I just need to go and ... well ... get myself ready. If you could just wait here for a moment.' I poured the last of the wine into our glasses. 'I'll call you when I'm ready.'

'Whatever,' Barrington said. And, yes, he was still smiling.

I glided up the stairs on a cloud of adrenaline (or was it alcohol?) and drew the curtains in my bedroom. My neighbour may have been rash enough to let me watch his display, but I wasn't about to let him watch mine. Well, not in real life anyway.

I quickly stripped off my clothes and donned a hot pink bra with dark pink lace trim, a pair matching knickers, and a suspender belt. For a moment or two I looked at myself in the mirror. I would need stockings. But what colour? Pink? Black? Navy? In the end I chose navy. The only pink pair I had was not quite the right shade of pink. And, apart from that, I thought that the navy stockings made my legs look slimmer.

One last glance and it was time to summon Barrington before I lost my nerve. 'OK. I'm ready.' Well, as ready as I'm ever going to be, I said to myself.

'Oh, lordy, lordy,' Barrington said, as he entered the room.

I felt myself starting to blush and immediately began having second thoughts for a second time. 'Look, perhaps this isn't such a good idea after all.'

'Well, I think it's an excellent idea,' Barrington said. 'However, I take it these photographs are not required for the purpose of renewing your passport.'

'No, look, this is probably really silly. I don't know what came over me. It must have been the wine.'

Barrington shook his head. 'Well ... perhaps you needed the wine to ... umm .... But now that we're here ....' And the next thing I knew, his camera was flashing, and Barrington was doing a passable imitation of David Hemmings' character in Antonioni's classic 1960s film, Blow Up. 'Lovely, Bella. Great. A little to the right. Perfect! Spot on, darling. And the other way ... perfect.'

Oh, what the hell. That's the thing about digital snaps: you can always trash them afterwards. And besides, I was sort of having fun. It was, I have to say, quite a turn on. And I guess the fact that it was Barrington made it all a bit easier. I knew him; he knew me; and he was gay. (How ridiculous was that!)

'And so what now?' Barrington said, after he had taken the first 20 or 30 shots. 'A bit of a strip tease?'

Hell, why not, I thought. I've come this far. So what was going to go first: my bra or my knickers? I decided that my knickers should go first. I've always thought that there was something very sexy about a woman wearing a bra and no knickers.

'Lovely,' Barrington said, as I slowly slid my knickers down over my hips. 'Perfect. And a little more. Oh, yes! Great, Bella. Perfect. And just turn this way a little. Perfect!' And all the time the flash on his new camera kept on flashing.

In the end, the knickers had gone, the suspender belt had gone, and I was down to just my bra and stockings. 'And maybe from behind,' I suggested. And I sort of knelt on the edge of the bed and stuck my bare bum out towards the camera.

'Lordy, lordy, Bella. I could almost turn straight for you.'

I reminded Barrington that we'd 'been there and tried that'.

'Oh, yes. So we have. Well, it was a thought.'

'And a very nice one,' I said, and I gave him a little kiss on the cheek. 'Right. I'll just put some clothes on and then let's see what we've got.'

We headed back downstairs, and Barrington removed the SD card from the camera and slipped it into the slot in my laptop. 'Hmm. Not bad,' he said. 'Not bad at all.' And that was even before the 'bedroom shots' had loaded.

I went and found another bottle of wine and, for the next half an hour or so, Barrington and I sat and sorted our way through almost 80 photographs, about 30 of them of the NSFW variety. In the end, Barrington had compiled a collection of about 20 shots that he wanted to keep -- shots of me preparing lunch and of the food in various stages of preparation and consumption -- and I had twelve more shots to add to my TinkerBel file. 'And just make sure that the rest are well and truly trashed,' I said.

Barrington put on his best neglected-puppy face. 'Couldn't I just keep one?' he said.

After Barrington had left, I tidied up the kitchen, put the dirty dishes and glasses in the dishwasher, and sat down on the couch to think about what I had done. But I didn't think about any of it for very long. Within three or four minutes I must have fallen asleep.

When I awoke, it was just after five. I must have been asleep for almost an hour and a half. Put it down to the wine, I guess. I got up from the couch and made myself a cup of tea. It hadn't been a big lunch, but it had been quite a long lunch, so I didn't even think about preparing any supper. Maybe a light snack later.

I took my mug of tea, went to my desk, woke my laptop from its sleep mode, and opened the folder marked TinkerBel.

Well, it hadn't just been a dream. There I was in all my glory. Or at least there I was in my hot pink bra and knickers -- and, in several shots, in just my hot pink bra. And I have to say (because it's true) that the shots looked just as good as they had done earlier. Barrington's new camera had certainly done the trick. And, of course, Barrington's talent as a would-be David Hemmings might have helped a bit too.

I copied a couple of the shots and set about cropping them so that they were provocative without being too revealing. And then I went on to the 'Bella site' to see what was happening. Surprisingly (given that it was only about six o'clock), there was quite a lot happening. I suspect that it may have had something to do with the fact that it was reportedly pouring with rain on both sides of the Pennines.

Bella and Milf had both posted some new shots. And BrightonShiner was inviting people to comment on some rather revealing shots of his 'unaware' wife. I presumed that by 'unaware', he meant that she was unaware that he had posted her for all the world to see. I must say that rather lowered BrightonShiner in my estimation. Showing yourself off was one thing (and, as I was discovering, quite a fun thing); but having someone else show you off without you knowing didn't really seem right. Well, it didn't seem right to me, anyway.

I started a new thread under the title of 'Showing Pink'. I thought that should get some attention. And I posted a shot of my breasts apparently straining to get free of my hot pink bra.

Dodger was the first to leave a comment. 'Naughty TinkerBel. I was expecting sumething else. Nod nod wink wink.' (In my mind, I tidied up his spelling and his punctuation. Oh, well.)

A couple who went by the name KentCpl382436 wondered if we could 'get together for some fun'. Apparently Mrs KentCpl is bisexual and Mr KentCpl likes to watch. They left an email contact address.

And there was a comment from a new name: Handz-on. 'Oh fuck yeah!! You got me hard, TinkerBel!!' I took the comment as an indication that Handz-on approved of what he saw.

Buoyed by the enthusiastic reception given to the first shot, I posted another. And then another. And Dodger and Handz-on and a dozen or so other voyeuristic posters continued to pepper the page with their grammatically-approximate praises. And I encouraged them with my own gracious yet erotically-charged responses.

'Thank you, Dodger. A nod's as good as a wink where I cum from.'

'Thank you, Handz-on. Does this mean hard is the new easy?'

'An interesting thought, KentCpl.'

When I finally looked up from my laptop, I was surprised to realise that more than an hour had gone by and that it was now starting to get dark. I also noticed that the neighbour's light was once again shining into my bedroom window (I had opened the curtains again before we came downstairs) and out onto the landing at the top of the stairs. No doubt the neighbour's new shade would be coming down soon. Or would it, I wondered. And the more I wondered, the more I felt the urge to go and take a peek. I picked up my laptop and climbed the stairs.

To my surprise, the blind seemed to have been lowered -- but only about halfway. And to my further surprise, my neighbour was already standing in front of his laptop, gently fondling his half-erect penis. The expression on his face was obscured by the blind; but the mid region of his fine physique was as much on display as it had been before he had fitted the blind.

I flipped open my own laptop and pressed F5 to refresh the screen. There were another five or six comments that had been added. Dodger was hoping (pleading?) that I would carry through on the promise of the thread and 'really show pink'. KentCpl were looking forward to hearing from me. And there was a message from Baxstreetboy. 'Better and better, TinkerBel. You're a stunner. Theres no doubt about it.'

'Why thank you again, Baxstreetboy. The pleasure is mine,' I replied. And then I thought: What the hell! And I posted one of the shots of my naked bum with just a tantalising hint of my labia peeping from between my upper thighs. I must say that even I found the image intoxicating.

I waited for a minute or so -- perhaps two minutes -- while stroking my tingling vulva with the middle finger of my right hand. And then I once again pressed the F5 key. Nothing. I waited a little longer, and while I waited I watched as my neighbour stroked his now handsomely-erect penis with one hand while he tapped at his keyboard with the other. I tapped F5 again. This time the screen refreshed to show a new message from Baxstreetboy. 'Best yet, TinkerBel. You have me stroking and I'm just about to cum.'

In the well-lit bedroom just across from my own, my new neighbour appeared to have reached the point of no return and was hastily reaching for a couple of tissues.

Baxstreetboy? Could it be? Was it possible? Surely not.