When I was a little girl and not allowed to make decisions of my own, I was carefully clothed in both each nighttime in both white cotton undies and an ankle length bed-shirt that reminded me of my favorite storybook "Peter Pan". I knew that Peter didn't both with such trifles but I expected that I was supposed to be Wendy because after all I was a girl.
Of course, I would much rather be Peter because he had the most fun. My imagination ran rampant in speculation about the things he got up to with little Tinkerbell. I really don't know where I got those thoughts at that time of my youth because it certainly didn't seem appropriate for a young girl of tender years. Now, I was a full grown eighteen years and didn't have to wear such old-fashioned things because I was living in my own little apartment right on the university campus and nobody could tell me what I should wear to bed or eat for breakfast.
At first, I experimented with a set of "Hello Kitty" bed undies but I was forced to laugh at my reflection each time I looked in the mirror and that just didn't sit quite well.
Then, I tried the flannel pajamas that my older sister Kate had recommended with great enthusiasm. I found that they made me sweat under the cover and were a real bother when I had to go tinkle in a hurry.
I guess I should explain that my name is Evelyn Keyser and that my parents are both Presbyterian with firm and unshakable conviction. I had been a fairly well-behaved young lady and was still a pitied virgin despite various regrettable incidents involving some good-looking bin-men that introduced me to the art of oral pleasuring. I certainly didn't regard the dirty business down on my knees as being actual sex and I assure each and every one of you that I definitely did not swallow any of their blasted spunk.
I felt reasonably comfortable with the fact that flannel pajamas, Wendy-style bed-shirts, and "Hello Kitty" knickers were not suitable nightwear and came to a startling decision.
I would henceforward sleep totally in the nude or "Au natural" as the French would say.
The first time I looked in the full length mirror on the way to the bathroom, I paused and turned in all directions looking at how I looked sneaking around with absolutely no garments of any kind.
After about a month of sleeping in the buff, I was at ease with my nakedness and realized I was the only one who could see my nude form in all its glory.
At least, I thought I was the only one.
Unbeknownst to me, my shifty-eyed student neighbors from across the square had acquired a powerful pair of binoculars and were laughing nightly at my naked dancing body. This pair of hooligans from less than gentlemanly backgrounds were engaged in nasty comments on my feminine mystique and made no bones about whipping out their masculine equipment and placing their sticky tributes on the printout of my bent-over buttocks in front of my kitchen window. I found out about their escapades quite by accident when I happened to see a reflection from their veranda window that caused me to fetch my father's bird-watching binoculars from the hallway closet.
Fortunately, I was in the shadows so they did not see me watching them from the bedroom window. My first reaction was a terrible flaring anger that made me want to run over and punch them both right in the nose. But, a cooler head prevailed and I realized they were both muscular football sized animals of the worst sort and that they both had long shafts that could make me docile under their control if I was so foolhardy as to carry out my impulse.
I decided to play a game with them and pretended I had no idea they had their binoculars trained on my naked form. I even turned up the light in the living room to the next level to make certain they had a good view of my performance. Then, I started to do my yoga routine in slow motion making certain they had a nice shot at my nicely curved posterior and widely spread legs. I was certain they were both jerking at full speed and then closed the curtain to frustrate their game of peek-a-boo.
They were both at the bus stop the next morning and I greeted them with a happy "Good Morning" just like we were friendly neighbors with no secrets between us. The tall one looked a bit guilty but the small one was fiddling with his dick like he was unable to control his motions in my presence. That made me feel more in control and I was certain to sit right between them on the bus so they could both feel the strong muscles on my thighs and remember how I looked stark naked in their nocturnal stakeout.
I found out that the tall one was called Monty and the short one was called Harry. I had the sense that Monty wanted to confess his sins to me but was afraid to open his mouth and utter the words. On the other hand, I had no doubt that the short one Harry was not in the least bit guilty about his terrible manners in sneaking peeks at my body in its natural form and spurting dirty streams of his spunk on my stolen picture. I wanted to teach him a lesson but didn't know how to go about it.
The tall one Monty offered me a cup of latte the following morning and Harry looked at him like he had lost his mind in spending good money on a slag that ran around naked during the night.
It was sweet and hot and I held it in both hands imaging my lips and tongue were being offered to Monty to compensate for his thoughtfulness. I found that I was wondering which of them had the longest cock and it didn't seem proper for a good Presbyterian to be contemplating such depraved thoughts so early in the morning.