Chapter 12

To reiterate, Carla absolutely hated the thought of clothes when she was around the house (and, as time went on, whenever she could get away without clothes away from home, she did so). Carla always called nudity "addicting." In the spring and summer of '85 or so, when Carla's young girlfriend Cheryl started hanging around our place, I noticed that Carla was also increasingly growing addicted to not only being nude, but showing herself off. Cheryl was the one who got the most blatant shows. After she grew used to seeing Carla in the buff, Carla would stay naked whenever Cheryl came over. Carla and Cheryl were in local theater and whenever they came back from rehearsals or, if they weren't doing a play at the moment but Cheryl came over to hang around, Carla would strip the moment she came home. Initially, I could tell that Cheryl was just the slightest bit uncomfortable with the situation, but she grew used to Carla's lifestyle.

Eventually, I asked Carla about her constant nudity around Cheryl. "You know, sweetie, being in the buff around me is one thing, but why do you flash so much for Cheryl?"

Carla tried to give me the brush off and called me crazy. She said she was hardly flashing, she was simply being herself: someone who preferred to be nude rather than clothed for comfort's sake. "Do you really think something else is going on here, Tony?"

Well, the truth was, yes, sort of. So I persisted and tried to get to the heart of the exhibitionism. "But I've seen you get turned on when you've made me show off a bit for Cheryl. Are you sure it's just comfort? And let me say right now, in order to put you at ease. that I don't care if you feel anything more than friendship for Cheryl. I can deal with that."

Carla smiled, gave me a hug and kissed me on the lips. "You're the biggest sweetheart," I remember her saying. "Here's the deal. Let me see if I can explain it. You guessed right when you said it may be more than being nude to be comfortable. That's a lot of what it is, but it's more. It's like the couple of times that we went driving and I left my clothes at home. Or the time I flashed the pizza guy. When I show off for Cheryl, it's not a gal-gal thrill that I feel, but rather a kind of constant low-level turn on the entire time she's here and I'm nude in her presence the whole time, Tony. Can you understand that?"

"In a way, yeah," I said nodding.

And here's where I 'fessed up, too. "Well, seeing you showing off for extended periods really gets me going too, hon. I get turned on watching you be naked and getting turned on by showing off.

Does that make sense?"

She nodded and gave me another kiss. "Now that we've got that out of the way, there's only one other problem."

"What?"

"I think you know what it is. I've been flashing for Cheryl a lot lately, but we haven't done anything really crazy. In other words, what are we gonna do to top it?"

I shrugged. "I'm not sure. When you flash for Cheryl, you flash for hours at a time, but you're in the confines of our apartment or our patio. You mean you're thinking of a way to top your constant exposure around Cheryl?"

Carla nodded again. "Exactly, how am I going to up the ante? I still feel a thrill over showing off and being totally naked at home, but I need more now. You know me, Tony. I ALWAYS need more after awhile."

"Well, I guess we'll have to get busy and think of something," I said.

And we did. The next step in our growing erotic exhibitionism play, it turned out, was to take more and more of what Carla called "flashing trips."

We lived about a half hour from Padre Island, so showing off at the beach most of the summer was an obvious solution. Some of the Island beach stretches are topless, so Carla wore next to nothing out there. Quite often Cheryl accompanied us on our late afternoon outings. While her bathing suit was a bit more conservative than Carla's micro g-string (dental floss looked rather thick compared to the bit of string that ran up and got lost between Carla's ass-cheeks), Cheryl still wore a bikini and it was nice to be in the company of two fine-looking ladies.

Carla usually stripped down to her g-string at the beach and didn't don a t-shirt until we were driving away from the park. Once we left the beach very late and the sinking south Texas sunset bathed Carla and Cheryl in splashes of orange and bronze. I remember Carla tossing her stuff into our car and then not bothering with her top. Cheryl raised an eyebrow when we got on the highway and Carla remained topless. But this was a night for me to be shocked as well.

It happened as I pulled into a coin-operated carwash on the way home. Carla proceeded to get out of the car clothed only in her g-string and helped Cheryl and I first vacuum, then hose down the car. Since she hadn't bothered with the t-shirt, I sensed she might try something like this, so I parked as far away from the other slots as possible. The place was pretty empty (it was a week-day), but there were still a couple of other cars that came and went while we were there.

Cheryl kept giggling at Carla's exposure and I was enjoying the show she was giving everyone who cared to look, but Carla acted nonplussed, as though it were perfectly natural for her to be walking around all but nude in the gathering gloom of night, the fluorescent lights of the place enhancing her exposure. Two teenage guys were washing one car near the other end of the car wash; both of them couldn't keep from staring blatantly at Carla when she stepped beyond the perimeters of the walls enclosing our car. In the end, I think they got more water on themselves than their car. The other customers turned out to be an older man and his equally older wife. The man made a half-hearted attempt to wash his car, but I could tell his wife was rushing him and in the end, I know that she refused to let him vacuum out his car.