Chapter 2

My left knee was against the door, and my right leg was over the console. I was spread open so the sun could bake down on my freshly shaved pussy, sending a wave of warmth from my labia up into the core of my body. All morning, my body had been alive, tingling with anticipation of what I had planned.

Now I was wet, and my finger easily slipped between my lips. The size of my swollen clit spoke of the heightened state of my arousal. I pulled the fleshy hood back, exposing the nerve-laden bud to the hot rays. It would have only taken a few flicks to get myself off, but that wasn’t the plan.

Last night, when the weatherman said tomorrow would be a beautiful day, the warmest of the year so far, I thought about what I would do. Since then, an anticipatory pleasure had been building.

Now that I was actually driving through my hometown with my bald pussy exposed, I needed more. That was my problem; I always needed more. That’s why I slowed my Mustang down. There were cars in my rearview and a red light ahead. If one of those cars pulled up in the left lane beside me, I would touch myself and look at them, imagining they knew my cunt was right there for the world to see. What’s wrong with me?

As a little girl, my mother used to tell me, “Sally, sit like a lady.” When I got a little older, she said, “My, God, Sally, close your legs. Nobody wants to see your underwear!” By that time, I already knew she was wrong.

Plenty of boys wanted to see them and what was under them, too. I remember the hot flush of excitement I got, coupled with fear, when I showed Tommy what I had so I could see what he had. I set the bar high at a young age, and I’ve been raising it ever since. A little too high, some said.

I didn’t want to get caught, but I loved knowing I could. When you’re in the front row of the classroom, not sitting like a lady, and any second, the teacher might see your panties wet from the brazen exhibition, your senses are on high alert.

Every sound or the slightest flicker of motion sends a dose of dopamine racing through your body. Your short hairs stand, and your nervous system tingles. That’s the way it is for this girl, anyway. So far, I haven’t found a friend who understands me. The only person who sort of gets me is my sister.

My father married her mother when I was four, but I don’t consider Ann Margaret my stepsister because she was six and I was four when she moved in. I’ve idolized her ever since. Anna, as I still call her, is smoking hot but never let it go to her head. She has cautioned me about my behavior but never judged me for it. Like I said, she gets me.

Out on the edge of town, I pulled the car into the middle stall at a self-wash carwash, facing the road. There are woods behind me. It’s the perfect place to be naughty and has been for a couple of years. I love to wash my car in a white T-shirt, no bra, heels and a short skirt. No panties, of course.