Chapter 1

I guess this is what you would call a "Confession" of sorts. Not that I am a Roman Catholic or anything like that. I am a good Church of England girl and I was brought up real strict by my mum who constantly reminded me every school day to wear clean knickers in case I got hit by a truck on the way to school.

Knickers!

Whenever I start to think about knickers or even bras my mind just goes right into the gutter and all I can imagine is being forced to take them off by nasty men who want to get their greedy paws on my virginal goodies. Yes! I am a virgin even though I am almost twenty but that is not my confession of guilt at all. The fact I am a virgin is strictly technical and results from my fear of letting a male put his business in my baby-making factory and me winding up with a pram in the hallway before benefit of spousal joy.

My so-called "fetish" is one that is kind of unique and I don't know of anyone else who has an obsession of this nature. I am fairly tall for a female and I have the good fortune of having what is described in most circles as a "hot" body. My face is in dire need of a nose-job in my opinion because of my "Roman" nose structure but the remaining features are put together in a pleasing array of feminine appeal that seems to make most men take a second look. I always find that gratifying even if I know I will never see the viewer again or even receive a verbal compliment.

I have followed my mother's advice on the knickers and have even added my use of various alluring designs in knickers-ware to expand male interest. It was in a well-respected retail store where I first discovered my urge to gratify my fetish. In fact, I believe it all came about completely by accident. Of course, I could just be salving my conscience by accepting the randomness of it all.

The changing room was well-monitored by store staff but there was no control over other customers of the male gender catching a peek at some partially undressed females if the door happened to swing open. It seemed to happen quite often because they did not want any locks or latches on the doors due to pilfering problems and possible abuse of the privacy by a young couple interested in things other than trying on new clothing. I guess I had never really considered any of that when it happened to me and I was caught with my knickers down at my knees and my arms all twisted with difficult buttons. When I saw the little group of males peering intently at my bare snatch, I made a further mistake of turning away and exposing my naked bum to their ogling eyes. The combination of a bare bum and showing off my nicely trimmed vagina forced me into an orgasm of serious magnitude and I had to admit the juices running down the insides of my long, sexy legs were entirely of my guilty making.

Just thinking about was enough to make my pulse race and my heart to beat faster. I wanted to drop my hands and assist the process but it would be entirely out of place for an innocent young girl with nothing to be guilty about at least on the surface. Inside, I was imagining all sorts of erotic scenarios with males mounting me with their shameless cocks and determined behavior. I knew that I was terribly shy but my shyness was further exacerbated by a dreadful liking for taking orders from someone in authority and I reveled in being the brunt of humiliating treatment no matter how degrading.

After that first experience, I tried the similar scenario out in various locations and soon a pattern evolved of not quite innocent exposure, teasing reactions, and ultimate orgasm resulting in satisfactory squirting of my female juices. As my skills improved, I noticed that the orgasms actually got better and that my naughty sphincter would blink a Morse code of depravity that was easily seen when my cheeks were spread open for male viewing. I became aware of the fact that knowledgeable males could speculate on my sins of thought and I found that made me even more ready for release than ever before.

I looked it all up in the library at the University and discovered that I had a form of "Exhibitionistic Nymphomania". It certainly sounded long enough to be a serious obsession but I was entirely happy with the way it made me feel inside when I had a good session in front of complete strangers.

One young man who asked me on a date to go to a movie was all over me with his sticky fingers all sloppy from candy and popcorn. I put up with it because the movie was about a young woman unable to resist teasing male neighbors by undressing in front of a lamp with the shade not lowered. She got more and more obscene with her exhibitionism until finally she was raped by not only one but a pair of neighbors who told her she was bitch and needed to be "punished" for her sins. It was not a popular movie because very few females would even venture inside the theater but I found it to be fascinating and wondered if the director of thinking of me when he made the film.

That weekend, I looked out across the interior courtyard to the apartments on the other side and saw that there were at least a dozen or so units with residents who were total strangers to me as that side of the complex used an entirely different staircase to enter and exit. The only way you could get from one side of the building to the other was to go up to the roof and walk across to the other side and go down that staircase to visit a unit on that side. It was strange that there were about forty units on one side and forty units on the other side and the two groups seldom if ever talked to each other. In fact, I sort of recognized the other group mostly by their dogs if they had one because it was easier to keep tabs on and Irish setter or a German shepherd than to remember faces that all seemed blurry at a distance. It seemed like an ideal situation for me. My audience would be close, almost captive, and yet we would manage to stay isolated from each other just the way I loved it.