Those of you who live in the UK, or any of those places with real seasons, will know that one of the best things about the end of winter and the warm weather starting is the opportunity to shed the winter woollies and get out the summery stuff. If, like me, you’re a bit of an exhibitionist who likes to tease, there aren’t many opportunities to expose your bits when you’re wrapped up against the wind and the rain. In spring 2012 we had a few nice days in March, and I’d dug my spring frocks out of the back of the wardrobe. But then at the beginning of April the Government announced that we were in a period of drought and introduced a hosepipe ban. As if on cue, it started raining almost straight away, and didn’t really stop all through April and well into May.

But at last, we had a few days of sun, and it began to get warmer. It seemed as if we might be getting a real warm spell, and I got the dresses out again. Finally, it was nice enough to leave my panties off without getting frostbitten flaps.

One week I decided I had to go up to the West End to buy a few books that I could only get from a big bookshop. The next Saturday I dressed as lightly as I could, which basically meant no panties or bra, just a loose dress and little pumps on my feet. I got the train to Victoria, then the bus up to the big bookshop on Piccadilly. I got a few admiring looks, as people noticed my bra-less bosom under my dress. To be honest, my little tits don’t give much of a cleavage at the best of times, but at least they’re nice and perky and don’t droop.

Bending down in the bookshop to look at the lower shelves, I knew my tits would be openly visible to anyone else browsing nearby who happened to glance down. I discreetly tweaked my nipples through my dress to make them stand out. After a while doing this and getting aroused, I paid for the books I needed and walked across Piccadilly Circus and down Haymarket to Trafalgar Square. This was where I was hoping to have some serious fun.

I sat down on the big flight of steps that lead up from the square to the National Gallery and looked down over the mass of tourists milling around. If you want to get an idea of the set-up, google something like “UK National Gallery steps”. You probably won’t see me, but it’ll give you an idea of how people always sit on them to look out over the square; and the sunnier it is, the more of them there are.

The fountains were playing, and the little kids were dipping their hands in and splashing each other. Other kids were climbing onto the lions round the bottom of Nelson’s Column and having their photos taken. Just to the right of me at the bottom of the steps was the 2012 Olympic Clock, counting down the days, hours, minutes, and seconds until the start of the opening ceremony at 9:00 pm on Friday 27th July, and quite a few people were having their photographs taken standing next to that too. In fact, if I could have charged a pound for each photo taken in Trafalgar Square that day, I’d be a wealthy girl! But I wanted to give everyone a chance to see more than just the usual tourist attractions. I had some attractions of my own.

I knew that, wearing just a loose frock, anyone coming down the steps from above would get a good view of my breasts down the front – especially if I leant over a bit so it hung away from my nipples. And if I sat with my legs apart, anyone coming straight up the steps from below would get a great view up my skirt at my uncovered pussy. I always look out myself for accidental flashes (I’m such a perve!) and it’s surprising how many cute panties you can see. The prize of a bare pussy isn’t that common, but it’s all the more fun when you do see one. I’m still hoping that one day a Scots guy in a kilt will sit down and give me a flash of his equipment.

I sat down on the second set of steps from the top, making sure I was sitting on the edge of my dress – just enough to keep my bare bum off the steps, in case they weren’t that clean. I took out one of my new books and started to read it, trying to look like just another visitor having a rest. To start with I kept my legs together, but then slowly eased them apart so that anyone coming up the steps from below would get a view straight up between my thighs to my pussy. I was enjoying the feeling of having nothing covering me down there; even if no-one saw, it was still nice.

I sat for a while, just letting people move past me up and down the steps. I was determined not to catch anyone’s eye; I wasn’t trying to pick anyone up. It’s a problem, I admit; just because I’m enjoying exposing myself, it’s not like I’m saying “Look at me, I’m available to fuck,” although I can see why some people may assume it is.

After a bit, without moving my head I peeped up from my book. A couple of young guys were looking my way. They certainly seemed to be enjoying the view. Cheekily, I decided they’d had enough, and pressed my knees together. One nudged the other and they whispered, but I waited until they’d gone before opening my legs again.

Then I saw an attractive, dark-haired girl standing looking up at the National Gallery with her camera in her hand. I thought I’d spotted her walking up the steps past me a few minutes ago. That was interesting – if it was the same person, that meant she’d gone all the way down again. Okay, there were a few good reasons why she might have done that, but I hoped she’d done it for one particular reason.

And oh my God, she was hot. Her hair was cut short and spiky in a boyish kind of way, but it was the only boyish thing about her. She was wearing a denim jacket over a short t-shirt that showed a tempting circle of bare skin above a pair of amazing, ripped denim shorts. The neck of her t-shirt had been roughly cut down to show her cleavage; I could see the top of a red bra supporting a pair of large boobs. I might not dress that way myself, but that sort of grungy sexiness can be such a turn-on.

At least, she seemed to be looking at the Gallery, but I could see her eyes keep on dropping down to my level. I decided to give her a bit more of a treat. Casually, I shifted my bum as if to get more comfortable, and spread my legs a bit more, letting my frock ride further up my thighs as well as giving a clearer view of the area between my legs. I felt a draught of air waft round my labia. I wished I could use a finger to part my lips a bit and let her see a bit more pink flesh, but that might have been a bit obvious.

The pretty girl took her camera and pointed it up the steps at the Gallery. Oh well, never mind, she just wanted another tourist snap. But I still couldn’t keep my eyes off her, and to my delight I saw the camera tilt downwards, so it was pointing straight at me.

Oh yes, that’s better. I stared hard at my book, but I wasn’t taking any of it in - it was just black blobs on a white background. My whole mind was wondering whether she was still there; whether she was still taking pictures; whether she wanted more.

I couldn’t resist glancing up. She had the camera up to her face, but I was sure it was pointing straight up my dress. I breathed in deeply, then moved my legs a little bit more apart. They were rather wide now. I saw her twist the lens, zooming in on whatever she was photographing. This was exciting. I forgot for a moment that there were hundreds of other people around. I’m sure my pussy must have been getting wetter and wetter inside, and I really wanted to touch it, to part my lips and let the juices run out. I was so aroused that I forgot to breathe for a moment or two and found myself puffing to get oxygen back to my lungs.

Casually, the girl turned aside and pointed her camera over towards the church of St Martin-in-the-Fields and took a few pictures of it. She began to walk back up the steps towards me. For a moment, I felt nervous, and looked back at my book, but as a shadow passed over my legs I couldn’t resist looking up. My eyes met hers.

Without saying a word, she sat down next to me on the steps. My heart was thumping. She held her digital camera in her hands and leant towards me with it.

“Would you like to see?” she said.

I looked at the view-screen. The first picture was just a view of the colonnade at the front of the Gallery. I could just see the top of my head at the bottom of the picture.

“Press here to scroll through.” said the girl. I could feel the warmth of her body next to me. I was trembling a little.

The next picture showed the whole of the steps, with me in the middle, my legs apart and my skirt up my thighs. You could see straight up the front, to the little plump bulge of my pubic mound. I could just make out the pink curve of my labia. I felt myself blush with a sort of embarrassment. I suppose I hadn’t expected to be looking straight at the evidence like this.

I scrolled to the next picture. This one had been taken using the zoom, and you could see the labia quite clearly. I stared at it for a moment, fascinated. Then I felt a nudge and looked round. She was smiling at me.

“Keep going,” she said.

I saw why she was keen to move on. Wow. The next one was taken after I had moved my legs apart, and the sun was shining straight up my frock. I couldn’t help noticing how pale my inner thighs were. But my plump little pussy really stood out. I saw that my lips had parted more than I realised, and the pink entrance to my vagina was glistening and wet.

I scrolled once more. She’d used the zoom again, and you could almost have reached out and touched the pink curves of my labia. There was a little dark gap at the centre, leading the eye into my sex.

I looked at her again, and she raised an eyebrow. I realised that as I had been leaning over looking at the pictures, the front of my frock had fallen open so she could look straight down at the swell of my bare breasts, including my pinkish areole and darker nipples. Hard nipples.

There was one more picture. She’d pulled back on the zoom, and there was all of me, looking straight at the camera, with a little smile on my face and my legs wide apart. God, I was such a slut – but it was a classic up-skirt shot!

I think we were each waiting for the other to say something. It must only have been a couple of seconds but felt like minutes.

“These are great pictures,” I said. “Thanks for letting me see.”

“I’ve got some more that you might like,” she said. “They’re on my camera if you have a minute.”

“Yes please,” I said. There was another slight pause, and I went on.

“Why don’t we have a coffee, and you can show me properly?”

“That would be nice,” she answered; “Is this place ok?” – nodding at the little café next to the steps, right on the square.

“It’s okay, but the one in the Gallery’s better,” I said; “A bit more expensive, but quieter.”

“Sounds great,” she smiled. “Lead the way!”

We crossed the pavement and went into the Gallery through the Getty entrance, which takes you straight to the café and shop, and is obviously meant for people who want to have something to eat without all that tedious mucking about with paintings first.

I offered to get the coffees while she found a table. I took a chance and chose us each a piece of cake – I think I needed a sugar hit! I looked round with my tray and saw her waving at me from the far corner. She’d found a perfect table, slightly out of the way, and luckily there weren’t too many people around anyway. I sat down opposite her. She laughed when she saw the cakes.

“How did you guess?” she said. “I shouldn’t, but then, why not?”

And she took the creamier of the two pieces.

“So,” I said, taking a sip of hot coffee, “Where are these pictures?”

She’d found them on her camera while I was at the counter and passed it straight across.

“These are from all over,” she said. “But I have a special folder for them all.”

They were a mixture of candid shots, up-skirt and down-blouse, all obviously taken without the subjects knowing. Some of the girls were wearing panties, but a few were like me, showing it all. Most of these were shaved, so you could see the detail of their pussies. Most of the down-blouse ones were of bra-less breasts, usually showing a nipple or two. They were all very, very sexy.

“You’ve a great collection here.” I said, impressed. “It must have taken you ages.”

“I take a lot of pictures anyway,” she said, “and I’m always on the lookout for this sort of shot. I do sell some stuff commercially – but not these – these are just for me. Don’t worry; you’re not going to see yourself on some website – at least, not unless you want to!”

“But you know,” she said, “You’re almost the first person I’ve seen who I thought might have been doing it on purpose. The way you just sat there with your legs apart, you must have known what you were showing. But you didn’t seem to care. I noticed you didn’t have a bra when I walked past, and I was going to try and get a shot of your tits. But then when I realised you had no panties either; I was just, like wow, my kind of girl!”