In my world boys are sexual, girls are not.

That was always what was impressed on me from a very early age. Being the only girl in a house with four brothers reinforced that ideal.

It also reinforced resentment. Oh, I wasn’t treated unfairly or unkindly, just differently. They seemed to have all the fun while I had to behave. They did household chores, like me, but their chores were chopping wood, bringing in coal, lighting the fires, clearing snow, and working in the large garden. Good manly stuff. I did dishes, polished, sewed on buttons, and made beds. All good training for being a good wife.

They were allowed to pee outside, having competitions to see who could aim highest up the garden wall. Competitions to see who had the biggest penis, I wasn’t meant to know about that.

Conversations about whose knickers they had managed to get a glimpse of that day. They went to football and rugby after school. I went to piano lessons and elocution! Yep, you heard that right!

Fucking elocution! I’m from Glasgow, ok the posh part, the land of shipyards, the Old Firm, Billy Connolly. Elocution is not highly rated for obvious reasons.

Life dragged on. I was sent to a private girls' school to complete my schooling. It was a senior school, and girls were sent there from ages 16 to 19. It had a dreary dark green uniform. Sports were important. The hockey pitch, for some strange reason, was part of the local park. For another strange reason, our PE kit consisted of a T-shirt and dark green gym knickers, not shorts or a skirt. Not so strangely, as we approached the pitch, the surrounding benches were always full of men, reading their newspapers. My more worldly 17-year-old friend, told me exactly why they were there, and it had nothing to do with the Herald or Daily Record. I was shocked, but secretly thrilled. One or two of the older girls used to deliberately pull their knickers up high, a wedgie, to show most of their bottoms. Oh, how I would love to do the same. Actually, that’s not strictly true. I wanted to “accidentally” have them fall and let them see my bottom. At this point it was my bottom, I wasn’t aware of the sexual pull of my “front bottom.”

That was how it started. I was visiting an aunt with my mother. We went after school. She also had attended the same establishment after her 16th birthday. I was in the front lounge doing my piano practice, scales, arpeggios, and broken chords. Mind-numbingly dull. They were having tea in the back room. I strolled over to the bay window, the flat was on the first floor of a red sandstone tenement. Buses trundled by.

One stopped at traffic lights and a lady sitting on the upper deck waved and smiled at me. The bus moved on. Without thinking, I lifted my school skirt, turned round, facing away from the window, and pulled the hated green knickers down. I bent over and flashed my bare bottom. I say flash, but it wasn’t. I stood like that for several minutes. I never looked round. How many people saw me? I have no idea. All I know is, it was the most thrilling experience I had ever had.

Every time we visited I did the same thing, eventually I took the green knickers off completely. It wasn’t enough though. I joined the bold girls at hockey and pulled my knickers right up as tight as possible to give those men a good look. I used to frequently move to the edge of the pitch, where the benches were, and bend over, to “tie” my boot laces. Strangely our PE teacher never commented about our misuse of our knickers. I found out later she was a lesbian. I have to stress though, she was never inappropriate. She never came into our changing rooms or communal showers. The showers were where I got my education. Bodies here were those of young women, developed, breasts ripe and pubic hair fully grown, rarely shaved.. “Front bottoms” were called pussies, was it the fur-like appearance of the pubic hair? I also learned of a pussy’s sexual power. I am a redhead and my red bush was the envy of the other girls. I also have large breasts, another bonus.

My visits to my aunt’s house changed. Now I would stand facing the window, lift my skirt and pull my knickers partly down. My “front bottom” was now on show. Why had I wasted so much time? This way I could see people on the buses looking at me and their reactions. I felt so powerful. I also became aware of curtains twitching at the opposite windows. Unseen eyes looking, thrilled me beyond measure.

I knew this insatiable need, or obsession, to let strangers see the forbidden parts of my body was growing. A weekly trip to my aunts, and pulled up knickers at PE wasn’t enough. Because at 16 I was considered an adult, I travelled to school alone on public transport. Bench seats faced each other. One afternoon my skirt had ridden up, and I was aware of a man looking. Very slowly, I edged it up higher and shifted slightly so he could see the green knickers. I tingled at the look on his face but still it wasn't enough.

The next day the knickers were in my school bag. I sat in the same seat. Same man. This time I sat with my legs open. He could see everything. The expression on his face was priceless. The thrill was overpowering. I reached into my school bag. I got off at the next stop, discreetly dropping my green knickers into his lap as I left.

My life as an exhibitionist, the need and overwhelming urge to show myself did not diminish. Somehow, I never got caught. No one ever knew my secret obsession. A year later, I left school and went to University. I made new friends. On nights out I would wear really short skirts with no underwear, always low-cut or transparent tops, with no bra. I had also learned that breasts, especially the large variety, featured very highly in the male fantasy. As most of the mixed group were fun and bold, nobody realised just how deep the urge to have my body revealed went. They just loved my boldness and fun. They did not know that sometimes, I went alone to some of the seedier parts of the city, and let strangers lift my skirt, take my pants down, open my blouse. They didn't get a fuck, just a good look. For me it wasn't about sex, it was about men, sometimes women, looking at my almost naked body. It had to be public, the more who saw me, the greater the thrill.

One of my student friends went to the Glasgow School of Art. She told us they were looking for still life models for evening classes. You were paid to do this. A few murmurs amongst us, then I said that I would do it. No one was particularly surprised.

I enlisted and was told the first class was called “Temptation.” My top half would be discreetly covered, and I would need to pose with pretty lingerie partly pulled down. It would mean my pussy being seen. Could I manage that? I pretended to blush and stammer that I thought that would be acceptable. I was reminded that the group was large, men would be there, and that they were amateur enthusiasts. Even better I thought.

The day came. I entered the room. Many sets of eyes turned towards me. To me they looked like they were licking their lips in anticipation, their faces looked aroused and excited. I felt the same but managed the coy look.

I disrobed, leaving a filmy top on, then slowly eased the pants down. The room was silent. I could smell lust. Then as instructed I arranged my facial features into a knowing smile, keeping one hand on the pants. The red bush was on display for all to ogle and of course paint. My whole body tingled and throbbed. It was a pity my breasts were hidden, as I knew my nipples were hard and erect.

After a couple of sessions, I was asked if I was willing to portray the final element of temptation and pose nude. Again, I shyly said that it was art and I think I would be brave enough.

The night came, same setting but with a chaise longue. It was draped with my ivory, satin robe and lingerie. I lay there completely naked, an invitation on my face. My legs were slightly open, just a hint, my breasts full and round. I was thrilled when I saw my very pronounced areola and very erect nipples. Temptation indeed for the artists. Ecstasy for the model. This was the culmination of my desire to be an exhibitionist, but in a “respectable” way. My slutty, secret, obsession was safe.

Now that I had been seen naked publicly by many strangers, the urge had been met. But was it?

I continued my life as a still life model. I was well paid, I still enjoyed it, but the need to feel the thrill was as strong as ever.

I had to stop my lone visits to the less salubrious parts of the city. It was reckless and dangerous, and one night, I let it go too far. It was a football supporters club, all men. I'd had a few drinks, and the urge had been uncontrollable. I'd been before, felt relatively safe.

This time I let myself be stripped completely. My breasts ached to not just be looked at, but to be grabbed, my pussy which was now bush-free was soaking. I lay on the bar top. They knew I was horny and wet. It started with one guy kissing me, and fondling my tits and nipples, then his hand moved down and none too gently forced my legs apart. His fingers found their way inside. All my senses were heightened. I felt the hard texture of his skin, the smell of alcohol and cigarettes and heard the cheers that went up. Oh, it was amazing. Then another pair of hands took over. Dazedly I opened my eyes. I was lifted to the seating area. I counted ten guys and the barmaid. All were desperate for a turn. They let her go next. She was quite rough, groping my breasts and pushing inside me. My one and only female sexual experience. I enjoyed it. I was dripping wet, loving the attention and then the inevitable. The jeans were down, penises out. Time for action. I took them all. When they took me from behind, they would spank me first. That was new. I feared this might become a new obsession.

The next day I couldn't believe I had sex in public, watched while I had done it. It was my first gang bang. Although I have always thought of that as forbidden, something that was a set-up, non-consensual. This hadn't been. I'd loved it. So turned on at what I felt was my power, my ability to use my body in a way I wanted to. My exhibitionism had never been about sex before, just an unquenchable thirst to display my body to strangers. This sexual fulfilment and complete abandonment, the foray into spanking, was something much darker and felt very dangerous. I had been fortunate. It was all consensual. They made sure I got home safely. Next time I might not be so lucky.

I would not go down that path. I shut down all thoughts of what I thought of as dangerous, perhaps demeaning, sexual cravings, I did it reluctantly. I let my head win.

The world can be a dangerous place. Especially for a woman like me with uncontrollable urges, obsessions, to take risks, and seek thrills. As time has passed, I have learned a little about how to handle my life. It has remained my secret.

I channel this part of me into writing. Some frothy filth, some true tales, some thought-provoking chapters. I have never gone into the darker realms where I once was tempted to go in real life. Was it a mistake not to open that door? One day I may be bold and venture in.

For now, I will let my words suffice.

Oh, and the occasional naked picture to illustrate my work is a bonus!