Anyone that knows me would tell you that some of my biggest, personal kinks are never wearing panties, showing off my body like a slut, and masturbation. While there are reasons and context for all of those, the main reason I’m into those things is that it makes me feel sexy and confident. The thrill of talking with somebody, knowing that only the thinnest layer of cloth separates my nude body from their eyes, is such a turn-on. Seeing their eyes riveted to my ass, wondering if I’m wearing panties or not, instantly makes my pussy steaming wet. Strangers eyeing me up as I “accidentally” bounce my braless boobs too much or bend deeply at the waist is always a thrill. I get so turned on over being desired that I just have to touch myself.

As hot as all of that makes me, there’s another kink of mine that skyrockets my lust into orbit, increasing my self-induced arousal exponentially. If one adds the words, “in public,” to any of my kinks, Mount Vesuvius erupts between my thighs. There’s a very good, insanely-hot reason for this, and the event is indelibly etched into my very psyche.

I was seventeen at the time, but I vividly recall every detail. It was the night I encountered a woman that embodied all the scandalous, naughty things I secretly desired to be. She was so sexy, so brazen, invulnerably confident, and totally uninhibited. Meanwhile, I was struggling with accepting my sexual deviancy, and her actions opened my eyes and soul to the pleasures of being naughty in public.

Less than a year prior, I had accidentally discovered the joys of flashing my body to unsuspecting but appreciative strangers. The thrilling rush of taboo shame, arousal, and naughtiness drove me insane. The first time it happened, in the local library, I panicked and ran out to the parking lot, hiding in my father’s truck. I sat there, vowing to never let it happen again when I was overcome with desperate, horny arousal. I fingered myself hard and fast, cumming more intensely than I ever had.

Fifteen minutes later, I was seated at the local ice cream stand, intentionally flashing my soaked, red-haired pussy and getting off on the thrill. I fingered my aching clit and fucked my drenched hole the entire drive home, then ran upstairs into my bedroom and fingered myself all through the night. The entire time, I was promising myself that I’d never flash anyone again. It was wrong, socially unacceptable, and I could get into trouble. I broke that promise the very next day by “accidentally” wearing a shirt that was so loose my breasts were on display every time I bent forward and so thin that the curves of my less-than-ample boobs could be seen through the fabric.

For months, I went on like that, totally addicted to the thrill. My routine became a daily ritual. I’d cruise through my school day, my mind on flashing my teenage pussy, and run to the library as soon as school was out. Some days I’d find a receptive “victim,” and others, I’d practice. The key was to make it all seem unintentional. That way, I could claim innocence, plausible deniability, in case somebody got offended or complained. School ended, but I still went to the library almost every evening to flash.

Sporadically, I’d stop by a little restaurant on the outskirts of town. While the main tourist action is more in the middle, southern portion of the state, the eastern portion has some of the best scenery you’ll ever see. Gently rolling Appalachian foothills growing into mountains, wooded and scenic, dominate the countryside. Streams, creeks, and rivers roll throughout the area, with little, charming small towns dotting the landscape. Just off the beaten paths, sprinkled throughout the territory, are copious amounts of cabins the owners rent out.

If one wants opulence and all the touristy bells and whistles, they wouldn’t rent near my hometown. However, those that want the simpler, more rustic sort of experience or those on a budget scoop them up on the weekends and during hunting seasons. Little restaurants and country shops, filled with country charm, dot the fringes of the towns. These are quiet, little nooks that mostly cater to visitors, all but shunned by the “townies.” There was one, in particular, where I’d hang out.

The staff knew me on sight, always bringing me an endless glass of tea and a slice or two of pie, usually for free. Although I was quite tempted, I never flashed anyone in the restaurant. Usually, I’d flash in the library, sometimes the ice cream stand, and once or twice in the grocery store, then go to the restaurant and pretend to read while I replayed my naughty, taboo activities in my head. When I couldn’t stand it any longer, I’d speed home and finger my dripping cunt, fuck myself with my vibrator—a gift from my mother the day after she caught me masturbating—until the sun rose.

On that particular Friday night, the restaurant was nearly empty. The staff was having a good time talking and joking with each other; I was nestled in a booth with my legs stretched out, feet on the seat, pretending to read The Hobbit for the fortieth time, and eating raspberry pie with a tall glass of blueberry tea. There was an elderly couple in the far corner, three older men, at least in their thirties, near the entrance, talking about fishing, and me near the back. There were a couple of tables directly in front of me, all empty.

I was wearing a denim miniskirt, the hem all raggedy strings, and a Bon Jovi t-shirt. Don’t judge me; I like Hair Metal. I was practicing how far I needed to spread my legs before anyone could see up my skirt while tweaking my nipples to keep myself in a state of burning, volcanic lust until I got home.

I’d successfully enthralled a gray-haired man in the library. He was perfect. When he caught the first glimpse of my fiery pubes, he dropped the book he was carrying and spent the better part of three minutes picking it up, his eyes riveted on my pussy. After that, he’d go out of his way to look at my cunt; I went out of my way to show it to him.

When the tingling, burning need for an orgasm became unbearable, I left. What really got me worked up was the fact that as I left, he didn’t pretend to ignore me. As I strutted in front of him, with as much sexy confidence as my seventeen-year-old, slutty ass could muster, he looked directly at me, his eyes roaming up and down, finally meeting mine, with a huge, knowing smile on his face. I smiled back and then ran, full speed, out the door. Give me a break, I was still young. I needed to process this new development; he knew that I was doing it on purpose, and his appreciation made it all the hotter.

I was thinking things over, imagining him looking up my skirt when they came into the restaurant. He was cute and handsome, in his early- to middle-twenties, with short, brown hair, a confident swagger, and nice muscles. He reminded me of an athlete. The woman oozed sex appeal; that’s the only way I can describe her.

She was dressed in a paisley sundress with ruffled, very short sleeves. Buxom and curvy, showing lots of leg and cleavage, she had this aura of brazen sexuality about her. Aside from her long hair bleached to a vibrant yellow-blond and somewhat stark makeup, and, even those bits were tastefully done, she didn’t have a slutty vibe to her. However, there was something about her that instantly made you believe that she was horny as fuck and would gladly do things with and to you that you’ve never dreamed of, before. She radiated lust.

They also disturbed my solace by being seated at the table directly in front of me. Technically, it was to the side of me, but I was reclining along the bench seat, so I was facing their table. He sat with his back to me, the woman sat mostly facing me, at a slight angle. They weren’t locals, obviously having rented a cabin for the weekend. From their conversation about how “charming” the town was, and the features of the cabin, I figured out that they were at the Clark family’s cabin a couple of miles east.

I pretended to read, both replaying my sexual endeavors in my head and eavesdropping on them. I grew instantly curious. She was obviously in control of the relationship; they were spending a weekend together at the cabin, and she was very horny as well as intoxicated. The things she said made me stop and stare for a moment, my head snapping back down, immediately, while I listened intently.

“So,” she was telling her boyfriend in a husky voice, “we’re all alone, nobody here knows us. What wild, kinky things do you want to do?”

Her beau was having difficulty following along. “Um, ah,” he stuttered. “What do you mean by wild and kinky?”

She laughed as I glanced up. The feline look on her impassioned face was so sexy that my entire body responded instantly. My pussy, already soaked and dripping, caught fire; my nipples swelled up high and firm, and tingles danced all over my flesh. Furthermore, she saw me and smiled, licking her lips before she turned back to her boy toy.

I listened, my head buried in my book, although I’d been on page twenty-three for hours, as she outlined all the things they could do.

“We can go for a drive in the mountains while I suck your cock,” she began. Peeking over the top of my paperback, I saw her foot leave her sandal and slide up between his legs. “Then you can cum all over my face, and we can drive around like that until somebody notices.”

I forgot all about my previous, very tame by comparison, flashing and couldn’t help but stare at her in amazed, sexual awe. Mesmerized, I placed one of my feet on the floor, totally forgetting that my bare pussy was directly in her line of sight.

She continued. “Then we could fuck each other silly in the woods. Would you like that?”

Granted, my parents talked like that in front of me, but it never affected me. To me, it was just them being themselves while they took sadistic delight in shocking their daughter. With this sexy stranger, though, it was fucking hot, erotic, and so sexy that my heart was thumping in my chest.

“Too bad I didn’t know we’d be stopping here,” she continued. She was talking to her man but staring directly at me. “If I’d known, I wouldn’t have worn any panties.”

Coming to life, her boyfriend coughed in his down-home moonshine and juice. “Really?”

“Yes,” she told him, a devilish smile playing across her lips. “I’d spread my legs like this.”

She removed her foot from his crotch and spread her knees. I saw her black panties, my eyes focused on her magic spot.

“I’d keep my legs open the whole time, so anyone could see my hot, wet cunt on display.”

I suddenly remembered my state of dress and that my legs were spread. Embarrassed, I snapped my knees together, a gasp escaping my mouth.

She smiled and continued. “Anyone could see,” her eyes darted to my now-hidden pussy. “I’d get off on them seeing; it would make me so horny.”

“You like to show off, do you?” her boyfriend asked with a naughty tone.

“Yes,” she answered, half-moaning. “The thought of showing off makes me so horny. I’d love flashing my beaver; I’d love to be flashed, too.” As she said that, her eyes were riveted to my crotch. “You know, open your legs and let me see?”

Turning beet red, I just stared at her. She nodded, locking eyes with me, nodding subtly. After some panic, I opened my legs slightly. Her positive reaction sent shivering flames down my spine. She thrust her breasts out, nipples hard and erect, and her hand dropped to her lap.

“Yes, just like that. It’d make me so horny, to flash or be flashed, that I wouldn’t be able to help myself. My fingers would have to touch my pussy, feel how wet it is, finger myself to orgasm right here at the table.”

Dismayed at her boldness, it was my turn to smile when her hand moved between her legs, emulating her words over her black panties. I spread my legs further, no longer pretending to read. My mouth dropped open, and I was afraid to breathe, lest it ruin the moment. I watched as she played with herself right at the table, her gaze upon me.

“Tell you what, dear.” she glanced towards him, keeping an eye on me. “I’m going to go to the ladies' room and throw these panties in the trash can. Then let’s go for a drive.”

“Uh, you’re not hungry?” Not only was that night a milestone, formative moment in my sexuality, but it also alerted me to the fact that most men are clueless.

“We’ll eat later. I’ll be back in a minute.”

She got up, still staring at me, then turned around and headed to the ladies' room. At least a thousand things ran through my mind. Most of my thoughts were to run away. Part of me was frozen in place, unable to leave or run and hide; another part of me was desperately trying to force me to get up and meet her in the ladies' room. That idea won out.

Very slowly, ready to turn tail and run if anyone so much as glanced in my direction, I got up, straightened my skirt, and walked to the far end of the restaurant before circling back to head into the bathroom. I’d been in there plenty of times, before. It was clean, the hinges didn’t creak, and there was a long counter with dual sinks, two toilet stalls, and the typical public restroom sorts of things. I looked around but didn’t see her. Then I heard her ragged breath.

She was in the far stall, making grunting and moaning sounds. I listened, mesmerized, as her breathing quickened, her little grunts growing more urgent. I could hear a very soft slap-slap-slap sound emanating from her stall. I’d been masturbating at least a dozen times, daily, for many years, so I recognized the sounds of fingering yourself and nearing orgasm.

Without a clue of what to do, I entered the vacant toilet stall and pressed my ear against the cold, metal wall. My spying was rewarded with me hearing the faintest of lusty moans a few groans as her convulsions attacked her body then subsided, and a relieved sigh of pleasure as she came down. I guiltily closed the door to my stall when I heard her flush the toilet.

I waited, too scared to breathe, hoping that she wouldn’t see me. The woman lingered for maybe a minute or two, which is an eternity when you’re nervous and seventeen then left. As soon as I heard the door click, I opened the stall door just a tiny crack and peeked out. She was gone. However, a pair of black panties lay on the counter beside the sink. I grabbed them, stuffing them into my skirt’s pocket, and slowly went back to my table. They had left by then, having not even bothered to dine.

Timidly, I took the long route back to my booth; my paperback and tea were undisturbed. Nervous, ashamed, and scared, I just sat there, immobile, musing over what had just occurred. The more I thought about it, the hornier I became. She was lusting over me, wanting to see. She got so turned on that she masturbated in the restroom. Glancing around, I saw that nobody was near. It was close to closing time, and the staff was behind the counter, talking loudly and laughing.

Slowly spreading my legs, one hand reached into my skirt’s pocket, feeling and fingering her damp panties, the other hand feeling and fingering my pussy. Tentative at first, but growing in intensity and urgency, I grew more and more heated, my clit throbbing under my dancing fingers.

Grasping them tightly, I pulled the panties out and admired them. They were sexy, black lace and shimmering fabric, and they smelled of her aroma. I ran my free fingers over the waistband, leering at them as volcanoes erupted in my cunt. The crotch was darkened with her dew, and I traced designs in her wetness as I furiously fingered myself. Finally, nearing an explosive orgasm, I stopped fingering my dripping hole just long enough to press her lingerie against my soaked, burning pussy lips, and then continue my self-abuse.

Not caring who might see or hear, as soon as I felt that satiny material against my drenched slit, an orgasm more powerful than any I’d experienced coursed through my entire body. I tried to remain immobile and quiet but probably failed, miserably. I imagine that if anyone had noticed me, they’d have feared that I was having a seizure.

As soon as I came down from orgasmic bliss, I dried up the wet spot my gushing pussy had left on the bench seat, stuffed the panties back in my pocket, and ran out to the truck, nearing guilt-ridden panic. Eventually, I calmed down to the point where I could smile, even laugh about it. Then, the thoughts of how fucking hot it was hit me like a freight train. Not only did I acknowledge a strange man appreciating my library flashing, but I’d turned a sexy woman on so much that she touched herself over me. Granted, she was, obviously, already horny and wanting to get wild, but so what?

As soon as I got home, I ran upstairs into my room and fingered myself to oblivion, using her panties all over my body. I drifted off into a sated sleep and dreamed of her, the things I should have done. I awoke to the sight of her panties on my pillow, beside my face, which compelled me to start my day with another furious bout of masturbation. My inner voices scolded me; I could never do that again. It was far too risky; I could get into serious trouble; somebody might not be satisfied with just looking and watching, taking unwanted liberties with me. The promise I made was to never, under any circumstance, masturbate in public ever again. That promise was kept for a very long time, at least eight hours.