I was having a problem when visiting my girl friend Clarice in her apartment.  Not with her; she’s great.  It’s with her roommate, a young woman named Margaret.  I was a regular visitor to their apartment in the evenings.  And while I had to be discreet, I couldn’t keep my eyes off Margaret -- tall with full breasts and curves that beckoned to me.  A blonde-haired beauty. 

Best of all, she was a free spirit.  After work, she’d normally change into comfortable attire, which to her was a t-shirt that came to her thighs, with panties underneath.  Those panties were concealed by just a few inches of thin fabric.  No bra.  She liked to sit cross legged on the floor, her back against a recliner, when we all watched TV.  I’d be on the couch with Clarice, eyes seemingly focused on the TV, but Margaret was easily visible with a quick glance to the side. Occasionally, Margaret changed position or got up and there would be a flash of color, as her panties were momentarily revealed.  In truth, I couldn’t ‘see’ much.  My view of those panties was only for a fraction of a second, a glimpse.   

But the temptation of that small silky garment barely covering the lips of her vagina, and clinging to a firm, rounded backside, drove me crazy.  In addition, if she stretched back, the fabric of the t-shirt draped over and outlined her breasts.  Her nipples would elevate the cloth, taunting me.  I was obsessed with what she must look like naked.  My girlfriend did not know of this fixation, and if she did, she would have shown me the door.  (Our sex was okay but plain vanilla.  No third parties need apply.) 

Problem:  How to see Margaret with her clothes off?

Solution:  I had no idea, but I was committed to the effort.

My first opportunity came when my girlfriend had to go out of town on a business trip.  I came over that evening, as I usually did.  When Margaret opened the door (wearing that familiar long t-shirt) and said that Clarice wasn’t home, I feigned to have forgotten about her travel plans.  But I didn’t turn on my heels.  I waited.  Just a few seconds, but sending a signal that I didn’t want to leave.  I asked Margaret if she was planning on watching the baseball game (full disclosure: I could hear it already on the TV in the background.) 

“Oh yeah,” she said.  “Do you want to come in and watch?”

I did.

I accepted her offer of a beer.  I quickly climbed into the recliner.  I sat with my legs apart so she could sit in her usual spot on the floor, her back against the base of the recliner – this time, between my spread legs. 

We watched the game together for a while – it was boring, as the home team was down 9-2 in the bottom of the 7th.  The game was basically over.

“The Orioles are dead meat tonight.  Do you want to play a card game?” I asked.

Sure,” she said.  We were a card playing group.  When Clarice’s boyfriend was around, the four of us would sometimes play canasta or poker.  But she was currently without a guy, having broken up from that relationship.  She said she needed a rest from men. 

“Let’s play poker,” I said, trying very hard to sound casual about it.

Margaret retrieved the cards and the box of chips.  We each gave ourselves $5 worth.  (We didn’t pay for the chips; it was just for fun.)  We played for a while, me happily winning most hands.  (I’m an experienced poker player.) 

“I need some more chips,” Margaret said.

“That’s going to cost you.  You’ll have to surrender those panties.  Your long t-shirt will maintain your modesty,” I replied.

She turned to look at me.  “Are you joking?” she asked.  “When did this become strip poker?”

“Well, it’s not technically.  But there should be some cost to losing at poker, don’t you think? 

She looked at me silently for a few seconds, then a smile crept onto her face.  “I’m not shy, and I’ll see you card for card.  But I didn’t know what we were playing.  We can play strip poker, but we need to start over.  And we need to have an equal number of garments.”

I got light headed with anticipation, and delighted with the ease with which this ploy was playing out.

“Sure, that’s only fair.  Counting each of your slippers as an item, you’ve got four garments on.  I have seven, counting shoes and socks.  I’ll start by removing both shoes and a sock, so we’re even.  My shirt, pants, underpants and one sock.  Your t-shirt, panties and two slippers.  If you lose a hand, you lose a garment.”

That wry smile on her face remained fixed on me.

“So, where is this going, Kevin?  With only four garments, one of us will be naked within minutes.  Then what?”

“Then you stay naked.  No covering up.  But no touching or sexual monkey business by the other person.   One person gets to look, that’s all.”

“So, you’re a voyeur, eh Kevin?  Does Clarice know?  She’s never mentioned anything about that to me.  And we girls talk, you know.” 

I swallowed hard. "Yes, I know what I am.  I don’t do creepy things like hiding in bushes, staring through windows.  But when an opportunity arises …"

“I like to look,” is all I said.

“Well, some women do too,” Margaret said.  “You’d got a nice body, and Clarice describes your boy-parts with admiration.  I wouldn’t mind examining the goods.  Let’s play.”

That’s how easily it was arranged. 

Clarice dealt the first hand.  I started with a pair of fives and three other miscellaneous cards.  I asked for three cards, which were no help.  Clarice ended with two pairs, kings and tens.  I kicked off that sock. 

The second hand started out better.  A pair of jacks and a king.  I took two cards, but didn’t improve the hand.  Margaret however only had a pair of sevens.  I won.  She kicked off a slipper. 

The third hand also went my way; I pulled a straight against her two aces.  Another slipper lost.

Margaret won the next hand and I removed my shirt.  She smiled at my well-shaped chest (years of gym visits behind that.) 

She won the next hand too.  While I’m a good poker player, the cards talk.  She was lucky… so far.  My pants went away and I was now just clad in my briefs.  The briefs were working hard to contain the merchandise within, as I was excited.

“You’re one hand from losing,” Margaret said with a little glee in her voice.

“You’re one hand from some serious exposure yourself,” I replied.

Both statements were true.  But if I lost the next hand, I’d be naked and I’d never witness that ‘serious exposure.’  If willing a result can influence it, it was certain I would win the next  hand. 

I started with a pair of sixes and a Jack.  I asked for three cards (discarding the Jack; not the standard play but I was visualizing a six, willing it into existence.)  I drew a Queen, a two, and a six!

My three sixes beat her two pairs.  It was time for her to lose either the panties or the t-shirt.  She rose to her knees and pulled off silky red panties, carefully making sure the t-shirt shielded her.  I was weak from the knowledge that she was now naked behind the t-shirt.  I just had to get that damned last piece off.

The next hand would be decisive.  One of us was going to be naked.  I started with two Jacks, a Queen and two minor cards.  This time I played it traditionally, saving the Queen.  I took two cards -- a nine and a Queen!  Two pairs!  Margaret showed an ace and took four cards.  Barring a miracle, I had her.

Do you believe in miracles?  I don’t.  But maybe I should; to my shock, she ended up with two aces and two fives.  I lost. 

She sat there with a smug look on her face, waiting for me.  Now, I’ve told you that she is a pretty woman.  And, normally, with a pretty smile.  But this smile was pure gloat, maybe even call it evil.

“OK, big guy.  This is the big reveal.  What you got?” she asked.

I rose and lowered my briefs.  The penis, already straining from the nearness of her (almost) naked body, found itself displayed in front of her.  It rose to an impressive height.  I stood there.

“Turn around,” Margaret said.

I turned to show off the backside. 

“Very nice, indeed.  Clarice is a lucky girl.  But I see you’ve got a big problem there.  How are you going to ever get that thing down?”

I stared at her.  There were two obvious ways.  What was she suggesting?

"What are you suggesting?" I asked, with the penis in question pointing directly at her.

“I want to watch you masturbate,” she said.

Now, I’ve never done that in front of a woman.  (If there is a woman in the room, there should be no need to masturbate).

“I’ll do it – on one condition.  I’ll need some more stimulation.  I need to see you naked.  Take off the t-shirt.”

Margaret smiled at me.  “I thought I won this game.  Why am I stripping?”

“I need to see you naked.  Your body is driving me crazy.  I proposed poker for the sole purpose of getting your clothes off.  Please, I need to look at you.  I’ll masturbate if you’ll let me look.”

“Well,” Margaret replied.  “I told you I wasn’t shy.  And how can I turn down such a heartfelt, plaintive plea?”

With that, she rose and pulled off the t-shirt.  Those lovely rounded breasts, the soft blonde pubic hair covering her pubis was all I imagined and more.  I went to touch her but she stopped me. 

“We agreed, Kevin.  You’re a voyeur, maybe I’m an exhibitionist.  But no touching.  I wouldn’t do that to Clarice.  I couldn’t remain her roommate if I betrayed her like that. 

I lay down and tugged at my penis.  A little saliva helped, and it didn’t take long before a stream of semen surged forth, splashing onto my abdomen.  I sat back down on the recliner, spent. 

The two of us stayed naked the rest of the evening.  I drank in all of her curves, her hidden parts.  I learned that she was a big fan of men’s penises, preferring circumcised ones like mine.  It was wonderful night of exploration. 

Clarice never learned what we did – nor that we passed a few more evening together naked after that when Clarice was away.  It’s great when you find a friend with similar interests.