THE MYSTERIOUS CASE OF MY PARENTS' POLAROIDS

I can't believe I'm writing this. When I was a teenager, I found my parents' hidden stash of porn. Actually, it happened very easily. One day, I was home alone for a few hours after school, and I was bored and snooping around the house. You see, both my parent's worked, and I took the bus home, let myself in. I'd get the mail. Once a month was a magazine in a black plastic cover. Being a teenager, I knew two things: first, that it was "adult" related and not to be looked at by me; and secondly, that I couldn't risk letting them know that I knew. Stealing it would raise suspicion, as would a torn package. Kids are smart that way. It was clear that as long as my dad thought his delivery was safely anonymous in the stack of mail, he'd continue his subscription. And long as he did that, it gave me ample time to find the next logical thing: his hiding spot.

Under beds has got to be in the top three most common (and most obvious) hiding places. Under their bed, I found a stack of Penthouse and a tube of KY jelly. I noted if the magazines were facing cover up or down, and which order, allowing me to look at them one by one, and return exactly as I'd found them. It seemed to work, because after school, I always found them in their spot. Page after page, the world opened up to me. Beautiful Penthouse models, and rediculous, but arousing stories from "readers."

I also realized that the issues under the bed were always the last three or four months. That meant one of two things: either he threw away the magazines after he was done with them, or he had an even more secret stash of back issues. Of course, I hoped that he threw them away. That might seem counter-intuitive, but you see, if he thought he was ditching them for good, he'd never look for them again. All I'd have to do was fish them out of the trash (and taking out the trash was already one of my chores). I knew, however, that his Scottish temperament wouldn't allow him to discard anything of any real or imagined value. He was far too much of a miser to part with older magazines. So that left the only conclusion possible: another hiding place.

Now as a kid, I'd read my share of Sherlock Holmes and Edgar Allen Poe (and watching Scooby Doo); I was fully prepared to start looking behind picture frames from hidden safes, looking for hollowed books on dusty shelves, or pushing in parts of the woodwork to reveal secret passageways.

Sadly, all I had to do was turn to the second most obvious hiding place in a house: the bedroom closet. It took me absolutely no time at all to discover that behind the neatly folded sweaters was at least three of four years of Penthouse magazines. This was as thrilling to a teenage boy as King Tut's tomb was to Howard Carter in 1922. It posed a unique danger, though, the complexity of maintaining the piles exactly as they were, and the sweaters, folded, returned as they were.

After school, I'd go straight to the closet, gently pull out the sweater stack, note exactly how they looked. Then reach back and carefully with draw a stack of magazines. After I'd read through the first stack, I'd have to move more and more to get to the older ones. It was like digging deeper into a mine, following the vein. The deeper you get, the risker it gets.

But that's when I discovered the book. It had a red cover and-to my surprise and delight--the title read: "The Curse of the Caine Under Captian Queeg. I cannot tell you how my heart was racing. Having grown up on tales of pirates and buried treasure, this was surely a find. I knew the name Queeg--the captain of the Caine, who's crew mutinied becuase he could not give the decisive order in the face of a hurricane. All of my nerves were on alert for any sound in the driveway. When you're looking at something you know you shouldn't be looking at, it feels like someone is watching you. Carefully, I inspected the book. And literally (I'm not making this up) I checked to see if the cover had been rigged with a strand of hair to indicate a breech.

The inside cover was creme with a sea chart of islands, but I only noticed that afterwards. At the instant I opened the book, dozens of polaroid pictures spilled out. I panicked, because it'd never be able to put them back in the exact order they'd been stored.

I finally began to breathe again. Of course, taken by my parents, they were of my parents. Part of me felt the natural and universal revulsion of being confronted with one's parents' sexuality. And then part of me was a teenager, full of curiosity. Curiosity, when one is a teen, always wins over revulsion.

In the images, I saw graphic details of sex completely unlike the pretty, soft-focus Penthouse centerfolds. These were in sharp detail, with absolutely no layer of art or modesty. There was my dad's cock, long from fucking. My mom cupping her big boobs. My dad's cock penetrating her. Her on her back on the bed, spreading for the camera. Her on her knees, her butt in the air. I soon saw what the KY was used for. I had not only seen my first visual of intercourse, I saw my first images of anal sex. I was shocked, and disgusted, and yet could not stop looking. They were so bold, so real.

You have to try and imagine the world before the internet. Before even DVDs and cable TV. In those days, Porn came to the average American home in one of to forms: Playboy or Penthouse. My friends and I had stolen copies and seen what those glossy pages had to offer. Some of my friends claimed they'd spied on their sisters changing or maybe on a neighbor girl--but you could never fully believe them. But here, in my hands, was the most hard-core porn possible.

I'm sure any Freudian would have his theories about the psychological damage it caused me. But in some ways, it was the best sex ed my parents could have given me. After seeing the images, I had few questions left. It wasn't two actors performing the cliches of porn, but an actual, middle age, middle class, married couple doing what they do in the bedroom.

Naturally, I put the images back exactly as they'd been, replaced the magazines, and gently pushed the sweaters back in place.

SLOW SUNDAY

Slow Sunday morning. Wake up, set the kettle on the stove to boil for French press coffee. Still nude from bed, still sleepy, stretch out like napping cat in window.

WOOD FLOOR

UNDER WHERE?

Semi-transparent underwear is so sexy. Just a hint at the lovely bush of this sexy gal.

THE SECRET SWIMMING HOLE

There is a place in the national forest only a few folks know about. It's the kind of place so special that those who do know about it, guard its secret, and only pass it down to those who they are certain can keep their secret. A friend of mine, Teresa, once showed me.

Even if I wanted to tell you how to get there, I couldn't. The directions are more from memory than actual place names; there are no addresses in a forest. You first get out of town on the Interstate, but soon turn off it at the river, tun up the river--then it gets complicated. The main road continues to climb up the mountains while the river cuts deeper and deeper, and slips away, out of sight. There's a turn at the old store. and then another turn, and then a turn onto a gravel road that maybe has a number on a map, but certainly has no posted sign. Then you park at the wide spot of gravel. Once, when we parked, there was another vehicle, but the other times, we've had it all to ourselves.

Once you park, there's a small, unmarked trail. It drops quickly down the slope, switch backing about a mile deeper into the forest. As soon as we had begun to hike, we were both sweating. It was a hot summer day, even in the mountains. Teresa stripped off her shirt, hung it over her backpack, and continued. the move was bold, and surprising, and beautiful. I knew I was in store for something very special.


I know return each summer, at least once, to the secret spot. This past year, I shared it with my girlfriend. I knew of course she's comfortable being naked around me, but would she be comfortable stripping nude, as Teresa had on my first visit? I my mind, I was worried that maybe somehow the place would not be as magical, as remote and special if she didn't have the same sort of awe, and child-like innocence of this special place.

After the first mile, the trail flattens out and winds through a patch of old growth. Then it breaks out onto a gravel and sand beach. When we got there, we stripped down. We were both soaked with sweat and ready for the cool mountain water. The water of lakes and big rivers is always opaque, but mountain water is crystal clear. Sometimes you can see deep as 15 feet to the rocks below.

There's a spot on the upper side of the swimming hole where you can dive off, about a 10 foot drop. I pointed it out to my girlfriend, and she was eager to try. Once you dive in, you can swim in the deep, clear pool. The current gently tugs you down, back toward the beach. There's a rock you can climb out of the river and sit on and soak up the sun to get warm and dry, and then hot, and then ready to dive back in. Wet and dry, wet and dry, the cycle of summer days by a river.


Hair tangled, feet sore from walking barefoot on river rocks, not yet summer tough. Shoulders getting sunburned, and eyes flashing with the water's reflection. It is a perfect way to spend a day.

PHOTOGRAPHY CLASS ASSIGNMENT

She was a photography student and needed to come up with new ideas. She'd already shot on campus and around her apartment. She needed to have a new assignment by Thursday, and she was starting to stress, until she decided that the one thing she hadn't shot, and ironically had the most access to, was herself. She loaded her camera with black and white film, and knew that she wanted to use the natural light of the window.

She hadn't expected how fun the process would be, and how she surprised even herself as each pose got more inventive and bolder. She found herself in suggestive poses that expressed her natural sexuality.

She was quite pleased with the shoot. She'd take the negatives in on Wednesday to develop and print in the school darkroom. She wasn't sure if she would print each shot, or save some for only herself.

In the end, she knew she had to turn in something for the assignment. So rather than self-censor, or worry about what others would think, she printed her favorite of the series.

Gloria!

Gloria Guida was born in Merano, in the Northern Italy region of Trentino-Alto Adige/Südtirol, to a family of Emilia Romagna origin. She moved with her family to Bologna as a child. She first began a singing career, starting in her father's dancing place on the Romagna's coast. Then she took up modeling, becoming Miss Teenage Italia in 1974.

She subsequently went on to star in many sexy comedies. Her two early films La ragazzina and La minorenne, both shot in the summer of 1974, are the stories of young female characters in the phase of discovering their sexuality, often reluctant between mature admirers and younger lovers. She made her real breakthrough in 1975 with La liceale (Teasers). Another film of particular success was Avere vent'anni ("To Be Twenty") in 1978.

She left cinema after her marriage to singer and actor Johnny Dorelli, whom she met on the set of the film Bollenti spiriti. But she left some of the sexiest images of any starlet, with a natural beauty that rivals, and in many ways surpasses todays celebrities. Thanks, Gloria! If only I could have met you then...

THE MIRROR IN THE PICTURE

Bringing a camera to bed is fun, but photographs are always only as wide as your arm is long. Unless, of course, you bring a mirror into the picture. Then you can see the view with much more perspective. Not quite as accurate in framing as actually having a photographer on set...but far easier to do whenever the mood strikes.

This couple has a mirrored sliding closet door beside their bed. How convenient.

TUG

ORGY WITH FRIENDS

At one point in the evening, after many beers, someone asked if anyone had been in an orgy. The idea sounded fun, but no one knew exactly how to start. Someone suggested that everyone should just get naked and climb on the futon and start having sex. So they did.

WINDOW SHOPPING

I don't know what's going on here. A double dare, no doubt. Is the photographer in on it? Or is the image snapped by a surprised passerby? Who put these two up for the dare? Was it their idea, for fun? Did they lose a bet? Do they work there, or did they head out that day, sans underwear, to find places to flash?

Whatever the original story, the results are super sexy.

CUP SIZE

This image is just so sexy. Enjoy.

ONE GIANT LEAP

I don't know how this dude was allowed to come into and hang out in the women's sauna. However he made his way in, he's clearly stoked. If any guy has ever been to a gym or spa or resort club with saunas, it's pretty much guaranteed that as he sits on the bench of the men's sauna, he's wishing he could have entry, even a peek, into the forbidden women's sauna. To actually be invited in to hang with all the gals, well, that's almost beyond comprehension.

Well, here's to you, dude. Sauna pioneer. One small step for man, one giant leap for mankind.

Here's looking forward to a progressive future of co-ed naked sauna's.

PICNIC IN THE PARK

This is a fun old vintage shot: a man and a woman are on a picnic by a river...she climbs on him....ooh la la....and who is that still on the ground, reaching up to help? A friend? This image is not only hot for the outdoor menage-a-trios (even if staged by a studio backdrop), but look closely, the friend has a large dildo, which she is using on herself. Look even closer, it appears to have straps. The viewer is invited to create scenarios of what happens next...

Again, it proves that although the Victorians are remembered for being a generation of prudes, they really were just as kinky as we are today.

WINE, CAMERA, ACTION!

This is what happens when my girlfriend drinks wine. Next thing you know, she's naked, with her toy, posing for my camera.

LUG

The National Center for Health Statistics found that 14% of women age 18-29 said they’ve had at least one sexual experience with another women in their lifetimes, compared with about 4% of women, ages 18-59, who said the same in a comparable survey a decade earlier.

Some experts who study sexuality say it’s even more likely that many college students simply see experimentation as a rite of passage, noting that the bisexuality label has become a “badge of courage” for some college women.

DIY GLORY HOLE

The guys at Home Depot encouraged them. They said, “You can build it, we can help.” The guys had no idea how they would end up helping.

In a suburban neighborhood were three desperate housewives. Two were married, and one, Nikki, was divorced. Sex, of course, was their favorite subject. They would gather each afternoon for margaritas and gossip. Sometimes they’d watch talkshows about sex or soap operas about sex, or review XXX DVDs as if they were a book club.

They also took classes to fill their time, and that’s how they meet the three studs at Home Depot. The desperate housewives signed up for seminars in basic construction. The hands-on use of power tools boosted their confidence. They started flirting with the handsome instructors. The three middle-age housewives decided to build something fin in Veronica’s living room— a little “home improvement” as a group activity.

When they were done, they invited their instructors over to see their handiwork.

As the guys stepped into the room, they instantly noticed a large wall. Their eyes noted the construction and then the three round holes. What are these for, they wonder, and then exchange amazed looks as they get the idea.

“We need your help, guys, to finish our project,” said Alana.
“We didn’t have the right tools,” said Maria.

They tell the three men that they need to test out their tools, and if they would help. The men are clearly embarrassed, a little uncomfortable, but being put on the spot makes them brave in the moment. They agree.

“Here’s how it’s going to go,” said Alana, the tall blonde, their leader. “We’ll go to the other side of the wall. You each stick your cock through one of the holes. We won’t know which cock belongs to which stud, so it will be totally unbiased. We’ll measure length, girth, shape, and overall appearance.”

“Also,” said Maria, “Two of us are married and one divorced. She’s the one were testing for. But you will not know which of us it is.” The men’s eyes—wide with excitement—looked at each woman in turn: Alana, the tall thin blonde with the blabby blue tanktop and thin summer skirt. Maria, the busty Latina with the dark mysterious eyes, or Nikki, the other blonde. She was a little heavier than Alana, but buxom, and naughty.

The men understood and remained behind the wall, while the women went to the other side. Withinn seconds, three thick cocks were dangling through the holes. Two were already semi-erect, anticipating.

Alana pointed out each fine attribute of their new sampling. It was like shopping. Perfect. Maria stepped back a grabbed her camera to document their little party. Nikki curiously reached for the first cock. It jumped in her hand, becoming harder. She went down the row, giving each a good stroke. She could hear a corresponding moan behind the wall, but didn’t know which man she was arousing. One was a tall, hard-body stud, the other more like a college student, and one was sort of nerdy. But behind the wall, none of that mattered. At a bar, she would have gone totally for the muscle guy with the buzz cut. Maybe the college guy if she was drink and he was aggressive, but never, not in a million years, for the nerdy guy. As she went down the line of cocks, they were all so beautiful.

The one on the far left was having a hard time getting it up. Maybe he was too nervous,but the one on the right was thick and firm. Nikki just had to feel it. She tugged down her stretch Capri pants just enough and with Alana’s help, backed up onto the protruding cockhead. She had been wet from stroking the cock, but it was still a challenge to push the hard member all the way in. Although she’d had a fairly regular diet of dildos and vibrators, it’d been 5 years since the divorce. She hadn’t actually had sexy with a real penis since then. For the first time in a long time, she felt her pussy stretching around a throbbing cock. It was so warm, pulsating, and sent waves of pleasure through her entire body. She knew she’d found her perfect cock. She bounced back on it harder and deeper with each thrust.

She knew she’d make each guy come in turn. It felt too good and she’d been without too long not to get a good hard fucking out of her system. Hell, she’d even do the nerd guy last. She figure he was the one on the end, too nervous to get it up. But for the first time in five years, she wanted to feel the big cock, the hard one, the one that stretched her and made her feel so damn good. Soon, he felt the hot semen erupt inside her.

She pulled off the cock, and gave it a good clea up with her toungue. Salty. It was saltier than she had remembered. She was a little weak in the knees, but she wobbled over to the next cock in line and pushed back on it. The first big deposit of cum sloshed inside her and was dribbling out, as the next cock slide easily inside. This cock was obviously used to regular fucking—maybe he had a girlfriend—because his endurance was great. She didn’t know if she could keep standing as her knees, unused to the position, began getting shakey. She turned around and took the cock hungerly into her mouth. Ohh, he liked that. The cock hardened, twitched, and shot a load over her lips and face, and chest.

She now had fresh cum in her cunt and her belly. She had one last cock, and she knew where she wanted it. She backed up to the final cock and positioned it at the wingled ring of her backdoor. She was soaking wet with cum and her own juices. Although tight, she loved using dildo’s in her butt to make her climaxes more powerful. Perhaps she was relaxed from the first two fucks. She pushed back and the cock popped in past her sphincter and slid into her anal canal. The third guy was not as hard, or as thick, but her filled her ass. She rode him as she rubbed herself in the front. When he shot his load up her bum, she felt her own orgasm beginning. It was long, slow and powerful. She practically fainted and collapsed on the carpet.

Alana told the men thank you and that they could dress and let themselves out. Nikki lay on the floor, totally spent, but totally blissful. She had cum on her face, in her hair, on her pink top, and leaking from her front and back. She had never felt so incredibly slutty. It was very empowering. She’d had her way with three strangers. Used them like tools for her own pleasure, in her own home, with the help of her best friends.

“So which one did you like best?” asked Alana after the front door shut. Nikki was still on the carpet, her black Capri stretch pants around her knees. She said she liked the first one the best, and guessed it was the big jock stud.

Maria shook her head. “Sorry to disappoint,” she said, “but when I was taking a picture of you when you started, I sort of could see a little bit. The stud guy was the last one.”

“Limp dick!” said Alana.

Maria nodded.

“That means it was the college dude or the nerd,” said Nikki.

“Yeah, I’m pretty sure the nerd was the first one,” said Alana. “I sort of peeked on my side.”

“That’s not fair,” said Nikki. But she was too blessed out to care that the mystery was gone. She smiled, thinking she’d still had her fun, and the guys didn’t even know what hit them. She’d given the stud anal, and he probably didn’t even like anal. Those jock types are always so boob obsessed, and so straight vanilla. The college guy, he probably had a girlfriend. This was probably a fun, but unusual flash in his ongoing sex life. And the nerd, holy shit…this probably blew his mind. But as Nikki thought about it, she recalled his perfect cock. How it felt and tasted. What a waste of a good tool, she thought. Maybe I’ll have to go back to the store and try that one again.

STRIP CHESS

You've heard of strip poker, of course. How about a rousing game of strip chess? Guaranteed to get the party started...maybe.

ARTISTIC AND EROTIC

There's an old-fashioned notion that artistic value and erotic power are mutually exclusive.

People who propound such a polemic obviously have little understanding of either.

LA CROSSE

The Colorado College had a strong women's LaCrosse team. For athletics, all funding went to the men's hockey team, and the women's LaCrosse. So the women had an exceptional team. But to compete at the Division level, they had to take long trips for away games.

In hotel rooms of faraway towns, they'd have hours to kill. They'd read, check emails, nap, watch movies, and when they were really bored, or really wound up, they'd sit around and talk about sex. One time, they decided to play spin the bottle. It was sort of silly, but they didn't care. It was fun. They first spun the bottle a "strip" spin the bottle. There was a lot of giggles and blushing and laughing until sides hurt and eyes watered.

When they were all naked, they decided to continue, this time with truth or dare. The first "dares" were kisses. Those first kisses were mock kisses, pecks, and pretend licks. The first "truths" simple questions straight off of a purity test. But soon the mood shifted. Dares were called out to really french. Double dare to lick a nipple. The truths got personal--have you ever used a vibrator? have you ever used anal beads? have you ever tasted another woman? Two girls said they had. The others thought they could be bluffing, but were curious.

It's the best, explained the two with experience. Both giving and receiving. They asked if the others had ever done a daisy chain?

No? they said. Apparently they had learned it in boarding school back East. What else are ya gong to do on a saturday night? they asked. The other's were uncertain, but captivated. So they decided to try it.

HAPPY EASTER, EVERYONE

It's Easter! Here's hoping the Easter Bunny brings you lots of treats this year. Maybe get some "tail."

HOW THE GLORY HOLE GOT ITS NAME

A Glory Hole, as you no doubt know, is a hole bored through a wall, about hip-high, and just large enough to accommodate a penis. An erect penis is simply inserted through the hole where the person on the other side of the wall performs fellatio or other sexual acts on it. The separating wall, of course, provides anonymity of either one or both parties.

But why do we call it a “glory hole.” The term, it seems, has been around a lot longer than most realize.

The origin of the term is unknown, but may have come from the mining industry, where the opening to a mineshaft containing the "mother lode" would be considered to be the "glory hole." (Hummm…hole with a big load….yeah, that makes sense.)

Or it could perhaps be in reference to the "glory hole" of a kiln used in glass blowing--an auxiliary furnace for reheating glass that has cooled during offhand blowing. (ummm…blowing….yeah, that origin also makes sense.)

In civil engineering, water from a reservoir can be quickly "sucked" through a glory hole and out of a dam. (um-hum, quickly sucked. Yeah, that makes sense, too.)

It could also have its roots in one of several meanings from seamen and shipbuilding. Sailors in the Royal Navy refer to a “Glory Hole” as any locker or enclosed space for loose gear, or any repository for general untidiness. A glory Hole can also be one or more rooms between decks aft used as sleeping quarters for stewards. (interesting…those Navy boys and their walls…)

The Army also uses the term Glory Hole for a “dug-out.” (I guess that’s the least convincing…but who knows, maybe those GIs invented the first Glory Hole.

Who knows, maybe Army and Navy guys, civil engineers, miners and glass blowers, have all used a glory hole in their own ways….

As for the actual wall with the cock-sized, hip-high hole, those began getting seen in men’s bathrooms sometime around the 1950s. Some say suburban heterosexual males would turn to glory holes to engage in homosexual contact without risk of being identified. Beyond the simple thrill provided by anonymity, keeping one’s identity undisclosed may have been also critical for gay men before the Gay Rights movement, when they were often at risk of severe discrimination and violence.

Once considered far to the fringe, Glory Holes have become much more mainstream. Glory Holes are commonly found in suburban adult video stores and there are many website posting amateur pictures of middle class couples engaging in the anonymous thrill the glory holes provide.

ARTY UPSKIRT

One of the most artistic, and sexiest upskirts I have seen.

SEXY DORM GIRL

A sexy college girl in her dorm room, laundry on her bed. Up late again. Study break?

SPONTANEOUS PHOTO SESSION

I wanted to surprise my boyfriend for our anniversary, I told my friend Amber. Amber and I went to school together; she was an art major, I was music. We saw each other a lot in the arts building and had become close friends. She knows my boyfriend, too. So I asked Amber's advice of what would make an original, creative gift. The catch was that it had to be inexpensive (as in free) because we'd only been out of college a year and were broke.

"Give him a sexy photo," Amber suggested.

I thought about it. Truth is, I'd wanted to give him something sexy like that for a long time, but I didn't have a camera. Well, I had a cel phone, but that doesn't count. I wanted something quality, maybe even a little artistic.

"You can borrow my camera," offered Amber. She pulled it out of her bag and handed it to me. It had a huge telephoto lens and looked serious.

I looked it over and handed it back. "I can't even figure out how to turn this on," I said.

"Here," it's easy, said Amber. She flicked it on, dialed a couple settings, and clicked off a quick picture. She looked at it, changed another setting, and snapped again. I assumed she was just being techy with her camera, trying to get the right setting. I didnt' realize, she was actually starting a photo session.

"Take off your top," she said, and continued to click. It was easy to relax with Amber. Her constant clicking made me feel like none of the photos were really being recorded. It was just us being silly. I stripped off my sweater and she took some poses of me in my bra. Then I wiggled out of my pants and was giving her lots of cheeky poses in my underwear. She motioned for me to unclasp my bra. I hesitated a second, because I have sort of small breasts and I don't really like their shape. But Amber didn't care. Her eye was pressed to the viewfinder, and she was completely absorbed. It helped. The attention of the big lens made me feel sexier. I stripped totally naked and got on my bed.

Click. Click. I ran my hand down to my curls. Click. I parted my legs to give the camera a full view. To my surprise, rather than zooming in with her telephoto, Amber got right up close with her macro. Having the camer right up near me, between my legs, almost like a thick smooth penis, actually got me really turned on. Whatever line of modesty I had left, had been crossed. My fingers were already gently combing my golden brown curls. So I simply continued.

As the camera clicked, I let my finger slide lower and lower, tracing the round of my vulva, tickling my lips, and then pressing in, feeling the wetness that had been building. Amber never said a word. I parted my pink glistening flesh for the camera eye. Click. Click.

By now the sensation of touching myself overrode any other thought. As if in autopilot, my fingers knew what to do. They knew what worked, how to get me off.

I rolled over on my stomach. Click. I slipped in one finger to the knuckle and then added two. I fingered myself to a hard, satisfying orgasm. Click.

When I regained my whereabouts, I felt suddenly embrassed. But Amber was already uploading the images onto my computer. "I think there's a couple here that should get his attention," she said.

I was totally flush, partly from the orgasm, and mostly from embarrassment. I can't believe I got so carried away in the moment. Amber took it all in stride, as if photographing my masturbation session was no different than any other photo assignment. As she left, she jut told me to let me know how my boyfriend responded to the photos.

He did respond. And Amber and I had a second photo session. But that's another story.

COMANDO

My first girlfriend, Amy, never liked to wear underwear. She was always going comando, she claimed.

Prove it, I said.

And she did.

PURPLE LUPINE

Lupines are some of the best-known wildflowers in the world, with over 165 species. The highest concentration of the lovely purple flower occurs in the Pacific Northwest, with more than 50 species. Their latin name is Lupinus, and they are a member of the pea family. They grow well in soil where other flowers cannont, along stream beds, sandy shores, and alpine meadows. Butterflies love lupine, as do hikers and gardeners. And, apparently, this woman. I love them, too.

IF TOM SAWYER AND HUCK FINN WERE CHICKS....

POOL PARTY

If I were going to throw a backyard pool party, these two are exactly who I'd invite.

TENNIS ANYONE?

So, it's Monday and the weather is great--warm and sunny, maybe 70 degrees. I've been cooped up in the office all day. An entire day of meetings and a deadline. Basically a Monday. I'm not ready for the weekend to be over.

I call my husband right a the stroke of 5, and offer to pick him up downtown. I tell him I have all kinds of pent up energy I need to get out and don't want to just go home and cook diner. He has two rackets in his office and suggests we drive up to Rosecrest, where there are several public outdoor courts. It's a large park, overlooking the city, quite popular in the summer for tourists, picnickers, and weekend outdoor recreationists. But it's Monday, and Spring. The cherry and apple trees are in bloom, but the oaks are still bare, the roses of the Rosecrest garden are still stubs. So, we figure, we'll have the place to ourselves.

When we arrive, it's just as we'd hoped. A few cars in the parking lot, but no one on the courts. It's warm and the air feels so much more alive than winter. It feels like vitamins soaking into my skin long missing. In a playful mood, I slip off my panties. I have to admit, the feeling of being bare under a skirt is a real turn on. It feels so free. The thought of the spring air tickling my delicate skin seems perfect. After a day in the office, it's exactly what I need to feel.
So, I'm definitely doing it for the pure physical sensation. Maybe, if my husband sees my skirt fly up on a serve, or a really hard backhand, he might notice. He'll be surprised. Maybe turned on, but I doubt it. After so many years of marriage, seeing each other's bodies, it's not exactly new information. Still, deep down, I'd like him look at me that way again. I want to feel a little daring, a little risky.

So I serve. Maybe a little of my skirt pulls up in the back, but he can't see from the front. We play. With each hit, I'm trying to slam the ball, making a load grunt like a professional. It's really getting me going. All my work stress is being taken out on the ball. I am getting sweaty. My heart is pounding.

I'm feeling really great. But still, no matter how hard I slam the ball, my skirt has just enough weight to stay down. It seems my chances for flashing my husband are totally gone. As I bend over to fetch a ball form the net, I can feel the skirt lift in back. I can feel the cool lick of air on my folds. It's like a soft tickle of the breeze. Then I feel something else. Something much more intense. It's a feeling I've had before, very sexy, but also scary. I feel the hair standing up on the back of my neck. Why does the body react to a situation before the eyes can even take in the information and process it?

But I can definitely feel the sensation. Without looking, I realize what the feeling is: someone is looking at me. You know how you can just sense when you're being stared at? Exactly! I served again and we played. The thought of someone watching me, of being able to see me each time I bent forward really got me. My husband couldn't see. He didn't even know a wasn't wearing panties. But whoever was watching me did!

As I played, and grunted all the more, and glistened with sweat, and knew that I had eyes on me, I made a point to lean forward even more, to exaggerate stooping down to pick up a ball. I could feel my skirt rise up, and knew the eyes were fixed between my legs.

After an hour of play, it was starting to get darker. We were getting hungry for dinner. The air had a bit of a chill, though my skin was hot. I felt so tuned on by being watched. My pussy was soaking wet, part from exercise, and part from arousal. I felt I had to tell my husband that I had been playing the whole set without underwear. He looked at me, as if either unimpressed or simply not believing me. So I raised my skirt in front in full view. His eyes widened and his mouth dropped. I certainly had his attention then!

Just then I heard clapping. I turned around and saw a group of teenage boys. They were just outside the court, clapping, whistling, and cheering. I instantly blushed. They must have been watching me the whole time. In my mind, I thought I had been flashing a single person. I blushed when I realized I'd given a group of teenagers the best show they'd ever gotten. I thought my husband would be furious, but he laughed. We had to walk past the boys back to our car. I blushed beet red.

Maybe it was the attention, or maybe my husband suddenly got a reminder of himself as a teenager, but on the drive home, he reached over and pulled up my skirt. With the windows down, the cool air felt good. He fingered me as we drove, getting me even wetter and more worked up. WHen we got home, we didn't even make it to the bed, but made love the second the door closed. He took me, dominant, like an alpha male mounting his mate after a play from the younger wolf pack.

Now, we make exercise part of our after-work activities. Tennis or jogging or bicycling...whatever we're doing, my husband has me do it without panties. We've flashed quite a few guys now, and after each time, my man lets me know his still top dog.

CABIN SLEEP OVER

For my birthday, my friends and I rented a cabin by a lake. There was plenty of space to throw our sleeping bags. It was warm enough, even, to sleep on the deck. Heather wanted to sleep in the bedroom. She was the shy girl of the group. When we sat beside the fireplace, drinking whisky and beer, the talk of course turned to sex. She blushed the whole time.

We stayed up way too late, and by the time we finished talking about all things sexual, the fire was down to embers. We said our good nights and bedded down in our sleeping bags. John and Amber when outside to "look at the stars" and were going to sleep on the deck. (We all knew what that meant.) A couple of the girls had claimed the loft. The rest of us took the living room. Heather had gone to bed and locked her door.

Maybe she was too tired, or maybe she didn't realize, but her bedroom connected to the bathroom. When I got up to pee, I saw her bedroom light still on. I heard a rustling of covers and what sounded like a low murmur, maybe a sob, like she was crying. I hoped we hadn't made her feel bad. I crept forward and peeked through the crack of the door. The door wasn't latched and swung open an inch. My heart jumped. But she hadn't noticed. She was on the bed, the blanket kicked off.

I couldn't believe it! She wasn't getting embarrassed by our sex talk, she was getting hot and bothered. She was now getting those pent up feelings out with her hand. Funny. The shy girls are never that shy in bed. Just the opposite.