He Stared at all that I Showed Ch. 02

Twenty-three-year-old Kimberly moves into your neighborhood and is looking for you.

Rewritten, revised, and continued from Chapter 01:

I can't even ride the bus or the subway without some man standing over me and trying to look down my low cut top at my cleavage and my bra. Only, with me no one's victim, if only men knew that I was deliberately flashing them, what would they think of me? Sexually teasing them by exposing myself to men, I always wear my bra loose enough so that when I lean forward while reading, my bra leans forward with me.

A move that I've practiced in the mirror, I know that I'm giving whoever is standing over me a great down blouse view. Deliberately exposing my breasts to men, I know that not only are they seeing my bra and cleavage but also they're seeing my areolas, my nipples, and most of my breasts. Different for a man and illegal for men to flash women, women can get away with flashing men by pretending that they don't know that they're so exposed.

'Oops, don't mind my wardrobe malfunction. God, I'm such a slut,' I always think whenever a man is peering down my top. 'Yet, it makes me so hot to show men my tits,' I thought while pretending that I didn't know that my naked breasts are on voyeuristic display.

Poor innocent me, playing the poor victim again, I can't even sit on a bus or a subway without the man sitting across from me staring at me while I slowly cross and uncross my legs. No doubt, the man sitting across from me is hoping to see my panties and I'm intent on showing him all that he's looking to see. If only he knew my nipples were already erect and my pussy was moist with the sexual anticipation of flashing him my panties, what would he think of me then?

No doubt, either he'd think me sexy or he'd think that I was a slut. No doubt, whatever he thinks of me, there they all are still looking while hoping to see my panties. Men can't help themselves. If I'm flashing, they're looking. I've never had a man turn away from me when I'm flashing him down blouse views or up skirt peeks. As if they're hypnotized by the sight of my bra and/or panties, with them relinquishing control of their minds to me, I'm in control of them with my body.

As if I'm Sharon Stone in Basic Instinct, God forbid I don't sit like a lady. God forbid I don't sit as if my knees are cemented together with Superglue. Then, when I have packages and/or shopping bags that rest between my feet on the floor to protect them from being stolen, I know that men are now seeing all that they were hoping to see of my panties, that is when I'm wearing panties.

'God, it makes me so hot to show men my panties and/or pussy whenever I'm not wearing panties.'

The men my age and a little younger just giggle like school girls whenever they see something of me that they shouldn't. The men who are old enough to be my father, no doubt, married with children, horny, and sexually frustrated because their wives no longer put out, are the ones who always hit on me. Yet, it's the much older men, the men who are old enough to be my grandfather, those are the men that I want. They are my marks and the men who I target for money. As if I remind them of someone from so very long ago, as if they're remembering Ruth, Edna, or Mary, they just stare at me while no doubt imagining me in my bra and panties, topless, and/or naked.

As if a prisoner who's jailed by my own sexy, shapely body, I can't even go to the mall without men following me. I can't even go in a shoe store to try on shoes without men trying to peek under my skirt and in between my legs. I play my part as the modest woman and the innocent victim by sitting like a lady until I part my knees enough for them to see what they're looking to see of me. It blows my mind how many men are so intent to see what they shouldn't see of me.

'Poor me, oh, the embarrassment of it all,' I laugh to myself while becoming sexually excited over flashing more unsuspecting men my panties.

On the pretense of fixing my shoe as I'm going up an escalator, God forbid I should bend at the waist while wearing a short skirt. There's always some man standing behind me enjoying the view of my panty clad ass. If only he knew that I knew he was there looking and if only he knew that I was deliberately flashing him, what would he think of me then?

'God, men are so easy to play. All it takes is to flash them my bra and cleavage in a down blouse view or my panties in an up skirt peek,' I thought while having fun being a young, sexy, shapely, beautiful woman.

God forbid I should sunbath topless on my front lawn. I don't know where they all come from but between the mailman, the UPS man, the FedEx man, the door-to-door salesmen, the Jehovah Witnesses, and the pizza delivery man, seemingly everyone has seen my naked breasts.

'Oh, please don't look at my naked breasts,' I think laughing to myself while putting sunscreen on my big, shapely, naked tits.

God forbid if I undress without closing my shades first. As if I'm a celebrity, there's always some pervert with binoculars and taking sexy, topless and naked photos of me. Sometimes, with men always watching me, I feel as if I need to get changed in my closet without the benefit of a light. Only, I can't do that. I'd never do that. I'm proud to be an exhibitionist. I live to show and I love to show what men hope to see of me.

'Oh Darn, I forgot to close my shades again,' I thought as soon as I saw a flash from a camera or a red light from a video recorder. 'Someone is watching me. Someone is staring at me while masturbating themselves, no doubt. Duh?'

I'm not even able to wear a flared, pleated skirt on a windy day without a procession of men following me while hoping for a peek of my panties. Only, whenever I wear a flared, pleated skirt on a windy day, I trick them so that they won't see my panty clad ass and/or my panty clad pussy. I don't wear any panties on those days.

'Yeah, how do you like those apples? You thought you were going to see my panties, didn't you? Ha! Ha! Fooled you. Instead you saw my naked ass and naked pussy.'

With a procession of men following me while waiting for a big gust of wind to blow my skirt up to my back or up to my chest, it serves them right to be disappointed when not seeing my panties. Okay, granted they see my naked ass and my naked pussy but that's as much for my sexual enjoyment as it is for their sexual enjoyment. I can't help it if I'm an exhibitionist. I can't help it if I love flashing men my sexy body. I can't help it if I'm a slut.

Chapter 02:

Before I even move into a new neighborhood, I visit my new neighborhood a few times first. I want to see it during the light of day. I want to see it in the darkness of night. I want to see it on the weekdays as well as on the weekends. Blending in to the background, I make myself as invisible as I possibly can. Not wanting anyone to notice me, interact with me, or remember me, before actually meeting my new neighbors, I want to try and determine who is who without interacting with anyone.

Then, before I even get out of my car, sinking low in my seat as if I'm on a police undercover stakeout, I sit there and watch the residents interacting or not interacting with one another while trying to read people. Truth be told, a pastime of mine, with me a real people watcher, I love watching people.

When it comes to reading people, I'm as much of a voyeur as I am an exhibitionist. I'm always surprised by how much I notice when people don't know that I'm watching them and when they don't know they're being watched. The things that people do when they don't think anyone is watching never ceases to amaze me.

Whether driving in my car or walking, even when I'm perusing the mall shopping, I'm a people watcher. As if I'm walking through the zoo watching animals in their habitats, I enjoy watching people as much as I enjoy window shopping. With the behaviors of people so interesting, so predictable, and sometimes so bizarre, I can't help myself from watching people.

I've developed a myriad of ways to watch people at the mall without them even knowing that they're being watched and that I'm the one who's watching them. As if I'm a spy, I watch their reflections through a mirror or plate glass while I'm not facing them. Most times, as if I'm part of the scenery, with me fading in the background and/or disappearing in a crowd by not making eye contact or staring, people don't even know that I'm watching them.

I love watching people and being that I'm a writer of erotica, people watching helps my writing with better characterization. It's all about capturing someone for the story when developing their character. Their faces, their facial expressions, their body language, and their hand gestures are all of paramount importance when trying to capture the essence of a character. The way they walk, dress, and comport themselves are just as important as what they say when they talk.

### ILookLikeJailBait ###

Perhaps, I should have gone to college for psychology instead of English. I've had basic courses in psychology but I didn't like them very much. I found them boring. Talking about Dr. Sigmund Freud than more anyone else, they never went much beyond describing the fathers of the past and modern day psychology. Perhaps I would have more enjoyed the later courses in psychology where they explain the psychology of why people do the things they do.

Maybe had I taken more psychology courses, I'd understand my need to flash my panties, my bra, my cleavage, my tits, my ass crack, my ass, and my pussy. I always suspect that my exhibitionism stemmed from being sexually abused as a child. I know it's not normal for me to flash strange men, men I don't know, and I've never met, bits and pieces of my unclothe body. Who does that other than an exhibitionist? Who does that other than a slut and/or a whore? Only, I may be a slut but I'm not a whore and why I feel the need to flash is still a mystery to me.

Unable to stop myself from flashing, I can't help myself from flashing. As if I'm hungry or thirsty, my need to flash is just as great. As much as it sexually excites them to be flashed, it sexually excites me to flash. As much as it sexually excites unsuspecting men to see my ass crack, my panties, my bra, and my cleavage, it sexually excites me to deliberately show unsuspecting men my ass crack, my panties, my bra, and my cleavage. I don't know why I have the need to flash but I do.

With most of my new neighbors, especially the women, put off by a such a young, pretty, sexy thing moving in next door to them, I had to play the innocent part of the virgin while finding my new mark. As soon as they saw me, they gave me the eye as if they already had my number in the way that I already had their numbers too. These women became as protective of their husbands or boyfriends as much as they were protective of their teenage sons. If it wasn't for the 18-year-olds to 20-year-olds thinking that I was their age and that it was okay for them to hit on me, then it was the older man looking to put the moves on me.

Not an easy thing for me to do, it's hard work trying to play the innocent virgin when I'm not and when I'm trying to identify the one man who will pay to play. Admittedly, I'm no virgin but I'm no whore either. I'm a cross between Mary Ann and Ginger on Gilligan's Island of 60's TV fame. When my foster Dad wasn't lusting over Barbara Eden in I dream of Jeannie and Elly Mae Clampett in the Beverly Hillbillies, he watched all of the reruns of Gilligan's Island. He loved Ginger.

As much as he no doubt masturbated over the thoughts of having sex with me, I suspect that he masturbated over imagining having sex with Barbara Eden, Elly Mae Clampett, Ginger and with Mary Ann too. For him to have sex with me for money when I was 18-years-old, he was such a pervert. Yet, accepting some of the responsibility for sexually teasing him with the hopes he'd give me money, it takes two to play. Still, I may have been a slut but I wasn't a whore.

### ILookLikeJailBait ###

What makes me not a whore is that I don't have sex with just any man. Actually, not eager to jump in bed with just anyone, I'm very selective who I suck and fuck, especially when having sex for money. Even when I'm just flashing my body, not expecting it to lead to sex, I don't expose myself to just any man. I carefully select my targets to flash just as I carefully select my marks to hit up for cash. While teasing and enticing men, I'm selective about who I show my panties, my bra, my cleavage, my ass crack, my ass, my pussy, and my tits to too. It helps if I know their preference, if they're an ass man or a breast man.

With me having a confusing sexual image by purposely baffling men, especially when playing men for money, men are unable to label me. Men aren't sure if I'm Little Miss Goody Two-Shoes, a slut, or a whore. Whenever they see something of me that they shouldn't see, they can't tell if they're at the right place and at the right time or if I deliberately flashed them. Chances are, I deliberately flashed them which makes it all that much more salacious fun.

Just as I don't dress like a virgin, talk like a virgin, walk like a virgin, and/or look like a virgin, I don't dress, talk, walk, and look like a whore either. Yet, there's a broad expanse of sexual behavior from being a virgin, to being a slut, and to being a whore. Fortunately for me, my new neighborhood was an older neighborhood with lots of senior citizens, just the kind of easy marks that I like to sexually tease and erotically entice while playing my virginal role. With most of them so lonely and so horny, craving the attention of a sexy, young woman, dirty, old men are so easy to play for money.

My ideal audience are men in their mid-sixties to mid-seventies. As if they're a forgotten, invisible army, ignored by the younger generations, they're so appreciative of my flashing them. Those are the men who are no longer able to act on their sexual impulses. Oxymoronic for me, being that I so adore seeing, feeling, stroking, sucking, and fucking hard cocks, my ideal audience are those men who are now unable to get erections.

Nonetheless their inability to get and maintain an erection, I still enjoy fondling, holding, and stroking a flaccid cock. As if it's a balloon that no longer holds air, I still enjoy putting my lips to it and taking it inside of my mouth while swirling my tongue around it. Sometimes a challenge to get them hard, most times I do. I love watching their happy reactions when I give them an erection with my hand and my mouth.

Nonetheless, with me having Daddy issues, I'm always sexually attracted more to older men than I am to younger men. It's some deep need that I feel and that is missing from my childhood. Moreover, to my credit and with me having done it before, I can give any man with erectile dysfunction an erection with my hands, my mouth, and/or my pussy. Sometimes to get and maintain an erection, all it takes is having the right, motivated sexual partner. As long as they motivate me with money, I'll motivate them with my body.

Besides, now that they're older and live a more sedentary life, as if I'm a nurse in a nursing home, content just doing that, most older men would rather just expose themselves to me. With the hopes that I'd touch their flaccid cocks, hold their flaccid cocks, and stroke their flaccid cocks before sucking their flaccid cocks, most older men are happy just hoping that I'd doing all of that. Sad but true, so different from young men my age who'd rather grope me, feel me, and fondle me, most older men would rather just watch me flash them.

With me an exhibitionist, I'm happy to accommodate them by showing them all they hope to see of me. Moreover, most older men have money and with me needing money, I'm happy to come up with a mutual monetary and sexual arrangement that works for both of us. The more that I sexually tease them with up skirts of my panties and down blouses of my bra and cleavage, the more they're willing to pay me to see my ass, my pussy, and my tits. A win/win for the both of us, with the both of us getting what we want, money for sex works for them as well as it works for me.

"Okay," said Henry my last, much older boyfriend. "I'll pay you one-hundred dollars for you to show me your naked tits, another one-hundred dollars for me to touch, feel, and fondle your naked tits, and a third one-hundred dollars for me to suck your nipples."

With me such a sexy tease, much like a fox in a henhouse or more like a much in demand virgin in a whorehouse, I knew my marks would be much easier to find in a neighborhood filled with dirty, old men. Chances are, my new victim would reveal himself to me so that I didn't have to go looking for him and look like the aggressively forward floosy that I truly am. Chances are, my new marks would put the moves on me so that I didn't have to put the moves on them.

### ILookLikeJailBait ###

The worst neighborhoods to find an older man to take sexual advantage of are those neighborhoods that are filled with married with children couples in their thirties and forties. The married or unmarried women, already carrying an extra thirty or forty pounds of extra, unwanted weight from pushing out babies look at me as if I'm a whore and their sexual competition. Jealous of me and possessive of their men, they look at me as if I'm ready to steal their husbands or boyfriends just because I'm young, flirtatious, pretty, and have the body that they all wished they still had.

Trust me, I don't want their husbands or their boyfriends. Just as I'm not a whore, I'm not a home wrecker. I'm not the type who'd break up a marriage and/or split a family. The last thing that I want is literally and figuratively a man with a baby carriage full of crying, shitty baggage. I have baggage of my own without adding his baggage to my baggage. I'd have to be out of my mind, the biggest sucker, and/or in love to want to take care of someone else's baby.

Being that my mother abandoned me in the hospital, left me there while the nurses changed shifts, I'm so not the Mommy type. Along with my emotional detachment for the mother that I never had, my maternal instincts died that day. Unwanted from my first day of birth, I never felt loved. Most of my foster care parents physically, emotionally, and/or sexually abused me. Most of my foster care parents just looked at as their monthly meal ticket given to them by the state childcare agency.

I don't feel the normal reactions that other women have whenever they see a baby. The first thing that they want to do is to pick up the baby, hold the baby, and comfort the baby. The last thing that I want to do is to pick up the baby, hold the baby, and comfort the baby.

Moreover, the last thing that I want is a brood of spoiled, noisy children pulling and tugging at me while demanding my attention. Most times, with me feeling so sad, so depressed, and so lonely, hard for me to even get out of bed sometimes, it takes all of the energy that I have to care for myself without having to care for someone else. I'm too young to curb my lifestyle with time consuming kids that will take whatever energy I have to nurture them and money I have to support them.

I'd much rather travel and have some fun first before settling down. With me being an immature child myself, I'm too young and too irresponsible to have my own children. Maybe all of that that will change one day or maybe I'm just not cut out to have children. Maybe I just need to meet the right man but with me filling my days sexually teasing and erotically enticing elderly men, I've drastically limited my chances of meeting someone my own age.

### ILookLikeJailBait ###

From what I've already seen of my new neighborhood, with no one leaving early and coming home late from work, they all looked retired. The perfect neighborhood for me, when staking out my new neighborhood, I couldn't help but notice many available, older men. I can always tell a man who doesn't have a woman by how he dresses with his mismatched, stained, and/or wrinkled clothes. No older woman would allow her man to go out looking untidy and disheveled like that.