Is Exhibitionism a Kink or a Fetish?

 Some friends asked me to this up regarding my exhibitionist tendencies.

There can definitely be some overlap between a kink and a fetish so we understand the confusion. Rosara Torrisi, PhD from the Long Island Institute of Sex Therapy, breaks down the difference as “whether it's something someone likes to do (kink) or if it’s something someone has (fetish) to do in order to have sexual pleasure.”

So my exhibitionism is a kink. (Whew!)To be clear, I do not have exhibitionist disorder. Exhibitionism is described as the sexual desire to be watched, particularly during sexual activity, but shouldn't be confused with disordered behavior, a condition that causes someone to compulsively expose their genitals to unsuspecting passersby, typically in a public setting. I have no interest in that.

When exposing myself to others, I always make sure the people I am flashing are adults and likely to be open to the experience. I choose venues carefully to ensure my activities won't prompt immediate calls to security or the police. I try to gauge the potential audience for openness, fun potential, and either female or male, if the person I am flashing finds me interesting or attractive, or if I find them attractive. Often, I try to ensure people are aware that I am occasionally shooting photos and that my behavior is part of a naughty photo shoot. And, I try to get a girlfriend to flash with me, solo or duo. In any case, if I don't feel completely confident in the environment and the people around me, I don't do it. A girl could get in real trouble is she does not practice this kind of safety.

While in California for Christmas, a long time girlfriend of mine and I took a day to roam the beach areas of Venice Beach and Santa Monica for some public flashing fun. We also shot some naughty video in stores and dressing rooms. Sorry, I won't post our work here -- we both have jobs we could lose if we were identified. But, here's a few photos of the kinds of things we did.

This is not much of a holiday blog post, but I wanted to put something up for the end of the year.

Two Girls in Tivoli Park

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 in Tivoli Park in Ljubljana, I rested from a brisk walk from the three bridges of the central city to consult my city map. I tried to concentrate on the map, but the parade of fascinating people through the park kept me peeking over my sunglasses and the map, to ‚ “people watch‚” without being obvious.

 

It was then I spotted two teen girls, emerging from an apartment building and rushing into the park, hand in hand, in what I might describe as a giggle fit. They were free, entirely happy, and beyond energetic. They stopped just across a patch of grass from me, well out of sight of the apartment from which they had appeared.

 

Both girls were probably 14-15 and dressed similarly. One of them, with long dark hair and big, dark eyes, was wearing a pair of low-rise jeans with a wide belt over the top. She removed the wide belt, unfastened the buttons of the jeans, and folded them down to where it was clear she had no underwear on. If she had any, her pubic hair would have been clearly visible because I could just barely glimpse the drop of her mons and, maybe, a hint of her slit. She added the belt again, which marginally met the folded-down top of her jeans.

 

It was the blonde’s turn to convert her pants to lower-rise. I say lower because her pants were a pair of gypsy or parachute pants already low-slung on her tiny hips. She untied the drawstrings of the patterned pants and rolled the top down several times, so they were as low as friend’s. Tying the drawstrings tight, she turned to model the results and revealed a subtle, but extremely teasing bit of tush cleavage. The dark-haired girl heartily approved.

 

They held hands, looking at each other, giggling as teens do. Their exuberance became an explosion of mirth and unleashed energy, as they began what I can only describe as a youthful happy dance, jumping and kicking and twirling in a circle together. Their joy, at that moment, was infinite, thrilling and emotionally overflowing with their bodies and how they expressed themselves in their lowest-rise, revealing looks.

 

When they settled down, they strutted off through the park, holding hands, their long, thin, and youthful torsos exposed and small breasts beaming like their smiles.

 

The entire incident only took a few moments as they seemed practiced, knowing exactly what they needed to do to go from cute teens to confident teasing teens. Those few moments are burned into my memory though because I remember that kind of exploration and joy of discovering myself, my body, and how I present myself to my world. In my mind, I said,” Good luck, girls. The world is waiting for you.”

 

And, no, I didn’t dare try to catch a photo of the girls. Had I been discovered it would have ruined the moment entirely.

 

In the Good Old Summertime

 

This summer has been so busy, I have not settled down long enough to do more than think about writing in this blog. Friends over on Facebook have been encouraging me to post something here, so I’m taking a few moments with a frosty cold ice coffee to share two of the most interesting adventures of the summer.

As many of my friends know, I have the great fortune to work for a major tour company shooting promotional videos of their customers enjoying their travels. The job took me to Europe again this summer with a few groups here and there on the continent.

As a member of the company “team,” I try to be good but occasionally find myself intimately engaged with a trip participant. I don’t announce it, but if anyone asks me, I don’t hide my bisexuality. In Italy, an attractive woman in her 30s did ask. She declared she was straight but did find me “alluring.” I took the sideways compliment and tried to sidestep her whenever I could, but she was determined to spend time with me. It was easy to tell her “bi-curiosity” was in full flower and, being on vacation, saw me as an opportunity to experiment. The good news is, she turned out to be quite a delightful, intelligent woman. Toward the end of the tour, I finally opened up to her. Pun intended. I strongly suspect I won’t be her last bi-crush. She still messages me on WhatsApp.

As much fun as the Italy tryst was, the most unusual and interesting event happened in Portugal in a small, medieval walled village.  The tour hotel was a converted castle of sorts that was built into the wall that surrounded the village. As this was a rather upscale place, our trip leader provided an afternoon of tapas, wine, music, and dancing that lasted well into the late evening. Everyone on the trip wore their “finest” travel clothes, which in most cases were a light, cotton dress for the women and long pants and a shirt with a collar for the men.

I drifted away from the group as the party was breaking up and went up to my room. Since the hotel was built around the 17th century, air conditioning was non-existent. Even opening the double doors on the balcony did not provide a modicum of cool air. I decided to take a walk along the parapets of the village wall as I was sure there must be a breeze high up there.

The wall was supposed to be closed at night, but since many tourists ignored the rule, some small lights provided enough illumination to barely see the stone walkway. As I walked alone, the breeze did come up. The heat and sweat of the night evaporated magically and I was at long last cool. I stopped at the far end of the wall to gaze at the river, valley, and vineyards under the light of a crescent moon. The soft breeze and the song of a few night birds provided a serene natural soundtrack as my mind drifted to thoughts of travel, fine food, adventure, and, of course, romance. I was a little drunk, happy, wistful, and, well, honestly, terribly horny.

“Sparks?” came a deep, slightly raspy voice that I had come to know from a man on our tour. I jumped a bit, I think, because, “… I didn’t mean to startle you” I heard the voice say.

Ben, in his 60s, was one of those trim-fit older guys that run 8 miles a day before the rest of us are out of bed. He was a widower who traveled a lot with our company because we have so many single female clients. He readily admitted it because, “I love to travel and it’s a way to be around smart, worldly women.” He was a confident, handsome, and genuinely nice man. All the women loved him or would have if he left his hotel door unlocked at night.

I turned, leaning against the low row of stones that created a “railing” that kept people from falling off the wall, and greeted him, “Hey Ben, enjoying the breeze up here too?” He nodded and joined me looking out over the expansive valley below.

“I saw you leave the hotel and guessed this is where you were headed. Seemed like a good idea. Mind company?” he asked.

I cannot imagine what the expression on my face must have been, given that seconds before Ben startled me, I was musing about being drunk, happy, wistful, and terribly horny. I liked Ben. He was a joy to have on the trip. I had spent a lot of time with him, capturing him on video, and interviewing him at length because I knew he would make my videos sing to women. And here he was, twenty-some-odd years my senior, mature and looking dashing under the stars on a castle wall in rural Europe. I mean really? Did I mind? Hell no.

I took his arm, leaning my head on him. I hoped he understood my reply. We talked for a while, about travel, fine food, adventure, and eventually romance. In low tones, not wanting to disturb the subtle quiet of where we were, he shared that although he enjoyed the tours in the company of the older women who took our trips, he avoided entanglements, preferring simple company and friendships.

By then, I was standing in front of Ben, leaning back against him, still gazing over the countryside. He had put his arms around me, holding me gently.  I could feel his interest against my tush and the small of my back.

I turned my head to his and kissed him on the cheek, then whispered, “No entanglements, just friends.” At that, I leaned forward on the rock rail so I could prop myself on my elbows, and pulled my little cotton dress up revealing I had left my panties in my room.

Thank goodness, Ben was cool, collected, and utterly competent as he spread my legs, and fondled me with practiced hands. He made sure I was stable and comfy leaning on my elbows before he pulled his cock from his trousers and entered me in a way that I can only call graceful.

I believe, I moaned something brilliant like, “Oh my god, fuck me!” I may have said it multiple times. Now that I think of it, I did, I said “fuck me” a lot. Ben talked to me softly as he thrust himself into me telling me how wonderful I was and lovely, and warm and sweet and smart. Yes, those words and more. I never felt more desired.

And just like that, I climaxed with a total body orgasm, shattering me, weakening my knees to almost falling. But Ben held me up and at once filled me, with a warm, then hot eruption of cum. He remained inside me for the longest time, enough to catch our breath, because we were both entirely spent. After, we shared smiles and grinned a lot, but we didn’t say much beyond how wonderful and astounding the moment was. I then noticed Ben’s load was dripping from me and running down my leg. Laughing, I told Ben. He immediately produced a handkerchief (who carries a handkerchief these days) and wanted to clean me up. I’ve never done this before, and still not sure why I did then, but I said, “No … no … let me enjoy it, wear it back to my room.” And so I did.

Ben walked me back toward the hotel, but we separated before we arrived to avoid prying eyes. We stopped and gazed at each other for a moment before we shared a short, delicate little kiss. It was the only time we really kissed. And we never repeated our encounter. We established a wonderful friendship that is still growing.

One last thing. Some folks were wondering why I hadn’t been in Facebook jail lately. Well, I’ve been good – by Facebook standards. But, two days ago I almost got jailed for posting the photo below that I thought was funny. But, the algorithm caught the nipple and warned me my post had been removed. Thankfully, Facebook did not penalize me. Go figure. Not, that's not me. Close though.

Campfire Sparks

 July 2023

Taco Tuesday Delight

 

 

 

Jenny, a bestie with benefits from my university days, and Trouble, my barely legal teen girlfriend, lounged on the patio of my casita watching the golden glow of the setting sun on the desert landscape.

 

We had just celebrated Taco Tuesday with a few other friends. This Taco Tuesday, a regular tradition at my place, evolved this week into a new and exciting event. As I recently designated my casita as a Clothing Optional Zone, Taco Tuesday with girlfriends became a panty party. There was some brief total nudity when a few guests played “strip trivia” with my Alexa device, and tops came off, but, generally, we kept our panties on.

 

We three were finishing the last pitcher of margaritas and languishing in the warmth of the tequila. I was in heaven. Jenny and Trouble are a formula for happiness I could not have imagined until now. The conversation drifted into silence and smiles.

 

Totally relaxed, Jenny rested her head back on her chaise lounge, and let a hand drift down between her legs, slipping it into her panties. Closing her eyes, she began to dance her fingers under the lace and over her girl bits. Occasionally, she would take a sharp breath and open her eyes, making contact with Trouble and me, ensuring we were watching her every move. Each glance at us aroused her more and more. After just a few minutes, Jenny let out a tiny little scream as she climaxed, her thighs quivering, her tummy muscles contracting, making her entire body shudder. She prolonged the moment by pressing her hand hard against her mons multiple times until, finally, she relaxed,

 

Jenny grinned at us, licked the juices off of her hand, and wiped it clean with a napkin. She simply sipped her margarita and looked at me, mischievously, waiting. I got the message.

 

Looking from Jenny to Trouble, I spread my legs and began to massage my pussy over the soft ruffles of my boyshorts panties. I could feel my wetness penetrate the fabric, but I took my time before I moved my hand under the ruffles to roll the flesh of my hood over my bud. I wanted to prolong the feeling so resisted the rushing urge to tickle my clit directly. I was so lost in myself, I closed my eyes. When I opened them and remembered Jenny and Trouble were watching me, I came close to cumming immediately. As I settled a bit, I rhythmically teased my body by making figure eights with my fingers, sliding two of them inside me, then out gently squeezing my sweet spot. I thought I had it all under control until I glanced at Trouble and saw her hands under her top rubbing her breasts as she watched me. Not sure why, but that sent me over the top in a rollicking orgasm that shook my body to the bone.

 

Jenny tossed me a handful of napkins as she could see how utterly wet I was. Then, we both turned to gaze at Trouble. Suddenly, she seemed so extremely young, so downright innocent and sweet. It occurred to me that perhaps I should not have pursued our “situationship” as she calls us. I started to speak, “Baby…,” but she politely shushed me and beamed.

 

Shyly, she removed her cropped t-shirt and rubbed her breasts and nipples, which looked as hard as cherry pits. As she glided her hand into her panties, she parted her thighs exposing skin and muscles already twitching from excitement. Her sheer, silky thong revealed her labia, moist and shimmering in the waning sunlight. Trouble locked wide eyes with me and began rolling her fingers over her happy button and inserting a single finger now and then. Soon, in only a minute or so, she was on the edge, quaking deeply, whispering desperately, “Oh fuck … fuck… fuck.” In only a few more seconds she exploded in a shattering orgasm, or, as she said later, “like a fucking runaway freight train.” Trouble was so energetic, so animated and so totally beautiful in her ecstasy, Jenny and I laughed and applauded. As Trouble passed through what were several “cookies,” (my term for orgasms) Jenny and I surrounded her with hugs and kisses.

 

We dashed over to the community pool for what we hoped would be a skinny dip. But a few neighbors were there, so we swam in our undies and tops. Going back to the casita, we took a warm, three-way shower and slipped between fresh clean sheets. We were surprised by how tired we all were. So, following a few giggles, kisses, and caresses we fell asleep.

 

When I awoke this morning, I found Trouble and Jenny, naked as they were born, drinking coffee and making waffles.

 

You know, you can’t plan stuff like this. It just happens. Life and love happen even when we doubt it ever will. Sometimes our friends, lovers, life, and the universe bestow joy upon us. I’ll take it.

Interesting Dream

 I had the oddest dream this morning.

It was a brief dream as I was just waking, but quite vivid. I was in the great room of my little casita with a few friends, including Trouble, my teen, now 18, crush. A new girl entered the room, someone I had known in high school. She was wearing only a black lace bodysuit, but it was form fitting, and wide open in the front completely exposing her nearly flat chest and a flat tummy. She came to me, sat on the floor in front of me and began chatting away as we did in high school. Her tiny breasts were exquisitely small, with little nipples as well. She was nonchalant as if she went about dressed this way all the time and that it was perfectly acceptable. I was fascinated.

As you might imagine, I woke up wet. I'm not sure what Trouble did in the dream, but it seems like she just just left as I have a vague image of her walking through the casita in a pretty skirt and blouse.

The dream left me in a warm and randy state. Perfect for a dinner date I have tonight with Trouble.

The two photos here express a bit of what the dream images were.

Trouble's Friend Thinks I Am a MILF

 

At the Festival of Books last weekend my young friend, “tutorette,” and not-so-secret teen crush Trouble were walking together among the huge crowd and constantly getting separated by people shuffling this way and that almost shoulder to shoulder. Trouble finally grasped my arm and took my hand to keep us close together. I have to admit, being close to her again made my heart race a little. She’s been busy with classes, university activities, and some dating. She has generally not been around the neighborhood much despite the fact that she still lives with her mom and aunt down the street.

Wandering among the book stalls and tents, we occasionally encountered friends, said hello, and simply enjoyed being together. At one point, we met a handsome young man, a junior at the university, who had become friends with Trouble. The three of us decided to have lunch together at one of the food trucks at the mall and spent a happy hour or so munching tacos.

On the drive home, Trouble told me about a conversation she had with her friend while I was taking a break at the porta-potties. The line was long, so they had some time to chat alone. She said he thought I was, “a really hot MILF.” When she told him I was not a mom, he said, “Okay, a cougar then.” My reaction must have been clearly apparent.

Trouble added, “I don’t like labels, but he meant it as a compliment. He thinks you’re really attractive. Everyone does … especially me.” She seemed to sense the boy’s compliment caught me off-guard.

Yes, I’ll be turning 40 years old in the not-too-distant future. I’m fit though. I go to the gym almost daily, and I hike, bike, swim, dance, and participate in outdoor adventures whenever I can. I’m petite and have somewhat of a boyish figure with small hips and breasts, so that lends to my younger appearance. I don’t think I look old enough yet to qualify as a MILF or a cougar.

But there it is. A 21-year-old college boy, who could be one of my students, called me a MILF and a cougar.

As we drove past a small desert park that adjoins our neighborhood, Trouble said, “Let’s stop at the park for a while.” I parked the car and we strolled down a small nature trail we’ve both enjoyed many, many times. After a few minutes of small talk about the book festival, Trouble stopped, took my hands in hers, and said, “You know I turn 18 next month.” I nodded, of course, I knew.

“A few of my friends are throwing me a party, but I’m not inviting you. Instead, the day after I want you to take me out to dinner at The Grill at Hacienda del Sol. Will you?”

I had to pause and take a deep breath and consider what her request might or might not mean. Still, I couldn’t hold back a big grin, “I will.”

Looking terribly sincere, “You promise?”

“I promise.”

Holding hands, we finished our walk in silence, exchanging glances that said far more than words would have.

Just for reference, here are two women I admire who are my age.

Of Course, I Do!

Well, shucks. A very good friend of mine -- those who read this blog will likely know who -- thought the nude photo I posted was not particularly a good one. She feels it was too "in your face" or "not very artistic." So, down it goes. The photo below was the teaser I posted on Facebook.

I'll replace this photo with a better one in the not too distant future.

Festival Courage

I haven't been inspired to post lately, but I have been thinking about the coming spring, warmer weather, and festivals. With the return of sunshine and temperatures back to 80°, I look foward to finding fairs and fests where I can shuck my clothes and celebrate my body with like minded others. So, in anticipation of that, here's a collection of photos of women who have the courage and confidence to show off where it is appropriate. And yes, I am in the group somewhere!