Jaime nervously tapped her foot against the bar, her green eyes piercing the musty haze of cigarette and cigar smoke. She hadn't expected the bar to be so crowded – and dingy. She discreetly pulled at her tight, black spandex skirt – careful that it did not rise so high to reveal her garter belt – and took another sip of Chardonnay. She eyed her watch, wondering if Greg would ever arrive.
Jaime knew it had been a mistake from the beginning, all of this chatting and emails and messaging during work. Sure, secretarial life was boring, but chatting during office hours could get her fired. However, after hours, as she finished a company memo, she saw a small box on her screen:
Voyg28: "ASL, sugar?"
Normally Jaime would ignore a box like that. However, something about his name and personal manner intrigued her. So, she responded. 24, f, NY, so on and so forth. They chatted a bit, on general terms, for a few weeks. Greg (or so he said) was amiable and kept her mind of the drudgery of life – a lonely apartment with an old gray cat, occasional and rather dismal sex with a coworker in Copy, dinner with Mom on the weekends. He worked at a mid-level law firm handling claims settlements; he lived in a small apartment with a goldfish, he caught his girlfriend of two years in bed with her manager.
Jaime began to look forward to Greg's messages and occasional emails. About a month later, she was working late again, and she eyed the familiar screen name:
"Have you ever thought about displaying your body in public?"
Jaime was taken aback. Greg had never even discussed sex with her before, at least not in such an obtrusive manner. She responded, "Well – no, I guess not really. Why?"
"Sorry… I'm drunk. My ex and I would go out sometimes, and I would have her put on a little show. It turned me on so bad… she was so sexy when she'd slip her breast out of her shirt. Fuck. Sorry."
"Oh, it's ok. I just – I guess it never occurred to me," Jaime replied. "Sex has always been, well pretty normal."
"*Laugh* Well, there's nothing wrong with exhibitionism. I mean, the body is art to be seen and enjoyed. You should try it sometime."
Jaime laughed lightly and said goodnight, but left work with an uneasy feeling. What would it be like to show off in public? Would anyone even notice? She stepped into the elevator and glanced at her reflection. She was shapely, not extremely thin, but toned. She slid her hands carefully down over her rounded hips, staring at her toned thighs and calf muscles. She was somewhat tall, 5'9, but her frame was supportive, taking away any gawky awkwardness. She shrugged her long golden-brown hair behind her shoulders and blinked her emerald eyes at the reflection before her. Slowly, she moved her hands back up her body, across her flat stomach, button by button, to her 36 D breasts. She passed her hands across them, gently, and then cupped them, lightly. Jaime always had a sense of pride about her breasts, their round shape and slightly elongated nipples. She sighed softly as she tweaked each nipple through her clothing, closing her eyes for only a moment.
Without warning, the elevator opened as the bell clicked. Jaime's eyes flashed open just in time to see a middle-aged man in a cleaner's uniform step to the elevator. He stopped dead, staring at Jaime holding her breasts in her hands. His eyes grew wide and he flushed slightly. Jaime, frozen only a moment, quickly removed her hands. She felt his eyes burn into the back of her head as she walked toward the parking lot.
She slammed the door to the car and put her head in her hands. Jaime had never felt so embarrassed – and thrilled! She knew the cleaning man was enjoying what he saw, and she was damp because of it. Was this the sort of thrill that Greg was talking about? She started the car and headed home.
She put work in the back of her mind as she clicked onto messenger the next day, seeking out Greg to answer the questions that had haunted her through the night. As he logged on, she typed:
"What did your girlfriend do that you liked so much?"
"What? Oh. Well, we'd go to a bar that we'd never been in before and sit at a table, not in the middle of the joint but not really in the corner, either. We'd move the table slightly so that people in the house could see her full body without looking hard. We'd drink – she'd have shots to get up the courage. As soon as she was ready, she'd hike her skirt, slowly, and spread her legs. Generally she'd only be wearing a thong, if that. I would slide my hand into her shirt to release her breast, or play with it. As the night wore on, men and women would both watch… she'd open her lips sometimes, or slide a finger inside, and watch everyone watch her. She'd get so wet. We'd go home and fuck like animals."
Jaime was stunned. Her legs felt weak from imagining her own legs spread like that in a bar. "And you never got jealous?"
"No, I knew she was going home with me. It turned me on that other people were so turned on. Of course, that's before she started fucking somebody else."
There was a pause on Greg's end. Then, a line "You want to try it, don't you?"
Jaime started typing and couldn't stop. She told him about the cleaner in the elevator and how wet she was, and the adventure and thrill she got from knowing that someone was turned on seeing her touch herself, even if it was just through her clothing.
If she could just have one chance…
"Well, you could, you know. We could go someplace, and nobody would know you. If you are brave enough, it would be the adventure of your life."
Jaime froze. I could meet him, she thought – I really could. No one would ever know. I mean, I would be seen – but, that's the thrill. She crossed her legs to keep the wetness from seeping out of her folds.
"Alright, where and when?"
Jaime looked around again, and watched a man walk in the door of the bar. He walked up and ordered. "Red-headed slut." It was a joke, and her way of knowing that it was Greg. She sized him up in a breath. He was tall, 6'2," with dark brown hair and brown eyes. Nicely dressed, fairly well built. He turned, noticed Jaime, and smiled.
She stood up and walked over to him, her Chardonnay shaking in the glass, making her anticipation and nervousness obvious. He smiled again and leaned in close. "You look fantastic," he whispered darkly. "Let's find a table."
Jaime followed Greg to a table at the side of the bar. He sat down and, softly taking her hand, guided her down beside him. He called the waitress over and ordered a glass of wine and a long island iced tea, smiling in Jaime's direction. Jaime looked over with a question in her eyes. Greg responded, "well, it's fast and good, you won't even know it." He slid his hand to her thigh and kissed her cheek softly. Jaime relaxed, and turned her head to meet another kiss. She knew it was going to happen.
She drank the highball quickly, alread
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