5 comments/ 23442 views/ 4 favorites Every Part of Me By: EasyTarget [All characters in this work of fiction are over 18] I'm not an exhibitionist. That would be disgusting and depraved, and I'm not. That's what I want to tell you. I'm not a fetishist. I'm sane. Normal. That's what I say to myself. That may even be what I believe. I can say it and believe it all I want. But it won't change what happened. I'd just turned 18. My family and I were on vacation in Ocean City, just like every year. I love the beach and everything about it. The beach in the day, the beach at night. The boardwalk. The ocean, the crowds, the sand that's too hot to walk on, the waves that tumble you over and over. The tourist traps that sell the same thing block after block. Even paying $2.25 for a soda. God help me I love it all. It arouses every part of me. Every part. One night it got out of hand. Another year and I was having trouble sleeping. I lay awake and thought about it. Snatches of sleep came and I dreamt about it. I'd fantasized about doing it since I was much younger, but never had the courage. We'd celebrated my 18th birthday when we'd arrived at the hotel. I was an adult. I rolled over and looked at the clock. 3:00 am. And I remember believing that if I waited another day, it wouldn't be because I didn't have the courage to do it, but because I knew better. Tonight was the night. I snuck out of bed, and into the bathroom. I changed into my one-piece swimsuit. The black and green one. I put on my sandals. And I took one plastic bag. I wadded it up tightly in my hand and slipped out of our hotel room. Or motel, I suppose, the door led right to the outside, as it should be. And I made my way down the alley to the beach. My heart was pounding in my chest as I drifted out, over the embankment and onto the sand. It was overcast, and the night hid me. The glow of the city behind me was enough to see by, to show me what I was looking for just up ahead. I climbed between the long white wooden legs of the lifeguard chair. My hands were shaking. The hot night was on my skin, and the humidity was cloying. But I was sweating for other reasons too. I stood under the lifeguard chair, steadying myself with my hands on the wooden beams, steadying my breathing with all the courage I could muster. I opened the plastic grocery bag. My skin tingled as I unstrapped my sandals and put them in the bag. Then I stripped off my swimsuit, and time slowed down. I stuffed it into the bag, twisted it shut, and buried it in the sand with my hands, under the lifeguard chair. And I stepped out from this dubious shelter, and stood on the beach. I felt the night on my body. I heard the sound of the waves crashing in my ears, and a salt breeze touched my skin, arousing every part of me. Nude and vulnerable to the night. I took a deep breath and forced myself to let go of the lifeguard chair. I started walking. My blood sang in my ears, and my heart thundered. Moisture beaded on my trembling skin. I felt everything. The sand under my feet, the heat and the wind, my own breasts swaying, my thighs brushing together. I was very aware of the parts the bathing suit had covered now, the breeze touching me intimately, unprotected and wet with sweat. And, I began to notice, something else. We're not supposed to do this. From the beginning we're taught to cover up our shame, observe decency, and not offend people or be obscene. We look at pictures of each other's bodies in secret, and only share our own in the most intimate company. We've become ashamed. Maybe I have too, I've never seen myself as a supermodel. But tonight was different. I'd only taken off a small amount of fabric, but I'd removed my whole upbringing, and there I was on an open expanse of beach. And if anyone cared to look, there I would be, subject to their scrutiny...their judgement...their desire. Perhaps their lust. The thought made me giddy. And excited. I began timidly, hunched, my arms wrapped protectively around my breasts, one hand reaching to cover between my legs, and slowly I forced myself to hold my head up, drop one and then the other arm to my sides. Then I remembered to relax, and breathe, and swing my arms like a normal person as I got more comfortable with my body. It was all the confidence I could muster. Deep down I was terrified. Realistically, I'm sure no one saw me that night. But my young mind invented hundreds of observers. All of them police. The danger of getting caught, real consequences, the sheer badness of what I was doing made the rush infinitely stronger. My whole body pulsed with my heartbeat. And I felt a slick warmth on my thighs. The nectar of my own excitement. I was desperate. I wanted so badly to touch myself, but somehow I could not, like it would break the spell, like this part of the exhibit was not mine to take, but another's. This was not to fulfill any rape fantasy, but I would have probably laid down and offered myself to anyone who happened to meet me that night. I came upon another hotel, right on the beach like ours. I'd been on the beach at night a number of times before with my clothes on, and I remembered this place, whose deck lights shined alleys of light down the beach after hours while the rest of the building slept. I challenged myself not to break stride through each one, appearing and disappearing to pairs of eyes unseen and unseeable up on the deck behind those blinding lamps. There were nine. I counted. I rode an unbelievable current of tension when I emerged, and by then I think I was trickling down to about my knees. I was alone again, just me and the ocean, and the occasional lifeguard chair. The overcast sky still protected me. After a long while, I was beginning to walk naturally. I'd gotten it out of my system. Maybe it was time to turn back. I'd looked at the beach from my window on a night like tonight, and it is black as black, passers by only revealed if they are loud and obnoxious. You couldn't even see the ocean on a night like tonight. After one's eyes adjust, it is easy to believe the whole world can see, when in fact the should of dusk obscures all, even if someone cared to look at this hour. This realization had now taken hold, finally allowing the thrill to pass. But as I slowed, I noticed the sand turning pale. I looked up over the ocean at the clouds so faithfully hiding me and saw something that made my heart race. A hole. I stood paralyzed as I watched one opening, one crack in the clouds as it slowly, with a painful languor, over a full moon. And I was revealed. I was in total darkness before, and had adjusted well enough to see by it. Being bathed in moonlight was almost blinding, and the beach lit up just as plain as day. Whereas before, in the spotlights at the hotel I could simply step out of the six-foot-wide shaft of golden illumination, now I was in the open, naked on a featureless expanse of beach. And suddenly all I could bring myself to do was slowly turn and watch the buildings behind me, all apartments and hotels for which people paid good money to have full view of the beach. And me. We stared at each other for an unpardonably long time. Was I being observed? Was I being critiqued? Condemned? Arrested? These possibilities were present in my mind, but far, far away, stifled by the crashing waves at my back. I was petrified. And I was more desperately aroused than I'd ever been. Then it was gone, and the world faded back into shadow. And reality came flooding back. I wasn't wearing a watch, but I was sure I'd been out long enough that it was almost 5am, and the sun would be coming up soon. I turned and walked rather hastily back. I got back to the lifeguard chair. Now that it wasn't fun anymore I gratefully put my swimsuit back on, slipped into my sandals, and scurried back to the hotel room. My pelvis hummed with energy, but I shared a room with my younger brother at the time, and could not relieve the pressure. Though I would much later learn to deal with the problem by lying facedown with my legs spread with my hand under me and my face in the pillow, that night I found no relief, and the experience never culminated in an orgasm. But I had done it, and I was finished. I'd gotten it out of my system. And I dearly wish I could tell you that was the end. Every Part of Me Ch. 02 [All characters in this work of fiction are (still) over 18. I should go on to emphasize that this story and its prequel are, as stated, fiction, not a personal experience. Believe me, I wish.] * I would take that yearly trip to Ocean City with my family one more time before I went off to college in Montana, and time proved me wise; I did not have the lunatic inclination to stride naked down the beach at night once more. That was behind me. I told you that story to tell you this one. I grew up. I came back with a career and a life of my own, and one summer, I spent another week in Ocean City. It was with some friends this time, and my boyfriend of the day. I was normal. We were two days into our week-long stay, I think, when my mind lingered on the memory of that night so long ago. How adventurous I was. It also dawned on me that my mind lingered on it every time I went on vacation to the beach. That night, I decided I missed the old me. Things are different when you have a career, a relationship, a reputation. I wasn't going to do anything crazy this time. But I did need some time by myself. It was about 1:00 am and I was still awake. Waiting. The time was right and I slipped out from under Calvin, my aforementioned boyfriend, and changed into my swimsuit. I didn't intend to do anything perverted, but I did intend to do some living. No sandals this time, either, I didn't own any then. But I did wear a watch this time. The beach at night is enough of an excuse for anyone to slip out alone, and it was just as majestic on that night as it ever was. I stood on the shingle, in a one-piece once again, black this time, letting the warm wind blow my hair and the sound of the ocean welcome me back. I skipped sideways down the steep embankment to the sand and made my way out onto the beach. I still loved it all. I sat on the dark shore and let some waves hit me, walked in defiance of sharp seashells by the water where the sand is firm, and above the tide line where it is soft and tiring to trek. It had been too long. I was out there for hours. There it was. I realized after walking past it. I approached it, climbed onto it and sat in it. The same lifeguard chair from years before. Okay, not the same one, they'd probably replaced it at least once or twice since then, but it was outside the hotel I'd been staying at when I'd taken my...stroll. I was so foolish then. I shouldn't have been under it. I should have been sitting on it, watching the moon reflecting on the sea. Or at the very least, storing my clothes in the hatch under the seat, not burying them in the sand. Oh well. I rested my head back. I'd been sleeping. My watch said it was 3:23 when I looked at it. What a wonderful nap, very zen, but my neck was killing me. The wooden garrett wasn't exactly a Lay-Z-Boy. So I climbed down. It had gotten cloudy. I found myself watching for holes in the clouds, smiling. I also found myself crossing those alleys of light from the deck of the hotel I'd passed when I'd taken my long walk the first time. My heart jumped each time then too. I'd had enough excitement for one night. The lights had killed my night vision. So it wasn't until I was in the fourth "alley," the middle out of nine, when I saw there was someone else on the beach with me. She had just stepped into the first lane. We stood, staring at each other for, oh, I don't know how long. She was slim, a little younger than me. Short blond hair. And from where I was standing, she seemed to be wearing nothing but an anklet. My heart began racing in a very familiar way. My eyes must have been huge. You'd think it was me being caught. Her mouth was hanging open a little, meeting my gaze, neither of us moving. Until I blinked. I think it was at that point that I turned and ran. I think she also ran at that point. I didn't sleep that night. The following morning my boyfriend caught me with my swimsuit still on. I told him where I was (but not what I saw), and of course I was believed. But still. Evidence that my mind was not operating properly. Everything was wrong. My whole body felt the way it did when I'd gone walking for the first time that overcast night years ago. Stuck that way, every switch active. Heart pounding, sweating, occasionally shivering. Horny. Down to my spine. I was wet the whole day and at all times, but I jumped when anyone touched me, including Calvin. I needed to be alone. I told them I was sick and went back to the hotel while they were still at the beach. I WAS sick. I lay sick to my stomach and bathed in sweat for over an hour before I couldn't take it anymore. I went into the bathroom and stripped my clothes off, looking at myself in the mirror. I wasn't the same. I'd filled out more. I didn't see myself as particularly attractive before, and now I was approaching my thirties. I was fat now. Old. Decrepit. Was that a gray hair? My hand wasn't listening to my mind's feminine insecurities as it reached for my friend's bikini razor. I couldn't believe what I was doing, but I couldn't stop myself from cleaning up the landscape, trimming it perfectly, like someone who wants to be looked at. I didn't want to be looked at. I'm only 27, but at the time my mind was trying to defend me by making me think I was an old granny. And it wasn't working. I'd soon carved out a fine patch, arrow shaped, pointing the way. I looked at myself in the mirror for a long time. I think it was then I really gave in. I knew what I had to do. I think I always had. Part of me knew and believed this was a bad idea. But today it had switched places with what had been lying in wait all my life and was now in control. I was going to the beach. I'd been there for hours. I had gone down to the boardwalk and bought myself a tiny two-piece, the kind that would fly off in a stiff breeze. I wore it down to the water, and lay on a towel with my sunglasses on for the whole world to look at, which they would have, I'm sure. But there was no sun that day. A storm was brewing, and except for a few occasional beach walkers, the place had largely cleared due to the closing of the water. That was fine. Fewer people to wait on when night fell. By the time it did, there were occasional rolls of thunder. It cleared the beach early. By the time the lifeguards knocked off (and abandoned those lovely chairs of theirs), I was almost completely alone. I'd brought food. I enjoyed it while I waited for night to fall after a long summer day. I didn't even wait for it to get completely dark. I just opened the grocery bag. I know I said that hiding my bundle inside the lifeguard chair rather than under it would be a good idea. But I felt that to bury it was ceremonial. My towel and meager swimsuit went under the sand. And I started another long walk. The rush was there again. I was more in control of it this time. Less of it was fear. That was a problem, so I walked more slowly. I knew what I needed. I needed to be seen. I needed to get caught. The girl I saw last night was the object of my deepest envy right now. Realistically she'd never be back to repeat her stunt after last night, but part of me hoped. Even if she did show up, I needed someone to see me. So I glided down the beach in full view of the deserted boardwalk. I was a naked love goddess drifting in the night. There they were. Some college girls at the rail of the boardwalk, probably drunk. I'm straight, but that didn't matter. I forced myself to slow down. They could surely see something moving in the night. Whether they'd see it was me in my state of undress I wasn't sure, but when I got close enough, I heard one giggle...an excited and hushed exchange...maybe about me? I had to know. I'd been forcing myself to keep my eyes forward, but I slowly hazarded a glance. They saw me. I could tell they weren't sure what they were seeing, but that some part of them expected the impossible as they squinted in my direction. I gave them a smile. Astonished giggles broke out behind me as I continued. Oh god yes. It was exactly what I needed. I closed my eyes and savored the feel of their eyes. I wanted to go back. Do things for them, let them see me debase myself with lewd acts for them...but no. One step at a time. I was already so wet it was running down my thighs, the humidity keeping it from evaporating as it mixed with my sweat. So when I finally saw someone coming the other way, right for me, I could hardly breathe. I tried not to dash to meet them. But I certainly quickened my step. They were coming right for me. My heart beat against my ribs as they came toward me. A woman. It was her. We slowed, and slowed some more. We cautiously stopped just far enough apart that if we reached out our hands we could touch fingers. But we didn't. We looked at each other. I could tell we were having the same feeling. Looking each other over. Being looked over. Both so wet it was covering our inner thighs. I looked at her short blond hair. Her round breasts and quarter-sized areolae. Her hourglass form, her long legs, painted toenails and hemp anklet. Her erect nipples, parted lips, her shaved pubis and wet, shining thighs. I displayed my large breasts, pale skin, and long black ponytail. My big brown eyes and D-cup breasts. My erect nipples, parted lips, trimmed pubis and wet, shining thighs. I'd never considered having sex with a woman. I wasn't considering it now. I didn't know anything about this girl, and she knew nothing of me. We only knew the one trait we were sharing right now. It started raining. We enjoyed each other's bodies as our skin became slick with rain, savored being seen in such a way. Watching. Watched. We started walking. We never touched. When I looked at her, she looked away, surrendering to my eyes. When she looked I also looked away in turn, letting my nudity be hers, loving the way she watched me. It was in this way we led each other to the lifeguard chair. It was there we had our meeting. I climbed in under it and sat on one side. She sat on the other. With sweet relief, I opened my legs for her. In awe, she spread her thighs for me. She touched her breasts. I lifted mine. She gazed into my eyes, mouth open in ecstasy, waiting for consent. My breasts heaved in anticipation as I watched her reach down and gently tease her clit. I wanted so badly to let her see me masturbating, full on and wanton, show her how I use my fingers on myself. But I let her start. She let out a sound, and I leaned forward, rapt. Then she parted her lips and watched me. It was my turn. I perched my toes up on either side of the framework, and held my vagina open. I let her look it over and then I began expertly tapping my clitoris, showing her without a doubt that I was, that I am, a perverted woman who loves to masturbate a lot. She slid two fingers inside herself. This woman didn't know what I did for a living or how old I was. She didn't know my name or where I grew up. But as the rain thundered on the seat of the chair above us, she learned all the ways I masturbate and orgasm, that I love to stimulate my clitoris, all the sounds I make and how much I squirt. I learned that she likes to put her fingers deep inside her, and that she can't control her legs when she cums. All the things we learn last, if ever, were all we knew. It was what I'd wanted all my life, and it lasted over an hour and a half. We were sitting on the lifeguard chair for another half hour with the rain pattering lightly on our skin before she spoke. Just hearing her speak made my blood chill, as if it was all going to end then and there just because I knew what words she formed sentences with. "There's something you should know about me," she said. She absently massaged the rainwater over her breasts. "I don't...want..." I stammered. "I know," she said softly. "No names." I couldn't look her in the eye, but I was listening. "Please just listen," she said. "It was almost a decade ago, maybe eight years my friends and I came out here on vacation. One night, I couldn't sleep. I looked out my window, and I saw someone." Impossible. My heart was racing again. "I was captivated by her. She was beautiful, as she stood there alone on the beach, and she was free in all the ways I wanted to be. And right then I knew what I was. I was like her. And the following night, I took the walk myself." I was staring out at the ocean, but all I could think of was how close we came. "And again the next year," she went on. "And several times since then. But after about the third time, I'd given up hope of ever finding you." We sat in silence for a long time, except for the pounding of my heart and the blood buzzing in my ears. "...really?" I said at last. She nodded slowly. It was another long while before I climbed off the chair, and down to the wet sand. I walked out toward the water, a distance comparable to the one she must have been from me when she saw me for the first time, and turned around. I stood with my legs apart, ran my hands through my hair, and let her see. I ran my hands over myself, turned this way and that, showing her everything. She was a dark silhouette in the overcast night, but eventually I could see her legs twitching and hear the noises she made. I teased myself a little, too. I knew it was going to be my turn soon. Daylight approached. We'd been taking turns enjoying each other, but if we didn't want to go from deviants into criminals, it was time for it to be over. For now. Maurice Dillonwelder. It was a ridiculous name, but that was the idea. It was the name she gave me to look for on Facebook, a page she'd invent just for me. A false name so I'd never have to learn the real one. I liked that idea. I told her to look for a Graeme Spurious. That was how we'd arrange it. It could be another year. But at least it could still be. We walked back as dawn approached, and parted ways without a word as the sun broke the horizon. I'm sure we were seen more than a few times. I forgot the name. Within two days of having gotten home, I forgot the name. I think I cried all night. And it would be six months later before I had the dream. I don't remember what the dream was. But I awoke with the name on dry lips. Maurice. Maurice Dillonwelder. I think I rolled out of bed right on top of my laptop. Would you believe there's more than one Murice Dillonwelder? I examined them both. One was an obscure band in Bavaria. Their profile picture was an album cover. The other picture was a lifeguard chair.