Exhibitionism

I locked the door and it was like flipping a switch: for the first time I was going to strip in front of the camera so someone on the other side could desire me.

The mirror in the dressing room reflected a woman she didn’t recognize. In a few minutes, dozens of strangers would see her naked. And still, she chose to step through the curtain.

I walked into the room blindfolded, nearly naked under my coat, not knowing who was waiting for me on the other side of the music. Only my husband’s voice guided me.

I walked onto the stage without thinking, in front of a room full of strangers and a man who no longer looked at me. That night I stopped begging and started feeling.

I rode out on my bike without underwear, my phone buzzing with messages I should never have opened. The road was empty, but I felt watched by everyone.

I closed my eyes for a second and, when I opened them, a huge shadow was blocking the sun. What happened next only existed in my imagination… until that afternoon.

You looked both ways, certain you were alone, when you hiked up your dress in the middle of the garage. You didn’t see that someone two spaces away had been watching you.

She wasn’t looking for love or company. She wanted to be watched, desired, imagined naked beneath her dress. That night she chose to be pure fire.

I gave him two kisses in front of his mother and, without anyone noticing, decided to play along until neither of us expected to go that far that morning.

I saw him looking at me in the elevator mirror and something lit up. That night I knew I didn’t just want him to watch me: I wanted him to see absolutely everything.

She ordered me to strip in her living room and start sweeping. I was just her toy that afternoon, and every slap on my ass reminded me who was in control.

I knew that blouse would make him nervous. What I didn’t imagine was how far I’d be willing to take it that afternoon, with the apartment empty and the door closed.

He barely reached my elbow when he took my hand. In six minutes, I discovered that my body didn’t understand the rules I had imposed on myself.

I used to hide everything. That night I entered the theater without underwear, in a short skirt and certain someone would look. And I wanted him to.

I left home in a sweater that showed everything, wearing nothing underneath. My boyfriend walked behind me as strangers’ eyes roamed over me.

I went into the bathroom wearing my thong and came out with it tangled in my hair. I never imagined the line into the theater would be the longest part of the night.

She got up from the table, turned around, and looked at me in a way that left no room for doubt. I followed without thinking, my heart pounding against my chest.

We were alone in the mountains, or so I thought, until I felt eyes on us from the cabin next door and I didn’t want them to stop.

A stranger’s hand brushed my waist just before I left the bar. One question in my ear was enough to make me forget my friends and follow that couple home.

No one knew why I always parked on the same deserted stretch. That afternoon, a runner turned his head toward my window and realized everything.