[Author's Note: I wasn't sure how to proceed with this series until last week when I got an e-mail from Falcon, the original creator of this series. He offered to send me some fragments of a chapter he'd started writing but had never completed and I happily accepted. What he sent was great, as usual, and it provided me with the setup for the next chapter in the series. He gave me the freedom to continue on and write it as I saw fit and I incorporated his writing into mine as seamlessly as I could. So this is a collaboration between the two of us and I hope you guys like it.]
THE RELUCTANT EXHIBITIONIST - BACK TO SCHOOL
It’s Saturday morning again which means that all-too-familiar brew of dread, excitement, fear, anticipation, and arousal is beginning to course through my body. Just another Saturday in the crazy life of Wendy Wilson, which means another afternoon meeting with Nancy Johnson and whatever humiliations she had in store for her naked little puppet today. In many ways this would be no different than the past twelve Saturdays, with one big difference: summer is over and Nancy’s “summer job” jar is empty. Believe me, I have no illusions about what that means.
I made myself a cup of tea and walked out onto the balcony of my third floor apartment and sat cross-legged in the armless chair I’d placed there. In the distance, beyond the trees, I could see edge of my college campus and I knew it would be buzzing with activity today. You see, the fall semester was about to begin which meant the relative summer calm on campus was over. I thought back again, for the umpteenth time, on the deal I’d made with Nancy to keep from being expelled after turning in a plagiarized term paper, and I shuddered to think what kind of plans she might have for me in the coming school year. As humiliating as things had been up until now, I knew they could get much worse. In fact, Nancy kept telling me that they would.
Nancy had started me off slowly with naked car rides and “t-shirt training” where I’d be exposed to crowds wearing nothing but a thin, body hugging t-shirt. The whole idea was to push me slowly but firmly toward her goal of living vicariously through a reluctant young co-ed who’d be forced to live out her exhibitionist fantasies for her. Nancy’s plan had worked all too well and “Phase 1” of my training eventually culminated with nude walks through a supermarket and a home improvement store, which I couldn’t have imagined doing in my wildest dreams just a few months earlier.
And after that day of naked store walks and the introduction into “Phase 2" of my training, it was full speed ahead with the program. Each Saturday afternoon I would show up at Nancy’s house and draw one of a dozen envelopes out of a jar containing nude-in-public scenarios that Nancy had dreamed up for me. Even though there was some randomness to the process, they were all designed to get me used to exposing myself to strangers for brief periods in a variety of situations. There were more nude store walks, walks through sections of parks, walks down a few blocks of residential streets, walks through tourist areas and so on. Later I came to realize that these were all pretty much the classic scenes that real exhibitionists indulge in, but it was all so new and outrageous and unimaginable to think that I was doing these things myself.
And as the summer wore on, at times the bizarreness of my predicament would just overwhelm me. Having to do this was just so unexpected, something that no girl ever worries about happening to her. I mean, it’s different that way from a girl’s fear of being raped. Every girl knows, at least in the back of her mind, that being raped is a real possibility. Not that you dwell on it or live in constant fear of it, but you know it can happen, even though nobody thinks it will happen to them. At least its something you’ve contemplated and dealt with and filed away in your mind someplace.
This was so different. I mean, in my wildest imaginings, it had never, ever occurred to me that the possibility existed that someday someone would force me to go out in public totally naked. Or that they would make me do it over and over again. Oh sure, I had the naked-in-public dream on occasion, just like everybody else does, but when you wake up from that you know its just a silly nightmare, and that its not something that really happens to anybody. But it really was happening to me, and I knew it was going to keep happening. And the knowledge that another woman was choosing this for me, and was forcing me to do these things with no choice whatsoever on my part, was always part of my consciousness. It became a source of humiliation separate and distinct from the humiliation which came from actually being out in public naked. That humiliation would end – temporarily - once the particular scene was over, although of course the memory stayed forever. But the humiliation of being her helpless toy was always with me.
And she loved to tease me about my predicament, which of course made things ten times worse. I could always sense her smug amusement and satisfaction as she forced me through scene after scene of public nudity, and she in turn seemed to know exactly how it was for me to have to do it. I guess that shouldn’t be too surprising, since after all these were her own fantasies I was acting out. The fact that she herself was so consumed by the nude-in-public fantasy, and had actually attempted to act it out herself, only to back down when she realized the true awfulness of the reality, I think gave her a full awareness of just how awful it was for me. But instead of engendering sympathy from her, the vicarious thrill and excitement she got from forcing me to do it just made her want to make it even worse by taunting me.
But I’ve got to admit that, as bizarre as it was, I still reached a level of acceptance as my training progressed that summer. I really didn’t have a choice. After I decided once and for all to go along with her, and after I realized she wasn’t going to relent in any way, I more or less resolved to just accept my assignments without protest. Now, don’t get me wrong, I never, ever, became a willing participant in any of it. But it was just that I knew that if I agonized over the decision each and every time, it would eventually drive me insane. Not that I was at all assured of keeping my sanity as it was. But I was somehow able to put aside my rage at the big picture of what was being done to me, and instead just focused on getting through the scenes, one by one, as they were thrust upon me.
And in a sense, Nancy actually kept it fairly manageable for the first part of the summer. For awhile she didn’t make me go beyond the pattern of fairly quick excursions in front of unknown strangers; people I’d hopefully never see again. She always took me pretty far from campus, a lot of times even out of town. She was always careful to not put me in a situation where I might get hurt or where I might get caught and get arrested for indecency or something. And I was always amazed how, just like that day in the grocery store, people just tend to let a naked girl do her thing. And although I never got over the anxiety or stomach butterflies or dread of what I was having to do, after she had made me do it enough times I really did get to a point where I could more or less just obey my orders automatically. Once again, she had successfully conditioned me to accept a new level of humiliation. It was around this time that I really started to understand what she meant by all her talk about training and step-by-step progress in pursuit of turning me into a real exhibitionist. I could look back now with amazement on the few months she had been blackmailing me, amazement at how she had been able to get me to do the things I was doing. And with what I now know was incredible naiveté, I believed that watching me on these types of naked excursions would satisfy her perverse fantasies. Surely this was all she would want - I mean, I was doing exactly the things she herself had fantasized about - being naked in public settings. As the summer went on, and as I got ever more used to doing it, I let myself hope, and believe, that it wouldn’t get any worse. Boy was I ever wrong.
Early in the summer Nancy had told me that she expected me to spend at least twenty minutes out naked in public on whatever scenario I drew out of the summer jobs jar; anything less than that and she’d add another excursion for me to do on our way home. After a few weeks I realized that no matter how long I thought I was out, the time always magically came in at just under twenty minutes. When I finally confronted her on this she ended the farce and told me that I was doing so well that there was no reason to limit my training to only what task I’d drawn out of the jar. After that she chose things for me to do that were often worse than whatever “job” I had drawn that week.
For instance, she’d deliberately choose a convenience store with a full parking lot, so she knew there would be lots of customers inside. Somehow she would always pick one with only one clerk working, so there would be a long line at the cash register. And of course, I’d have to buy something and therefore wait in the line. That could take ten or fifteen minutes, which may not sound like much, but when you’re the only one naked, and everyone is just staring at you, believe me, it seems like forever. I was usually instructed to use the “lost bet” explanation in those days, if an explanation was needed. And once people heard that, it seemed like it made them feel free to make the most of my situation. Silly girl got herself into this, we might as well fully enjoy her mistake. There would always be some moron who would try to strike up a conversation with me, all the while letting his eyes rove unrestricted up and down my body. And while I had to deal with him, all the other bystanders would feel free to partake fully in the visual feast too. Under orders from Nancy, I was never allowed to cover up at all, so I always just had to stand there naked while they all watched me trying to act like everything was normal.
But my exhibitionist assignments weren’t the only requirements Nancy had placed on me this summer. She had registered me for summer school to keep me around for more “training,” and had also enrolled me in an acting class (“it will help you handle your public performances, and with some of the role-playing you’ll be doing later”), and in an aerobics class (“we have to keep that fabulous body of yours in top shape, dear”). Even though controlling my life in this way paled in comparison to my forced public nudity, it added tremendously to my feelings that I was becoming a complete slave to her fantasies. For her part, however, she acted more like a doting, obsessed stage mother rather than a perverted dominant mistress or whatever you’d call it. She would fuss over my hair and makeup before each assignment, and praise me over and over for my beauty and courage afterwards. An obsessed stage mother all right, but one who forced me into performance after performance that no mother would ever dream of for a daughter.
I took another sip of tea and thought about that paper I used have to write back in grade school at the beginning of fall classes: “What I Did On My Summer Vacation.” God, what a potboiler that would be now! My final summer assignment last Saturday had been a nude car wash at one of those self-service car washes. After I finished washing Nancy’s car in front of a crowd, she had me wash the guy’s car in the next bay over, using my breasts as sponges. The girl who was able to do something like that was so far removed from the rather naïve girl who started school here just one year ago that she may as well have been a different person. In many ways she is.
After we got back to Nancy’s place that day she poured me a glass of wine and toasted the end of Phase 2. “What comes next?” I’d asked nervously, not really sure I wanted to hear the answer. “The next part,” she answered coyly.
The next part. Whatever that means it starts today and I have a sick feeling that someday I’ll look back on this past summer as relatively tame by comparison.
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