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A woman who leeches personality traits attends an orgy.

Today, I've taken over his account in order to tell a bit of my story. If it works (if you like it) there will be much more, I promise.

As I get ready to write the following words, I should describe where I am. I'm on a weekend retreat with others from a non-profit where I volunteer. We are in this lovely guesthouse overlooking the ocean.

I'm in my private room and I am wearing only a T-shirt. That's all. I'm sitting at a desk by the window. Anyone outside can see me from the neck up but nothing else. My "bottom" as Davey calls it, or "bum" as I call it, is naked on the pillow I've placed on this chair as I type this story.

I'm already feeling rather wicked, even before starting. I've never written a naughty story before. And I've never told my husband what a bad, bad girl I was long before he met me.

But now he is re-awakening my base instincts, I hope he will realize that he has triggered memories I thought I'd successfully suppressed. And now they are re-surfacing, I'm not sure what the outcome will be.

Maybe that is what is scaring and exciting me most. I do not know where this is all going. I think it is about losing control. It's rare for us to be apart on weekends, which given that we both have jobs is when most of our beach and river adventures have occurred. I know Davey is at a beach near here today, even as I type, and I can guess what he is doing.

He loves to hike next to the ocean -- any ocean. We've been on four continents together and three different tropical islands. I've never seen him happier than when at the beach, and it isn't only about sex or voyeurism.

It's who he is.

But part of who he is is a man who needs to be seen, literally. He needs to be known and to know that he matters. And I'm just like him but I am a woman. And we all know that everyone looks at women -- men and women -- but far fewer actually care to look at men.

I don't mind looking at men, but the first thing I look at is not their bodies but their faces -- their eyes, their mouths, their expressions. I'm not a very big woman and big men scare me in equal parts as they also excite me. This may be something that Davey has not figured out yet.

Okay, on to my story and then I'll come back into the present tense to wrap this up.


I'd been raised in a rather strict manner to always behave in a prim and proper way. I was to go to school with my uniform carefully ironed, for example. Often, on the train, I felt men's eyes on me -- although British men tend to be far less direct than American men, if I may say so.

Some days, as I got older and my body became more developed, I yielded to the temptation to imagine what these strangers on the train would think of me had they known I had no knickers on.

That's right. I rode to school with my bum naked, underneath that short plaid skirt. The first few times I tried this, nothing happened, but then one day something did happen. And this is the story my husband will only find out about when he reads it on Literotica.

My parents both worked. When I left home and got on the train, I was completely naked and free underneath my skirt. I knew that my long smooth legs were pretty and that men often snuck a peek at them.

This day I was feeling risqu__, growing into my own as a young woman. I wanted to test my power over men. I wanted to feel sexy.

On the train, I boldly walked to the back of the car, where fewer girls and women were, and positioned myself between a number of guys. I think I probably was pushing my bum out as I braced myself on the bar overhead. I wanted to be touched.

In any event, I soon felt a stranger's hands touching my bare legs from behind, ever so gently. I just let him continue, giving in to the sensation of being stroked in that manner. I know this was dodgy behavior of me. I know I was being a bad girl.

But please read on.

As I stood there, the man's hands slowly worked their way up to my bare bum.

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