Total pages in book: 13
Estimated words: 11285 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 56(@200wpm)___ 45(@250wpm)___ 38(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 11285 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 56(@200wpm)___ 45(@250wpm)___ 38(@300wpm)
What can I say, I prefer carbs over aerobics.
In my shorts and top, I am fully covered, enough to make sure that I don’t flash anything too intense to the neighbors. Not that I would exactly mind the one neighbor I met seeing a little more of me. Gage, that’s his name – and gosh, he’s even hotter close-up than I had been ready for. Last night I made up an entire fantasy that he had come outside to introduce himself as a way to flirt with me, and the little scenario helped me fall asleep. I like the idea that a sexy older man would find me attractive.
I am sure it is all in my head, but there was something about the way that he looked at me, the way that he offered me a little company if I wanted it, that makes it hard to think straight.
I glance to his house next door and feel a little flicker of excitement rush through me. So what if he can see me? I wouldn’t mind at all. If I’m going to be here all summer long then I want to make it a memorable one, that’s for sure.
I slip the shorts down my body and kick them off so that I am in nothing but my sports bra and panties. Plausible deniability, I can just say that I was getting too warm and needed to cool off. Besides, it’s basically a swimsuit, right?
I pick up my paintbrush and dip it into the red, mix it with a little white on my palette, and then lift it to the easel so I can start making some strokes.
There is something about the sensuality of the cool air on my skin that thrills me. I am not sure what it is, but I am certain that I can feel eyes on me, feel myself being watched. It doesn’t bother me, though. In fact, there is something in it that I enjoy – the cool air on my skin is balanced by the heat of those eyes on me, whether or not they are actually real.
I become absorbed in the painting that is coming to life, bringing the peonies romantic in their soft, pastel-pink sweetness. They remind me of summer back where I grew up in Northern California, the heat of the sun beating down on me. I mix the pink till it’s perfect, until I know that nothing else would capture them better, and mark out soft shapes on the easel before me.
It doesn’t take long before even the sports bra that I’m wearing starts to feel like more than I need right now. I glance around again, at least pretending that I care if someone is watching me, and then pull it off over my head. I want to lure the neighbor Gage out of his house … I want him to stalk me. Now. Though I am sure it’s just me obsessing about him.
The feeling of the air against my nipples makes them harden at once. I bite my lip. I can’t believe that I am actually doing this. And I can’t believe just how much I am enjoying it, too.
I continue to paint, let myself get caught up in it, but this time, I am certain that I can feel someone watching me. Certain that there is someone out there, someone beyond my field of vision, who can see me. Who is enjoying everything that they see.
I never thought of myself as much of an exhibitionist, but maybe I’ve just been holding myself back from what I really enjoy. I run my fingers through my hair, marking a spot on my cheek with light pink paint, and take a step back from the easel. To anyone who might be looking at me right now, it would seem like a casual gesture, not one intended to mean anything to anyone. But I want to make sure that they can see me, that whoever is watching me right now can make out every inch of me.
The thought of it thrills me in ways that I can’t even put into words – my pussy is throbbing at the thought of being watched, being seen, being taken in by someone else.
Slowly, I sink back down onto the stool. My thin panties are the only thing between me and the seat and I find myself grinding against it without even thinking. I don’t even realize how turned on I am until I start to move my hips back and forth against this stool, needing to feel the pressure of it against my pussy.
I know that whoever is watching me – wherever they are – they must be able to tell what I am doing right now, but it’s not enough to stop me. I slide my hand down between my legs, massage myself over my panties, and feel the throbbing need spread out over my whole body.