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Message-ID: <43331asstr$1057882206@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: tonyreeno@yahoo.com (Tony Reeno)
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NNTP-Posting-Date: 10 Jul 2003 12:51:12 GMT
Subject: {ASSM} CARLA THE SHOWOFF (Parts 11-15) (exh, MF, MMF)
Date: Thu, 10 Jul 2003 20:10:06 -0400
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CARLA THE SHOWOFF
by Tony Reeno

DISCLAIMER:  Of course this is a work of FICTION.  Of course the
characters do not exist.  Of course this is solely borne out of the
twisted mind of the author, Tony Reeno.  And of course you should not
try this at home, under any circumstances.  These are trained
professionals.  You have been warned!  Finally, of course you should
not read this if you are under 18 years of age and/or living in a
place that deems erotic fiction (and by extension, pornography)
illegal.

AUTHOR'S NOTE:  This is a sequel to FLIRTING WITH EXHIBITIONISM AND
INCEST.  It continues the story of Tony and Carla.  Indeed, Carla
takes very prominent center stage in this story (both figuratively and
literally, as you shall see).  It is not necessary to read the first
story in order to understand and enjoy this one, but if you haven't
read FLIRTING. . ., know that it also deals with Tony, Carla and
exhibitionism.  My stories build slowly but steadily, in my opinion. 
They are certainly not as explosive and bombastic as some of the
fiction on the Internet, but I strive for realism and character
development.  I find it much more of a turn-on to hear about the
subtle, seductive and erotic behavior of a well fleshed out character
than the crazy and almost cartoonish sexual gymnastics of an ensemble
of one-dimensional characters.

To those of you who have written with your thoughts and encouragement
in the past, my sincere thanks for your feedback and for reading.  As
always, comments, questions and your own stories (true and otherwise)
are most welcome.  Contact me at: tonyreeno@yahoo.com


XI
After exposing myself to Cheryl the first time, I grew more lax about
my own clothing around the house. Mind you, I was never as unabashedly
and totally nude as Carla was around the apartment, but I did give
Cheryl more than her share of peeks. And then there was Melinda, a
student at the university who called upon me for tutoring help.

Melinda was one of countless students who struggled to pass the second
half of freshman English composition at the university. She was one of
several students I tutored to pick up some extra cash while making my
way through my own graduate studies. Of the lot, however, Melinda was
most definitely one of the cutest: a fair-skinned blondie with a quiet
voice and an innocent demeanor.

Melinda was about as strong in English classes as I used to be in Math
classes. (Basically, I sucked at Math.)  So she hired me to help her
improve her essay writing. For a few weeks one semester, I used to
meet this girl every Saturday morning at the college library and tutor
her for about an hour and a half, sometimes two hours.

One Saturday, I woke up and reached over for Carla's warm buns on
sunny display beside me. Then I remembered it was Saturday and I had
to meet Melinda. I groaned, released Melinda and headed for the
shower. Afterward, I put on my oldest and shortest pair of jogging
shorts (no underwear) and a T-shirt, then headed out to the library.

I met Melinda and we had our help session, with the two of us sitting
in a study room on the same side of the table.  The room was small,
but private enough, though it did have a glass window on the door.
Since it was fairly early on a Saturday morning, the library was
pretty empty.

As I was going over Melinda's comparison/contrast composition on two
mythology stories, I caught the scent of her delicious perfume; this,
coupled with her little-girl giggles and incredible smile, made me
wish I had finished what started with Carla that morning.  I could
feel myself growing very stiff below. Still, I struggled to behave.
Really. Well, at least for a little while.

I continued to converse with Melinda.  We talked about her essay
development and compared elements in both stories.  Then I heard
Melinda catch her breath.  A few moments later and she released a
string of giggles.  She began to squirm. I very casually looked down
to my crotch area and saw the head of my member peeking out of the leg
of my shorts. For a second I thought to move and cover up, but then a
wicked thrill shot through me and the pervert in me said, Oh, what the
hell. So I continued to talk and scribble in Melinda's notebook,
correcting her draft. Melinda wrote down a few things too and tried
hard to stay focused on the lesson, but I could feel myself swelling. 
A minute or two later, I noticed that I was now sticking a good
halfway out of the right leg of my shorts. My penis was thick and
crimson, the domed head almost purplish.  I pretended not to be aware
of this glaring fact (yeah, right) and kept talking and joking with
Melinda - and STILL I didn't cover up. Finally, I reached down to
scratch my upper thigh and then pretended to notice the situation for
the first time. This called for an "OOOPS!" on my part. With some
difficulty, I tucked myself back into my shorts.

"I'm so sorry!" I said. Melinda's face was flushed and she burst into
fresh laughter.

"Melinda, I didn't mean to embarrass you."

She laughed some more and shook her head. "It's no problem. I'm fine."

We got back into the stories and her essay, sort of, but the tension
was razor-sharp. I felt so hard that I was throbbing. A few minutes
later, Melinda spoke. "Um, I think your problem is back, Tony."

I knew exactly what she meant because I'd felt myself spring out of my
shorts again.  A quick glance down told me that I was revealing more
than ever. This time I made a big production out of putting myself
back into my shorts by first grabbing my member near the base (and
subsequently exposing most of my goods) and then tucking it back
inside. "Naughty, Naughty," I admonished my crotch, explaining that
sometimes "he" had a mind all his own.  This made Melinda blush deeper
and giggle some more.

When it happened again, I grabbed myself and squeezed my phallus near
the base again.  I squeezed very hard and that made me completely
erect.  I was in a full-blown state of arousal and extremely exposed
at a level that I've seldom shown myself.  When I spoke, I heard my
voice trembling slightly, from my own excitement.  "Can you believe
him?"  I said, wagging my penis in the air.

Then Melinda did something that almost made me erupt right in front of
the girl.  She returned the wag I gave with my penis!  The girl began
to play along with my showing off!  She wagged her right index finger
at my crotch and addressed my member. "Bad boy! Behave!"

At this point I was so hard and turned on that I could've brought
myself off with just a few strokes. Can you blame me?  Here I was
getting the flowing rush by exposing myself to a virtual stranger!  In
the past, I had been quite brazen around my mother and Carla.  I had
also begun to expose myself a bit to Melinda, whom I knew.  But
Melinda was someone fairly new and that seemed to trigger a fresh
intensity within me.

I continued to grip myself at the base of my member again, my balls
puffed and distorted below my palm.  This time I didn't put it away
right away. Instead, I gave my penis one long and thoughtful stroke,
then said, "You know what? I'll be right back."

Melinda smiled knowingly. "Bathroom break?"

"Right," I said. I gave myself a few more long, lazy strokes as I told
her to work on the paragraph we had been doctoring up. I noticed that
she spent more time watching my self-ministrations than the paper, but
she nodded and said she'd try to do as I asked.

Well, I found a bathroom and stroked my way to a quick orgasm,
reliving every second of the incident. As I hurried back to the study
room, I wondered if I had gone too far and if I'd scared Melinda off,
but she was there when I returned.

We had a few other encounters together, but nothing like that first
time.


XII
To reiterate, Carla absolutely hated the thought of clothes when she
was around the house (and, as time went on, whenever she could get
away without clothes away from home, she did so).  Carla always called
nudity "addicting."  In the spring and summer of '85 or so, when
Carla's young girlfriend Cheryl started hanging around our place, I
noticed that Carla was also increasingly growing addicted to not only
being nude, but showing herself off.  Cheryl was the one who got the
most blatant shows.  After she grew used to seeing Carla in the buff,
Carla would stay naked whenever Cheryl came over.  Carla and Cheryl
were in local theater and whenever they came back from rehearsals or,
if they weren't doing a play at the moment but Cheryl came over to
hang around, Carla would strip the moment she came home.  Initially, I
could tell that Cheryl was just the slightest bit uncomfortable with
the situation, but she grew used to Carla's lifestyle.

Eventually, I asked Carla about her constant nudity around Cheryl. 
"You know, sweetie, being in the buff around me is one thing, but why
do you flash so much for Cheryl?"

Carla tried to give me the brush off and called me crazy.  She said
she was hardly flashing, she was simply being herself:  someone who
preferred to be nude rather than clothed for comfort's sake. "Do you
really think something else is going on here, Tony?"

Well, the truth was, yes, sort of.  So I persisted and tried to get to
the heart of the exhibitionism.  "But I've seen you get turned on when
you've made me show off a bit for Cheryl.  Are you sure it's just
comfort?  And let me say right now, in order to put you at ease, that
I don't care if you feel anything more than friendship for Cheryl.  I
can deal with that."

Carla smiled, gave me a hug and kissed me on the lips.  "You're the
biggest sweetheart," I remember her saying.  "Here's the deal.  Let me
see if I can explain it.  You guessed right when you said it may be
more than being nude to be comfortable.  That's a lot of what it is,
but it's more.  It's like the couple of times that we went driving and
I left my clothes at home.  Or the time I flashed the pizza guy.  When
I show off for Cheryl, it's not a gal-gal thrill that I feel, but
rather a kind of constant low-level turn on the entire time she's here
and I'm nude in her presence.  The whole time, Tony.  Can you
understand that?"

"In a way, yeah."

"How so?"

And here's where I 'fessed up, too.  "Well, seeing you showing off for
extended periods really gets me going too, hon. I get turned on
watching you be naked and getting turned on by showing off.  Does that
make sense?"

She nodded and gave me another kiss.  "Now that we've got that out of
the way, there's only one other problem."

"What?"

"I think you know what it is.  I've been flashing for Cheryl a lot
lately, but we haven't done anything really crazy.  In other words,
what are we gonna do to top it?"

I shrugged.  "I'm not sure.  When you flash for Cheryl, you flash for
hours at a time, but you're in the confines of our apartment or our
patio.  You mean you're thinking of a way to top your constant
exposure around Cheryl?"

Carla nodded again.  "Exactly.  How am I going to up the ante?  I
still feel a thrill over showing off and being totally naked at home,
but I need more now.  You know me, Tony.  I ALWAYS need more after
awhile."

"Well, I guess we'll have to get busy and think of something," I said.

And we did.  The next step in our growing erotic exhibitionism play,
it turned out, was to take more and more of what Carla called
"flashing trips."

We lived about a half hour from Padre Island, so showing off at the
beach most of the summer was an obvious solution.  Some of the Island
beach stretches are topless, so Carla wore next to nothing out there. 
Quite often Cheryl accompanied us on our late afternoon outings. 
While her bathing suit was a bit more conservative than Carla's micro
g-string (dental floss looked rather thick compared to the bit of
string that ran up and got lost between Carla's ass-cheeks), Cheryl
still wore a bikini and it was nice to be in the company of two
fine-looking ladies.

Carla usually stripped down to her g-string at the beach and didn't
don a t-shirt until we were driving away from the park.  Once we left
the beach very late and the sinking south Texas sunset bathed Carla
and Cheryl in splashes of orange and bronze.  I remember Carla tossing
her stuff into our car and then not bothering with her top.  Cheryl
raised an eyebrow when we got on the highway and Carla remained
topless.  But this was a night for me to be shocked as well.

It happened as I pulled into a coin-operated carwash on the way home. 
Carla proceeded to get out of the car clothed only in her g-string and
helped Cheryl and I first vacuum, then hose down the car.  Since she
hadn't bothered with the t-shirt, I sensed she might try something
like this, so I parked as far away from the other slots as possible. 
The place was pretty empty (it was a week-day), but there were still a
couple of other cars that came and went while we were there.  Cheryl
kept giggling at Carla's exposure and I was enjoying the show she was
giving everyone who cared to look, but Carla acted nonplussed, as
though it were perfectly natural for her to be walking around all but
nude in the gathering gloom of night, the fluorescent lights of the
place enhancing her exposure.  Two teenage guys were washing one car
near the other end of the car wash; both of them couldn't keep from
staring blatantly at Carla when she stepped beyond the perimeters of
the walls enclosing our car.  In the end, I think they got more water
on themselves than their car.  The other customers turned out to be an
older man and his equally older wife.  The man made a half-hearted
attempt to wash his car, but I could tell his wife was rushing him and
in the end, I know that she refused to let him vacuum out his car.

That night we drove Cheryl home and then cruised around a bit.  The
minute Cheryl left the car, Carla slid out of her g-string, placed her
bare feet on the dashboard and proceeded to work herself with both
hands.  Eyes closed, a seductive smile twisting across her lips, she
didn't take long to bring herself off.  Afterward, in a half-moaning,
half-sleepy voice, she said.  "I think we crossed a new line, Tony."

"You mean the car wash?"

"Yeah.  And this.  Being out here, driving around, being nude."

"We've done this before," I said.

"Yeah, but just a quick cruise here and there.  We're not going home
yet."

And we didn't.  I drove Carla around a lot that night.  And the next. 
And the one after that.  It became her new idea of showing off and
fun:  extended nude drives;  "flashing trips".  Carla took to taking a
few wine coolers with her on many of these drives.  She would often
drain one quickly to loosen up, drink another fairly quickly and then
suck on the last couple, like a nudie baby enjoying her bottle.  The
more we went out, the more Carla pushed the risk-envelope.  She didn't
dare get caught and yet a part of her very much wanted exposure,
wanted to be seen by others.

One afternoon Carla started drinking early, then came up and gave me
an exceptionally charged French kiss.  "I wanna do something really
crazy tonight."

My stomach tightened a bit, half from excitement, half from worry. 
"Carla, we're going to get arrested one of these nights."

She laughed.  "Well, if it's tonight, they're gonna book me naked,
Tony."

I felt myself grow hard against her.  "What do you mean?"

She cupped me and slid to her knees.  "You'll see."  Then she
convinced me, in her very special Carla way, to go along with her fun.

When dusk arrived, Carla walked out of the bedroom, loaded up her
little ice chest and walked over to me.  "Go get the car."

She stood naked by the doorway.

"But you're naked."

"Duh!"  She giggled.  I could tell she was pretty buzzed and I
wondered if I should try to convince her to stay home.  "Go get it!"

"But you always take a t-shirt, at least.  What if we just --"

"Tony, get the car or I'll go get it."

Well, Carla could be incredibly stubborn and I thought the best thing
to do to protect her was to go along with her plans.

When I pulled the car directly in front of our door, Carla rushed out.
 Except for the ice chest she was wearing and I guess you could count
as a purse of sorts, she was totally naked.
 
We drove to the outskirts of the city that night and found a fairly
new neighborhood development to cruise through.  It was that great
twilight hour between dusk and total nightfall.  Several times we
passed by homes where families were sitting outside on
lawn chairs.  As we approached a large park, Carla told me to circle
about and stop near the playground.  When I got to a four-way stop on
the opposite side of our destination, a trio of teens on bicycles were
standing at the curb and talking.  Carla decided to rummage around the
little ice chest in the backseat and dig out one of her coolers. 
Then, just as I was about to execute the turn, Carla told me to turn
on the car's overhead light.  I thought she was crazy!  But she
insisted.  I did so and quickly turned left.  But not so quick that
the boys didn't get to see what Carla and I both got such a charge out
of their seeing:  mainly, her exposed buns and long thighs and one
foot pushing itself off the dashboard.

Carla bent forward and died laughing.  Me too.  I looked over and saw
her taking a long swig off the freshly opened cooler.  Her other hand
was buried deep between her legs and didn't leave there until she'd
given herself a violent cum that made her choke on her wine.

"You okay?"  I asked her.

"Never better.  See?"  She grabbed my right hand and placed it on her
sex.  it was wetter than I'd ever felt it.

That excursion ended with Carla and I making slow and sensuous love
under the stars in our back patio.

I also remember the first time we picked up Cheryl that way.  "Hi
girlfriend!  Hi, Tony," Cheryl yelled as she ran down the driveway
from her house.

Carla waved back.  "Hi!"  She reached back and unlocked Cheryl's door.

Cheryl climbed into the backseat and immediately sprouted an
ear-to-ear grin.  "Jeeze, Car', you came in just your t-shirt?  You're
crazy!"

"How come?  We were just buzzing over to get you, is all.  Why do I
need more?"

"Well, supposing my mom had come out or something."

"She didn't."

"Or someone else!  I can't believe you sometimes, girl!  Even when we
go to the beach, you've got clothes in the car."

You should've seen her a few nights ago, I thought to myself, but
didn't say a word.

"But here you're several miles from home and wearing just a t-shirt!"

Carla slipped the shirt over her head and tossed it at Cheryl.  "Not
any more!"

I felt myself growing aroused.

"Try it, Cheryl," Carla coaxed.

Cheryl squealed with laughter.  "No way!"

And we were off on another flashing trip, this time with company.


XIII.
Carla stripped completely for these car rides -- initially, always at
night, then later, in broad daylight -- and we both grew extremely
turned on by her showing off. Quite often, nobody was aware of what
was going on, but it was always the thrill of knowing that somebody
could POSSIBLY find out and spot a flash of breasts or buns, that
really got us going.

Cheryl was used to seeing Carla nude at home when she visited our
apartment, but not in the car. It was a new side of Carla that Cheryl
would soon grow used to (though not necessarily to love). I wish I
could say that Cheryl started sharing Carla's passion for nudie rides
and such, but rather than embellish the story too much, I'll stick
closer to the facts as I remember them.

At summer's end, we saw less of Cheryl. I hit the books intensely
since it was my senior year and I was also busy applying to various
graduate schools. It was at this time that Carla decided to quit her
part-time job in a gift shop at one of the city's malls. She was bored
with the job and we could float on what I made at my two part-time
jobs. Well, "float" isn't exactly the right word: stumble along is
better. And if the truth is known, both Carla and I were dipping
increasingly into our respective savings accounts.

Without having to go to work, Carla occupied her time by sleeping
extremely late, getting up, sunning herself to a dark copper bronze as
long as the waning summer allowed her to (it's a good thing we lived
in a very warm southern state that allowed her to tan outdoors; when
the weather finally got too chilly, she joined a tanning salon to
maintain her dark coppery tones).

She would also spend long periods taking lazy sensuous baths, reading
a good supply of erotic paperbacks, watching a lot of TV and getting
into mischief from time to time. She enrolled for a semester in
school, but she seemed to be stuck in the limbo of perpetual sophomore
and dropped her courses before mid-term, as had been her pattern for
many a semester. She even passed up trying out for a couple of plays
put on by local playhouses because she didn't like any of the roles.

That autumn saw the emergence of a new Carla. She stopped wearing
clothes altogether, except to go out now and then. Her smoking
increased from about a half-pack of Salems a day to a full pack.  Her
body filled out more and she grew voluptuous.  Let me stress that
Carla had never been a waif.  Let me also stress that she did not grow
fat at this time -- but there was definitely a curvier, thicker and
more generous look to her.  Her breasts grew larger and her tummy
acquired a beautiful roundish fullness; her hips flared a bit more. 
But the most significant change was best evident from a rearview. 
Carla's shapely, curvy and round butt became even more pronounced and
round.  I called her "Bubbles" from time to time (as in "Bubble-Butt")
and Carla loved the new nickname and turned and gave her ass a saucy
shake when I called her "Bubbles."  I liked these rewards, even if she
hadn't given them to me, I would have gotten to see her sexy buttocks
swaying from side to side, since Carla was now a full-time home
nudist.

If all the changes in Carla had been as pleasant to deal with as her
expanding but oh so attractive shape, I guess things wouldn't have
been too bad.  But Carla changed in other ways, too.  I saw a
self-centered side of her emerge when she lost a girlfriend who had
always tolerated Carla's nudity but who asked that she please cover up
when her boyfriend accompanied her to our apartment. One night, Janice
and Rick were due to stop by and I reminded Carla that they were due
any minute and that she'd better cover up soon. She giggled as she
pulled on her ever-present glass of wine and said she wanted to pull a
joke on Jan and Rick. Sure enough, when they arrived, Carla answered
the door stark naked. Jan had warned Carla about these pranks before;
several times, in fact.  That was the end of that friendship. "Fuck
her, then," Carla said, but I knew that she was hurt inside. Carla,
like many theatrically inclined people I've met, craved attention and
without my being able to provide it so diligently, she began to seek
crazier thrills on her own to get the attention she so needed.

She'd stay up late watching videos (many of them porno tapes) or
talking on the phone with a girlfriend who tolerated her increasingly
bizarre mood swings, then usually wake me by cupping me or sucking me
to erection and demanding sex. I remember indulging her many a night,
kissing her boozy mouth and swimming through wave after wave of
pleasure in a dreamy haze.

I often think how crazy Carla would have gotten if we had had access
to anything like the Internet in the 80s. We had computers, of course,
but the vast Internet highway had not yet blossomed into what it is
today. As a result, we had to rely on videos to enhance our sexual
escapades; magazines and erotic sex letters magazines, too. Carla
loved these books and urged me to buy a new batch each week, even when
money was tight. "We need them, baby," she would coo, then whine
"Pleeeeeze!" I complied, not because I needed them -- I had my hands
full with our own frolics and school and work -- but because I knew
that she loved the stuff to enhance her solo pleasure.  It was at this
time, when our lifestyles became so different, that I began to fear
that Carla might have too much time on her hands to remain faithful to
me.

I remember on several occasions waking up to use the bathroom and
hearing soft moans coming from the living room. I'd gaze out from the
darkness -- a voyeur in my own home -- and there Carla would be,
sprawled out naked on the couch, legs spread wide, a small splash of
lamplight illuminating her bronze skin. She would be fingering herself
frantically with one hand, a glazed look in her eyes, holding a
PLAYGIRL or erotic letters pocket magazine in her other hand.  I
watched her fingers dance over her wet clit and slide themselves
deeply into her bald pussy and on a few occasions, I stuck around to
see her back arch and her hands drop the magazine as she rode the
throes of her latest orgasm.

Once, I couldn't help myself and spoke up.  "That looks like fun," I
said softly.

Carla looked up startled, then her mouth twisted into a leering grin.
"Come over her and find out just how fun."

That marked the end of my sleeping for that night.

I interrupted Carla a few other times, but most nights I was content
to watch from the darkness of the hallway.

Then came a night in which the sounds were different.  From the
bedroom, I heard more than moans.  Carla was in the middle of a
conversation!  I got up and padded nude to the living room.  From the
hallway, I watched Carla splayed out on the couch, on her stomach. 
Her well-rounded buttocks moved up and down as she ground her wet bald
mound into a couch pillow and her fingers.  In her other hand, she
held a telephone receiver, the wire coiled tightly around her arm.

I walked into the living room and half-asked her what was going on. 
She turned her head and leered at me and gave me a wink.  Her body
never broke its sensuous rhythm.  I stood and watched Carla's
beautiful ass -- an ass that I often worshipped with my lips and
tongue -- moved rhythmically up and down; I saw four of her fingers
disappear into her glistening pussy.  I watched the couch pillow
disappear underneath her grinding.

"You better believe I'm close," she said to the party on the line as
she continued to look directly into my eyes.  I felt a funny tug in my
stomach: on the one hand, the scene was incredibly erotic; on the
other, a part of my mind screamed that this was beyond the porno that
we both liked: this smelled a lot like cheating. Then I told myself I
was thinking stupid thoughts and knelt down and stuck my face into
Carla's damp globes.
She squirmed, squealed, then reached behind her to run fingers through
my hair and push me further in. My tongue began exploring.

"Oooo!  I can feel your tongue rimming my butt hole," she told her
caller and me.  "That's it.  Make your pretty tongue all pointy and
stick it in deep!  Yes!  Like that!"

I continued to service her and then felt her explode as her fingers
worked her clit and I worked her asshole and massaged her buttocks --
larger now and softer than when I first met her, now that she was
spending most of her days holed up in the apartment and having fun
with herself, but still the gorgeous globes I loved to worship.

"Who was it?" I asked her afterwards, using her butt as a pillow.

Carla lay on her stomach on the floor.  She mumbled something into the
pillow.  I asked her to repeat it.

"Just a guy."

"Who? Do I know him?"

"No, honey. . .It's a guy I got in touch with. He put an ad in one of
the mags."

Sluggishly, she rolled over and moved toward me and cupped my face and
looked at me.  Even half-lidded and drunky as they were this night and
so often were of late, those eyes never failed to melt my spirit.
"Don't worry. It'll never go further than fun on the phone. I
PROMISE."

"Let's hit the sack," I said. "It's after 3:30."

She looked wistful, then nodded.  "Be there in a bit."

But she wasn't. I dozed off listening to the sound of her soft voice
talking to her friend -- or someone else -- again, her mumbling
interrupted by faint moans from time to time.

I don't know what time she got to bed, but I felt her climb in.  After
a few minutes, she cuddled up against my back and spoke softly.
"You're not mad, are you?"

"No," I sighed. "Not really. The whole thing just caught me by
surprise."

"Just don't get mad, baby. It's like the books and the videos.  It's
all fantasy."

As I said, this story now treads on dangerous territory. I think the
relationship experienced its first true strains around then. It was
truly an emotional time for us as a couple. Things started getting
tension-filled when I had to devote more time to school and less to
play. Carla grew irritable. We still indulged our passion for her nude
romps around town, but not as often.

One night Carla had been drinking and as usual, the more buzzed she
got, the hornier she grew until at last she demanded that we go for a
nude cruise. I was truly swamped with work but decided to indulge her
anyway. Carla insisted that I click on the dome light from time to
time as we cruised one neighborhood after another.  After an hour of
showing her off from here to there, I had to get back home. Once
there, we consumed another hour and a half in feverish lovemaking.
Carla seemed insatiable. After another half hour of fun, I was strung
out. Carla shocked me by grabbing her car keys and rushing out the
door. Off she went to continue the night on her own. In the morning, I
found her sprawled nude on the couch, two dildos on the floor, another
near her gaping sex, and two empty wine bottles on the coffee table
(no glass in sight).

I was beginning to worry about Carla. She needed attention, exposure,
a challenge to keep her focused and for too long she'd had too much
time on her hands. When she finally woke up in the early afternoon, we
had a major row about her recent behavior. I
explained that I loved decadence and hedonism as much as the next guy
-- okay, more so -- but I was worried about her being on a collision
course with major trouble. Things were left unresolved and the
atmosphere was pretty icy for a few days.

Then, a few weeks later, Carla came home all bubbly and excited. I
guessed it was more than the cool fall weather that put the roses on
her cheeks and I was right. Carla was returning from an audition after
being cast as the principal female lead in a controversial play being
put on by one of the local theatre groups. The play involved the lead
actress to simulate a lovemaking scene with an actor and to spend some
time nude on the stage.

"Aren't you excited for me, baby?" She asked, smiling with mouth and
eyes.

"You bet!" I said. And indeed I was proud of her. But also a little
worried, jealous and nervous all in one. After all, this was going to
sanction Carla's exposure, formalize it in such a way that was
heretofore unprecedented. Her exhibitionism definitely rose to another
level with her participation in this play.


XIV
Carla's involvement in her latest play meant a cool-down period of
sorts in the sexual arena for us. This is not say that we no longer
had sex -- indeed, we did, to the tune of at least once every night or
so -- but the extracurricular and obsessive nature of our sexual
antics slowed to a comfortable simmer. At least they did for me. But
as you can tell from the previous chapter, Carla's libido took no back
seat when it came time for me to do some serious buckling down due to
school and such. If anything, her passion escalated to a height that
actually frightened me a bit and concerned me into wondering what was
going on with my lovely girlfriend. I wondered if she needed more
focus in her life in   order to really be happy. I mean, I've always
had a high sex drive, but lately, Carla had been positively ravenous,
to the point that she seemed to be neglecting all else in her life. I
confess: a part of me found this incredibly erotic and thrilling,
while another part of me really began to worry about her.

For too long, Carla had been pretty much goal-less: out of school, out
of work (she quit her part-time job after we decided we could make
ends meet -- though just barely -- on my earnings from the convenience
store job I held, coupled with my tutoring an increasingly steady flow
of students). Worse, Carla had even shied way from her beloved acting
for several months. Auditions seemed to go poorly for her because she
said she simply couldn't get interested in the play.  She kept
insisting that she was waiting for the right play to break out and do
better and try harder, but I was beginning to believe that my sultry
Carla was even more of a hedonist than I could ever hope to be.

More often than not lately, I'd come home and find Carla very drunk
and very naked, sprawled on the couch and masturbating furiously.  I
could tell by her sweat-soaked body that she'd been at it for a long
time, yet she pounced on me and insisted that I take her.
Most of the time, I was only too happy to oblige. Other times I'd find
her chatting away on the phone, lying on our bed, having what she
called "abso-fucking-lutely delicious" phone sex with some lucky guy
that she insisted enjoyed it too, but only "for kicks from afar, so
don't go jealous on me, lover."

Then the right play came along and Carla dove into it with a
dedication that I hadn't seen in her in sometime. Carla wore very
little to these rehearsals -- a loose blouse tied carelessly at the
middle, leaving a lot of cleavage and all of her stomach exposed; a
tight pair of cut-offs that revealed slices of buttock heaven to the
lucky folk behind her, and either a pair of black open-toed pumps that
highlighted her perfectly manicured, red-polished tootsies or a pair
of flip-flops.  Sometimes, she wore nothing at all on her feet.

One night I thought to surprise Carla after my night class. I knew
she'd be out of rehearsals around ten o' clock or so, so I stayed at
the university library and then took off for the theatre. I figured we
could both do with a late bite to eat, then maybe we could drive
around and allow Carla to display herself.  I was feeling particularly
horny on this night and because of the rigorous demands of school for
me and play rehearsals for Carla, we'd actually been having days here
and there when we didn't have time for more than a peck on the cheek,
let alone sex or show-off fun and games.

At least that's what I thought was going on. When I got to the
theatre, I found out quite differently. Maybe I was missing out on
sexual rushes, but Carla certainly wasn't. I stood by the darkened
front door and knocked until one of the lighting techs
let me in on his way out. He mentioned that the director was going
over some last minute details with Carla (who played an unstable young
man's girlfriend), the play's leading man and another key actor in the
drama.  "Look for 'em near the back and to the left of the main
stage," he said as he walked to the car.

I walked into the empty theatre and heard muted voices coming from
behind the half drawn curtains. I walked behind the curtains and if
I'd been a cartoon character, my jaw would've probably plummeted,
bounced off the floor and then hit me squarely between my wide eyes.

"Hi, ba-bee!" Carla waved, then stood and ran to me.

She'd been sitting on a couch next to her leading man. The other actor
was to her right and the director was standing in front of the trio.

It would've been hard to miss Carla even from afar: she was the only
woman in the group.

She was also COMPLETELY naked.


XV
Carla explained that they'd just finished rehearsing a pivotal scene
in which both she and her leading man ended up nude and heated up
onstage, making love.  "Actually, it's more like fucking than making
love, I think, but Charles - he's the director of the play - well, he
may disagree.  Anyway, I'm dripping, see?"

And I could see the shine of perspiration still on her body, vibrant
in the trio of red, blue and purple spotlights shooting down from the
rafters.  But I also noticed that her male co-star, Reggie, had
covered up and gotten into some shorts by this time.  Charles and
Reggie continued to converse as I grabbed Carla by the shoulders and
gave her a kiss.  "It's no problem," I said.

Inside I was a jumble of emotions:  This was a whole new kind of
exhibitionism for Carla.  Before she had shown a glimpse or more at
home, or flashed herself to strangers at stores and during our wild
car rides.  But this was incredible.  Here she was in a public venue;
most of the cast and crew were gone by this time, but she was still
brazenly sauntering about in the buff in front of two virtual
strangers.  Well, she'd worked with director Charles before, but
Reggie was new in town and a definite stranger.  I also noticed he was
very good looking and muscular.  But I tried to be gallant about the
situation.  I don't know what possessed me, but I leaned closer to
Carla and whispered, "In fact, it kinda turns me on to have you here
totally naked, the only naked woman among us clothed men."

Carla beamed.  The wicked dance in her eyes told me we'd have a hell
of a night in bed tonight.  "Thanks, baby!  I like it too."  Then it
was her turn to lean into me and whisper:  "In fact, when I said I was
dripping, I didn't just mean sweat!"

She giggled and I swatted one of her full ass-globes when she turned
around to retrieve her script and bundle of clothes.  "Gotta run,
guys!  Me and my Number One are going out for eats."

Charlie called her back and gave her a few last minute instructions
for tomorrow's rehearsal, then had her turn to a certain point in her
script.  I noticed that Carla didn't bother to start dressing, nor
even to try to cover up.  In fact, standing next to her director,
midway down the aisle, with one hand gripping her script, her clothes
tucked under the same arm and her right hand on her bare hip, her
stance screamed "Check me out.  I'm proud of myself and your gaze and
arousal turn me on."  She leaned closer to Charlie and they walked to
the lip of the stage.  There, Carla planted her feet firmly on the
carpeted floor and spread her legs fairly wide in an inverted V, which
only enhanced her completely shaven mound.  It happened to be pointing
directly at Reggie, who was standing a few feet away by this time. 
Several times, as Carla nodded at Charlie's instructions, I noticed
her eyes darting to her right and connecting with Reggie's and her
mouth flashing him one of her beautiful Carla smiles.

When she was finally ready to leave, she sauntered away from the stage
and came back down the aisle to meet me.  It seemed she intended to
milk her performance to the finish and flash the guys her buns until
the law required otherwise.

"Hey Carla, one last thing!"  Charlie called out.

Carla turned around.  "Yeah?"

"Don't forget to dress before you hit the street!"  We all burst out
laughing, though, admittedly, mine was a bit forced.  "I don't want my
show closed before we open!"

"If anyone tries to do that, I'll tell them to -" Carla handed me her
script and clothes, spread her legs and bent over at the waist.  Then
she reached behind her with both hands and spread open her curvy
buttocks.  I knew the boys near the stage had a perfect view of her
puckered sphincter ring and puffy pussylips.  "KISS MY ASS!"

More laughter, then we left the auditorium.  Carla dressed in the
hallway and we stepped out into the muggy night, warm despite the fall
season.

I walked her to her car, parked a few spaces away from mine.

"Where do you want to go?"  I asked her.

"Home, lover!"

"But I thought we were going to eat --"

"I need to eat something else right now," she purred, rubbing me
through my jeans and making me grow.

Needless to say, we raced each other home and ate in that night, but I
must confess that Carla had more fun than I did.  A part of me was
feeling stung by Carla's wanton exposure at the show.  Doing the
required nudity for the program was one thing, but flaunting herself
so blatantly in front of fellow actors and director and such --
without my presence -- was a deeper level of exhibitionism than what
we'd experienced together.  Moreover, there was the added dimension of
Carla forging on with her showing off on her own - without my
knowledge and participation.  Sure, she'd done it a few times before,
but it always centered on our home life and friends of hers that she
brought into our domain.  Now she was forging forward on her own,
shamelessly baring all to attain erotic kicks without my
participation.

Worse, Carla's libido went into overdrive while rehearsing for this
play, as it did whenever she geared up for a performance.  I reaped
the benefits and tried my damnedest to keep up with her, but my work
and studies prevented me from fully satisfying her cravings.  This was
true, even though we were having at least one marathon lovemaking
session that lasted into the wee hours every other day or so.

Once again, the old pattern ensued:  waking up to find Carla on the
phone, pleasuring her naked self.  Every now and then I'd stop by her
play rehearsals to lend moral support (or so I tried to tell myself;
the truth was I wanted to see what Carla was up to) and as usual, I
would always find Carla stark naked.  It seemed that once they
rehearsed that particular scene, Carla didn't bother to put on her
clothes for the rest of the night.  On several occasions I found her
sitting with her legs dangling off the lip of the stage, her shaved
vagina completely exposed for anyone to see.  Other times, I
discovered Carla sitting cross-legged on the stage or bundled into one
of the audience seats, her pretty feet off the floor and perched on
the edge of the sit, her crimson polished toes framing her bald pussy
perfectly.  Each time I showed up, she was completely naked and
exposed.  She was always friendly to me, though, and greeted me
enthusiastically, as though it was perfectly natural to be walking
around nude for a couple of hours a night in a public theater.

I asked Carla what the other women thought of her exposure.  She said
that she was lucky in that respect.  There were five males in the cast
and only one other woman.  She was an uptight newcomer, Carla decided,
and sort of prudish.  She did her scenes and left rehearsals quickly. 
She had pretty much told Carla that her behavior was offensive and a
turn-off.  Carla asked her what behavior?  Since Carla was playing a
rather sluttish role, she thought it best to try to stay in character.

And then a new pattern developed:  Carla started coming home from
rehearsals later and later.  And later.  Her excuses varied.  That
night's rehearsal ran super-late, she claimed at times.  Other nights,
she explained that a bunch of the group went out for coffee or drinks
after practice.  On still other occasions, she said that she'd
volunteered to drive "some of the boys" home and stayed for a drink or
two.

The entire affair came to a head on the closing night of the play
(which did very well, by the way).  Carla begged me to go to the
show's wrap party.  I felt out of sorts among this group.  Oh, not all
of Carla's theatre friends were alien to me.  And to be honest, most
were fun people.  But I always felt like a third wheel amongst them. 
They had their own talk, their own chatter, and their own
conversation.  Try as I might, I just couldn't get into their scene.

The party broke out shortly after the last patron had left the theatre
and the doors were locked for the night.  Carla bounded out of the
back dressing rooms - very undressed.  In fact, she was still as naked
as she was in the key moment of the play.  She had even removed the
robe she donned for curtain call.  "Aren't you going to put your
clothes back on?" I asked her, maybe a bit too sternly.

"Fuck it!" yelled Carla.  Her breath hit me and I could tell she'd
already started drinking.  "Everybody's seen my naked ass for weeks. 
Why cover it now?"  Her giggles turned into a wild burst of laughter
at her own comments.

I stood in the aisle and the other young woman in the cast passed me
by.  She looked at me with angry eyes.  "Your girlfriend is a slut,"
she muttered as she exited.

Carla drank heavily throughout the evening.  After awhile, I lost her.
 At one point, I was wedged between two gay actors who had just
finished a wild strip-show and asked me to settle a dispute.  Which of
them had the cuter g-string, they wanted to know:  the one wearing the
sizzling pink sequined-one or the one in the equally dazzling green
one.  I mumbled something and excused myself and continued to look for
Carla.  I asked around, but nobody seemed to know where she was.

Screw it, I told myself.  I'm outta here.  I bolted from the party and
headed for my car.  I was about to slide key into car door in it when
I heard soft moans coming from a van nearby.  What I saw next shocked
the hell out of me and acted as the knife that severed my relationship
with Carla.

There she was, my naked girlfriend, doing her thing:  showing her
stuff, strutting her nude body for two men - her co-star in the play
and the play's director.  The only difference was that this time,
Carla had Charlie's engorged penis sucked halfway down her throat and
Reggie's equally hard phallus wedged deeply in her cunt.  From behind,
I might add, as she held herself up on all fours, rocking gently back
and forth, getting a solid banging at both ends.

I have to tell you:  the moments when Carla teased others and
displayed herself were every bit as exciting for me as they were for
her.  I'm sure of that.  But I am NOT (perhaps unfortunately) like
some of the tolerant boyfriends and husbands I've read about, who
heighten their own sexual gratification by allowing their significant
other to take her flirtation games to the next level by engaging in
full-blown sexual affairs with others.  Mind you, I'm not knocking
those who play in this territory.  And to be honest, reading about
those who are that open with each other is a turn-on to me.  But when
it comes to my own experiences, I wish to keep that one particular
barrier up.  Or maybe - and I'm trying to be completely honest with
myself here - it's because Carla didn't let me in on her plans to have
extracurricular fun in the first place.  Perhaps if she had told me
about her intentions and made me a vicarious part of them, then things
would be different.  But I do not like to play the 100% genuine
cuckold role.

That was the end of my relationship with Carla.  I could go into the
messy details about the breakup, what I did afterward, and her
eventual fate.  But I won't.  I prefer to think of her when we were in
our heyday, having unbelievable fun as we made one discovery about
each other after another, sexual or otherwise.  Carla was truly
one-of-a-kind.

Do I ever regret severing ties?  Well, there are those late nights
when I let my mind drift back and yes, there are momentary twinges of
regret.  But they are just that - momentary twinges.

And the good memories will never go away:  the wonderful times, the
marathon sex sessions, and best of all, the incredible way Carla
teased and vivaciously displayed herself.

There have been other adventures with other girlfriends.  And I was
lucky enough to marry a wonderful wife who is terrific in her own
special ways and more than satisfies my lively libido.

But there's been nobody else like Carla in my life.

And I'm sure there never will be.

Tony Reeno

Thanks for reading!  Comments and your own nude home lifestyle/
exhibitionist/ wild and wicked girlfriend stories are most welcome. 
Write me at: tonyreeno@yahoo.com

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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