What Katie Did in the Parking Station, by Katie_tt - Sex Stories

What Katie Did in the Parking Station, by Katie_tt

... body? I glance down but see no tell-tale budge. Probably wearing tight budgie-smugglers, I hope. Now he looks up and sees me seeing him. He is actually blushing; I can see he wants to look away but my eyes have caught is and he can’t. Now I recognise him. “Hello”, I say, keeping my voice steady, as if catching someone perving on my tits is something which happens every day. “I think we are neighbours. I live across the road from you.” “Oh,” he says. “Oh, yes. I know. I’ve seen you. I mean…”He breaks off, flustered, blushing even more deeply. Is he naturally shy, or just embarrassed that I have caught him in a sexy daydream? I try to put him at ease. “I see you on your balcony”, I say, “so I guess you can see me.” He is saved by the check-out girl. It is my turn, too, and for a few minutes we are both busy with our transactions. I finish first, and as I am struggling to organise three plastic bags as well as the Colesworth bag I see that the rain is really pouring down. He is about to walk past me but stops to say goodbye. I have the feeling that he wants to hurry away from me but he must observe the social conventions. “It’s going to be a wet walk home,” I say. “Oh,” he says. “Um.” He takes a deep breath, as if he has made a big decision. “My car is downstairs,” he announces. “In the car park.” I suppose he is offering me a lift. “Well, I say, “Thank you.” As we walk down the ramp to the car-park, I have a moment of apprehension. I don’t know this shy, mild-mannered man who ...

... is so obviously desirous of doing – what? Something to do with my body. What if he snaps, tries to take advantage of the huge, lonely expanse of the parking station? I’ve heard that so many r****ts and killers are ordinarily quiet and mild-mannered. Jekyll and Hyde. It is not the first time I have worried that my desire to show my body to strangers might get me into trouble. Or – maybe the danger is part of the lure of exhibitionism. This time, however, there is no real danger. The parking station is brightly lit and full of people going to or from their cars. Middle aged women, mothers with babies in their pushcarts, men and women of all shapes and sizes. We reach his car, a grey hatch-back, nondescript, like its owner. We arrange our shopping in the back and I get in, pleased with the way my shorts ride almost to the top of my legs. I wish I wasn’t wearing panties. A wisp of pubic hair peeping out from the hem of my shorts would surely add to my viewer’s excitement, unless he is one of those boringly fastidious men who like shaved pussies. He does not seem to be in a hurry to start the car. I know he is admiring the view. No, not just admiring, craving to see more, to touch, to lick…kiss…oh yes, nameless neighbour, wouldn’t you love to watch me pull down the shorts, pull down the panties, slowly exposing my dark pussy hair, my lower lips, glistening already with the juice of my desire. The seat-belt stretches across my shirt 1111111111111111111 and accentuates the fullness ...