Date: Sun, 22 Jul 2007 04:54:16 +0930
From: Simon Archard <simonarchardwriting@gmail.com>
Subject: My Fearful Walk on the Street (BM, teen1, true, mast, exhib, voy)

My Fearful Walk on the Street (B, teen1, true, mast, exhib, voy)

by Simon Archard
(C) Copyright Simon Archard Writing
mailto:simonarchardwriting@gmail.com


Notes: This story is as true as I can make it to actual fact. Between the
ages of 15 and 24, I was a serial exhibitionist. This is the opening
account of how it all started, except that for story brevity, I have
combined my first three exhibitionism attempts into a single night. In
actuality my first two attempts were very exciting but very uneventful.
My exhibitionist habit really started on the third episode, which is the
final scene in this story, and ended abruptly at age 24 when I went too
far and was apprehended by the police. My real name is not Simon Archard,
and in this and if you want to hear them, the following accounts, I have
changed all the names. I do not advise anyone to follow in my footsteps
with exhibitionism, but in a lot of ways, I do not regret it -- well
maybe the last bit at age 24. Let me know if you are interested in
hearing more. All comments gladly received. Love Simon (pseudonym).

My Fearful Walk on the Street (B, teen1, true, mast, exhib, voy)

     One night when I was fifteen I had the uncontrollable urge to walk
around outside totally naked - not just a quick sneak out into the back
yard of the family home, but a mountainous impulse to walk down the
street and be seen. This was not a conscious decision or a dare. It was a
force that held both a violently possessive sexual urge and a paralysing
fear of being caught. My rational brain was disconnected and my body was
awash with an electric charge. It was strange and scary because I was not
a narcissistic kid, rather the opposite. I was a good kid, a nice kid,
and this was a detestable sensation.

     The first few times I repressed the urge and stayed shaking
fearfully in my bed, aroused, charged, and frustrated. I joylessly
masturbated to try and subdue the desire and ended up with a restless
night full of thoughts of self-loathing. The light of morning brought on
physically illness from the guilt and shame. I remember when at age 12
when I had a weird dream in the dead of night imagining I was an animal,
either a deer or a burro I cannot remember, but I do remember dreaming I
had an abnormally huge penis. Quite an irony considering the peanut sized
willy I had at age 12. The next morning I woke up with my bed saturated
with urine. This was the last time I wet the bed and gave me a deep sense
of depravity and shame. While my mother dismissed the incident as a loss
of bladder control caused by forgetting to go for a pee before bed, I
knew the truth about my loathsome dream. This new naked exhibitionism
urge was worse a worse abasement than that. It said more about who I was
becoming than the kid I had been.

     When I was turned fifteen I felt pretty inadequate. I wore
unfashionable clothes, not jeans but corduroy pants and western plaid
shirts, which may have been okay if I lived in an outback town, but for a
city kid it made me feel a total misfit. I remember one time my mother
buying slip-on shoes for me -- not lace up or even Velcro, but faggoty
slip-on shoes, and as they were brown not black, they were painted with a
special shoe-colouring die that half peeled off in a few weeks. I was the
only kid in school who wore shoes shaped like ballet slippers with a
surface like a malting hyena. This was not just unattractive but
unacceptable.

     At fifteen I did play guitar, but not modern rock and roll. My dad
caught me masturbating at 13 and decided and, after a few of the many
beers he'd drink each night, told everyone within listening distance,
that I needed a diversion. The lewd way he repeatedly told this story
left no one in doubt that I needed diverting from pulling my pud all the
time. This might have been true, but neighbours and relatives didn't need
to know. That makes my dad seem unforgivably bad, but he wasn't like that
all the time and I did love him.

     At 15 I didn't have a girlfriend and felt I should. Not many boys my
age did have a steady girlfriend but that didn't seem to register with
me. They all talked like they were porn stars humping their latest
squeeze who was out of Penthouse magazine, and I felt that I was the one
and only unique archetype of a dork. At 12 I was friends with a brother
and sister, and I liked both Michael and Sally quite a lot. Apart from
our very frequent 'I'll show you mine if you show me yours' sessions with
both of them, the friendship was pretty platonic. We were just friends,
but as puberty came on so did my self-awareness about my inadequacies and
shame about my family and we drifted apart. I continued to observe Sally
from a distance as we went through school but it was as though our
pre-pubescent fumblings broke something that could be fixed when I
crossed the early teen transition. I have often thought since, and others
friends have told me as much, that if you were going to choose a wife
from any of our school friends then Sally was about as good as they could
possibly get.

     Also at 15 I was plagued by another frightening sense of guilt. I
had harboured feelings of attraction to certain boys at school. I felt
attracted to some but not all of my school friends both girls and boys.
It was embarrassing but okay to be attracted to a girl, but unforgivable
and unrecoverable to be a queer attracted to a boy. Rationalising that
didn't help when your heart melts and hormones explode. Sports events
were the worst of times because I new that all it would take was one of
the graceful fawn-eyed boys to glance at me and my attraction would be
physically obvious and undeniable. An erection tenting your sports shorts
would be bad enough but the showers were worse. It was almost impossible
to have the self-discipline not to stand in dreamy wonder while the water
cascaded over the naked curves of my latest male object of desire.
Fearing my body would irrevocably betray the true loathsome me, I avoided
school sports, but constantly longed to admire water rolling down the
backs and over the orbed buttocks of my few heartbreakers. The risks were
just off the Richter scale.

     I felt that every disgusting joke about poofters and faggots felt
like personal condemnations against me. There was no middle ground, no
acceptable bisexuality, you were either okay or a faggot. Above all else,
a young teenage boy at my school didn't want to be a queer -- a
bed-wetter would have been more socially acceptable. Half of the boys in
my school class may have been entertaining similar thoughts but I had no
idea of that and contrary to much of the gay fantasy literature, the main
characteristic of a teenage gay boy is confusion and loneliness.

     Enough to say that at fifteen I didn't rationally feel like an ivory
carve Adonis wanting to parade myself as God's gift to the human race,
which is why my new-found urges were both out of character and
frightfully disgusting. This new urge to abandon everything and walk
naked through the suburban streets exposed everything I hid inside --
puberty, sexuality, inadequacy, self-hate, and homosexuality because
though I tried to rationalise my desire as indiscriminate, deep down I
knew that my desire to parade myself was not to women or girls, and not
even boys my own age, but to frighteningly to men.

     I have read comments saying that teen boys don't desire adult men,
and this may be true for most, but for me it was the attention of much
older boys and men that I sought. My urges to exhibit myself also
coincided with the start of an anal fetish. More often my masturbatory
romps which took place at night, or in a number of daytime secret places,
involved inserting improvised dildos into my rectum. At fifteen these
were long and thin objects, a lacquered wooden dowel being my first, but
soon I found that the need to retain the makeshift dildo inside me needed
a change and the handle of a long thin electrical screwdriver became my
regular toy. While my anal play started as an experimental play, after a
couple of months I found my exhibitionist urges could best, but only
partially, suppressed by masturbation with that fine screwdriver inserted
handle-first into my backside. Using such a device only increased guilt
and shame and the conviction that I was uniquely perverted.

     The first night I actually walked naked in public was initially
un-eventful, but a final caution-to-the-wind exhibition was so
spectacular that it defined a key part of my sexuality for the next 8
years. My family lived in an older suburb in an Australian city with a
network of straight roads forming a cross-hatch pattern, rather than the
more modern design of a network of cul de sacs. The street our house
faced was not a main road, though did carry some through traffic for
drivers who wanted to avoid the risk of alcohol breath-testing stations
on the main roads. This I calculated was ideal for me as the average 2am
to 3am driver on our street would not be the puritanical churchman
driving home, but those wanting to avoid the authorities. Quite a bazaar
rationalisation, but my brain was not operating on a normal plane.
Additionally, I rationalised that the two houses that could view the
length of the driveway that ran down the side of our house were not
people who would be awake at that hour. At age 23, I found out with some
shock that this was not the case and that the husband of the couple who
lived opposite our house saw me one night and used to wait up and watch
out for me, but never said anything for fear my naked jaunts would stop.
He told me his wife of that time, had no idea of the early morning
entertainment I was giving him.

     It was a warm Autumn night the first time I walked naked publicly.
The now familiar sexual urge had risen and I had without relief attempted
to roll face-down in bed and dry-root one of my balled up wind-cheaters,
which was my preferred technique at the time. My body was so on edge it
was as if I was a super-charged battery that was buzzing with excitement.
My desire was so powerful and strong that I couldn't even achieve
masturbatory orgasm.

     I wore a tee-shirt and pyjama pants to bed and decided I would wear
them outside and hide them in the driveway alongside our house. In that
way, if needed, I could run back and be dressed within seconds. I also
had a secondary, but equally feeble, safety mechanism. I carried a pair
of sports shorts with me, screwed up, and carried like a over-sized
tennis ball in my hand. I would carry these all the time, so if I needed
to escape or recover, I could quickly hide somewhere and slip the shorts
on to claim I was out for a run. The fact that I would have already been
sprung by the time I needed to use any of these alleged security options
didn't seem to register.

     I sneaked quietly from my bedroom, down the passage way, through the
kitchen and out to the laundry door at the back of our house. I eased the
key and opening the door felt the first thrill of the still warm autumn
air. I took the key that was always left inside the laundry and slipped
outside. I was shaking like a leaf, but the action of succumbing to my
urge had both relieved the pain and increased the desire. I was
determined to go through with it that night.

     After listening and then looking to see that none of our three
immediate neighbours were awake, the two at each side and the one at the
back fence, I decided to walk, at first fully clothed, around the side of
the house up the driveway and to the front gate. I remember only two
sensations from that first walk, the coolness of the concrete driveway on
my feet, and that I was shaking so much that I could hardly walk
straight. To my surprise, our street was totally empty, with the glow of
the sodium vapour street lights disappearing into the distance without so
much as a single car.

     Somewhat disheartened and equally relieved I sat on our front fence.
I scanned each of the houses visible from our front gate and saw no signs
of movement or anyone being awake. After about 15 minutes the headlights
of a car swept into view as it turned into our street about 200 yards up
the road. My heart thumped and I nervously stood. Whether fear or a
feeble amount of wisdom, I decided that I would make the first attempt at
'my show', as I decided to call it, to be reasonably safe and excusable.
I had no idea how the car would react. What if they slammed the brakes on
and skidded to a halt while bleating their car horn. Neighbours house
lights would light up like the closing scene of the Flintstones cartoon
and I would be stranded naked in the street. This of course could have
happened on any subsequent time, but for the first time I decided to play
it safe.

     I strolled out to the kerbside where the car lights would clearly
illuminate me and stood in what I imagined was a very provocative
position. I arranged my pose with my arms folded behind my head and my
hips thrust sideways to accentuation the curve of my buttocks. The car
accelerated, but with my heart pounding violently, the few seconds seemed
to take an age. With astonishing anti-climax the increasing whine of the
vehicle dropped in pitch as it whistled by without so much as a wave,
flash of the lights, or a blast of the horn. I felt cheated but inwardly
relieved. I recovered my position to my improvised seat on the front
fence. After gaining my composure I decided that standing at he kerbside
fully clothed, albeit in tee-shirt and pyjama bottoms, was not going to
excite anyone.

     It was about a further 10 minutes until the next set of lights
appeared, also turning from the same street, and began to whine its way
up the road. I dropped the balled up running short and pulled the
tee-shirt over my head. The coolish breeze against my naked chest and
stomach added to my trembling. Flinging the tee-shirt to the ground I
waited till the car was about fifty yards from me and then strolled to
the kerbside stood, like what I imaged a streetwalker would, with one
hand on my hip and the other behind my neck. The car immediately slowed,
gave two short beeps of the horn, and then accelerated past.

     The thrill was like a detonation inside me. My plan had worked. Not
a great reaction but enough that a surge of wild excitement overtook me.
Finally realising that I was half-naked on the street with the silence of
the night broken by a car-horn, I literally leapt inside our driveway and
crouched down behind the fence. With as much stealth as I could muster, I
raised my head and surveyed our neighbourhood houses. Everything was
still quiet.

     My sensual and sexual excitement was now peaked higher than I could
have ever imagined possible. I was literally shaking with nervousness as
I eased out from behind the fence and peered each way down the street.
Summoning courage I decided that the next vehicle would be presented my
full naked body. I really had no idea how the driver of each car would
react to a mid-teen male exposing himself and I don't recall it being
part of my thinking. Still partly concealed by the fenceline, I eased my
pyjama pants to a bunch around my ankles. I began to nervously stroke my
flaccid penis. Within five minutes lights appeared in the distance from
the opposite direction.

     I knew that from the direction this vehicle was approaching I would
be even more visible, being fully illuminated by the orange sodium vapour
lights. I would be almost assured of a reaction. When the vehicle was
about 70 yards away I gingerly stepped from out of my lowered pyjama
pants and casually walked to the kerbside. I to this day I don't know
why, but instead of stopping at the kerb, I stepped out onto the road
until clearly illuminated by the oncoming car's headlights before easing
back to the kerb. The car instantly braked and I head the thrum of loud
music. As the vehicle continued to slow as it approached I clearly saw
four astonished faces fixed on my naked pose. There was no skid or
honking horn, just staggered amazement at my audacity. Wide-eyed I stared
back at the car as it almost stopped directly opposite me and the loud
music was turned off. It was only then that I realised the car windows
were down and I could hear the occupants hushed talking amongst
themselves.

     "It's only a kid," I heard one say.

     "A guy," said another.

     Somewhat disappointed the car didn't stop but slowly cruised past. I
slowly walked backwards so that I was within the line of the front fence
posts and watched the car, still crawling, eased further away. The
excitement within me was unbelievable, but I was disappointed that my
obviously non-aggressive, and possibly appreciative audience was driving
away. I was about to completely recover my position inside our property
when I noticed the red brake-lights illuminate on the departing vehicle.
It had stopped about 100 yards away. I watched as the vehicle headlights
went out and then heard the whine of the engine and notice that the unlit
vehicle was now turning back towards me.

     I decided that I would stay within the confines of my family
driveway, but again offer myself to full view. I stood about a three or
four yards inside the fence line on the grassed medium strip that rand
down the centre of the driveway. I could hear the vehicle slowly
approaching. In a determination not to chicken-out, I quickly threw my
pyjama pants, tee shirt, and short sports pants behind me with full
force. I would now not be able to totally weasel-out of my thrill. I
heard the scuffing brakes of the car being applied as it was within a few
yards of the driveway. I decide to strike a confident pose and faced the
open driveway and thrusting my shoulders back put both hands, palms flat,
on my buttock cheeks.  I pushed the knee of my left wide revealing my
inner thigh and fullness of my balls. I quickly glanced down and noticed
my previously limp penis was firming. The car eased to a halt right in
front of our driveway. The windows were down and four faces stared the
few yards between us.

     "Do you believe that," I heard one guy say.

     "He's young," said an older voice, "and horny by the looks of it."

     "It's weird," said a girls voice in a somewhat sarcastic tone that
was followed by the older voice telling her to shut up.

     I took my penis in hand and feeling it pleasingly thicker than it's
usual weedy size, started to stroke it.

     "Shit, look at him," said the third person in the car, obviously
another older teen guy. "He's strokin'"

     "What you up to?" asked the older voice who I now noticed was the
driver. "How come you are outside wanking off?"

     I didn't answer, not sure what to say.

     "It's okay," the older voice said in an almost chuckle, "we
certainly don't mind watchin'. Do you want to talk to us?"

     I kept stroking my penis slowly. Not sure what to say, but glad they
seemed to be appreciating my display. The effect it was having on my was
pleasing. I had stopped shaking and felt tingling urges between my
scrotum and anus -- the usual precursor to getting really horny. They
four in the car were just now quietly watching, though the girl, who
appeared younger then the others, probably not much older than me, seemed
disconcerted and not so reluctant to calmly watch me. I guess the almost
blatant homosexuality of me showing off and masturbating for the other
three guys didn't sit well with her. I decided I had better say
something.

     "I'm just," I hesitated as my voice almost squeaked. "I'm just
feeling horny. Really horny."

     "We can see that," said the older voice. "Just go for it and enjoy
yourself. Hell I wish I could."

     "How gross," said the girl to the driver, which was followed by a
shut-the-fuck-up comment from one of the other younger guys.

     "I don't think your girlfriend likes me," I said, with increasing
bravado.

     "She's my sister," said the other guy in the back seat with her.

     "This guy's a bigger fag than you are", whined the girl at full
volume.

     I tried to ignore the girl and continued to more rhythmically stroke
and thrust my hips forward with each hand movement, even though, I could
feel that nerves were going to prevent this from building to a fast
orgasm.

     "Go for it," said the older guy. "Hey, I'm Jerry. What's your name?"

     "Andy," I lied.

     "You're a horny guy Andy," said Jerry.

     I slowly began to sink to my knees and sat on my heels. Realising
that nervousness meant my penis wasn't going to give me anything more, I
began to stroke my hands over my thighs, up my chest around my neck. I
eased myself around so my back faced the car and lifted my hips so that
balanced on my spread knees and forearms, presenting the viewers my
bottom and dangling balls. I heard some appreciative expletives from the
car peppered by sarcasm from the girl.

     It was then that a light went on in our house and I realised one of
my parents must be awake. Looked up and noticed that now the front porch
light of the house was on. I quickly scrambled forward and grabbed my
pyjama pants and tee shirt, spinning on my backside on the cold concrete
as I threaded the pants and shirt on as I heard the front door to the
house open.

     "Simon?" said my Dad followed by a pause, "Simon? What are you doing
out here Simon? It's 3 in the morning now get back inside."

     The car hadn't moved and I was petrified with fear. The guys in the
car could get me in real trouble now.

     "Is that your Dad Simon?" came Jerry's voice from the car.

     "Who's that?" my Dad asked in an accusing tone.

     "My name's Jerry. I'm one of Simon's friends from school."

     I could hear sniggers from the others in the car.

     "Well," my dad hesitated, "make it quick. And Simon, get back to bed
with in five minutes."

     The front door shut again and the porch light went out.

     "Thanks," I said.

     "So it's Simon eh?"

     I nodded.

     "You nearly got sprung. You need to be more careful."

     "Thanks for covering for me."

     Jerry chucked and made some comment about me uncovering for him.

     "I'd better go in now."

     "We're friends okay, Simon. Friends."

     I nodded again.

     "We'll be back..." Jerry said.

     I was not sure if it was a question or a statement.

     "Will you be... you know."

     My heart raced and I said sure.

     "Tomorrow?"

     "Okay, but more quietly. Will you be back then?"

     "I won't be," said the churlish girl with stinging sarcasm.

     "You're fuckin' right about that," said the other younger guy in the
front. "Stupid bitch."

     "Gotta go," said Jerry and I nodded. "I mean you've gotta go."

     I nodded, waved, and turned to go. I heard the car finally pull away
when I turned around the back of the house.

end.

If you are interested in hearing about the following key episodes in my
formative exhibitionist and homosexual life, then email me and I will
submit more. The next main scene involves Jerry and three other guys in
the car again, but without the pain-in-the-ass sister who plagued my
first real time and, as you can tell, who's mouthy whinging nearly got me
in trouble with my dad.