I’m wearing way too short jean shorts and a tank top with no bra. As I walk out the front door I grab my nipples with both hands and roll them outward with a twist. I almost groan. Not yet.
I head for the mailbox even though I know it’s empty. I walk out in front of it and spin so my ass is facing the busy street. I bend and lean over at the waist peering down into the mailbox, putting on a show for myself, knowing that whoever is driving by can see me. I linger as long as I can and then I close the mailbox and look at my front door, almost caving and going back home. Instead I take a deep breath and pull my shoulders back and stand up straight. I walk toward the park slowly and leisurely, loving the kiss of sunshine on my untouched skin. I’m self-conscious, with each step I feel the jiggle of my breasts and the fabric teasing my nipples. A soft breeze rustles through the trees and then whips some grass clippings around my ankles. I feel how wet I am when the cool air brushes against my crotch and my too tight jeans. I wonder if my shorts are visibly wet from the outside yet. I ache to touch myself, to go home and grab a vibrator and get myself off quick and dirty. To meet my needs and be over with it. No, I want to enjoy this. I want to luxuriate in my darker fantasies, embrace them and watch them come true.