A Show of RealityChapter 14
- 4 years ago
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‘Timid Voyeur’ free porn video
I don’t remember where I read that but as soon as I saw it I knew it was me. I also read other things like ‘once a peeper, always a peeper’, and later, ‘once a wanker, always a wanker’, and again immediately recognised myself.
Like any adolescent, it took me a while to understand what I was, though I’m sure early on I knew I was different to the other lads. They knew what it was all about and were ‘at it’ from an early age, whereas I worshipped girls from afar and concentrated on building my life-long collection of baregirl mags.
It was when I read a book called ‘Jubb’ by someone or other that I was sure who and what I was. Back then there was no Internet so research was far more difficult, and I don’t remember how much information was in that book. What I do remember is finding out how I could enjoy my perversion the most.
The first thing was to dress like a perv – not just for appearance but for practical convenience too. So to begin with, I used a long jacket, which later became a ‘rainmac’ – the coat of choice for perverts who mac-wank through holes in their pockets. Macs don’t come like that of course, I had to cut the holes with a pair of scissors – in fact, you remove the pocket altogether so your hand slides in easily and you have room for it to move.
To go with your wank-mac you need wank-trousers. The idea of these is that, again with the pockets cut off, you have easy access and movement for your hand. You don’t have to cut out both pockets, though what would you need a pocket for? With both removed, you can get both hands into your genital area so it’s easier to roll down your underpants when you get on-site for mac-wanking, and also then you can rub with one hand and stroke bollocks and buttocks with the other.
Jogger bottoms I found are perfect. They are loose and baggy enough to allow free movement, for fast arm-jerking and hand up and down on knob. I also discovered that they are very absorbent, so whether you cum into underpants first or straight into wank-trousers, a wet patch appears instantly. This is great for showing to the girl who made you pants-spunk, if you’re lucky enough to be able to do that. Also at Worship Sessions, if you’re allowed to leave your mac open She can see just how many crusty spunk-stains you have on your wank-trousers.
I used to leave my mac open for that reason when I visited certain dirty bookshops where ladies served. To complete the outfit, a flat cap and thick glasses, plus shabby but comfortable shoes – you can spend hours waiting on street corners in winter for girls to walk along. Look in the mirror and perfect – looks just like a wanker, and that’s what I want everyone to think.
For a while I thought there was no-one else like me, until one day I found a pub in North London which had go-go dancers. I soon found a spot where I could overlook the stage without being too close to it and watch the girls dance in bikinis until they made me spunk my pants. As soon as they arrived on stage I’d be entranced and doing it in my pants in less than a minute.
Afterwards, when I looked around a bit, I saw a bloke who looked like me – as in how he was dressed – and also looked as furtive, anxious, out-of-place, uncomfortable and inadequate as I felt in a public place like this, where I was simply to get the sex pleasure I needed. Over the years I saw many other pervs, usually in our common uniform for pocket-wanking as well as looking the part so that people, specially girls looking at us would think ‘pervert’, ‘wanker’.
In the cinemas with ‘adult’ films, or the bars with skimpy-dressed barmaids, there we’d be, furtive sweaty perverts in our long coats or macs, there just to get our eyes on girlie loveliness and make a big mess in our underpants. The day had arrived when not only was I fully aware of what I was, but loving what I was, and trying to ensure every girl I came across, whether in the line of work, or receptionist at a model’s studio, in the Soho seedy establishments, knew instantly I was a wanker.
You can live a lone life, with your magazines, videos, TV, and so on, and that was me for a long time. I set up my wank-room for wank-orgies and to store my vast collection of dirty mags, video tapes, DVDs, computer with two big screens, 8mm films and projector, cuttings from newspapers, lingerie catalogues, holiday brochures, and computer folders of pictures and videos, clips from TV programmes featuring girls and girls dancing, and all the worship material I generated over the years, including worship sheets I’d send to girls I worshipped, my made-up mag covers, including the homemade mags I did for Miss Melanie’s photos.
My wank-room had a window looking out over the street, and net curtains so that I can watch girls walk down the street hidden behind my curtains – completely undressed and with an erection. My computer had a TV card so that I could record anything that came along.
Of course, all this was set up gradually over the years as technology became available and funds permitted. Running alongside this were my trips out, whether to the go-go pubs in the 70s or to walk the streets. Later when I discovered that girls go clubbing wearing often the skimpiest outfits, I’d be on the street corners two or three times a week in my mac, usually week-end evenings, though when I was on the road for a living, I’d include other nights of the week too.
I don’t remember much about the character ‘Jubb’, except that he was a voyeur and he was always trying to look at girls. He also I think after a fashion worshipped certain girls, but at a distance as far as I recall. And that’s what I did until my 40s, when by chance my life changed.
I didn’t realise at first how important it was for me that the girls I worshipped knew about it. That seemed an impossible dream for a long time. Any sort of interaction with real girls seemed out of reach. That might sound odd to a normal bloke but it’s because the sort of interaction I wanted was beyond the pale – to tell a girl I wanked on Her all the time, to go up to Her and mac-wank in full view, to show girls all my dirty mags, to see a girl dance and openly pants-spunk in front of Her, to see a girl pose for real – all impossible.
Add to that that I had no idea what girls thought and for a long time I assumed they never thought about sex or wanted anything to do with it – though there was plenty to suggest this was all not true, it’s just I didn’t see it or recognise it. So there was no indication that I could ever indulge my fantasies, not least because I couldn’t talk to girls at all, let alone ask for anything like the things I wanted.
In the 80s I saw in Escort magazine the ‘Aunty Jayne Photo-Seminars’ She did with some of the big-tit models, including Miss Donna Ambrose. I didn’t attempt to square what those girls did, posing for a group of amateurs, with the idea that girls weren’t interested in sex, but I guess that wasn’t important, given that I didn’t have anything to do with girls, just worshipped them from afar. I would never have been able to attend one of those seminars, even though seeing a girl pose was my dearest wish.
It got to the point where I was going along to so-called ‘photo-studios’ where you could see a girl pose and take photos, but there was never any likelihood that I would go in. When it did finally happen, worshipping a girl in person, it was the ultimate girl-worship experience for me, and fulfilled all my sexual needs. Prior to that any sort of sexual conversation with a girl was enough to induce spontaneous orgasm, but that was rare – you can’t just phone someone up and talk dirty, and it wasn’t until the 0898 numbers that I could do that.
So worshipping a girl in person, where She would have those conversations with me and I could see Her show and openly spunk my pants in front of Her was the fulfilment of years and years of dreams. This for me was all the sex I needed, and not just being able to spunk my load but to experience the sort of exquisite ecstasy and fantasy-fulfilment that I don’t think many people experience.
Even so, the anticipation of a ‘Worship Session’ and everything that entailed, given that I always took it that there was nothing in it that She would actually enjoy, was always nerve-wracking and is to this day. To be a dirty old pervert in his dirty mac in the presence of a glamorous Goddess just seemed a total contradiction. Which girl could really want that?
Surely most girls would expect a man to take charge, to know what to do or say, and to actually want physical sex? All those things for me were terrifying. It’s not as if I ever wanted physical relations, and it’s unthinkable that any girl would be the remotest bit interested in me. It’s not just that I wouldn’t know what to say or how to act - if I’d ever been in a situation where the expectation was that I was normal, and bareness was on display, I wouldn’t even be able to get an erection, and I’d have to immediately get out of there. I mean, a girl showing cleavage can make me cum in my pants but that’s when I’m looking without being seen.
That changed when later in life I was able to have Worship Sessions. Mostly my erection and wet patch would be hidden under my mac but there were a few occasions where I was able to do it openly – but only in the certain knowledge that that was ok.
The idea of putting my hands on a girl – woman – seems perverse. What, touching Her breasts?! What for?! That seems a gross invasion of Her space, and in fact even at Worship Sessions, where I always respectfully keep a proper distance, if She for any reason comes close I get very nervous and uncomfortable. If you’re my age, you’ll remember when sex was taboo, and not discussed in polite company. But now it seems anything goes.
Now men and women do all sorts of things, it’s all over the Internet, specially xHamster. But even back in my youth and beyond, I have to accept now that men touched women not just on their breasts, but even more intimately. I don’t understand how they could have known when it was ok to do that, what they had to say first in order to have permission to do it. It’s not relevant to me though, since any sort of contact is not what I want – I’d run a mile, as Miss Danica once put it.
Then there’s the whole ‘humping’ thing. It’s not just to rub up till spunk point which is what I assumed it was for many years, like a perv on the Tube does. It actually goes in, which I suppose is a more effective method of delivering the sperm to where it needs to be – yes, thank-you Internet, I know all the gory details now. Again, having caught glimpses over the years, in Soho bookshop windows, VHS films, the early days of the Internet, it seemed to me girls were defiled with men against them, with semen being shot places. For years that’s what I thought until finally the Internet dispelled all my illusions – not that I sought that knowledge, far from it, but it became increasingly unavoidable.
For me all I want to do is look. To see a girl doing glamour poses, wearing a lovely outfit and showing just enough to titillate – titillate normal men but make me cum in my pants – is heaven for me and all I need. Even topless is a bit too much for me most of the time. I can take it if it’s part of a series of photos where She starts off in a low-cut top and makes me cum in my pants several times before I get to Her topless pics. I remember the first time I saw Miss Leigh in a mag, I turned the page and there She was, topless in jeans outdoors somewhere and my knob just exploded, it was almost painful. I need a bit of warning really.
But the joy of seeing Miss Kerry Marie, Miss Danica, Miss Maria, starting off fully-dressed in a nice outfit and gradually showing, is indescribable. Occasionally She’d make me spunk my pants just posing in a tight top, and cleavage always made me do it on turning the page. How lovely to tell Miss Danica that years later.
I know there are situations where girls take all their clothes off even though men can see them – and it doesn’t seem to matter if it’s only one man or many men. I suppose I can understand it in the sense that I like to have no clothes on when I’m looking at pics or videos and wanking. It feels nice and dirty. In fact, I’d love a situation where I was seeing a lot of fully-dressed girls and I was completely undressed and just looking at them made me spurt spunk in front of them. Trouble is I’d be too nervous to do anything.
So I do avoid photos and videos of undressed girls as much as I can, though that’s so much more difficult these days with the Internet. I love my fully-dressed photos best, where you get to see stocking-tops, maybe even knickers, and cleavage. Bikinis are the barest I’ve ever seen girls for real – instant pants-spunking of course – and even just in photos that’s more than enough to make me spunk my pants. In videos – well, have you ever seen those Pin Up Files videos where Miss Beth, Miss Stacey, Miss Lorna, Miss Elle and other Goddesses are filmed in bikinis as they’re posing for photos?! Heaven!!!
She starts with Her top on and sort of titillates, making me squirm in my seat and start to moan. It’s just that I can’t believe what I’m seeing, and I get those feelings in my tip and all I’m doing is looking, not needing to touch myself as I know the spunk is rising already. It’s like an exquisite torture, the sight of Her and how She’s showing for the camera making me quiver and whimper as the string of liquid rises up my tube, and She smiles into the camera and shows even more, pulling a mock shocked face, then smiling again. She knows what She’s doing alright and my legs and arms start to flail as the first trickles of pre-cum squirt out my tip, and I’m making such a lot of noise, but She doesn’t let up, She’s showing so much cleavage that I yelp out loud as knobby squirts and warm wet semen floods my underpants, while I emit pathetic cries of perv ecstasy.
And then I SO, so want to tell Her what She made me do – I did post that message on Miss Lorna’s site and She replied She was glad I found Her pics and videos ‘so very pleasurable’.
However it wasn’t until I found my All-Time No.1 and I realised She was totally comfortable being undressed, or undressing when men were around – even many men. I still can’t really get my head around that, let alone that She knew when I was in Her presence and She wore skimpy outfits, showing stocking-tops and cleavage, that She would make me cum in my pants. I know that I know nothing about what women think, but even so, I still can’t come to terms with being open about my reaction (stiff knob bulge and wet spunk patch) to seeing girls show – my instinct is always to hide it.
It can only be on the certain understanding that I’m allowed to keep my mac open, and allowed to openly display the full signs of pants-spunking when She makes me do it. I also need to be sure that She knows that’s all I want to do – not that there’s any real risk that She’ll expect more. But it’s difficult to rule that out, even with a disgusting old pervert in his dirty mac like me. Miss Melanie may well have not been bothered about the state of me – She said to me in the early days “one of these days....” which scared me quite a bit, but I think She realised that I was incapable and never mentioned it again.
The thing is, were that ever to be the situation, unimaginable as it might be, that She knows I’m just a wanker and not the least bit attractive to women, but maybe is not going to be too fussy, maybe it’s been a while and, what the hell, any port in a storm, and She’s there with lovely cleavage showing, and thinking She’s turning me on – of course, but not in the way that She thinks – and maybe sees my bulge and isn’t surprised, that seems normal, but then sees my eyes are locked on to Her cleavage and they’re starting to glaze over, then She can see I’m quivering all over and She’s thinking ‘what’s the matter with him, he’s not cold surely’, and then sees the wet patch spreading across the front of my trousers and hears a low moan that I can’t prevent.
Now for me that’s lovely, if a girl sees She’s made me spunk my pants, but if She had other ideas – crazy I know – then that underlines how useless I am – he’s already done it in his pants, just looking! What a useless wanker! Just seeing Her cleavage made me spunk my pants so it’s clear I’m NOT the sort of bloke who’s going to be comfortable seeing Her take all Her clothes off and I do too and it’s like it’s natural for me – which it is absolutely not – and I can get an erection and I know what to do. That’s totally not me and I’ve just proved it. She knows I’m a wanker then, but of course in reality girls know right from the off.
Just for clarity, none of those scenarios have EVER arisen. Miss Danica joked about it – “I think if I jumped on you you’d run a mile!” – terrifying me for a moment until I realised She was just joking. Miss Melanie assumed that that’s ultimately what I’d want, like any other normal bloke, because at that time I don’t think She knew pervs like me existed – wankers who only need to look, don’t need or want to do anything else, but love girls to know we’re wankers and useless for anything else. Once She’d read a few of my stories and poems and worship sheets, She got the idea. As I say, when She’d said “one of these days” She could see by my expression that I was scared to death at the thought She might do something – I’ve no idea what – and never mentioned it again.
If there ever was a girl who knew I was a wanker, knew in every detail, saw all the times I messed the front of my trousers in front of Her, saw the state of the magazines I made up of Her photos, saw the videos of me with my willy plonked on Her photos and just waiting for Her to make me spurt spunk over them, then that was Miss Melanie. Lots of other girls knew too but I was never able to be as explicit with anyone else. I might be a timid wanker and voyeur, but I can look back at all those times, with Her there in the outfit that She posed in for the photos She’d just given me, looking at the mags of Her photos crammed with toilet paper and spunk-stains, reading my pervy worship sheets, calling me a wanker, seeing me shudder, hearing me moan, seeing me convulse as knobby bobs up and down and puts a big wet patch on the front of my trousers – such joy. That for me is complete fulfilment, satisfaction, gratification, happiness.
Once a wanker, always a wanker. And timid voyeur, still as timid now as ever. And I love girls to know.
Like any adolescent, it took me a while to understand what I was, though I’m sure early on I knew I was different to the other lads. They knew what it was all about and were ‘at it’ from an early age, whereas I worshipped girls from afar and concentrated on building my life-long collection of baregirl mags.
It was when I read a book called ‘Jubb’ by someone or other that I was sure who and what I was. Back then there was no Internet so research was far more difficult, and I don’t remember how much information was in that book. What I do remember is finding out how I could enjoy my perversion the most.
The first thing was to dress like a perv – not just for appearance but for practical convenience too. So to begin with, I used a long jacket, which later became a ‘rainmac’ – the coat of choice for perverts who mac-wank through holes in their pockets. Macs don’t come like that of course, I had to cut the holes with a pair of scissors – in fact, you remove the pocket altogether so your hand slides in easily and you have room for it to move.
To go with your wank-mac you need wank-trousers. The idea of these is that, again with the pockets cut off, you have easy access and movement for your hand. You don’t have to cut out both pockets, though what would you need a pocket for? With both removed, you can get both hands into your genital area so it’s easier to roll down your underpants when you get on-site for mac-wanking, and also then you can rub with one hand and stroke bollocks and buttocks with the other.
Jogger bottoms I found are perfect. They are loose and baggy enough to allow free movement, for fast arm-jerking and hand up and down on knob. I also discovered that they are very absorbent, so whether you cum into underpants first or straight into wank-trousers, a wet patch appears instantly. This is great for showing to the girl who made you pants-spunk, if you’re lucky enough to be able to do that. Also at Worship Sessions, if you’re allowed to leave your mac open She can see just how many crusty spunk-stains you have on your wank-trousers.
I used to leave my mac open for that reason when I visited certain dirty bookshops where ladies served. To complete the outfit, a flat cap and thick glasses, plus shabby but comfortable shoes – you can spend hours waiting on street corners in winter for girls to walk along. Look in the mirror and perfect – looks just like a wanker, and that’s what I want everyone to think.
For a while I thought there was no-one else like me, until one day I found a pub in North London which had go-go dancers. I soon found a spot where I could overlook the stage without being too close to it and watch the girls dance in bikinis until they made me spunk my pants. As soon as they arrived on stage I’d be entranced and doing it in my pants in less than a minute.
Afterwards, when I looked around a bit, I saw a bloke who looked like me – as in how he was dressed – and also looked as furtive, anxious, out-of-place, uncomfortable and inadequate as I felt in a public place like this, where I was simply to get the sex pleasure I needed. Over the years I saw many other pervs, usually in our common uniform for pocket-wanking as well as looking the part so that people, specially girls looking at us would think ‘pervert’, ‘wanker’.
In the cinemas with ‘adult’ films, or the bars with skimpy-dressed barmaids, there we’d be, furtive sweaty perverts in our long coats or macs, there just to get our eyes on girlie loveliness and make a big mess in our underpants. The day had arrived when not only was I fully aware of what I was, but loving what I was, and trying to ensure every girl I came across, whether in the line of work, or receptionist at a model’s studio, in the Soho seedy establishments, knew instantly I was a wanker.
You can live a lone life, with your magazines, videos, TV, and so on, and that was me for a long time. I set up my wank-room for wank-orgies and to store my vast collection of dirty mags, video tapes, DVDs, computer with two big screens, 8mm films and projector, cuttings from newspapers, lingerie catalogues, holiday brochures, and computer folders of pictures and videos, clips from TV programmes featuring girls and girls dancing, and all the worship material I generated over the years, including worship sheets I’d send to girls I worshipped, my made-up mag covers, including the homemade mags I did for Miss Melanie’s photos.
My wank-room had a window looking out over the street, and net curtains so that I can watch girls walk down the street hidden behind my curtains – completely undressed and with an erection. My computer had a TV card so that I could record anything that came along.
Of course, all this was set up gradually over the years as technology became available and funds permitted. Running alongside this were my trips out, whether to the go-go pubs in the 70s or to walk the streets. Later when I discovered that girls go clubbing wearing often the skimpiest outfits, I’d be on the street corners two or three times a week in my mac, usually week-end evenings, though when I was on the road for a living, I’d include other nights of the week too.
I don’t remember much about the character ‘Jubb’, except that he was a voyeur and he was always trying to look at girls. He also I think after a fashion worshipped certain girls, but at a distance as far as I recall. And that’s what I did until my 40s, when by chance my life changed.
I didn’t realise at first how important it was for me that the girls I worshipped knew about it. That seemed an impossible dream for a long time. Any sort of interaction with real girls seemed out of reach. That might sound odd to a normal bloke but it’s because the sort of interaction I wanted was beyond the pale – to tell a girl I wanked on Her all the time, to go up to Her and mac-wank in full view, to show girls all my dirty mags, to see a girl dance and openly pants-spunk in front of Her, to see a girl pose for real – all impossible.
Add to that that I had no idea what girls thought and for a long time I assumed they never thought about sex or wanted anything to do with it – though there was plenty to suggest this was all not true, it’s just I didn’t see it or recognise it. So there was no indication that I could ever indulge my fantasies, not least because I couldn’t talk to girls at all, let alone ask for anything like the things I wanted.
In the 80s I saw in Escort magazine the ‘Aunty Jayne Photo-Seminars’ She did with some of the big-tit models, including Miss Donna Ambrose. I didn’t attempt to square what those girls did, posing for a group of amateurs, with the idea that girls weren’t interested in sex, but I guess that wasn’t important, given that I didn’t have anything to do with girls, just worshipped them from afar. I would never have been able to attend one of those seminars, even though seeing a girl pose was my dearest wish.
It got to the point where I was going along to so-called ‘photo-studios’ where you could see a girl pose and take photos, but there was never any likelihood that I would go in. When it did finally happen, worshipping a girl in person, it was the ultimate girl-worship experience for me, and fulfilled all my sexual needs. Prior to that any sort of sexual conversation with a girl was enough to induce spontaneous orgasm, but that was rare – you can’t just phone someone up and talk dirty, and it wasn’t until the 0898 numbers that I could do that.
So worshipping a girl in person, where She would have those conversations with me and I could see Her show and openly spunk my pants in front of Her was the fulfilment of years and years of dreams. This for me was all the sex I needed, and not just being able to spunk my load but to experience the sort of exquisite ecstasy and fantasy-fulfilment that I don’t think many people experience.
Even so, the anticipation of a ‘Worship Session’ and everything that entailed, given that I always took it that there was nothing in it that She would actually enjoy, was always nerve-wracking and is to this day. To be a dirty old pervert in his dirty mac in the presence of a glamorous Goddess just seemed a total contradiction. Which girl could really want that?
Surely most girls would expect a man to take charge, to know what to do or say, and to actually want physical sex? All those things for me were terrifying. It’s not as if I ever wanted physical relations, and it’s unthinkable that any girl would be the remotest bit interested in me. It’s not just that I wouldn’t know what to say or how to act - if I’d ever been in a situation where the expectation was that I was normal, and bareness was on display, I wouldn’t even be able to get an erection, and I’d have to immediately get out of there. I mean, a girl showing cleavage can make me cum in my pants but that’s when I’m looking without being seen.
That changed when later in life I was able to have Worship Sessions. Mostly my erection and wet patch would be hidden under my mac but there were a few occasions where I was able to do it openly – but only in the certain knowledge that that was ok.
The idea of putting my hands on a girl – woman – seems perverse. What, touching Her breasts?! What for?! That seems a gross invasion of Her space, and in fact even at Worship Sessions, where I always respectfully keep a proper distance, if She for any reason comes close I get very nervous and uncomfortable. If you’re my age, you’ll remember when sex was taboo, and not discussed in polite company. But now it seems anything goes.
Now men and women do all sorts of things, it’s all over the Internet, specially xHamster. But even back in my youth and beyond, I have to accept now that men touched women not just on their breasts, but even more intimately. I don’t understand how they could have known when it was ok to do that, what they had to say first in order to have permission to do it. It’s not relevant to me though, since any sort of contact is not what I want – I’d run a mile, as Miss Danica once put it.
Then there’s the whole ‘humping’ thing. It’s not just to rub up till spunk point which is what I assumed it was for many years, like a perv on the Tube does. It actually goes in, which I suppose is a more effective method of delivering the sperm to where it needs to be – yes, thank-you Internet, I know all the gory details now. Again, having caught glimpses over the years, in Soho bookshop windows, VHS films, the early days of the Internet, it seemed to me girls were defiled with men against them, with semen being shot places. For years that’s what I thought until finally the Internet dispelled all my illusions – not that I sought that knowledge, far from it, but it became increasingly unavoidable.
For me all I want to do is look. To see a girl doing glamour poses, wearing a lovely outfit and showing just enough to titillate – titillate normal men but make me cum in my pants – is heaven for me and all I need. Even topless is a bit too much for me most of the time. I can take it if it’s part of a series of photos where She starts off in a low-cut top and makes me cum in my pants several times before I get to Her topless pics. I remember the first time I saw Miss Leigh in a mag, I turned the page and there She was, topless in jeans outdoors somewhere and my knob just exploded, it was almost painful. I need a bit of warning really.
But the joy of seeing Miss Kerry Marie, Miss Danica, Miss Maria, starting off fully-dressed in a nice outfit and gradually showing, is indescribable. Occasionally She’d make me spunk my pants just posing in a tight top, and cleavage always made me do it on turning the page. How lovely to tell Miss Danica that years later.
I know there are situations where girls take all their clothes off even though men can see them – and it doesn’t seem to matter if it’s only one man or many men. I suppose I can understand it in the sense that I like to have no clothes on when I’m looking at pics or videos and wanking. It feels nice and dirty. In fact, I’d love a situation where I was seeing a lot of fully-dressed girls and I was completely undressed and just looking at them made me spurt spunk in front of them. Trouble is I’d be too nervous to do anything.
So I do avoid photos and videos of undressed girls as much as I can, though that’s so much more difficult these days with the Internet. I love my fully-dressed photos best, where you get to see stocking-tops, maybe even knickers, and cleavage. Bikinis are the barest I’ve ever seen girls for real – instant pants-spunking of course – and even just in photos that’s more than enough to make me spunk my pants. In videos – well, have you ever seen those Pin Up Files videos where Miss Beth, Miss Stacey, Miss Lorna, Miss Elle and other Goddesses are filmed in bikinis as they’re posing for photos?! Heaven!!!
She starts with Her top on and sort of titillates, making me squirm in my seat and start to moan. It’s just that I can’t believe what I’m seeing, and I get those feelings in my tip and all I’m doing is looking, not needing to touch myself as I know the spunk is rising already. It’s like an exquisite torture, the sight of Her and how She’s showing for the camera making me quiver and whimper as the string of liquid rises up my tube, and She smiles into the camera and shows even more, pulling a mock shocked face, then smiling again. She knows what She’s doing alright and my legs and arms start to flail as the first trickles of pre-cum squirt out my tip, and I’m making such a lot of noise, but She doesn’t let up, She’s showing so much cleavage that I yelp out loud as knobby squirts and warm wet semen floods my underpants, while I emit pathetic cries of perv ecstasy.
And then I SO, so want to tell Her what She made me do – I did post that message on Miss Lorna’s site and She replied She was glad I found Her pics and videos ‘so very pleasurable’.
However it wasn’t until I found my All-Time No.1 and I realised She was totally comfortable being undressed, or undressing when men were around – even many men. I still can’t really get my head around that, let alone that She knew when I was in Her presence and She wore skimpy outfits, showing stocking-tops and cleavage, that She would make me cum in my pants. I know that I know nothing about what women think, but even so, I still can’t come to terms with being open about my reaction (stiff knob bulge and wet spunk patch) to seeing girls show – my instinct is always to hide it.
It can only be on the certain understanding that I’m allowed to keep my mac open, and allowed to openly display the full signs of pants-spunking when She makes me do it. I also need to be sure that She knows that’s all I want to do – not that there’s any real risk that She’ll expect more. But it’s difficult to rule that out, even with a disgusting old pervert in his dirty mac like me. Miss Melanie may well have not been bothered about the state of me – She said to me in the early days “one of these days....” which scared me quite a bit, but I think She realised that I was incapable and never mentioned it again.
The thing is, were that ever to be the situation, unimaginable as it might be, that She knows I’m just a wanker and not the least bit attractive to women, but maybe is not going to be too fussy, maybe it’s been a while and, what the hell, any port in a storm, and She’s there with lovely cleavage showing, and thinking She’s turning me on – of course, but not in the way that She thinks – and maybe sees my bulge and isn’t surprised, that seems normal, but then sees my eyes are locked on to Her cleavage and they’re starting to glaze over, then She can see I’m quivering all over and She’s thinking ‘what’s the matter with him, he’s not cold surely’, and then sees the wet patch spreading across the front of my trousers and hears a low moan that I can’t prevent.
Now for me that’s lovely, if a girl sees She’s made me spunk my pants, but if She had other ideas – crazy I know – then that underlines how useless I am – he’s already done it in his pants, just looking! What a useless wanker! Just seeing Her cleavage made me spunk my pants so it’s clear I’m NOT the sort of bloke who’s going to be comfortable seeing Her take all Her clothes off and I do too and it’s like it’s natural for me – which it is absolutely not – and I can get an erection and I know what to do. That’s totally not me and I’ve just proved it. She knows I’m a wanker then, but of course in reality girls know right from the off.
Just for clarity, none of those scenarios have EVER arisen. Miss Danica joked about it – “I think if I jumped on you you’d run a mile!” – terrifying me for a moment until I realised She was just joking. Miss Melanie assumed that that’s ultimately what I’d want, like any other normal bloke, because at that time I don’t think She knew pervs like me existed – wankers who only need to look, don’t need or want to do anything else, but love girls to know we’re wankers and useless for anything else. Once She’d read a few of my stories and poems and worship sheets, She got the idea. As I say, when She’d said “one of these days” She could see by my expression that I was scared to death at the thought She might do something – I’ve no idea what – and never mentioned it again.
If there ever was a girl who knew I was a wanker, knew in every detail, saw all the times I messed the front of my trousers in front of Her, saw the state of the magazines I made up of Her photos, saw the videos of me with my willy plonked on Her photos and just waiting for Her to make me spurt spunk over them, then that was Miss Melanie. Lots of other girls knew too but I was never able to be as explicit with anyone else. I might be a timid wanker and voyeur, but I can look back at all those times, with Her there in the outfit that She posed in for the photos She’d just given me, looking at the mags of Her photos crammed with toilet paper and spunk-stains, reading my pervy worship sheets, calling me a wanker, seeing me shudder, hearing me moan, seeing me convulse as knobby bobs up and down and puts a big wet patch on the front of my trousers – such joy. That for me is complete fulfilment, satisfaction, gratification, happiness.
Once a wanker, always a wanker. And timid voyeur, still as timid now as ever. And I love girls to know.
Latisha
- 11.04.2020
- 52
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