Dirty, dirty Anna

I feel raw, almost savage in my desire. Ah, but my desire for what? That, my lovelies, is simple. My desire for someone to look at me today and think “What a dirty fucker she is.” 

Which is why I have driven for the better part of an hour to a town I rarely visit. It has what passes for a ‘mall’, but is in fact only a developer’s poorly executed attempt at joining shops together and roofing them in. What did the posters say “Retaining the character, while adding to ease and comfort.” Yeah…right. There are original stores interspersed with concrete walls, and where their roofs were, there is now a grim little mezzanine, but one that has use for me. There is a tea and coffee shop that is built on a slight slope. It stands outside a newly constructed public lavatory. (Now, what idiot thought ‘Hmm…I shall build a coffee shop next to the toilet.” What interests me though is the glass barrier protecting the mentally challenged from plummeting over the edge of the sidewalk. From heree, people can see up my skirt. 

Miss Brain didn’t even think this morning, she grabbed the panties. The green ones that turn black when wet. I only ever wear them when dirtiness is afoot. And it certainly is today. 

Patience. Patience is a much underused word in sex. Simple waiting. All too often sex of any kind is a pursuit, a chase towards an aim, but today, I feel like a trap door spider, happy to wait until my victim notices the fine strands of my web. Below me, people pass by and occasionally look up. I am waiting for someone to sit at an ‘outside’ table at the cafe below and opposite me, and then to notice I am sitting here with my knees deliberately spread. I have also made certain my skirt is tucked well up at the back. 

Now and then I get a whiff of the gents lavatory behind me…that unique if somewhat pungent smell of urine and testosterone. It is awfully grungy, but sometimes exactly what I need. Oh, don’t get me wrong, womens public lavatories have their own smell as well. It is also urine, but there’s also vagina mixed in with it, and although I have no proof, I am absolutely certain both men and women rub one out in public lavatories from time to time. I know for a fact women do. I’d be surprised if men don’t. 

For a moment, I think someone has spotted my offering, but no….she actually moves tables so she can’t see me. Ah well…her loss. Then…..yes! Got him! A family sit down. Mum, dad and their son. Late teens, I’d guess, but in that ‘scope everywhere out’ way that teenage boys seem to have, he’s seen me, and seen between my legs. I can see him over the book I’m pretending to read. I seductively suck my pencil. He is finding it hard to look away now. I can almost feel the heat of his gaze between my legs. I reach down and pull the crotch of my panties aside and run a finger up my slit before repositioning them. Oh dear…I hope they don’t send him for anything. I suspect getting up would be hard…hehehehehe ‘hard’ for him right now. (See what I did there?) 

Now for the main show. I place my finger on my pubic bone. Not quite on my clit, sadly, but near enough. I want him to think I’m playing with myself. I make my finger move in exaggerated circles, after all, there is a distance for him to see across. Slowly… faster… slowly… then faster and faster and faster. I let my book fall and my chin drops to my chest. In reality I’m, not even close to cumming, but he thinks I am. 

I let just enough wetness out to turn the crotch of my panties black. Maybe a drop or two escapes, but no more. When I lift my head I look right into his eyes. They are wide, like a rabbit caught in the headlights. Got him! I slumped back in my chair feeling… well… feeling every bit as dirty as I set out to feel. Little did I know there was more to come. 

I would have liked to wait to see that family leave and watch how he tried to hide his raging boner, but I had needs of my own. I paid, and asked for a plastic back in which to put the remains of my sandwich. Then off to the women’s rest room. 

Panties down and off, and into the bag. A wet wipe for a quick clean up and then the main event: a wank, surrounded by other women. I sat on the lavatory, spread my knees and was about to, if you’ll forgive the expression, dive in, when I heard a bump from the next cubicle. Then another, and then a third. The unmistakable sounds of a knee on a partition. Then, a moan. Damn! 

You know, so much information is contained in a simple moan. They can be post-orgasmic and say, “Damn, that felt amazing”, or they can be pre-orgasmic and say, “I’m almost there.” Still again they can say, “Fuck, I’m not getting anywhere…this is frustrating.” The one I heard was somewhere between frustration and 'it’s taking too long.' So I added my voice to the chorus. I let our a tremulous moan that could only mean ‘I’m getting there.’ 

I came first -- well, I was already ahead -- but just as I came, I heard whoever was in the next cubicle cum, too. It is intensely erotic listening to a complete stranger cum. Then there is an unwritten rule. If you hear someone cum, you mustn’t leave the cubicle at the same time. Whomsoever leaves first gets to stand at the mirror and watch. In this case, it was me. When the other door opened, a woman in her 30s emerged looking really flushed. For a moment we made eye contact through the mirror, but since there were two other women there she couldn’t be sure it was me who had been her wank buddy. 

Walking back to my car commando felt lovely, especially in the cold, crisp winter air. I do enjoy being panti-less. I remember the day at school where my panty-flashing group dared and doubled dared one another to come to school naked under our kilts. We argued about which day….it had to be a day when PE wasn’t on the menu, but eventually we fixed a date. On the day, only four out of the six of us went through with it though. Even so, what a blast of eroticism that day was. I remember how different it felt having nothing on under that stupid kilt. It felt like I was aware of every little breeze and eddie of the air currents. Plus, of course it was, well, rude. Being rude, it was also horny, and those of us who actually did it were wetter that day than we had ever been. I know that for myself, morning, lunch and afternoon break found me in the restroom taking care of business, which, of course, only made me wetter than ever, and more horny. I felt like I was reliving this as I walked back to the car. 

Once there, I made sure it was only my bare bum on the leather and I hitched up both front and back. I actually gave thought to taking my skirt off altogether, but who knows when a flat tyre will strike? Even so, spreading my knees and letting my scent permeate the car was super-horny. As I drove past the two private schools outside the village, Miss Brain wondered how many students in there were in the restrooms right now rubbing one out? Sometimes it’s the ones you’d least expect, like little Mary. (Being a convent school, we had an abundance of Mary’s in the place.) Mary was the quietest, mousiest girl you could imagine. She even carried her rosary at her belt. Super-religious, and the ultimate definition of a ‘good girl’, yet sometimes she could be seen emerging from a cubicle in a rest room, a deep pink flush across her upper chest and neck her pupils dilated and nostrils quivering. 

Of course, we couldn’t be sure … I mean, sometimes other bodily functions can be hard work, right? But one day there was a give away. That give away was two shiny fingers! Busted! Little Mary! Masturbating is one thing, but I would have paid good money to know what she fantasised about.