Mall Memory

I don't know when I started masturbating or when I started wanting to show off--I was pretty young. I did a lot of both as a kid, though the showing off was barely that. It was very safe, just walking around the house or backyard naked when no one was around or going around without underwear--but it felt very thrilling at the time. 

When I entered my teens, these desires got stronger and more complicated. I got up to a lot, but a major first happened when my family went to visit my great aunt for "vacation" during my spring break. It was a hopelessly boring trip tinged with the awful loneliness of FOMO for my friends spending crucial time together back home. And on top of all this, I remember being very horny for a lot of the trip but lacking the freedom or privacy to do much about it. 

When my mom said she was taking Aunt Doris to the mall to clothes shop, I jumped at the opportunity to just be in an intelligible location for someone my age. I didn't consider that I'd be stuck in stores geared toward a far more mature shopper. 

I was crawling out of my skin. Horny beyond belief but in a desperately unsexy environment. My strict mother would not let me wander by myself. And not wearing underwear under my skirt was not exactly helping matters. I was getting pretty whiny though, and my mom was finally worn down enough to let me go find a bathroom on my own, so long as I came directly back.

I rushed out, the picture of someone in need of relieving herself, but when I got out of sight, I stopped at the balcony and grasped the railing, surveying the people walking around on the first floor with what was probably a wild-eyed look. I balled my hand into a fist, and with it pressed against the glass barrier of the balcony at groin level, I pushed myself against it through my skirt. I felt my pubic hair shift crunchily underneath and the lightning of pleasure mixed with discomfort as I ground my little bump against the heel of my closed hand--but I stopped short.

Looking at the people below and the shoppers browsing on my level just heightened the exciting pressure. I was feeling on the other side of rational, clearly, but realizing in the moment how incredibly wet I was ironically brought me back. Messing my skirt with my juices was going to bring the unavoidable shame of my mom's puritanical scrutiny and in front of my great aunt to make it all the worse.

I eased up on my fist but gritted my teeth in frustration. I looked around desperate to do *something*. Looking down again, I saw a few boys hanging out by the first floor fountain. With barely a thought toward it, I turned around and pulled the back of my modest shin-length skirt up over my bare big, round butt and pressed it against the glass for a few terrible wonderful moments. I turned back as nonchalantly as I could, letting my skirt fall back down. I made eye contact with one of the boys who stared up at me, mouth agape. I looked down at the glass and saw an imprint of my butt cheeks there.

The thrill of the moment mixed almost immediately then with a fear that they, or some other witness, would come seek me out. I hurried to the bathroom,  not looking back. It was vacant. I felt safe and deeply aroused. I hiked my skirt up right in front of the mirror with one hand and watched myself furiously rub at my clitoris with the other. It didn't take any time at all, and I groaned as the waves of pleasure hit me again and again. My knees buckled, and I found myself kneeling weakly on the floor, breathing heavily. 

I recovered after a few moments and quickly cleaned myself up. I rushed back toward that awful store, aware that I had taken too long, and sure enough my mother was outside looking around for me. She started in on me, having noticed my perspiration and red face.

"Mooom!" I hissed. "I had to number two!"

A lesser embarrassment, and it sufficed.