‘Well, yes, of course,’ I prevaricated. I didn’t want to lie more than I had, but it seemed like a bad time to admit we were only friends. Stacey coiled the hair about a finger until it formed a little loop. ‘I was just wondering,’ she said, more casually, and surprised me by popping the hair into her mouth. She washed it down with another swig of her drink. ‘Yes, about two years now,’ I said, taking a drink of my own. I don’t know what happened, but somehow my hand froze an inch short of my mouth and I poured espresso right down the front of my blouse. ‘Shit!’ I yelped, hurriedly setting down the cup, but the damage was done. ‘Are you alright?’ Stacey gasped, eyes wide. ‘I can’t believe I did that,’ I admitted, feeling horribly embarrassed. ‘Please excuse me for a minute and let me go clean up.’ I rose to my feet and hurried to the women’s room without waiting for her response. A huge dark spot covered the front of my blouse when I looked in the mirror. It could easily have been. When she saw me doing it, there seemed to be no turning back. The floodgates of desire began to crack and she contributed to my home shows by actually fondling my naked penis in front of my mother. Once we moved in together, the floodgates cracked completely. Carla discovered just how much fun it could be to be the object of desire. Rather than an outsider, a voyeuristic witness, Carla began to want to be the active participant and focal point of the exposure games.Tommy had been the perfect audience, eager to see more of Carla exposing herself. But whatever happened with Tommy (it was never really completely clear to me) stayed in the past. We started having more fun together. We were inventive and had a blast in the confines of our apartment, but as the weeks stretched on and our sexual hunger began to ebb a bit, Carla began to grow restless. Oh, she didn't speak of it. She didn't have to. It was obvious. She still wanted sex as much as ever, but it took more and more stimuli to.
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