Exhibitionist Phone Sex Dare

I have always had a little exhibitionist streak in me, the kind I used to pretend I did not have until a man I was dating looked me dead in the eye over dinner and dared me to prove it. He said, and I remember this word for word, I bet you would not go the whole night with nothing under that dress. And I said, watch me. That is how my favorite exhibitionist phone sex dare started, and it ended with both of us completely ruined in the best possible way.

The dress was the key. It was this short, flowy sundress, the kind that moves when you move, and I had picked it that morning with absolutely no idea it was about to become a weapon. When he issued the dare, I excused myself to the bathroom, and I came back with my panties folded neatly into my purse, which I showed him, because I am a brat and evidence matters. His face did something I will never forget. Like he had lit a fuse and suddenly realized he was standing too close.

We went to a rooftop bar after dinner, because apparently I like high places when I am being bad. It was one of those warm evenings where the whole city glows and everybody is a little drunker than they planned to be. We got a table near the edge, and I sat down very carefully, crossing my legs like a lady, and I watched him try to have a normal conversation while knowing exactly what was and was not underneath my dress. He lasted about four minutes before he stopped hearing anything I said.

That is when I started playing for real. I uncrossed my legs slowly, letting the dress ride up just enough, and I watched his eyes drop. I leaned back in my chair and let the evening breeze do whatever it wanted, and I told him about my day like nothing unusual was happening. He kept glancing down, then glancing around to see if anyone else had noticed, and the panic and the arousal fighting on his face was the funniest and hottest thing I had ever seen. I am an exhibitionist, baby, but I am a considerate one. Mostly.

Then the wind picked up. And I mean really picked up, the kind of gust that makes every girl on a rooftop grab her skirt. Every girl except me. I let it happen. My dress flew up around my waist for one perfect, endless second, and I heard someone at the next table laugh, and my date made a sound like he was being strangled. I smoothed my dress back down like a queen, smiled at him sweetly, and asked if he was enjoying his drink.

He was not enjoying his drink. He was coming apart.

He told me we were leaving, and his voice had gone all rough and low, and I stood up and let him take my hand, and I made sure to walk just slightly ahead of him up the stairs so he got the full view of what he had dared me into. In the elevator down, he pressed me against the wall and kissed me like he was starving, his hand sliding straight up under my dress, finding exactly what he had known was there all night, or rather what he had known was not there. I was soaked. Hours of teasing will do that to a girl.

We did not make it home. We made it to the back seat of his car in the parking garage, which sounds less glamorous than it was, trust me. He pulled me into his lap facing him, my dress bunched around my waist, and he slid into me in one motion while I bit his shoulder to keep from screaming. The windows fogged up. The car rocked. Somewhere on the level above us, somebody's alarm kept going off, and I did not care about a single thing in the world except the way he was holding my hips and moving inside me like he had been waiting his entire life for this dare to pay off.

When we finally stopped, both of us wrecked and laughing, he said the dare was the best worst idea he had ever had. I told him the night was not over, because I still had the panties in my purse, and I had no intention of putting them back on for the drive home. He groaned like a man facing a beautiful disaster, and I just smiled, because beautiful disasters are my specialty.

Here is the thing about a dare like that. It is never really about the dress or the wind or the rooftop. It is about the moment you decide to stop pretending you are not the kind of girl who loves being seen. I stopped pretending a long time ago. And if you ever dare me to do it again, I will say yes before you finish the sentence, and then I will make you regret it in the most delicious way possible.

Actually, I have a feeling he is going to dare me again soon. He has that look in his eye, the one that says he has not learned his lesson. Good. I have not even shown him my best tricks yet, and the next dare is going to make this one look like a warm-up.