Influences Influences

Status: Finished

Genre: Erotica


Status: Finished

Genre: Erotica


Nature vs Nurture; how much of one's sexuality comes from within and how much is influenced by external experiences?


Nature vs Nurture; how much of one's sexuality comes from within and how much is influenced by external experiences?


Submitted: November 08, 2015

A A A | A A A


Submitted: November 08, 2015




What did you fantasise about as a kid? The first specific thing that did it for me was a scene in the BBC production of the Camomile Lawn. I can't remember the names of any of the characters now... but there is a scene where a child is lifted onto a man's shoulders and you see she doesn't have knickers on.  My old VHS tape got very worn with being paused at that moment and I used to click forward frame by frame.  I sooo wanted to be that girl and I think it was one of the influences that began my ambivalent relationship with underwear!

I have this long standing fantasy of being seated at a banqueting table and feeling someone under the table gently parting my thighs as I try to keep the conversation going without anyone knowing!  I have a vague memory of having seen a scene like this in an illicit adult film I once watched on some Scandinavian satellite channel as a kid and I think it sort of took root!

Is this proof that TV and cinema really can influence our children?  Could watching The Fast and the Furious turn them into street-racing highway pirates or watching Nightmare on Elm Street from behind the sofa at Halloween turn them into psychotic killing machines?  I don’t think so…  but if a latent proclivity is there, I have no doubt it can be fuelled.


I just love being in public knowing I am bare under my dress or skirt. I imagine what the people around me would think if they knew.  I particularly enjoy wearing stockings with a tight skirt so that people can get a hint of what is beneath and wonder if that is a panty line they see or not.  I’m not an exhibitionist and I don’t flash people (unless it’s part of a game amongst friends) but I get an undeniable thrill from doing something that would be frowned-upon by many.  My Mum was a child of the seventies though who often went bare under her cheese-cloth tops and soft cotton maxi-skirts so it has never seemed strange to me.


I love writing and have been prolific for as long as I can remember, keeping a journal of impressions, emotions, observations and sometimes just random thoughts.  As I struggled to make sense of my particular, somewhat idiosyncratic and chaotically developing sexuality, my sexual and emotional journey was documented in those journals.  When I was old enough to consent to sex but not deemed old enough to vote, I wrote about an experience that disturbed yet excited me, and which had a profound and, at the time, frightening impact on me:

I wasn't wearing knickers. I'd grabbed the nearest dress and just pulled it over my head when Mom said she was going to nip down to the supermarket and did I want to come. It was a lovely dress; soft, floaty cotton in a blue and white print with a peasant style top and a calf length full skirt. The bodice was elasticated and hugged my young body, showing the slight swell of my soon-to-be breasts and the little nub of my nipples. I felt good, very good; I felt attractive... but I wasn't wearing any knickers.

'Hi there, Cee'... It was Julie from school; she was with her Dad, 'I just saw some awesome jeans in NEXT... will you come with me to try them on?' 'Go on' said Mum, so off we went... and I wasn't wearing knickers.

Ten minutes later, we were in the changing rooms. Three pairs of jeans and two tops to try on; Julie was shimmying out of her shorts, waggling her bottom and giggling as her tiny cotton briefs got snagged in the hem and pulled down, almost to her thighs. And I wasn't wearing knickers. She pulled on some jeggings and wiggled to the mirror... 'can you see my panty line?' she asked. 'No', I replied (and I'm not wearing any knickers).

Crossing her arms and grasping the hem of her T-shirt, Julie lifted it up and over her head, stretching her long arms and arching her back, her perky nipples standing proud. She wasn't big enough yet to need a bra... and I wasn't wearing knickers. I slipped my arms around her, caressed her tummy and heard her gasp. She stood still, the T-shirt still over her head, and I slid my hands upwards till they found her young breasts and my fingers explored her nipples. Julie leaned back into my caress as a slight moan escaped her lips and in a husky voice said 'I didn't put on a bra' and I whispered back, 'Mmmmmmmm... and I didn't put on any knickers...'

Holiday Madness

When I was sixteen I was still very flat-chested, but my nipples were waking-up quickly. I had a summer top that was kind of knitted from a thick cotton yarn and ordinarily, you couldn't see anything through it even though it was a wide knit, rather like a net, so I never wore anything under it.  One day, I caught the ferry between Helford and Helford Passage in Cornwall (UK) and as I walked along the gang-plank at the landing I noticed several men had their eyes fixed on my chest.  Being me, I just smiled and walked right on by.  I joined my Dad at a table outside the pub for lunch and realised he was motioning with his eyes towards my chest too.  When I looked down, I could see my left nipple plain as day, peeking out through one of the cells of my knitted top!  It gave me such a thrill, I just smiled at Dad and he raised his eyes skywards like he always did when he knew he wouldn't win an argument.  After that, I did my best to persuade my nipples to peek out through that top and I have been searching for a similar one for ages now.


I just LOVE seeing perky nipples under a soft material. I guess it goes back to my Mum who, as I’ve already mentioned,  was a child of the seventies who rarely wore underwear of any kind and I just got used to the look of the contour of rounded breasts and perky nipples. My breasts are quite small but my nipples are well defined and get erect at the slightest excuse.  And I love being able to feel them whenever I want to.

More Often Than Not

I totally got out of the habit of wearing knickers when I was at college and I rarely wore a bra until I started work. I was by no means unusual in my all women dorm, either.


I started leaving off my panties regularly after a prank at school that nearly got me expelled. But I realised I just love being bare under my clothes.  Sometimes I will start out wearing knickers knowing that I am going to abandon them somewhere during the day.  It's a habit that's TOTALLY addictive.

I don't deliberately flash people and I don't do it to shock, but it gives me the most amazing buzz to know I'm in an important meeting at work wearing just hold-ups under my business skirt, for example.

Greatest Rush

In my GCSE year at school, they were taking photos for a new prospectus.  I was being photographed in the music studio with a group of close harmony singers and it was all a bit, well, tame I guess.  So we posed for the pics and as the photographer was discussing what else she could photograph that might be a bit different, I picked up my Fender (OK; Fender Squier!!!) and launched into Sweet Home Alabama.  Well, when I realised everyone had been stunned into silence and were staring at me mesmerised, I began to vamp it up a bit. Before I knew it, the photographer was snapping away and I was posing outrageously for her, and the crowds were gathering.

People at school knew me only as a classical musician really, though I was into Blues and Country music in a big way on account of my Dad having been a keen Blues and R&B musician.  In fact, it had only been with great suspicion and a bit of contempt that I'd been allowed to bring my kit into school to play for the Lower school party where several of us Upper Fifth formers were going to be the entertainment.

The cheers and applause at the end of the piece gave me the biggest thrill I have had before or since and I was seen in a completely different light after that.  And I made the prospectus!  This is the first thrill I remember that is totally independent of my sexuality.

Coming Out

When I decided to 'come out' as a lesbian, I organised a coming out party ostensibly under the pretence of it being a 21st birthday party.  I invited my family and many family friends to a ‘21st’ and my real friends and more 'colourful' acquaintances to a 'coming out'. Throw into the mix that I was dating a paraplegic lesbian Goth and you have the recipe for either the most amazing party or the biggest train smash ever!  As it happens, it was party time and no one, absolutely no one, ever even asked me about my sexuality after that.

I still didn’t really understand my sexuality though; I really don’t fit any of the neat descriptions.  This was a turning point, however, freeing me from the constraints of convention to explore the options that do work for me…

No Place to Hide

I was staying in the Hotel St Michaels in Falmouth, Cornwall. Late one night, having met a woman in the bar, we sneaked into the gym which was closed, for a quick work out. Well, one thing led to another, as they say, and soon we were making out rather than working out. As we left we walked past the hotel reception where the guy looked up and said goodnight to us with a broad grin on his face.  We both saw the CCTV of the gym above his head at the same time!!!!

Here, There and Everywhere

I have masturbated in public loads of times.  I have been doing it since I was in my teens and now it's not so much about doing it in public but rather that I can satisfy myself without waiting to get home. One of my 'regulars' at the moment is on the 20:30 train from Euston to Warrington which I use a couple of times a week right now. It's just so relaxing after a hard day in London to sit back and gently stroke myself to contentment. I catch a late train because I can travel First Class without it costing a fortune, so there aren't many people in the carriage and I get a regular supply of tumblers (I kid you not) of wine too!  I've never been caught, but occasionally people get suspicious that something is happening that they may be interested in!

Spectra and Dimensions

Special relativity is beautiful; the mathematical description of Hawking radiation, sublime.  So why do we think so simply about sexuality; why should it be so binary?  Gay/Straight; monogamous/polyamorous; high libido/low libido; homo-specious/hetero-specious.  I imagine my sexuality as a point within this four-dimensional space.  Four dimensions aren’t that hard.  After all, La Grande Arche de la Défense in Paris is simply a projection of a four-dimensional cube.

. . . but then again, would my mum have thought about sexuality in four dimensions?  Could I discuss it in my local?  The Fiddle I’th Bag at Burtonwood is four-dimensional in its own way.  Walk through the door and you’re firmly back in the nineteen-fifties.  At the bar, you’ll find the most eclectic collection of endearing odd-balls you could wish for and an ever changing selection of well-kept real ales.  Would Gideon, the Landlord, think in four dimensions about my sexuality?  No – my sexuality doesn’t matter to him; he takes me as he finds me and I love him to bits for that!

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