My second visitor. He maintains my website for me and is the only person I have shaken hands with who knows I am 'Vanna Vechian.' I have jealously guarded my identity and had resolved at the birth of my VV persona to never, never compromise the identity of the Respectable Mrs. Wife of my Husband, known to those in the normal reality. Engaging this man to maintain my site already infringed upon that idea, admittedly. He could have given me away, rung my husband and destroyed me, as it were. But he is a sport.

Floating on the cork of my success with my girlfriend, who was and is unaware of my 'Vanna Vechian' identity, and knowing the man involved, I resolved to be a trifle more adventurous.

I adjust my attire by greasing my hair back and making my face up in heavy night-time mode, even if it is broad daylight.

So here I sit waiting for him, ready for play, but touched by a nervous anticipation nonetheless. Why? It is over fifteen years since I last did anything like this, so there is lack of practice. I know I am 'well preserved', but I am approaching 'middle age' and I am not fool enough (and vain!) to think I am an indisputable work of wonder. And, if he gave me away to my husband, well, 'Vanna Vechian' might be the subject of a 'crime passionnelle'.

When the bell rings, my heart jumps and so do I, on towards the mirror. I like my look, severe and, after a few deep breaths, buoyant, even ironic. With my confidence restored I move towards the front door.

The severe Mrs. V. opens the door to him wide, uninhibited and shameless, smiling but silent. He remains silent too. His eyes open wide, he looks away and swallows. I see him muster up a weak smile. He then comes in and kisses me on the cheek as normal. His hand touches my upper arm, just barely.

I explain the matter ('husband away, reliving Statuesque Beauty days, being conscious of my body by being naked, gauging my shame.') 'And shocking people', he adds. I should not be surprised, as he knows my work, but his directness makes me. A sport indeed! I smile and look down for a moment.

Concentrate!

To play then. I invite him to keep me to my resolve of not using hands

or anything else for modesty, no leg crossing, always sitting with knees apart. After

all, as I am able to cheat everyone when alone, including myself, I very much

appreciate his visit. He is to keep me straight. He consents, with the sweetest shy smile in the world.

Act normal now!

I make us coffee. I have directed him to my conservatory and offered him an armchair there. The coffees in front of us, and I having got seated opposite him on a high chair, we discuss the status of the activities we both are engaged in. When he suddenly gets up and comes up to me, I am startled a little. But he simply indicates the mistake I have made and gently pecks me on the thigh. Now it is my turn to blush - I cannot help it. With a 'sorry', I undo my mistake and uncross my legs while he stands by, whence he returns to his seat. 'So I do know shame,' I laugh, half-heartedly.

We sit opposite each other in silence. We are good at silences, generally, so this is not overly unusual. This silence gives me all the time to contemplate the incident and my shame. From his shy pokerface, I cannot tell whether the silence on his part is deliberate. He may be better at play than I thought, or than I am! At a spur of a moment, I decide to go for broke. I offer him to inspect me, for punishment - I use the term lightly. I hope to fluster him. If I don't, I will at least investigate a little further. One rule, and one only: he cannot touch me. (Remember, I am not interested in making out. To have an affair would definitely violate my resolves.) He can direct me, though. He agrees. Will I fluster him? He does manage to hold my look at present. Oh, dear!

He asks me to stand in the centre of the room. He remains seated and looks at me, silently. He appears collected, but I perceive that he has to make an effort swallowing. My confidence clings to that observation by its fingertips. He gets up, stands right in front of me and starts to inspect me very methodically. My face is first. My eyes he looks at close range. It is strange the way he looks at them, these gateways to my soul, like a doctor would, that is: without looking into them. His breathing is calm and is not losing his cool. I feel his breath in my face. He walks around me to see the back of my head. Very methodical, indeed. He then chooses to go down my back first. Is this designed to disquiet me? (It works! A little.) At times I feel his breath, on a shoulder, at my lower back, in my crotch... He asks me to spread my feet as far apart as possible, then considers my crotch again, at length, asks me to deeply bend over and spread my buttocks. Before he continues downwards, he allows me to resume my upright position. When he gets to my feet, he asks me to lift them, one by one. Even my soles are included!

Well, I am relieved when I see him in front of me again. I see him inspect my breasts, one by one, at close range, in their hanging state and, after he has asked me to raise my arms, lifted. He does not allow me to lower them immediately for inspection of my armpits. (There must be a slight stubble there.) Hence, he asks me to lower my left arm and keep it horizontal while he looks at the arm and hand. (My hand is the most beautiful part of my body. My nails are green today.) Right arm follows. My chest, my belly. He then dares asking me to lie down on the table and spread my legs widely, and proceeds to stand between my legs for inspection of my vagina.

His audacity! I cannot help being surprised that he has me do this. I started this game and asked him to inspect me, but I feel humiliated and ashamed all the same. My wide range of experience with exhibitionism never took quite this avenue. We are been friends and he knows some most intimate details of me, whatever is on my site (my 'body description'), but that does not make us 'intimate friends.' A sport indeed! Upset as I am, I have to be a good sport too.

He asks me to pull my nether lips apart and looks really close. As I feel his breath, he will smell my odours. Get off! If my husband could see me! I stay silent and he does not see my killing look (or does he?)

Undisturbed, he inspects the rest of meat length too (the front of my legs and feet), and finally declares me inspected and certified. He looks at me with a smile on his face, sardonic, to say the least. I am allowed to get seated. And I do.

We do not talk immediately. I consider my feelings. The experience makes me wonder whether I am a true exhibitionist. I have no doubt that I like to be seen and take pleasure in the confusion it creates in the beholders. The trouble was this. My friend was not confused. And he was relentlessly methodical and detailed. Granted, I have had little practice in recent years. I felt used and violated. But my indignation, shame and anger fade away during a minute or two. I am unhurt, untouched even, I am sure he will generally have admired my body and will be affected by the gravity of the event, even if he does not show it. I can only say that the world is a wonderful place. My lips develop a smile and I look up.

I ask him whether he liked the job and he replies that he did. He says that he has read my 'body description', of course, and finds it to be reasonably accurate. It certainly pleases him that I have removed my disgraceful body hair (he smiles), a feature he has never actually seen on a live woman. (No man of the world then. Where has he been?) He is not sure, but thinks he likes the effect. He says that I have perhaps presented my fat hips and buttocks in too favourable a light and then took this back, the bastard.

On to the attack! Did he get a hard on? Well, he cannot possibly comment! But is he willing to reveal himself in all his glory, post-examination, and be examined himself? He gracefully accepts.

I can only say that I am disappointed at his chest (weak), at his belly (a fat belly on a slender frame... hmmm), at his body hair (I like a little hair, but not a rug). His penis is, well, semi-erect and curving distinctly left. When I go to inspect it up close, I observe a slight throbbing and the erection growing a little. I then stare him in the face at close range, with an ironic smile on my face, but keeping silent, and then go back to his member. By repeating this process twice I have him erect and offer him a broad smile.

Dismissed! Next! These men!

We stay this way for the remaining two hours of his visit. He moves distinctly self-consciously. A good sport until the end, but I will not nominate him for honours in the exhibitionism department. While showing him out I kiss him on the cheek and put a finger across his lips. Hush! He smiles and nods.

BACK TO VANNA's HOMEPAGE