When Dorothy bent over you could see that she wasn't wearing any knickers. It wasn't a pretty sight. It wasn't unattractive either. It was... well...a surprise. You didn't expect to see the secret kept undercover between grown girls legs. Dorothy was over eighteen so she could do pretty much what she liked. "Fan touché flashing," as she christened the act became a sport for one hot summer. Dorothy and her friend Charlotte liked to play when they were bored and the mood took them.
It was normally out shopping on warm Saturday mornings that the two girls set up the game. What had started out as a bit of fun became an art form and they took it in turns to photograph each other and their victim’s reaction to create an album. Charlotte called it our bum album. Their targets weren't random. They were in that the girls chose them from the milling crowds but each was picked in the same way a pick-pocket might select his quarry. The girls wanted to create an impression, didn’t want their efforts to go unnoticed and so choosing the right subject was every bit as important as delivering the visual display. Dorothy favoured men of a certain age, those that probably hadn't seen a “fan touché” for years. Charlotte didn't mind who saw hers. What both of them avoided was being exposed to anyone that knew them, the law or CCTV and they never performed in the same place twice.
A “bend over” that involved almost touching the toes was the easiest way to flash. It looked the most casual and innocent of the moves. It was most effective when performed inside and the simple act of bending over in a shop on the pretext of examining more closely the goods on offer could reveal the goods not on offer. It looked to the observer like an accident and on more than one occasion the victim had approached the perpetrator with almost apologetic advice along the lines of someone’s forgotten to put their underwear on. The sentence nearly always ended in “Dear” or maybe “Deary”, a condescension that certainly wasn’t applicable. The bending over display gave witness to a lot of naked bottom but if it was done with gusto and athleticism then something of the “fan touché” came into view as well. The bare rear on its own was not deemed as having gone far enough by the sporting girls. It was important to show “fan touché”. Fan touché scored points and points were prizes in the All Bar One or White Horse afterwards.
If the “bend over” was a shotgun that could sometimes reach a larger than intended audience, the “front flick” was a rifle with “in your face” precision. The more purposeful flick of the skirt or dress at the front left the onlooker with the impression that he or she had just seen something that he or she should not have. It often provoked the double take and was over in a flash so that the recipient was never sure if what had happened had happened.
Points were scored according to reaction. Those exposed to the experience were always their own living score board. The marks awarded were out of ten and to get top marks was very rare. Most were below five. Reactions ranged from nothing at all as though the recipient hadn't seen anything or, more skilfully, was pretending not to have seen anything. The marking process was conducted by the girl not "flashing the gash" as Charlotte more crudely described it. So as Dorothy lifted her denim skirt (it was blue denim that day) in front of a guy who looked about fifty-five wearing a waxed jacket and brown cords, so Charlotte observed and photographed with the long lens and marked. On this occasion the guy stopped dead in his tracks while his head swivelled so violently following the passing of Dorothy that his neck must have been stiff for a fortnight. The man stood gawping. Transfixed but gawping facing the way he'd just come from. Charlotte gave her friend a five for that. When Charlotte decided to bend over right in front of an older traffic warden the reaction was less interesting than if the uniformed guy had stumbled across an illegally parked car. Dorothy awarded one. In Curry’s a “bend over” to look at the base of a large plasma screened tele caused a ripple from three other customers and a whole new meaning to the expression “High Definition”. Dorothy got a six for that.
On some days the girls would do what they called “Fanny dress.” They’d deck their naked lower regions in fancy dress. Dorothy’s most elaborate was as a Mexican complete with mini sombrero and Charlotte got Dorothy to paint a giant colourful target on her bare bottom which of course provoked comments about scoring and the bull’s eye. Painting a fish so that its mouth looked almost life like was a favourite outing along with the speech bubble drawn on the high thigh, the talking fan touché, with the message, “Amazingly enough I don’t give a shit”.
Dorothy and Charlotte had fun. They were “good” girls from “good” homes and all they were doing was just having a bit of harmless pleasure with added adrenalin rush. They never did it when they’d had too much to drink and had they been asked to explain their actions by the local paper they would have said that they were performing street theatre or pavement art. Dorothy even thought about applying for a grant but Charlotte said she wouldn’t stand a chance and the next summer the weather was lousy and Charlotte went to the south of France anyway.
Dorothy married a barrister and became a JP. Charlotte got engaged to a land agent and had twins.
When Henry took his cock out, like a limp Conger eel, and waved it at the passing crowd before pissing into the fountain, someone told him to put it away and somebody else called the police. He told the court that he was only marking his territory but the chair of the bench told him that he’d already upset public decency and he’d have to pay a fine and that if he did it again he’d be in real trouble even though she remembered the time when she and her friend pranced the same streets on Saturday mornings that hot summer flashing at those that, mostly speaking, didn’t want to see what they weren’t supposed to. Henry hadn't done too much wrong. He'd just been caught doing it. Henry had hit the nail on the head. It was, she reflected, all about marking the territory.
It was normally out shopping on warm Saturday mornings that the two girls set up the game. What had started out as a bit of fun became an art form and they took it in turns to photograph each other and their victim’s reaction to create an album. Charlotte called it our bum album. Their targets weren't random. They were in that the girls chose them from the milling crowds but each was picked in the same way a pick-pocket might select his quarry. The girls wanted to create an impression, didn’t want their efforts to go unnoticed and so choosing the right subject was every bit as important as delivering the visual display. Dorothy favoured men of a certain age, those that probably hadn't seen a “fan touché” for years. Charlotte didn't mind who saw hers. What both of them avoided was being exposed to anyone that knew them, the law or CCTV and they never performed in the same place twice.
A “bend over” that involved almost touching the toes was the easiest way to flash. It looked the most casual and innocent of the moves. It was most effective when performed inside and the simple act of bending over in a shop on the pretext of examining more closely the goods on offer could reveal the goods not on offer. It looked to the observer like an accident and on more than one occasion the victim had approached the perpetrator with almost apologetic advice along the lines of someone’s forgotten to put their underwear on. The sentence nearly always ended in “Dear” or maybe “Deary”, a condescension that certainly wasn’t applicable. The bending over display gave witness to a lot of naked bottom but if it was done with gusto and athleticism then something of the “fan touché” came into view as well. The bare rear on its own was not deemed as having gone far enough by the sporting girls. It was important to show “fan touché”. Fan touché scored points and points were prizes in the All Bar One or White Horse afterwards.
If the “bend over” was a shotgun that could sometimes reach a larger than intended audience, the “front flick” was a rifle with “in your face” precision. The more purposeful flick of the skirt or dress at the front left the onlooker with the impression that he or she had just seen something that he or she should not have. It often provoked the double take and was over in a flash so that the recipient was never sure if what had happened had happened.
Points were scored according to reaction. Those exposed to the experience were always their own living score board. The marks awarded were out of ten and to get top marks was very rare. Most were below five. Reactions ranged from nothing at all as though the recipient hadn't seen anything or, more skilfully, was pretending not to have seen anything. The marking process was conducted by the girl not "flashing the gash" as Charlotte more crudely described it. So as Dorothy lifted her denim skirt (it was blue denim that day) in front of a guy who looked about fifty-five wearing a waxed jacket and brown cords, so Charlotte observed and photographed with the long lens and marked. On this occasion the guy stopped dead in his tracks while his head swivelled so violently following the passing of Dorothy that his neck must have been stiff for a fortnight. The man stood gawping. Transfixed but gawping facing the way he'd just come from. Charlotte gave her friend a five for that. When Charlotte decided to bend over right in front of an older traffic warden the reaction was less interesting than if the uniformed guy had stumbled across an illegally parked car. Dorothy awarded one. In Curry’s a “bend over” to look at the base of a large plasma screened tele caused a ripple from three other customers and a whole new meaning to the expression “High Definition”. Dorothy got a six for that.
On some days the girls would do what they called “Fanny dress.” They’d deck their naked lower regions in fancy dress. Dorothy’s most elaborate was as a Mexican complete with mini sombrero and Charlotte got Dorothy to paint a giant colourful target on her bare bottom which of course provoked comments about scoring and the bull’s eye. Painting a fish so that its mouth looked almost life like was a favourite outing along with the speech bubble drawn on the high thigh, the talking fan touché, with the message, “Amazingly enough I don’t give a shit”.
Dorothy and Charlotte had fun. They were “good” girls from “good” homes and all they were doing was just having a bit of harmless pleasure with added adrenalin rush. They never did it when they’d had too much to drink and had they been asked to explain their actions by the local paper they would have said that they were performing street theatre or pavement art. Dorothy even thought about applying for a grant but Charlotte said she wouldn’t stand a chance and the next summer the weather was lousy and Charlotte went to the south of France anyway.
Dorothy married a barrister and became a JP. Charlotte got engaged to a land agent and had twins.
When Henry took his cock out, like a limp Conger eel, and waved it at the passing crowd before pissing into the fountain, someone told him to put it away and somebody else called the police. He told the court that he was only marking his territory but the chair of the bench told him that he’d already upset public decency and he’d have to pay a fine and that if he did it again he’d be in real trouble even though she remembered the time when she and her friend pranced the same streets on Saturday mornings that hot summer flashing at those that, mostly speaking, didn’t want to see what they weren’t supposed to. Henry hadn't done too much wrong. He'd just been caught doing it. Henry had hit the nail on the head. It was, she reflected, all about marking the territory.
Love it! Tom wil love it even more, I'm emailing him the link now! xx
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