The New Exhibitionism

Lately, I’ve had a strange fetish toward exhibitionism, mainly, the thought of driving naked gives me a perverse thrill.

I like the thought of motoring down the freeway during rush hour, entertaining a private joke shared only with drivers of 18-wheelers, but to everyone else, I’m just a shirtless guy in a Toyota Corolla.

Eventually, I would become bolder in my erotic game:

Driving naked at the bank drive-through, I would pull up to the closest window, to be sure the teller could see me, and, while pointing to my crotch, say, “I need to make a deposit, a rather large one as you can see. Can I do it here with you, or do I need to come in?” In my lap would be a check for $80,000 ─ the proceeds from selling my boat.

At the Burger King drive-thru order box, I order just one thing: A large order of onion rings. I pull up to the window, fully naked, and remark to the drive-through girl, “How would you like to eat those onion rings off of this?”, and show her the antique porcelain plate I inherited from my grandmother. “Because I do it all the time,” I would add.

At a busy intersection, a panhandler approaches me. I am completely nude behind the wheel of my car. I unroll the window and he asks me for a dollar. I give him four quarters from my coin holder and he says, “God bless” and returns to the corner. As I drive away, “Beds are Burning” comes on the radio and I jam, I jam, I jam.