Note: This story was dynamically reformatted for online reading convenience. >Becca Takes Her Hands Off The Wheel by ratios Part 6: Brain turned off to avoid thinking about the situation, I mindlessly fled away from the scene of my embarrassment for what seemed like ages until I found myself at The Speedway Bar and Grill well ahead of the rest of the ladies. Nervous energy had me standing off to the side of the entryway, my bare right foot pumping up and down on the linoleum, as I fought not to chew my cuticles down to the bone. A hostess had asked me if she could help me when I arrived but I had just muttered something about waiting for friends and went to stand awkwardly in the corner of the entry area. From the looks she was giving me, I wondered if she believed me. Waiting for the rest of the group gave me a moment to take stock of my appearance and I made an attempt to see myself as the rest of the world might see me. The bottoms of my feet were blackened by several hours of walking around, both in and outside, with no shoes or socks on. My reflection in the front window revealed that my hair looked like I had gotten into a fight with a lawnmower; my usually straight and organized locks hanging frazzled and wild with grass clippings mixed in. My back and the back of my absurdly short skirt had a few streaking grass stains on them, and it was obvious that the skirt was meant to be longer, but that it had been purposefully shortened to where it barely covered the bottom of my butt. The top half of my body was covered only by a thin shawl, which left a large swath down the center of my chest and belly bare. A generous portion of the inner sides of my boobs as well as my whole stomach and naval were open to the air. I realized that the view the shawl gave would be more appropriate for a supermodel -(TM)s tawdry red carpet dress than for the only clothing that a nineteen year old college student was wearing to some random local restaurant. The swell of my breasts was perfectly visible with the shawl tucked tightly down the front of my skirt, and my seemingly permanently stiff nipples were doing their best to drill through the material to reach the world. During my power walk to the bar, the skirt had even ridden up more, and the bottom inch or so of my panties were clearly on display. Turning away from the hostess station, my face glowing red, I pulled my skirt down as far as it would go to cover myself. Curiously, when I did, a feeling came over me of -- what? Disappointment? I wasn -(TM)t quite sure how to interpret it in the context of the situation I found myself in. Out of some sense of duty to, I -(TM)m not sure who, I took the ends of the shawl tucked into my skirt -(TM)s thickened waistband and moved them apart a bit further. I couldn -(TM)t tell you why I did it, but it felt right on balance. Like, if I was going to adjust my skirt down to hide what it had revealed by creeping upwards, I should provide some commensurate level of exposure from somewhere else. Don -(TM)t ask me why, but it made sense at the time. With the shawl as it was now, I would bet that turning abruptly would end up with at least a nip slip, if not a total pop-out, but I found myself accepting that as just part of the lifestyle (a thought that felt like it should be completely foreign to me, but sailed right through my mind as if nothing were strange about it at all). Standing there, feeling out of place, pulling blades of grass from my hair, just to let them fall to the floor of the bar, I wondered what the bar staff thought of me. From the looks I was getting, I would bet that they pegged me as a homeless person, or at least a woman in need of some serious mental health assistance. It wasn -(TM)t clear to me that the second possibility wasn -(TM)t at least partially accurate. After their initial inquiry as to my needs, none of them came anywhere near me and I -(TM)m sure each was hoping not to draw the short straw that would require them to eventually ask me to leave when my promised party inevitably failed to arrive. Much to the relief of the staff, though, the rest of the study group ladies were only a few minutes behind me. -There you are, Speed Racer, - Monique commented when she finally came through the door and spotted me. -We were all wondering if we were going to find you here. Deets bet that you went to find the closest bathroom so that you could flick your bean before rejoining the party. - -It -(TM)s what I would have done, - Deeta chimed in with a wink. The look the hostess gave me when she heard this exchange will be preserved as a flashbulb traumatic memory in my mind until the day I die. Furthermore, the idea that flashing my breasts to an entire street full of people while I made an idiot of myself chasing a shawl down the street had somehow turned me on so much that I needed to immediately run away and masturbate to clear my head was both exceedingly offensive and disturbingly close to accurate. Upset as I was at the hostess having heard the accusation, as well as the implication behind it, I couldn -(TM)t say whether I was more upset that Deeta had assumed that the purpose of my hasty exit was to go jill off, or the fact that the only reason it hadn -(TM)t been was that I hadn -(TM)t thought of it. -Let -(TM)s just get seated, - I mumbled, hoping to change the subject. Nicky asked the hostess for a table for five and I did my best to hide at the back of the group, out of her view. I guess I was somehow hoping that she would forget I existed, despite having stood in front of her, acting overtly conspicuous, for the last several minutes, followed by being the target of Monique -(TM)s bawdy statement about running off to touch myself. Peering past the group, the hostess made a point of looking down to my bare feet, then back up to my eyes, and then down to the big gap the shawl left on my front, and then back to my face again. -I can -(TM)t put you all in the main room. Health regulations -- you understand, right? - A collective groan from the group was our only response, and I immediately began to feel terrible for ruining the evening, but the hostess graciously threw us a lifeline. -Best I can do is the patio. - We all professed our thanks and she grabbed a stack of menus before leading us out a door to the side of the building. The patio in question was a platform raised about three feet off of street level attached to the side of the bar with an iron railing around it. A dozen single-piece wooden park bench and picnic table combos were evenly distributed around the area, their large built-in umbrellas having already been closed and lowered due to the falling sun and rising winds. The hostess led us back to the table furthest from the door and told us that a member of the wait staff would be around to take our order before leaving. Picking the closest spot, I started to step over the bench to sit, but Monique grabbed my arm to stop me and led me to the spot in the back corner instead. Since the benches were perpendicular to the railing, this seat put me essentially facing along the line of the road, only three feet above it and one foot over. When I sat down, I was faced with a dilemma: leave my skirt under my butt or sit directly on the smooth bench. If I sat on my skirt, as soaked as my crotch and panties were, I was sure that I would end up leaving a giant wet spot on the skirt, and I didn -(TM)t know if I could take walking back to Monique -(TM)s place with an advertisement on my butt of how horny I was. If I sat directly on the bench, it would likely cause my already-miniaturized skirt to ride up, putting my butt, legs, and crotch on greater display to the rest of the patio and the adjacent sidewalk. Not wanting to stain my clothes, I finally elected to pull my skirt up in the back and sat with my wet panty covered butt directly on the seat; a decision which drew a snicker from several of the group. This also had the unexpected, yet positive, effect of cooling off an area of my body that had been raging with hormone fueled heat for hours, but that comfort was tempered by the mortifying idea of what kind of an imprint I might end up leaving on the wooden bench. It was best not to think about such things. Monique sat next to me, with Sasha next to her, Nicky on the other side, and then Deeta directly across from me. The rest of the ladies were talking about how funny it had been to see me running around in the street, chasing my windblown clothing, so I just buried my face in my menu and tried to think small thoughts. When Deeta stood up from the table and started bouncing her boobs under her clothes in an impression of what I had looked like, before collapsing back into her seat with laughter, I could only hope that none of the twenty or so other patrons sitting at patio tables could hear what our group was talking about, and that none of them took Deeta -(TM)s ape-ish display as a reason to spend further time look at, or under, our table -Tell me, Becca: did you enjoy it?, - Nicky asked, reaching diagonally across the table to pull my menu down so that she could see my face. -You mean getting my top stolen by the wind?, - I asked, as indignantly as I could muster (which wasn -(TM)t very). -No, I meant studying for your math quiz, dork. -~Course I meant getting natured by nature. - -It was horrifying, - was my response. -So, 100% all bad? No Cardi B down below?, - Deeta jumped in and asked. -Huh?, - I asked, confused. -Cardi B? - With a snort, Monique clarified, -I think she -(TM)s asking if flashing the world gave you a Wet Ass Pussy. - Grinning, Deeta nodded to this and Monique smiled along. -What do you think, ladies? Should we find out by asking an expert, - at which she pointed to my face, -or by examining the evidence?, - which she emphasized by putting her hand on my thigh with her fingertips under my skirt. The touch on my bare thigh caused me to draw a sharp inhale of air through my nose and my core tightened up of its own accord. -Show me the evidence!, - declared Deeta, gleefully, and Sasha nodded along amusedly. Nicky, at least, gave a glance around to see if anyone was looking our way, before answering. The sun had fully set and the patio was only lit by a few strings of Christmas style lights, so it wasn -(TM)t super bright out, and the rest of the patrons on the patio seemed to be mainly concerned with their own meals and conversations. Seeing all this, Nicky grinned wide and concluded, -In the interest of good science, and pushing boundaries, I think Becca would agree that we need to go straight to the source for this answer. - Outvoted without ever casting a ballot, I steeled myself for what had to come next as Monique pulled up the front of my skirt and tucked it into the top of the hem. This essentially reduced the front half of the mini-skirt into a thick belt at waist level. Reaching between my legs and poking my thighs, I knew what she wanted, but resisted at first, hoping that raising my skirt might be the end of it. This only prompted her to poke me more insistently so, using my self-promise of enthusiastic compliance as an excuse, I gave in completely and allowed her to spread my legs, wider and wider, until my knees hit the bench on both sides. In technical terms, the angle of my spread was definitively obtuse, though -~obscene -(TM) might have been a better word for it. Once she had me spread to her satisfaction, she peeked into my lap and then, smirking, pulled out her phone and took a photo from above table level, with flash, of my crotch. Presenting the photo to each other lady at the table, Monique announced, -No worries, Bex is still obviously loving this. She is one Juicy Lucy. - Thankfully, Monique sat her phone face down on the table when a tired looking waitress came out onto the patio and walked over to our table. Though there was a two inch thick slab of wood between her eyes and my spread legs, I still felt myself sweating into my scant clothes and hoping that she didn -(TM)t come stand behind me specifically to take my order. -Welcome to Speedway, ladies, my name is Laurie. Can I get you started with any drinks or appetizers or do you need a few minutes to look at the menu? - After a bit of back and forth, it was decided that we were ready to order. Everyone told the waitress what they wanted to eat and then Deeta requested, -And can we get a pitcher of whatever IPA you have on draft for the table? - Laurie, who looked to be in her thirties, didn -(TM)t bat an eye at the request. -Sure thing, can I see all of your IDs? - Deeta began reaching for her purse while the rest of us stared at her curiously before she paused and frowned. -Oh yeah, you have to be twenty one in this bloody country to get alcohol, don -(TM)t you? - Nodding, Laurie confirmed this. I couldn't tell if she was joking or not, but Deeta stuck her hand out towards me and offered, -How about if our friend Rebecca over here flashes you her lovely breasts? Will you get us a pitcher then? - My heart paused mid beat as Laurie gave me a slow up and down accompanied by a raised eyebrow -Sure-, - she replied, to which Deeta high fived Monique across the table, but then Laurie continued with a big smile, --as long as you also all show me photo IDs proving you -(TM)re over twenty one years of age. - Sitting back down like a deflated balloon, Deeta muttered, -Mean -- - In a teasing voice, Laurie asked, -Does that mean that I don -(TM)t get to see Rebecca -(TM)s lovely breasts then? - Five pairs of eyes turned to stare at me as I froze up like a deer watching the approach of the oncoming car that was going to crush it. Laughing, Laurie stepped back from the table with a, -Just kidding. Better luck next time. I -(TM)ll go put your orders in and be back with your sodas, - before heading back inside the bar. Through the entire exchange, my hands never stopped holding onto my menu with a death grip and, it wasn -(TM)t until Laurie had disappeared from view that I realized I had been holding my breath. Apparently unaware or uncaring of the fragility of my mental state at the moment, the group settled in to discuss the differences in legal systems between the USA and the rest of the modern world, bemoaning our issues with healthcare, individual liberty, and our specific group -(TM)s inability to get wasted on a Saturday night at uni. As the only person at the table not participating in the conversation, I was the first to notice the approach of the stranger from down at street level. A girl that looked a few years older than us came walking along the sidewalk, minding her own business, but did a textbook double as she passed by my nearly exposed private parts, presented conveniently at her eye level. Quickly burying my face in the menu still in my hands, I could only imagine the view she was getting from the street below. It wasn -(TM)t until she addressed me from where she had come to stand next to the edge of the patio that the rest of the ladies took notice of her. -Holy hell, girl. You need a towel dry and a good fucking, maybe not in that order. - Nicky jumped to her feet with a look of concern on her face at the comment and Sasha half rose as well but Deeta and Monique could see the woman from where they sat. Noticing that the passerby was laughing at her own comment, the rest of the study group began to giggle along as well, then proceeded to fall all over themselves joining her in laughter. Though I wanted to close my legs and cover up, I stoically kept myself positioned as I had been left, a voice in the back of my mind cooing, Good girl, without any of the rest of the ladies having to actually say it. I morosely wondered how long it would be until we were done eating and could leave. The passerby gathered herself together after a moment with a, -Whew, - sound and then continued a bit more earnestly. -Seriously though, you really ought to be a bit more cautious with the way you -(TM)re hanging -~all out -(TM). Best you keep your legs together if you don -(TM)t want to get hauled in for indecency. I -(TM)m not your momma, though, so you feel free to do you. - Without asking, the woman turned around and pulled out her phone before taking a quick kissy face selfie next to my goodies and I just about lost it. My hands were gripping the plastic laminated menu so hard that, if I were stronger, I probably would have ripped it in half, and my butt cheeks were clenched so hard I was afraid they were going to snip the back of my wedgied undies like a pair of scissors. Then, the lady on the street walked away, giggling to herself while tapping on her phone, and I looked up to find the rest of the ladies at the table staring at me. -Becca -- Do you realize that the woman who was just here took a selfie with your private parts? - Sasha asked. Did I realize -- What a question. My mind -(TM)s eye would show me almost nothing except for the view I imagined her phone camera would have captured of the lewd show I was putting on for the world at large. I knew I should want to hop over the railing and chase after her so I could beg her to delete the photo. After all, no sane woman should want a stranger to have a picture of her privates in their possession to do with what they would. It wasn -(TM)t like I really wanted the woman to have an upskirt of me -- It was just that I was too much of a doormat to demand that she not have it. In my head, I argued back and forth a bit and, per usual, -~roll over and play dead -(TM) won out as the strategy du jour. The lady wanted the picture of me, the lady took the picture of me, and I sat there and accepted my lot in life. Nothing more to it, no further discussion necessary. The knowledge that at least one stranger in the world had both seen my nearly naked privates AND had permanent evidence to prove the fact had me oozing down below. It -(TM)s not like I could help myself with the reaction, right? I wondered if it were some sort of perverse coping mechanism that my mind and body had conspired (without my conscious input) to provide me with in order to reward me for being so -- Cowardly? Weak? Spineless? I decided to call it -~selfless -(TM) for the sake of me not wanting to cry. All I knew was that the strongest reaction I could come up with to the knowledge that a stranger on the street had taken a picture of my cooch was to begin subtly grinding my crotch on the wooden bench surface beneath me, and even that action wasn -(TM)t really all that voluntary. Surely I was leaving streaky trails of my arousal juices on the seat, but I just couldn -(TM)t seem to bring myself to stop -- or care for that matter. This internal dialogue about how I should react only lasted a few seconds and, with a decision having been made, I looked around at my friends again. Both Sasha and Nicky were still standing at the ready, seemingly poised and ready to go chase the lady with the vag shot down, and I realized that I needed to put their minds at ease. I don -(TM)t know how much of what I ended up telling them was the truth versus how much I made up on the spot for the sake of conflict avoidance, but I picked a position and ran with it. Summoning as much confidence as I could to stop my voice from wavering, I told them, -It -(TM)s fine. I don -(TM)t mind. I -(TM)m the one with my legs spread; it -(TM)s not like I can blame anybody for wanting to look or take a picture or whatever. - Looking appropriately skeptical, Sasha asked for clarification. -That -(TM)s a bit of a departure from what you told me on the walk here, Becca. I seem to recall you using the phrase -~really really embarrassing -(TM) in relation to the possibility of other people seeing images of you as -~on display -(TM) as you have been during the course of today -(TM)s journey of self discovery that we -(TM)re helping you out with. Should we take your new acceptance of such exposure as an indication that you enjoy that level of embarrassment, and even might want to explore it in greater detail? - Feeling trapped, I squirmed in my seat, grinding my clammy sex on the rough wooden bench while I felt like I was nailing my own coffin shut with my words. -Mm, yeah, I guess so, - I ceded. This response caused Sasha to sit back into her seat looking upwards in thought. Monique -(TM)s reaction was entirely different, however. Looking like Christmas had just come several months early, Monique picked up her phone again and pulled up her photo gallery, leaning over until we were shoulder to shoulder. -Awesome attitude, Bex. Throw it all out there and see what sticks like ready spaghetti. So, what should we post first and where? - Staring powerlessly back at her as she stared with such glee at me, I wondered what response I could possibly offer her with my foot stuck so far into my own mouth.