Our tense stares locked. Then, out of nowhere, the woman flung her coat open wide, like double doors swinging apart. Against the sunset, her white skin flashed into view.
"…" I stayed silent.
"…" So did she.
A quiet hush hung between us, but inside, I was crushed with disappointment. Total letdown. I'd hoped for a full-on naked coat reveal, and my pure teenage heart sank. Red underwear covered her up—hiding the goods like a tease. What a half-baked effort, I thought. My sadness flipped to anger fast.
"You tricked me!" I wanted to yell, but I held it in.
Yeah, it was a massive bummer. Still, the sight wasn't bad. Lit by the sinking sun's red glow, her half-naked body was honestly gorgeous. The red of her underwear popped against her pale skin, framed by the evening sky. That red-and-white contrast? Stunning.
Her face stayed hidden behind sunglasses and a mask—no expression to read—but that only made it hotter. Everyone knows the Venus de Milo, right? That statue's beauty hooks you because her missing arms spark your imagination. Same deal here. Her smallish chest, tight waist, and glossy thighs were on full display, but the mystery of her face added this… Venus vibe. It fired me up even more.
Both the statue and this lady are Venuses, no doubt. Me? I'm way more into this living one than some carved rock.
"…" I kept staring.
"…" She didn't move.
I gazed at her like she was a goddess worth worshiping. Man, this is art. Eros and beauty mixed together—my little buddy down there was already giving a standing ovation, freshly awake to the wonders of aesthetics.
Chasing more of that beauty, I locked my eyes on her, scanning every inch from top to bottom, slow and thorough. Not drooling—just appreciating, you know?
"…" Still no words.
"…" From either of us.
But here's the thing. Back in my old world, I'd pictured exhibitionists as middle-aged creeps—guys flashing in alleys. In this world, I figured it'd be middle-aged women instead. But those thighs? Young, fresh, and smooth. Not as toned as Ms. Fuyuhara's, still kinda growing into themselves. Not middle school young, but close to my age, maybe. I could buy that.
Then Miss Exhibitionist started twitching, her gaze darting around in a panic. Normally, she'd flash, I'd scream, and she'd bolt—that's the playbook, right? But she picked the wrong guy this time. Wrong in every way. Sorry about that.
She must've expected me to freak out or yell. Instead, I just stood there, frozen, no reaction. That threw her off. Finally, she seemed to snap back, checking around to make sure no one else was nearby.
"…" Silence again.
"…" From both sides.
By now, she should've run. Standing there wide open like that? Total public indecency—caught red-handed. But neither of us budged. She wants to show off; I want to look. Win-win, right? No point moving until one of us is done or someone interrupts.
I'm not leaving, obviously. So I'll just keep enjoying this awesome moment until she's had her fill.
"…" More quiet.
"…" Still going.
It's not a standoff, exactly, but as we kept facing off, a thought hit me. Why not push this further? Like… "Hey, take off the bra?" Could that work?
Her chest isn't huge, but it's not flat either—nice shape, perfectly balanced. I'd love to see it bare. Heck, watching her strip it off would be even better. That moment when it pops free? Pure thrill, hard to beat.
But if I open my mouth, she might think I'm screaming and bolt. Half-naked Venus running off would be a tragedy. Still, human greed's a beast. Minutes ago, I was grateful just for the underwear show. Now I'm itching for more. Guys are such shameless, needy creatures, huh?
Deciding to settle for this, I went back to soaking in her body, memorizing every detail. Then I noticed something.
"…Hm?" I squinted.
Her feet. Loafers and navy socks. My eyes slid up—those tempting bare legs, red shorts hiding the main event, a toned stomach with a cute navel. Then the red bra hugging her chest, up to her slim neck. I dropped my gaze back down, studying closer. Under her half-cup bra, near the base of her left breast, three moles stood out. They formed a little triangle, super distinct.
She caught where I was looking. Her hand dropped from the coat hem and covered the moles quick.
"…" She didn't speak.
"…" Neither did I.
Her sunglasses hid her eyes, but I swear they were asking, "You saw that?" So I nodded. "Yeah, I saw," I said.
The second those words left my mouth, Miss Weirdo flipped her coat shut and sprinted off. Chase her? Nah, what's the point? Catch her and turn her in? Maybe that's the "right" thing, but in this world, a guy nabbing a female perv doesn't vibe. I'm supposed to scream and run, not play hero.
So, yeah. "Let's pretend I didn't see anything," I decided. No one loses that way—everyone's happy. I clapped my hands twice in thanks, like at a shrine, toward where the red-clad goddess ran off. My little buddy was still cheering down there. "Hold out till tomorrow with Ms. Fuyuhara, okay?" I muttered to it.
With that little pep talk, I headed home.