While I was having lunch with my best friend, Stacey, she casually mentioned she was traveling to a private men’s club in Mississippi to participate in a fashion show and auction to raise money for charity. It sounded noble at first, but when I pressed her for more info, she confessed the event was “rather risqué.”

That piqued my interest.

Stacey could tell I was intrigued and elaborated, “The risqué part is that the attendees get to bid on the clothes the models are wearing, and the winner gets to remove the items from the models right there onstage in front of everyone! Bras and panties, too. Can you believe it?”

Stacey opened up even more once she’d dropped that bombshell. She told me about the club, which consisted mainly of middle-aged, well-to-do men. She called them “cue-ball businessmen,” as she alluded to their balding pates.

I listened intently to her every word, my heart racing with excitement.

I’ve always been an exhibitionist. Whether it was streaking in college, playing strip poker in the dorms or walking nude from the bedroom to the bathroom in front of a boyfriend’s roommate, being buck naked in view of others has always been a turn-on for me. 

“I heard they were short on volunteer models,” Stacey said coyly. “Why don’t you give them a call? Could be fun.” 

Her tone was teasing, but I could tell from the look on her face that she realized the event had my name written all over it. If I had two fetishes, they would be public nudity and sexy bald men.

Stacey was getting a kick out of teasing me, but I started wondering if I still had the body for such a stunt. I’m 31, but in my defense, my typical daily diet consisted of fish and greens. I also worked out three days a week. All of that had helped keep my five-foot-six, 120-pound frame taut and toned. But would I still measure up under such blatant scrutiny?

I’ve got to do this, I thought to myself.

I did indeed give the organizers a call, and they were delighted to add me to the lineup — especially because Stacey had to bail! At the last minute, she was called to take a deposition on behalf of her law firm and had to skip the event. She wasn’t happy about it, but she urged me to go on without her and ordered, “Have fun!”

The club headquarters were at a grand estate with paneled walls, plush furniture, beautiful draperies and an ornate fireplace in almost every room. I learned it was the former residence of a wealthy, dearly departed local.

The fashion show proper took place in the ballroom, in which a large stage had been erected at one end. Twenty-four tables, each seating eight men, faced the stage.

From the sidelines, I eagerly watched the festivities, feeling myself growing more turned on as I watched beautiful woman after beautiful woman bare all for the guys, who were growing increasing vocal as the night wore on.

I was the last model of the night, and by the time I was introduced, the boozy crowd had gotten pretty rowdy, raucously expressing their appreciation of the evening’s eye candy with a chorus of hoots, howls and whistles.

I emerged from behind the curtain dressed in a formal gown, which was cut low in the front to emphasize my C-cup breasts, and the train of my dress swept the floor in dramatic fashion as I walked toward the edge of the stage.

“Our final items of the evening will be presented by beautiful Bridgett, a true Southern belle,” the host announced. “Now, open your wallets. We’ll start the bidding for Ms. Collins’s size seven heels at $500. Do I have $500?”

The shoes sold for $750, the necklace for $300 and the glamorous gown went for $2,000. When I was down to a blue silk bra and matching panties, I felt the energy in the room rise as the more excitable members stood, clapped and prematurely screamed out their bids. As the crowd roared, I realized that for most of the men there, I was just the right age to fuel their fantasies — young enough to still look good, but old enough to know my own body and to have the self-confidence to go after what I craved in the bedroom.

The bidding for my bra started at $1,000 and hit $1,600 before the gavel finally fell. A muscled guy in his late 30s jogged up the steps to the stage to retrieve his prize. I turned to allow him to unfasten my bra, and when I stripped it off and faced him once more, he eyed my breasts lasciviously. Then he turned toward the crowd, twirled my bra on his finger and pumped his other fist at his small group of friends, who were all applauding and egging him on.   

“Well, well,” the host said, trying to tease out the last few dollars from the wealthy audience. “Bridgett is nearly in her birthday suit, folks. Another courageous woman giving her all for our local restoration projects.”

After a short pause, he spoke quickly as if he was racing to get out his words and declared, “The bidding for Ms. Bridgett’s panties will start at $1,500.”

The crowd went bonkers, and so did a certain part of me. The room had gotten warm. The lights were shining on me. The cheering was boisterous. It felt like I was on a Broadway stage. I was so turned on that I felt my temperature soaring uncontrollably, and I couldn’t wait to be relieved of my last undergarment. Reveling in the attention, I spun in a tight circle, wiggling my silk-sheathed ass and further delighting the assembly.

The winning bid of $2,500 went to a handsome older man in his early 40s, who — oh my God — was bald but for a swath of close-cropped hair around the sides and back of his head. He had a professional appearance, but I guessed he was also a runner based on his strong shoulders and narrow waist. I was already worked up, but my arousal skyrocketed as I watched him take the stage. I have always been attracted to bald men. I don’t know why, but what I did know was that for me nothing had ever been more sexually thrilling than placing my hands on a man’s smooth head as he went down on me. I couldn’t pretend I wasn’t excited as the hunk approached me to claim his prize. 

As he took a knee before me, the DJ began playing “Celebration” by Kool & the Gang to announce the night had reached its climax, and the crowd was eating it up.

Reaching behind me, the night’s last benefactor placed his hands on my lower back and ran his fingers over my bottom, slipping my panties slightly down my hips. Then he paused, partially glanced over his shoulder at the crowd and wagged his eyebrows. Boy, this guy was quite the showman, and everyone — including me — was enjoying it. He was so much more fun than the goober who’d bid on my bra. 

He inched down the front of my underwear in fits and starts until my dark bush appeared, and then he flashed a wolfish smile at the crowd one final time before pushing my panties to my ankles and fully exposing me to the audience.

Due to his position, his mouth was near my pussy. He gazed at me with this “I have to have you now” look and smiled. I almost lost it right there. My nipples were fully erect, my face felt flushed and my pussy seemed to be seeping molten honey. I wondered if the entire hall could tell I was hopelessly turned on.

I couldn’t hold back any longer. I reached down and rubbed his head and said aloud, “Oh my God, I love bald guys.” And then, looking down, I said to him, “You’re so sexy.”

If the club members didn’t love me before, they sure did now. Another round of hoots and hollers came from the mostly 40-and 50-year-old dudes. I was so obviously horny at that point; my heaving breasts and blushing face had given away my secret.

“Well, that’s the end of our evening. Let’s give all our wonderful volunteer models a big round of applause,” the host said, gesturing toward me.

David, the high bidder for my panties, happened to be former college football star, who was now a doctor. He’d introduced himself, took my hand and walked me backstage. Before we made it to the changing room, he stopped briefly to hand over a substantial check to the club’s bean counters, who sat at a table just out of sight of the stage.

Although he was polite and social with everyone, there was no question in my mind about whether or not he’d join me in the changing area.

The now-empty space, which had earlier been bustling with models, was outfitted with high-end brown leather sofas, deep-seated easy chairs, a 12-foot oak table, a brick fireplace and dark-stained hardwood floors.

My own clothes were still hanging on a freestanding corner rack — exactly where I’d left them. But I was in no rush to put them back on — or leave.

David was dressed in a dark blue blazer and slacks with a white dress shirt. He had an olive complexion, with a strong chin and thin lips. The little brown hair he had was peppered with gray. He was one of the most sexy men I’d ever encountered. But even better, he wasn’t trying to mask his interest in me. He stared into my eyes with a penetrating gaze, and then he glanced down the length of my body in a seductive way that was more intimate than sexual — like a slow kiss as opposed to a frantic tangle of tongues.      

I wondered if he could smell the scent of my aroused pussy, which felt impossibly wet.

“I rubbed your head,” I said, laughing and rolling my eyes in an apologetic manner. “I’m so sorry. I hope I didn’t embarrass you. I’ve always been attracted to bald guys, and you have such a perfectly shaped head. I know I sound like a loon. But you’re so handsome.”

I needn’t have worried about how he felt about my actions. He simply smiled back with perfectly straight, white teeth and a calm repose, telling me he didn’t mind one bit.

There was no doubt he was aroused, too, but he seemed as if he’d mastered his own desire. That told me he was the sort of man who might have a throbbing hard-on, but would still wait for his partner to come first.

“You are the most beautiful woman I’ve ever met,” he said, looking into my eyes and taking a step closer, so we were standing in one another’s space. I looked down to see a substantial bulge in his pants.

There was a long pause. Flattered, I was enjoying the moment, and for a heartbeat I didn’t know what to say next.

“You did your part for a good cause,” he said, breaking the silence. 

“Yes, a great cause,” I replied, moving even closer, so my erect nipples brushed against his chest. My streaming cunt was inches away from his trousers. I knew if I rubbed up against him that I’d stain his pants with my juice. He put his arms around my waist and leaned forward until his lips were pressed to mine, and then our tongues touched. It was comfortable, almost familiar, like we’d done it a hundred times before. And then we began moving in a sensual rhythm, his hands holding my face and our hips unconsciously grinding. Our natural impulses were getting the best of us.

My fingers moved to quickly unbutton David’s dress shirt and pull his white undershirt over his head. His chest was hairy and firm. I’d been trying to match his patience, but my desire had grown too much. I unfastened his belt and pants and then eased down his boxers, exposing his hard cock. His erection was standing tall and proud, and I dropped to my knees in front of him.

Leaning forward, I parted my lips and took the head of his dick into my mouth. He moaned as I slipped my plump lips down his shaft, taking him fully from tip to base. As I bobbed on his rod, I used one hand to jerk him off and the second to massage his balls.

David was patient; he didn’t instinctively grab the back of my head and push forward like a selfish frat boy. Instead, he ran his hands through my hair and let me consume him at my own pace. I tickled his crown with my tongue, ran my lips along the underside of his meaty shaft and nibbled on his testicles, eliciting moans of satisfaction from him. When I sensed he might be close to climaxing, I backed off. He exhaled and swore softly as he got his bearings. I suggested we move to a couch. I went first, reclining and opening my legs in invitation, exposing my wet cunt.

David didn’t waste any time. Starting at my feet, he nibbled his way upward, teasing my toes, ankles, knees and thighs. Everything about me was new to him, and he seemed intent to savor every bit of me. When he reached my pussy, he gently stroked my thighs. His large hands nearly reached halfway around each leg. But he had the softest skin and perfectly manicured fingernails. He buried his face between my legs. All I could see was the naked crown of his beautiful, bald head as he licked me. His tongue traveled up and down my slit teasingly before drawing tempting circles around my clitoris. I groaned, craving the full contact he was so far denying me.

David’s deep blue eyes peered up from my bush with a gaze that was both hypnotic and energizing. He pressed his tongue upward to apply pressure to my clit, and then he sealed his lips around my swollen button. He swirled his tongue around that sensitive nub, somehow mimicking the same strokes I use when getting myself off.

He patiently flicked his tongue over my clit in the perfect rhythm and before long instinctively increased his pace. Babbling and moaning, I encouraged him to make me come. I needn’t have wasted the breath because he was intent on taking me over the edge. As I clutched the top of his smooth head, David tongued me until my climax wracked me with delicious spasms of ecstasy.

Once I’d caught my breath, I released him from my grip and dropped open my thighs, which had been hugging his face.

“Fuck me,” I told him. “I need your cock in me now.”

David, ever the gentleman, didn’t make me wait. I reclined on the sofa, and he covered my writhing body with his as he eased his cock into my overflowing my pussy. His dick was of average length, but his impressive girth took my breath away.

I was losing control and happily turned my body over to him. With my legs spread as wide as I could open them, I placed my hands on the sides of his bald head and looked deep into his eyes as he thrust his cock into me over and over, in slow, controlled movements. I was both aroused and at peace as I listened to the sound of our bodies smacking together, inhaled the scent of his skin and felt the warmth of his breath and the strength of his thighs and cock. Was it just a continuation of the thrill of exposing myself that made our sex fantastic, or had this man mastered the art of slow-burn sex?

He was mesmerizing me.

David’s pace gradually quickened, and his stare took on a hazy appearance a second before he announced, “I’m coming!”

He pulled out of my pussy, which had never stopped spasming with orgasmic aftershocks, and shot his pearly load on my chest and neck. He pumped his shaft as I reached forward to milk his balls of every last ounce of cream. With his goo still dripping down my breasts, I laid back and asked him to fuck me one more time because his cock was still largely erect.

David was game and entered me again. He was in amazing shape and recovered almost immediately; I felt his rod stiffening anew inside my quivering snatch.

He clutched my shoulders and pumped his manhood into me at a relaxed pace. He seemed totally focused on my pleasure and almost jovial about pleasing me. He smiled, giving me soft kisses while we fucked leisurely. This went on for much longer than our first session as he slowly worked my body until I began feeling a familiar eruption rising from my core. Then finally, I surrendered to my ecstasy once more.

“Yes, yes” were the only words I could muster. I grabbed his ass cheeks to pull his dick deeper inside me as we rocked our bodies until the last of my intense climactic spasms faded.

Finally sated, we lay together exchanging passionate kisses. Then we turned on our sides to face one another. He looked suddenly anxious and uncertain.

“I know this was sudden and unexpected. But do you think we could do this again sometime?” he asked.

“I’d like that,” I told him with a grin.

“Good,” he said, running his fingers through my hair.

David kissed me again, and his tongue darted between my lips for one last tease.

“We should get dressed before anyone barges in and finds us naked,” he said.

He was right. It was amazing that we’d had enough of an uninterrupted stretch of time for our rendezvous.

We quickly threw on our clothes, and then walked out into the night hand in hand, hopeful about what the future might hold.