She was a blonde, blue-eyed and beautiful, and had not the slightest inhibition about showing off her fabulous form.

Why is it, I wonder, that men who love to look at women are often embarrassed by the thought of women ogling them? I mean, it’s all right for men to be voyeurs, but luck and lawyers help them if they get stuck with the label “exhibitionist.” Actually, I suppose I’m like most men: If I ever defined my visual orientation in sex, I would call myself a looker, not a “lookee.”

That is, until I met Marcy, a girl who is not so much different as she is extraordinarily honest. For Marcy, the visual is an important part of sex, as it is for all of us, I suppose, though with Marcy it’s arguable that her eyes are the most sensitive erogenous zones in her body. Quite simply, she enjoys a naked body, both her own and a man’s, as much as any girl I’ve known. But perhaps it’s not so much that I like being looked at as it is that Marcy enjoys looking, and that I find her frankness about it exciting. At any rate, she opened up a part of me I didn’t know much about, and any woman who can do that is something special.

Meeting her was purely accidental. We had both flown east for business conferences and were staying at the same downtown hotel. Even so, we still wouldn’t have met if we both hadn’t been exercise fanatics. In my case it was simple restlessness that took me to the hotel’s work-out rooms; even though the desk clerk had told me that the facility closed at eleven, I couldn’t sleep, so about eleven-thirty, I got up, slipped on a t-shirt and shorts and headed down to do a few bench presses to relax tensed-up muscles.

Opening the door with the hotels entrance key — the little one on the same ring as the room key — I was surprised to find the lights on. But l was even more surprised to discover a very attractive blonde doing sit-ups on one of the exercise benches.

“Oh, hi,” she said without breaking her rhythm. “I suppose you’ve come to tell me the placed is closed.” I assured her l wasn’t a member of the staff and that I’d come down myself to get a little workout to help me sleep. At that, she stopped midway in one of her sit-ups, gave me a smile that would have melted a concierge’s scowl and invited me to join in. “Well, the rooms are all ours,” she added. “Take your pick of machines.”

Since watching her exquisite body going through a sit-up routine had suddenly become a priority, l chose a weight machine facing her bench, adjusted its levers for arm curls and proceeded to pump iron. We didn’t talk much at first, but with every other lift of her body, she glanced in my direction — to see if l was watching her? I certainly was doing that, partly in admiration of her ability to do as many sit-ups as she was doing, but also because she looked sexy as hell in shorts and tank top. She was braless, and as the sweat built up on her body, it accentuated the curves of her breasts and brought out the dark areolas around her nipples, which seemed to grow hard as l watched her.

Her glances at me were friendly enough, but appraising, as if she were as interested in watching me as l was in watching her. I returned her every glance, quite taken by her slender attractiveness and straw-colored hair, which she kept out of her eyes with a black headband. She had an effective little body, small and strong but perfectly trim, the body of a gymnast or a dancer.

For the next hour we both did our thing, moving about from machine to machine. I learned her name and told her mine and also discovered that we lived only seventy miles apart, in neighboring cities. Like me, she was in town on business, had had a mediocre day and couldn’t sleep. She told me she worked out regularly at home and tried not to miss it on trips. She certainly looked like she exercised often; about my age, she was at least as fit as l was, and l was fairly active-running, playing racquetball and tennis and backpacking in the mountains.

“You do look healthy,” Marcy said. “l like that. I enjoy looking at men who take care of themselves. But right now I’m getting into the jacuzzi. Want to join me?’’

“Sure, but I’m going to shower first.” “Me too. Meet you in a minute.”

It wasn’t until the cool spray was running over my shoulders that l realized I hadn’t brought bathing trunks. No matter — l’d slip on my jock and get into the jacuzzi before she did. I needn’t have worried, though. Just as I was sinking into the swirling water, she came out of the women’s dressing room trailing a towel behind her and wearing nothing but a very snug pair of white bikini panties.

“Hope you don’t mind,” she smiled, “but I didn’t bring anything down with me to wear. “

I told her I didn’t mind at all. I’m sure my eyes must have told her, too, because I could hardly help staring at her — strong legs, slender waist, breasts full and firm with hardened nipples. She was absolutely gorgeous, her body a study in female perfection. She didn’t seem to mind me looking at her; on the contrary, she stood there for a moment and let me admire her, then slowly slipped into the water opposite me.

“And you?” she asked. “Did you bring something for the jacuzzi?” It was a challenge.

I rose to it, literally. Standing up in the hip-deep water, l showed her what I had on. She nodded.

“Good,” she said. “I wouldn’t want to think I was overdressed.”

Surprisingly, although we were very much aware of each other, we didn’t talk much. There didn’t seem to be a need; I felt relaxed and comfortable with Marcy, and she seemed the same with me. It was as if being there, right then, was exactly how both of us had planned to spend our evening. The water was warm and soothing, the workout had done a trick with my earlier tension, and when I looked at her blue eyes, they met mine with a frankness that brought a conspiratorial smile to our lips, as if a secret had already passed between us.

I had set the timer for ten minutes, and when the swirl stopped, I asked her if she wanted me to reset it.

“Sure, another five minutes.”

As I climbed out of the pool, I felt her watching me. It was a good feeling, and it didn’t bother me that I was slightly hard and straining against the elastic of the Jock. As I moved to the timer, she followed me with her eyes, turning to let her body float in the water. Her arms were draped over the tile of the pool’s edge.

“Mmm. Nice buns. You know, those things you guys wear are great — the way they show your butt, I mean. I like your body.”

There wasn’t much to say to that, except maybe to strip off my jock and let her see the rest of me. As if she’d read my mind, she stood up in the water, reached beneath the swirling surface and slipped her panties off, flipping them up onto the tile at my feet. “Your turn,” she said.

Off it came, dropping to  the floor beside her panties. Standing there above her like that, with my cock jerking to attention under her gaze with every heartbeat, l felt the soft pleasure of her eyes. Marcy didn’t say anything, she didn’t look away; rather, she seemed to be appraising the hardness of my body and my cock, as if she were admiring it.

And I found myself enjoying it. I liked her cool blue eyes and their slow scrutiny, the sleepy sensuality in them. Then she pushed herself backward slightly, away from the edge, and I stepped into the pool. But before I was entirely into the water, her hands guided me to the pool’s step and sat me there with my legs dangling in the water, and her half floating between them.

“I like looking at you,” she said. “l was getting excited watching you in there working out, but l like you even better now. Men think they’re the only ones who enjoy looking, but it’s not true.”

This was directed not so much to me as it was to my cock. Her hands came up out of the water, dripping and warm, slid along my half-submerged thighs and touched me, very softly, stroking the length of my cock as if it were a precious object. With one hand cupping my balls as if she were weighing them, she closed the other around my prick. Her touch was exquisite, her hands smooth and soft and warm.

And then her head came forward and she took me in her mouth. For a moment she nibbled and sucked, licking along the underside of my cock, working a butterfly magic with her lips and tongue. I was just deciding how glad I was that I hadn’t been sleepy when she pulled away, rose up out of the pool and tugged me up beside her. Without a word she took my hand, walked into the workout room, knelt down on a mat and offered me the biggest surprise of an evening that so far had been loaded with them.

“I want you to masturbate for me.” “I beg your pardon?”

“Please. I want to watch you masturbate. I want you to make yourself come — in my mouth.”

So sexy, it was such a sexy suggestion. To hear her ask, to see her naked in front of me and looking up at me with those splendid blue eyes, was irresistible. It was a turn-on different than any I’d felt before. I wanted to do it; I wanted her to watch me jack myself off, and I wanted to watch what it did to her. Already her eyes were pleading her excitement and anticipation.

At first, I was a little self-conscious about seizing my cock and pumping it but seeing the effect it had on her soon ended that. Marcy was beautiful and fascinated, her eyes deep blue pools of sensuality. As I stroked my cock slowly, she lay back, looking up at me and spreading her legs to show me the hotbed of her pussy. Her hand dipped into its moistness and her fingers came out wet, then rubbed their honeyed softness on the tip of my prick.

I loved it! Her eyes had lost their sleepy look and were wide and bright with excitement now as I pumped my cock faster for her, stroking it, beating off, using my hand to please this delicious girl. As she lay there, I stepped forward my feet on either side of her shoulders, offering her a straight-up view of me stroking my cock above her face. But soon she scooted back up onto her knees with her face only inches from my cock. With my left hand I reached for her hair and pulled her closer. I could feel a climax building, rising from my loins. Her lips opened and I pushed my cock against them — not between them, but touching them. I held back as long as I could, fascinated by her eyes as she watched my throbbing cock, my pumping hand. And then it burst in me, and I shot gush after gush of come between her parted lips, into her mouth and throat.

Marcy purred contentedly as I came, her tongue darting out to catch the hot spurts of my orgasm. She took most of it in her mouth, though some splashed against her chin and cheeks. Her tongue, quick and eager, caught what missed her mouth, swirling around to gather in all it could reach.

The strength of my orgasm and the quick stabbing of her tongue brought me to my knees. She followed me down, her mouth engulfing me now and sucking out the last drops of my semen. I was so sensitive I had to push her away; her mouth was a pleasure bordering on pain, a sensation I could barely stand. Her face came up to mine, and when she kissed me, I could taste the brassy saltiness of my own come on her lips.

But now it was my turn to taste her, and I eased her onto her back and buried my face between her legs. My tongue entered her, tasting the heat of her arousal. Still trembling from a tremendous orgasm, my head whirling from the wild sensuality of masturbating for her, I was without finesse or rhythm as I thrust my tongue at her stiff clitoris, mad to bring this girl’s firm little body to a crashing climax. But she was there already, whimpering and choking back long, guttural moans as she thrashed on the mat beneath us.

It was fortunate, I think, that the workout room was well removed from the hotel’s accommodations, or the noise we made would have drawn a crowd. As it was, we eventually pulled ourselves off the floor, took a shower — this time together — slipped on our shorts and t-shirts and went up to her room to continue.

Marcy was in a mood to talk. She told me how much of a part the visual played in her arousal, letting it all come out in a rush: “I’m a voyeur, plain and simple. A lot of men are, so why can’t a woman be? I love looking at a cock. Just the sight of an erection brings me to the edge, and it only takes a touch to send me over.”

She said she had always enjoyed looking at men, that one of the reasons she spent so much time at the gym was because there were so many “hunks” there. Incredibly, she even thanked me for masturbating for her — as if I had minded! “Some men, you know, wouldn’t do that, not even for their wives.”

I assured her that it had been my pleasure. In fact, it had been quite a turn-on, more than I would have guessed. Not that I hadn’t thought of it before — masturbating for a woman was one of those occasional fantasies that moved in and out of my imagination, but it was something I had never felt entirely comfortable with. But with Marcy, the self-consciousness had not been there, or at least not for long. I had to admit it was sexy having her eat me up with her eyes, loving my body with her gaze, admiring my cock; it was sexy watching her swallow my come when I exploded in her face. If she was a voyeur, then I was an exhibitionist; whatever, the word was unimportant — just labels that we both knew didn’t mean much.

Eventually we made love again, this time slowly, languorously, with Marcy positioning herself on hands and knees so we could watch ourselves in the mirror — and she could see me entering her from behind. I enjoyed the image of us as much as she did as I watched my cock penetrate that healthy little body. We looked at each other in the mirror as we came, and I knew she was going to be hard to part with in the morning. As we finally drifted off to sleep, she snuggled into my shoulder and told me what I had already learned: “You know, I love your body. I love seeing your cock slip into me.” Snuggled down deep in the warmth of her hair, I fell asleep knowing that I liked it too.

We overslept and found our morning rushed, but we did have breakfast together — pancakes, sausage links and a pot of piping hot coffee — and, since she didn’t have to fly back until the following day and I was able to rearrange my schedule to remain an extra night, we had a lot of fun over coffee talking about what we were going to do that evening.

Since then we’ve seen a lot of each other — quite literally. Not only have we discovered the pleasures of working out together in the nude, but afterward Marcy likes to push me back onto the bed or floor and spend forever touching, licking, looking. She never fails to bring me to a state of arousal that ends with my exploding in her mouth or her cunt with a gut-wrenching force that startles both of us. She’s a hard girl to stay away from, and already we’ve both fiddled with our schedules so that next month we can take a vacation together. And though I haven’t told her yet, I’m beginning to convince my office that I ought to relocate to the city where she lives.