Pretending I was having difficulty connecting, I logged in to chatmate as surreptitiously as possible. He was talking to me the whole time, but I was so flustered I was having difficulty responding logically. Everything was whirling through my brain - the scene with Thomas, the crazy plan to flash in front of the head, the whole nightmare with str8guy. I know I was making a mess of things, but I couldn't do anything about it. I felt miserable, a complete failure.

It was then, when I was near my lowest, that I had a brainwave. Yes! I thought to myself and almost punched the air in triumph. I could set up my webcam alright, and train it on my thighs and pantiless crotch. I could show myself flashing merrily, slinking my legs about, crossing and uncrossing, giving the watching str8guy that Sharon Stone moment over and over again. The bastard could happily sit in his office, tending his prick and watching me obey his command to flash the headmaster.

Except I wouldn't be.

As long as I was seated away from him, I would be flashing into space. All the head would see would be a side view of my legs. And str8guy wouldn't be any the wiser! I set everything up, leaving the pen-shaped cam as inconspicuously as I could on the table, pointing towards me. Briefly, I pulled the cam on screen to see what it showed - a clear image of my waist and legs, but slightly too far to the left. I adjusted it and swung round in my chair, and the cam showed a clear view of flesh riding high into the depths of my skirt.

Perfect.

And the poor Head, stuck on the other side of the table, couldn't see a damned thing...

We spent about an hour working on the bid. I just needed to get down the details of his proposal, so I could go away and work it into something which met the funding criteria. It was pretty boring stuff, but greatly enlivened by the thought that str8guy was being duped into thinking I was flashing my cunt every time I swung my legs. Which I did quite frequently, of course. I could tell that the Head was watching my legs, too, and he no doubt regretted being in the wrong position to benefit.

It was all going so well. I should have known it would collapse into failure.

I made the mistake of asking him a question he didn't know the answer to. "Is Clowes in the Index of Multiple Deprivation?"

"Yes, definitely."

"Excellent, what rank?"

"Ah, I'm not sure. Let me check." He went to a bookcase against the far wall and flicked through some folders. Grunting contentedly, he pulled a file out and turned back. He appeared to be returning to his desk, but there was a momentary flicker and he stalled. And I know exactly what his thought processes were at that moment. Pulling a spare chair from the table, he set it about a yard and a half away from me, but facing me directly.

The bastard.

He was worse than str8guy. He had deliberately engineered himself into a position where he could look up my skirt again. I went cold as I realised all my planning had been for naught. Of course, I could just clamp my legs together and stop swinging about, but the watching str8guy would no doubt pick up on my insolence and I'd end up swatting my arse with a table-tennis bat before the night was out.

He made a show of flicking through the list. I felt fairly sure it would be the one the line that was highlighted in yellow on page three, but I said nothing. Watching him closely, I could see, every few seconds, his eyes flickering, just a flash, but enough to know that he was looking at my legs.

I felt sick in my stomach. After a while, I could almost time his eye movements, anticipating when he would flick a glance in my direction. Preparing myself, I awaited the next one.

And swung my legs.

Nothing dramatic, I doubt he saw much more than my inner thigh, but it was reward for his patience. He finally gave up his pretence of searching for the IMD ranking and shouted it out. I typed it into my laptop and turned towards him, slowly, my left leg opening a fraction, and then a fraction more, and a fraction more. I started to speak to allow a flow of normality in the moment, otherwise it would have been too obvious what was happening and I would have had to stop.

Deliberately, I looked towards my screen. "If I can just summarise, then," I said, scrolling up the document, and proceeded to read through what we had written. All the while, my legs were open and the head, seated directly opposite me, was getting a clear view. As long as I studied my screen, he was free to ogle me at will.

I wanted to know what he was seeing, so I tilted the laptop to the right, shielding the screen from his view. Flicking on the toolbar, I brought up the cam.

It was obscene.

The cam was trained on my left thigh. I had twisted further to my left than before, to accommodate the head's view, which meant the cam was no longer trained on my pussy.

But it was quite clear that the Head was.

And from the angle of the cam, it was equally clear that the Head must have had a view extending right up my skirt. Right up. To the top.

I was trembling. There was no doubt that the Head could see my pussy. I had done it.

Clearing my throat, I announced we had probably done as much as we could and swivelled in my chair as I began to power off the laptop. The Head, realising his show was over, returned to his desk, his face slightly flushed. At least he had enjoyed his show, which was one consolation.

Another consolation was that, even if he suspected something about me and Thomas Bradley, in the circumstances it was most unlikely he would choose to do anything about it.

God, I'm becoming as devious as that bastard str8guy. That's a horrible thought... :-(

I went online tonight and waited all night, but the man in my life didn't show. I've probably managed to upset him again. It seems to come naturally to me. It's a cold night, it's rained all bloody day, the best laid plans of mollies and men went badly agley, I've been snogged in public by a schoolboy and I've just flashed my cunt at a man old enough to be my dad.

What the hell is happening to my life?