Hole in the Closet Wall

I have a story posted here entitled "Diana," about this redheaded gal who had an epileptic-type condition in which sex would trigger a seizure-like response. You may want to read it, as it dovetails with this story and contains a very detailed description of her and the sex we had.

In that story, I told about my friend Tom, who had dated Diana. Well, the next girl Tom dated was Diana's roommate, Lynn, who was also a redhead. We now laughingly refer to that period of time as his "red phase."

Lynn was the best friend of my former girlfriend Leigh, and I was friends with Lynn, as well, for several years before she and Tom were an item. I knew her fairly well, since she and Leigh hung out together all the time, and Lynn was a core part of my high school crowd.

Lynn dated in high school but never had a steady boyfriend. She was about the most "normal" person I ever knew--friendly and nice and easy to get along with and not extreme in any way. She looked normal, too, fairly attractive, but never struck me as particularly sexy.

I went to a different university from them my freshman year, but when I transferred my sophomore year to the college she and Tom attended, she was living in the dorm and was doing the sorority-girl thing. A Chi Omega, she was just the picture of the good college girl with perfect manners wearing her little plaid wool skirts and white hose and Mary Janes. If she got really mad, she might say, "Crap," "Darn," or "Shoot." You get the picture: straight-laced.

I thought it incongruous that Tom, the horn-dog, was dating such a conservative girl, but he was doing the climbing-the-social-ladder thing, so I figured she was just a part of his new image, and the fact that he got occasional clandestine slutty-girl action on the side fit with the notion that they probably had a little-if-any-sex relationship. I wouldn't have been at all surprised if Lynn was still a virgin.

I can honestly say I never once had a sexual thought about Lynn. Until...

Tom and my other good friend Hugh moved out of the dorm and decided to room together off campus, so I helped them move into their first apartment--a tomblike basement apartment so dank a book of matches would not light after you'd been down there 15 minutes.

Before long, they were all moved in, and then Lynn arrived with some new pictures for the wall, so we nailed those up and the four of us proceeded to celebrate with beer and my brand new Toker II pharmaceutical glass water pipe.

I loaded Tom and Hugh hits and sat the pipe back on the edge of the coffee table and was about to take my very first hit out of it when Lynn--who of course did not partake--got up off the couch to get us more beers from the kitchen.

As she twirled around, her pleated skirt caught the pipe's mouthpiece, and knocked it to the floor. Wouldn't you know it, it fell right onto the thin strip of bare concrete floor where the carpet had curled back, and broke into 10,000 pieces.

Without hesitation, she apologized, pulled $30 from her purse, and insisted I take it. In truth, where I had placed the pipe was an accident waiting to happen, but like I said, she was just so nice. Her pretty, genuine smile left no doubt that she would not be happy unless I took the money, so I did, thanked her, and marched right back down to the head shop and got another pipe just like the first one.

When I got back, Lynn and Tom were nowhere in sight, so I assumed they had left, and I sat down with Hugh on the couch, where we cackled at Tammy Faye boo-hooing for dollars on the PTL show while breaking in the new pipe.

Hugh began taking clothes out of a suitcase and putting some of them in the hall closet, and I thought I heard water running. He lingered and lingered there while I laughed at more and more make-up stream down Tammy Faye's face. Hugh shushed me, whispered, and motioned for me to come over. In the side of the hall closet was a hole in the paneling. That paneling also served as the back wall to the bathroom closet, which was open on the other side.

And oh my God, there was Lynn buck naked stepping out of the shower with Tom! She was a total piece of ass!!!

I'd known her since 11th grade, when I met her in Biology class, where she sat behind Patrice, the booby blonde cheerleader I and every other heterosexual male constantly drooled over. Not once had I harbored a sexy thought about Lynn, yet, now that I was seeing Lynn in a whole new light, she was every bit as foxy as Patrice. How could I have possibly missed that?

Lynn was a true natural beauty. Though her shoulder-length dark red hair was wet, she had on no make-up, and she was in the harsh, florescent light of the bathroom, she was nevertheless absolutely gorgeous. I'd just never noticed what a lovely face she had, freckled and blemish-free with bright green eyes, and as usual, smiling.

About a size six, she stood straight up with a beautiful curve from her perfect ass up her smooth back to her long, slender neck as Tom patted her dry. Her tits were perfect, too. C cups situated high on her lithe rib cage, they were tipped with bright pink nipples at the terminus of perfectly sloping, slightly upturned breasts.

Tom began nibbling them, and they perked into hard points as she squeezed them together with the inside of her slim upper arms, forming exquisite cleavage. Still standing so straight and upright, now with a sultry drape to her eyes, you could see she was proud of her sexuality and not the least bit embarrassed. Never had I thought of Lynn like that!

Besides some freckles across her upper shoulders and arms, the rest of her body was white as stone, punctuated by a few small, sexy moles. As Tom turned her around, we could better see her bottom. Absolutely no room for improvement there, either, and she had that rare kind of crotch that forms a heart-shaped gap between the upper thighs just below her pussy.

Standing ankle to ankle, her smooth legs flowed down like milk to her feet, small, deeply arched, with delicate toes. If you had a foot fetish, Lynn was your girl. If you did not have a foot fetish, Lynn could quickly convert you!

Hugh and I were agog, our jaws literally hanging open. We were dying to say out loud the obvious--that Lynn, the prim and proper young lady, was revealed before our very eyes to be a first-order hottie: A real-life female sexual version of Clark Kent/Superman. But we could not say a thing, as the basement apartment was so quiet but for the PTL TV show, and Lynn and Tom were only 10 feet away.

I got to thinking about that hole. No, the hole in the WALL! More on Lynn's hole later. Its location was just perfect--too perfect. About five inches wide and 8 inches tall, it was rectangular, with the paneling still attached at the bottom, forming a flap so that it could be folded up to close the hole. When closed, the perfectly sawed edges were so flush with the rest of the paneling, and the seam so fine, that its presence was unnoticeable.

The side-edge cuts were barely visible, and the horizontal top cut in the paneling extended to just above the lower edge of the shelf above it, so that it would hold the "door" shut when folded up. Had Hugh not bumped the bottom of the shelf with a sturdy wooden hangar heavy with his winter coat, which caused the flap to fall down, we would probably never have discovered that the voyeur hole was there.

No, this was no accidental closet damage, far from it. I saw down lower on the side walls the old slotted wooden style brackets, the wooden clothes rod having been removed to allow clothes on the newer bar above to hang freely. The chrome brackets holding the current, higher-up metal bar matched the brackets supporting the shelf and the hardware for the folding closet door that had replaced the old side-swinging wooden door that would have annoyingly blocked the bedroom door when open.

In other words, the closet had been redone, and all the changes had been made at the same time, including the voyeur door. Of this I was certain, for upon closer inspection, each coat of paint inside the bathroom closet had seeped onto the side edges of the peep door. Had the door been cut later, some or all coats of paint would not have been there. Further, whoever had done that painting from the other side was careful not to paint the little door shut. From the multiple coats of paint, the "improvements" had been done many years before.

Perhaps most telling was the fact that the hole was cut in the absolute ideal location for voyeuring folks in the bathroom, as you could see the shower in the corner, as well as the commode and basin on the two walls flanking it--places people would be. The only things on the other two walls were a radiator and the entry door on one, and, on the other wall, a clothes hamper and the bathroom closet, the open door through which we were voyeuring.

If the bathroom closet door were closed, though, you of course could see nothing. I checked out this potential problem later, discovering that the latch on it would not fasten, and, the whole apartment being unlevel, gravity would simply pull the door wide open. Well, how convenient!

So, in my "elementary, my dear Dr. Watson," way of reasoning, I deduced that the owner—a small-time landlord who lived in the first floor of the house above, also rented out the upstairs, and did his own fix-up, clean-up—was the one who had crafted this "dooryeur." From above, he could easily hear the shower running, quickly come out his side door, let himself in the basement apartment with his key, and voyeur tenants through the dooryeur to his heart's content.

The thing was, this basement apartment—being both dingy, and, as mentioned, so damp it was swelteringly humid in Summer and bone-chilling cold in Winter—was no chick pad. It was, in fact, barely habitable by the least picky guys. My bud's would have never moved in there had it not been so dirt cheap (emphasis on "dirt") and they desperate to get out of the dorm.

I, therefore, concluded that the landlord, a never-married 50-ish man who considered himself formally dressed when he wore his nice robe instead of the grungy terrycloth one he usually donned, had crafted the dooryeur to secretly watch GUYS.

Sure, there must have occasionally been girls in various states of undress in that bathroom, but that would have been when they were their male tenants' guests—while the dudes were most likely home. Unless everyone in the apartment were in the bathroom together at the same time for quite some time—a rare-if-ever occurrence—it would be foolishly risky for the landlord to sneak in for a peek.

Alternatively and much more likely, he would listen and watch for a roommate to leave, wait for the sound of the shower, then secretly come in to get an eyeful of the other roommate and easily exit without ever being found out. Finally, in dramatic contrast to the otherwise run-down state of that apartment, it had a huge water heater with a nearly endless supply of hot water. There was good reason for that, as it allowed the landlord plenty of time to watch his tenants.

So, I believed the landlord had fashioned the dooryeur to watch guys, not girls, and had been doing it for many years. Bold, but not really all that risky.

The male landlord secretly spying on naked young male tenants—a chilling thought. Yet, here Hugh and I were clandestinely voyeuring our naked male and female friends through the same little door. How different was that? I could make a decent argument either way, so it's debatable, but one thing was not: Lynn was dick-stiffeningly sexy.

And our dicks did surely stiffen as the next events unfolded. After Tom dried her off and fondled her all over, Lynn carefully folded the towel, placed it at his feet, and knelt on it to give him a blow-job. Well, now, wasn't that thoughtful!

The intriguing thing was that she gave head EXACTLY like my old girlfriend Leigh--Lynn's best friend--which is to say, fantastic. I would bet everything I owned that Lynn learned the art of giving great head from Leigh. I was waiting for total confirmation of Leigh's tutelage to observe if and how Lynn would swallow, but Tom pulled out before he came, picked her up, and sat her down on the sink.

There, he kissed her from head to toe over virtually her entire body for what seemed like forever before he spread her legs and began to go down on her. She had a very thick, dark red bush that matched her head hair, and that, in combination with his face being in the way, kept us from getting a good view of her kitty.

He hadn't even gotten started good, though, before he spit out several pubic hairs in succession. Tom got up, rummaged around in his dob-kit, grumbled something, then wrapped a towel around himself. Next thing Hugh and I know, he's striding fast towards the bathroom door.

The bathroom door was RIGHT NEXT TO THE HALL CLOSET DOOR, and we literally jumped across the hall into the den where I fired up an empty bowl in the pipe and Hugh pretended to take a sip from an empty beer can. Had Tom not attempted to open the door before he unlocked it--buying us a couple of precious seconds--we would have surely been caught red-handed.

"You guys happen to have some scissors? I need to do a little trim job," asked Tom, not mentioning the kind of trim job we already knew he was referring to. I fished the red-handled knife from the leather pouch on my belt. "Sure, use my Swiss Army Knife. It's got a pair of scissors, but they're real sharp, so be careful," I volunteered, opening out the sheers and passing the knife handle-first to him.

"Thanks, man. That's right, you were a Boy Scout. Always be prepared, right? Ooh, these are sharp; I'll definitely be extra careful," Tom said with a barely detectable smirk as he went back into the bathroom. I badly wanted to crack a joke about earning his "beaver" badge, but I bit my tongue.

Hugh and I immediately resumed our positions, and watched Tom carefully snip Lynn's red pubes, gradually revealing more and more of her luscious pink kitty, the color and fullness of which echoed her sensuous facial lips and scrumptious nipples.

The more he snipped, the more we could see, and she helped by using her fingers to pull taught the flesh around her pussy as he closely cropped the hairs around her clit. Their close proximity and the bright florescent lights in there enabled us to see extremely well. Just like Lynn herself, her cute little clitty looked so friendly and polite, as it and her whole pussy got ever more visible and moist.

Tom picked up a brush beside the basin and gently combed out the snipped hairs. Hugh grabbed my arm and silently mouthed, "That's my brush." I gave him the two thumbs up sign, and we re-affixed our stares.

Then Tom ate Lynn out expertly for the next half an hour. Since his face obscured the view, we could only catch an occasional glimpse of her gushing wet pussy, but we were not exactly bored, as the expressions on her face were priceless and her luscious boobs jiggled in plain view. He methodically worked her up to an orgasm, when she flared her nostrils, bit her bottom lip, flushed red, grasped her boobs hard, and pinched her nipples, hardly making a sound.

Just as she was winding down from that, Tom stood up and presented Lynn his hard dick. She stroked it and his tight bundle of balls tenderly for a while with her slim fingers. She still sitting on the edge of the sink, Tom lifted her legs up into the air, pinned her ankles against the wall, and sunk his fat cock ball-deep in her wide-open pussy.

Lynn gasped, at last making a clearly audible sound. In fact, she gasped on every stroke as she tightly clutched his buns with both hands. I'd been in group-sex situations with Tom before, and I tell you the man can FUCK. I have to gradually work up to fast fucking or I'll cum too quickly, but Tom could fuck fast, deep, and hard from the get-go, and that's exactly how he was doing Lynn.

He fucked and fucked and fucked and fucked her, and Lynn certainly seemed to be in the outer limits of la-la land. To tell you the truth, it got a little monotonous, as her upturned right leg most of the time blocked the view of her face and tits, and Tom's motions were so repetitive. I recalled the words of my old girlfriend, Leigh, who had been to bed with him, "Tom is a fucking machine." Lynn was, however, no doubt enjoying his machinations.

Hugh left for a moment to get us some cold beers, and I took a little break to clean some weed, load up the pipe, and brought it over to the viewing spot. Too bad we didn't have any popcorn. I mean this was first-class entertainment, and I sure couldn't complain about the price of admission!

After who knows how long, Tom finally came, he fucking her furiously fast, his ass nearly a blur. We couldn't really tell about Lynn, as she seemed to have been in one constant state of climax the whole time.

Tom gave her a long kiss, and pulled out. Lynn just lay sprawled there in the sink, seemingly looking straight at us, and panting. She had had the shit fucked out of her, and her face and angry red, flared-out pussy lips sure showed it. We watched as gobs of cum oozed out of it while she lay there, breasts heaving, recovering.

Hugh and I felt nearly as exhausted as she, but we did watch them clean each other up before we quietly flapped up the dooryeur, closed the hall closet door, and hastily got back on the couch. They emerged separately—remember, Lynn was such a NICE girl-- with towels wrapped tightly around them and got dressed in his bedroom.

Hugh said he got to spy on her several more times, but never got to see them fucking again, so that first time was, by far, the best. Since I did not live there like him, and they only lived there a few months, that first time was the only time I ever saw Lynn.

Hugh also confirmed my hypothesis about the landlord, who he said would come into the apartment after one of them left and spy on the other from the trusty dooryeur. Hugh said once, just for fun when he knew the landlord was watching, he masturbated. He was a theater major, so I'm sure it was a command performance! But, since Hugh didn't want to forego voyeuring Lynn, he did not tell Tom about the dooryeur or that the landlord was regularly spying on Tom through it, at least while they roomed there together.

And I certainly never thought of Lynn the same. Not only was she one of the kindest, sweetest, most well-mannered girls I've ever known, but she was also incredibly good-looking and super sexy, and I'd been one of the very lucky few to have seen this hidden side of her. Disguised as a mild-mannered sorority girl, into a nearby bathroom, and SUPER SEXY CO-ED!

After they moved out, Hugh and I told Tom about our spying escapades, and, as expected, he was a good sport about it, saying that he, too, was surprised that the conservative Lynn turned out to be such an excellent lover.

And, having been previously sucked by Lynn's best friend--my old girlfriend Leigh the blow-job queen--Tom confirmed Lynn's nearly identical technique and her probable learning from Leigh, though he did say Leigh was still the world's best. Would I have loved to be present for those classes! Better yet, get side-by-side BJs from both of them to decide for myself, then write a compare-and-contrast paper for English Composition class!!

Lynn had two younger twin sisters that looked and acted very much like her, though they were strawberry blondes. Having seen Lynn naked and in action, it changed my view of her sisters, as well. I bet they, too, are sexual dynamos behind closed doors, but, unfortunately, I never found out for sure.

The next time I used those Swiss Army Knife scissors, I was in the mountains hiking with my girlfriend. We'd just finished fucking on a mossy rock when I opened up the scissors to cut open a bag of cashews. There, wedged between the blades, were a couple of curly dark red hairs.