He stood transfixed. The tile floor made every word, every shriek of laughter echo. The humid air from the steam bath seeped through the rest of the locker room, making him dizzy.
Or maybe it was the sight of those women – all those women. Half-dressed, wrapped in towels, dripping wet, laughing, playfully touching each other as they walked to their lockers …
He could only see the women who passed in front of the little hole in the wall of the utility closet. He had worked at the health club as a janitor for a full week before he discovered the hole.
"Mitch, they's a little surprise in that south closet," the former janitor had told him. "I cain't tell you what it is, but it's something that will make your pecker harder than that broom handle. Heh heh heh." Then he had wiped his nose with a dust rag, scratched his balls, and shuffled away to retirement, leaving Mitch to take his place.
Mitch had searched that closet the first day, but didn't know what he was looking for. Lacey panties that had been left behind in somebody's locker? Dirty magazines? By the second day, he was too busy mopping out toilets and picking up wet towels in the men's room to keep up his search.
Then, one day, he switched off the overhead fluorescent in the closet and noticed a little shaft of light coming from behind one of the boxes against the wall. The peephole. By crouching down, he could see a parade of women. He brought an old bucket to use as a stool and began his daily ritual, perching on the bucket in the darkness, stroking his cock thoughtfully and watching through the peep hole for glimpses of bare ass, swinging breasts, dripping womanhood in its many forms.
The best time for viewing was 6 p.m. The club closed at 7, and by 6 the women were climbing out of the pool and down off the treadmills, and heading for the locker room. Mitch hurried to get his chores done before 6, so he could have a full hour of viewing enjoyment.
Sometimes, he just watched the floor through that little hole, for the parade of women's feet. The wonder of those trimmed, painted nails, the waterlogged toes coming in from the pool, and the pale, sweaty feet walking in from the gym. If a woman stood barefoot in front of the sink while she dried her hair, he had a full 10 minutes to watch her feet, to follow them upwards across lean, tanned legs, to stare at the edge of the towel, wondering at the delicious things underneath. Of course, some days he got to see those delicious things up close, when a towel would fall or the woman would casually unwrap and stand fully naked as she searched the locker for her clothes.
On those days, it took all his self-control to keep from trying to thrust his cock, which was indeed broom-handle hard, through the little peep hole, stretching toward his fantasy date. But the hole was only as wide as his little finger, and anyway, how would it look on the other side of the wall, when an erect cock suddenly seemed to sprout from the wallpaper under the "No pain, no gain" poster?
One night, he saw something strange through the peephole. A tall brunette woman with tiny, hard breasts had been standing naked in front of the sink – some women seemed much more shy about nakedness than others – and then had walked slowly toward the wall, behind which Mitch sat panting. Mitch thought he recognized her as Marie, the nutritionist. Maybe she was looking at the poster, he thought. But then she turned around, and put her hands on her knees, pointing her dark brown anus right at the hole. She wiggled her fanny a few times, then actually backed up, until her ass was pressed against the hole, blocking his view.
Mitch blinked several times, and squeezed his cock hard. He could smell her through the peephole, a just-showered but still musky scent. What in the world was she doing? His heart pounded as he realized he could at that moment put his finger through the hole and be pushing right into that tight, sweet puckered opening ….
The sudden flash of light made him gasp and let go of his cock. He turned to see the closet door had opened, and a woman stood in the doorway, her face distorted with anger. Olga, the physical fitness consultant. A fiesty, dikey little woman with red curly hair and a bush to match. He had seen her coming from the shower many times.
"Stand up, you fucking pervert," she said in a cold voice, although her face was as red as her hair now. Her snug spandex exercise suit revealed a thick midriff, but muscles everywhere. She was definitely at least bi. She could probably take Mitch, he thought. Although he worked at a health club, the only exercise he'd had in months was wanking in the closet, popping beer tabs and moving his right hand on the Play Station controls.
Behind Olga, the brunette appeared, now wearing a terry cloth robe that covered, but did not conceal, her flat, round ass. "See, Olga? That's what I thought. The first time I saw that hole in the wall, I figured some creep was using it to take a peek at us."
Mitch was busted, and he knew it. Caught with his hand in the cookie jar. Actually, with his hand on his now half-limp cock, which had already created a leaky stain on the front of his cotton shorts. With rising panic, he watched the women approach him. He'd lose his job, at very least. Worse, they looked like they wanted to land a couple of punches on his teen-aged nose and his wandering eye.
"I said stand UP," Olga said, now towering over him. "What is your name, you skinny faggot?"
"It's Mitch," he said, trying to smile. "I was just cleaning up in here."
"We know what the fuck you were doing," she sneered. "How long have you been watching the naked lady show?"
"Just a couple of … what do you mean? I was just stacking these boxes here."
"Stacking boxes while you sat here with your cock in your hand?" she asked, kicking over the metal bucket that had been his front-row seat. "You're out of here, right now. The manager will have your ass. It's up to him if he wants the cops to haul you to jail."
Mitch's shoulders slumped. He knew Olga and the club manager, Stuart, had a hot thing going. He had seen them disappear, giggling, into one of the locked offices, emerging later with contented smiles. He couldn't imagine what Stuart saw in her bunchy little body and thick legs, her dikey laugh and short hair cut. But that was up to him. Olga had Stuart by the balls. Now it appeared she had Mitch that way, too.
"No, wait." It was the brunette, laying a hand on Olga's shoulder. Olga seemed to like this. She waited a half-minute before she turned to face the other woman.
"What is it, Marie? You want him to apologize for looking at your naked ass, and who knows how many other women's?"
"No," Marie said. She stood thinking for a minute, as Mitch watched the water from her wet hair drip down her shoulder, following its curve down onto her breast before being absorbed into the terry cloth of her robe. "I just think we can handle this ourselves."
"What do you mean?" Olga snapped. A little edge of intrigue was evident in her voice.
"I mean, if Stu fires him, and even if the police haul him off, so what? He still won't understand the seriousness of what he did to us, as women."
Olga was openly delighted at the "us, as women" remark. The tall, lithe Marie in her terry robe seemed to be bringing the other side of Olga's sexuality to the surface. "Well, what do you think should be done to him?"
"Please," Mitch said. "Anything but the cops. I don't want to end up in jail for this. I've … been in a little trouble before."
Marie smiled a scary smile. "I think the punishment should fit the crime. I want him to know what it feels like to be naked and stared at. And I want him to experience what a low-life he really is."
Olga nodded. "We can always turn him over to Stuart afterwards. Honey, you're the one whose asshole he was gazing into. He's all yours. Let me know if I can help."
Marie now walked over to Mitch and, one hand firmly on each shoulder, shoved him down onto a low stack of boxed toilet paper. It was the first time she had looked him in the eye, the first time she had spoken directly to him. Marie was rather beautiful, he noted, his cock beginning to twitch of its own accord. "Mitch?" she said, her voice almost tender. "I want you to take off all your clothes."
He replied with a nervous laugh. She must be kidding. But she obviously was not. His eyes darted past her to where Olga stood like a brick blockade in front of the door. He listened for the sounds of the last few women in the locker room talking as they zipped up gym bags and started toward the door. It was closing time.
"Take them off, Mitch. Right now."
He untied his shoes, pulled off his socks, pulled his tee-shirt over his head, and gingerly scooted his shorts down over his ass. The women continued to stare at him, and he looked down, secretly glancing at Marie's long, thin feet with the perfectly trimmed nails, each like a little pink sea shell. With great reluctance, he slid down his briefs, sitting back, shivering on the cardboard boxes. The cardboard felt scratchy and damp under his bare butt.
"Now stand up and walk around for us a little," she said, offering her hand to help him stand up. Her hand was warm, her fingernails very long and very red. He willed his cock to remain silent, despite her touch.
Mitch walked awkwardly to the door and back, knowing they were watching his cock and ass, his nipples hardening in the cool locker room air.
"Do it again," Marie urged, chuckling at his nervous gestures. "How does it feel, having us look at you while you're completely naked and vulnerable?"
