Mrs Prescotts Window

The story of an abandoned woman and the young misfit who cared about her. This story would easily fit in either the Mature or Exhibitionist/Voyeur categories.

***

Fifty five year old Gracie Prescott lived alone in the little bungalow outside of Utica, New York, not by her choice but because her husband of 19 years had left her a few years back, preferring the company of a younger woman.

Stuck in a boring dead end clerical job that paid enough to scrape by on, her prospects for changing her lot were slim. Never a raving beauty, her looks were fading as she aged, and it wasn't the fact that she was technically still married that kept her alone at night.

Even Gracie had come to terms with that, because the reflection in the mirror told her what her husband had said, not in words but indeed when he flew the coop. Nobody wants you.

What Gracie didn't know at that time was that somebody did want her, but she would find out after she got home from work one Thursday night in September when she saw a box on her little front porch.

She could see the package from down the road, where the bus she took to and from work let her off, and for the life of her she couldn't figure out what it was because she hadn't ordered anything from anybody in a long time.

Gracie picked up the small box which wasn't stamped or even properly addressed for that matter, with only MRS PRESCOTT printed on the top. It sounded like there were at least two things in there but it was taped up so she brought it inside to open it.

"Could be a bomb," she said aloud, a habit she had picked up since her husband left, but then added as she used a knife to open it, "If it is a bomb, I hope it's big enough to kill me instead of maiming me. That's the last thing I need."

"What in tarnation?" Gracie wondered aloud when she saw what was inside, a bottle of glass cleaner and a roll of paper towels.

She thought it might be some kind of free sample a company was handing out but there was nothing to indicate that, just a note written in the same hand the box had on it.

HELLO. PLEASE USE THIS ON THE INSIDES OF YOUR WINDOWS. LOVE FROM YOUR FRIEND.

"Friend?" Gracie mumbled, because she had few of them and none of them would care what the insides of her windows looked like.

They might not be sparkling but her windows weren't disgustingly dirty. It couldn't be from a neighbor because the house were few and far between out here and she didn't even know the folks that just moved out across the road, and why would anybody care?

Dismissing it as a bizarre practical joke, Gracie heated up her Lean Cuisine entree and ate it in silence, looking at the back of the box for entertainment.

"Lean on flavor too," Gracie mused aloud as she ate, regretting she bought the thing only because it was on sale and fast to make.

Grace needed Lean Cuisine like a hole in the head because there might not even be 100 pounds on her petite 5'3" frame these days, and as for needing to make dinner fast, that was more a sign of laziness because she had nothing else to do for the evening.

It was Thursday, which was pretty much like every other day. TV until 9 and then get ready for bed. A little session of Yoga exercises she had learned from the free introductory class at a local gym helped her unwind, and just before turning in she debated on whether or not to close her bedroom window.

It was inevitable that the window would come down as the temperatures started to drop, and Gracie hated that thought. At least this place was bearable when it was warm out, since the woods in back of the house were alive with birds and such, but when the snow started flying and the curtain got drawn this place looked even more like a crypt.

The ring of the phone startled Gracie, because it was late for the only people who ever called, the persistent telemarketers that her loneliness had even had her engaging in conversations with sometimes.

"Hello?"

"Hello Mrs. Prescott," said the muffled voice on the phone.

"Who's calling?"

"How come you didn't clean your windows?"

"How - who is this? Why is your voice so muffled?" Grace wanted to know.

"Can't risk you guessing who I am."

"Why? Do I know you?"

"Sort of."

"Is this Edgar?" Gracie said as she thought of the guy at work with the weird sense of humor.

"No," said the voice, and after he said no as her question of whether she worked with him she said, "I know you from someplace else, but I'm afraid you would tell my boss at work and I would get fired."

"Look sir, you're losing me here. You're a mystery man who won't identify yourself and leaves towels and Windex on my porch," Gracie responded. "Why do you care if the insides of my windows are clean are not?"

"So I can see you better," said the voice. "I cleaned the outside of your bedroom window but the inside is a little smudged."

"What the..." Gracie almost screamed as she looked at her open window, and she lurched to close the drapes while trying to cover her very naked body.

"Why did you do that?" the voice said.

"What kind of a pervert are you?" Gracie screamed as she tried to peek out into the dark abyss.

"The harmless kind," said the voice. "I would never harm you. I swear."

"Maybe you can explain it to the police," Gracie told the stranger.

"You can call them, but they'll never catch me. I know these woods like the back of my hand," said the voice. "Besides, you know they don't give a damn about this area. The inner city is a war zone besides so they have their hands full there. Why don't you open the curtains back up so I can see you?"

"You must be sick, peeking at a 50 year old woman for kicks."

"You're 55 Mrs. Prescott," the voice corrected.

"Regardless."

"I might be sick but I think you're sexy," said the voice. "I have for a long time."

"So what is your game whomever you are? You're going to terrorize me? Force me to close my window and draw my curtains?"

"You're going to be doing that pretty soon anyway," the apparently all-knowing voice said. "Last year that happened in early October and you didn't open them up until May because it was a rainy spring."

"How in the world?" Gracie mumbled as she tried to peek out to see her tormentor. "So you spend all your free time for half the year looking in my window?"

"I'd be out here in the winter too if your curtains were open. Sometime I even come back her and look at the glow in the window and hope for spring."

"Your life must be as miserable as mine is," Gracie snapped.

"Probably worse. The only fun I have is out here every night from 9 to about 9:30," the voice admitted.

"Well Mr. Tom the Peeper, or whomever you are..."

"That's a good name. Call me Tom Peeper, Mr. Prescott."

"Tom Peeper, your shows are about to end permanently," Grace declared.

"I knew there was a chance that would happen," Tom Peeper told her. "I could have have stayed out here like I have the last two years, watching you without you knowing, but you always seem so sad. I had to let you know that there's somebody in the world that finds you very attractive and sexy."

"When you go to the shrink's office you might want to make an appointment for the optometrist too," Grace said. "And what do you do out there? Lord knows I can imagine and shame on me for that. No wonder you can't see."

"If that were the case I would be blind by now but I'm 20/20," Tom assured her. "Why don't you open the curtains again for me Mrs. Prescott?"

"I don't have any clothes on."

"I know that. You've only had a robe on once after you come to the bedroom, and that's out of hundreds of nights I've been out here," Tom informed her. "You're so pretty. So natural. That idiot of a husband was crazy to do what he did to you. I hate his guts."

"I - boy, you know everything about me don't you?" Gracie said. "I'll admit that's the first thing you said that made sense though."

"The curtains? For me?"

"So a kid can stand out there and pleasure himself? Lord, there's probably a bunch of you guys out there drinking beer and laughing at the ugly old broad doing yoga."

"No, I'm not a kid. I'm 23," Tom Peeper said. "And even if I had a lot of friends I wouldn't share you with them. You're special. As for pleasuring myself, I already did that. I time my orgasm to hit when you're doing your stretching exercises. Perfect."

"Why don't you find yourself a girlfriend instead of trespassing in my yard?"

"Technically I'm not on your property, although when I cleaned your window I definitely did trespass. Sorry about that. As for a girlfriend, I've had a couple in the past but they never worked out," Tom told her. "Not too good with girls. If you saw me - well, you have seen me - but you would know why I have to stay hidden. You would never go out with somebody like me."

"That's something you'll never know now Tom."

"That's life. Maybe tomorrow night you won't be as mad and you'll open the curtains," Tom suggested. "I'll be out here."

"Aren't you afraid I'll go to the police?" Grace mentioned. "Have them waiting to catch you in the act?"

"You could do that but you don't seem the type," Tom countered. "I'm willing to take the chance though, and something tells me that although you're mad and rightfully so, there's a part of you inside that's a little turned on at the thought of somebody that's willing to get eaten by bugs and stand in the rain to get a glimpse of your naked body through a half clean window.

"Good night Tom Peeper," Gracie said.

"Good night Mrs. Prescott," Tom replied. "I love you."

Gracie shivered as she hung up the phone, and it wasn't from the cool air that made its way around the curtain. She turned out the light and pulled a sheet up over her naked body, shaking her head at the though of some pervert being excited enough to look at her.

***

The next morning Gracie Prescott did something she rarely did, call in sick to work, and the boss was surprised to field the call since she was nothing if not reliable, but the fact was that Gracie didn't get much sleep.

Besides, she wanted to take a walk out back to see where that pervert was watching her from, so after getting dressed she strolled out past the little patch of grass that she mowed with the hand mower, and when she reached the trees it was easy to see where the pervert watched her from.

Right behind a large bush there was a tiny clearing where the grass was stomped down, and when Gracie went back there to assume Tom the Peeper's likely spying position she was shocked at how well you could see in from there, and at night with the light on? It would be worse.

"Good grief," Gracie muttered when she thought about how many nights she had unknowingly put on a show for the guy, and when she looked down she shuddered when she saw some more evidence of what went on back there.

The most obvious was a crumpled tissue, and after reaching in the pocket of her sweater for a tissue of her own she gingerly picked it up, the stiff twisted thing bearing DNA evidence of her uninvited guest. In bending down, Grace saw that much of the ground cover was stained in white, and although it looked faded she knew what it was.

"Why me?" Grace sighed as she went inside, and that was a comment on both her ability to always have things go wrong as well as wondering what appeal her decaying middle aged body would have for a kid of 23.

In her bedroom she looked out to where Tom the Pepper would be later, and when she looked at the smudged window she found herself going to get the glass cleaner and towels because the inside of the window was tough to see out and besides, the leaves would be turning color soon.

***

Around 8:30 that evening, Gracie Prescott went to the bedroom and after turning on the light, opened up the curtains and looked at the dark abyss that was her yard, clutching her bathrobe tight around her.

The pervert said he went out there around 9, and she had half a mind to be out there waiting with a cast iron skillet in hand to show him what happens to perverts like him, but she knew she would never do that because while she was not unfamiliar with violence, it had never been her on the dishing out end.

The sharp ring of the phone almost made her jump through the window, and she stared at the phone during the second ring knowing that it was Tom the Peeper with his cell phone in one hand and probably his penis in the other.

She went over and picked up the phone but said nothing, just holding the phone to her ear for a moment before the voice spoke up.

"Good evening Mrs. Prescott," Tom said. "I'm so glad you changed your mind, but I'm sad to see the robe on. It's like putting a drop cloth over the Mona Lisa."

"Amusing," Gracie responded as she leaned over to try and see her admirer. "Since I have eyes and mirrors I know better."

"Why did you come in early, or at all?"

"How many times can you watch the same Seinfeld episodes?" she replied.

"True, but whatever the reason I'm so happy you're there, and you cleaned the window for me too."

"I cleaned it for me. Fall is here and the leaves are pretty when they change," Gracie explained. "Since the outside was already clean I decided to finish the job - and oh, by the way - I cleaned up your mess. That disgusting tissue."

"I'm sorry Mrs. Prescott,' he said and sounded remorseful. "I try never to do that."

"The police have it along with your DNA, so expect a visit from them," Gracie snapped but Tom laughed at that.

"You wouldn't do that Mrs. Prescott," the Peeper replied. "But even if you did, I've never committed a crime in my life, so I'm safe unless they rounded up every oddball in Utica and tested them - and wouldn't that take forever?"

"You have a nice laugh Mrs. Prescott," Tom said after hearing it. "I never heard you laugh before."

"Not many reasons to."

"Does that phone have a speaker attachment?" Tom asked, and after Gracie asked why he explained. "So you can come to the window and I can look at you while we talk."

"Why would I want to do that?"

"Because you like the fact that there's man who think you're sexy, even if you think he's sick."

"Just my luck I attract a man who's a mental case."

"I'm not a mental case Mrs. Prescott, I'm just an unattractive guy who's so tired of being lonely that he stands out here in all kinds of weather to stare at a woman and wished he was in there with her," Tom confessed.

"Happy?" Gracie asked as the room was filled with the hollow metallic sound of the speaker being utilized while she walked over to the window.

"Happier," Tom confessed. "The robe is still in the way but for now - you look extra pretty tonight. Did you put on makeup for me? Fix your hair?"

"No," Gracie lied.

"Well whatever it is, you look great Mrs. Prescott."

"Look, if we are going to talk like this, could you drop the Mrs. Prescott?" she asked. "Bad memories with that name, and if I had the money I'd change it back."

"What can I call you then? You checks say Grace but I heard somebody called you Gracie once."

"Either," Gracie replied, stunned that this guy saw her checks. "It's Grace but my friends call me Gracie."

"Friends," she mumbled sarcastically as an afterthought.

"Okay Gracie," Tom said.

"If you came over to where that little square of light hits the grass, I could see you too," Gracie suggested.

"Can't. I wish I could but I can't. Not yet at least."

"Well, then what do you want to talk about?" she asked.

"We can talk about you taking off that robe," Tom said.

"So you can stand out there and abuse yourself?"

"Ha! You sound like my mother now," Tom chortled before adding, "Yes, so I can abuse myself."

"Not much in it for me."

"Why, do you want to watch me Gracie?"

"Not especially," Gracie lied.

"Do you have a DVD player?"

"Yes but it's not a BluRay," she said.

"Doesn't matter. I'll make a disc so you can see what at least part of me looks like."

"And you think I'm going to sit and watch a movie of a voyeur masturbating?" Grace laughed.

"Might be better than Seinfeld," Tom offered. "If I do say so myself, that might be my best feature. Let's just say I didn't get cheated."

"I'm not moved. I wasted a good portion of my life with a big prick who had a big prick," Gracie cracked, and after she spoke she regretted the wine she had with her Lean Cuisine, but the laughter coming out of the speaker sounded real.

"You're a funny lady Gracie. Isn't it better to laugh instead of moping around?"

"I suppose."

"The robe Gracie," Tom repeated. "For me."

"I can't."

"I've seen every inch of your front and most of your back too," Tom replied. "I know every pore on your body. Every hair. Everything. You have no secrets. I even know when your period is - the string."

"Good grief."

"Please," Tom begged. "Just open it up. That's it. Wider. Now let it fall off your shoulders to the floor."

"Thank you thank you thank you," Tom chanted, his breath sounding raspy over the speaker. "You're so beautiful Gracie. Please, reach up and grab the top of the window frame. Like you're doing the yoga exercises. Yes. Yes. Yes!!"

Gracie closed her eyes as she stood there fully exposed, posing at his command as Tom the Peeper's pleading changed into feral sounds until the only sound was his heavy breathing gradually getting slower and quieter.

"That was the most amazing experience of my life," Tom confessed. "Thank you more than words can say. Can you stay like you are now for a few more minutes?"

"My arms are getting tired," Gracie told him, although with her arms up over her head she noticed that her breasts didn't droop as much. "Fingers getting a little numb."

"Would it help if you just linked your fingers behind your head?" Tom suggested, and when she asked why he wanted her to do that he was honest. "I'm crazy about your underarms. I love the way you don't shave your armpits."

"Oh geez," Gracie moaned, the fact that she rarely bothered shaving anything but her legs for work since her husband left making her forget their unkempt condition.

"No, I think it's sexy. You don't see that much anymore, girls with hairy armpits. I miss the 60's and 70's even though I wasn't born yet then."

"I was and you didn't miss much."

"Was that your husband's idea? Not shaving your underarms?"

"Good grief no. He would have slapped me around if I dared do something so impetuous, not that he needed an excuse. No, this is just me not bothering or caring."

"Oh well, regardless I think it's sexy, especially when a woman is so - hairy. All over. Your have a lot of pubic hair too."

"Great. My secret admirer is a deviate voyeur with a hair fetish," Grace said.

"But harmless," Gracie was reminded.

"So far. Can I put my arms down now?"

"Just another minute... please," Tom the Peeper grunted.

"Good grief," Gracie mumbled as she heard sounds similar to earlier, although not quite as rabid, and then after a sigh came the voice again.

"Thank you."

"You're welcome," Gracie said as she bent down and picked up her robe.

"We'll have more fun tomorrow night," Tom promised.

"You think that I'm..."

"Tomorrow is Saturday. No Seinfeld," Tom reminded her. "Thank you, and I love you more than ever."

Grace went over to the phone, clicking off the speaker, and after turning out the light crawled into bed, knowing that even though she was tired sleep would not come easy.

"You're sick too, Grace Ellis Prescott," she scolded herself when she put her hand down between her legs and found her pubic hair dripping wet. "Sick."

***

Of course Gracie Prescott had no intention of repeating Friday night's embarrassment, feeling ashamed of what she did in front of that window and even more so about what she did afterwards as a reaction to it all, and swore that was it for that.