Peeping Tom 24

"I'll take it."

The idea of living in an apartment building has always lacked any real appeal to me, but with the cost of lawyer's fees and the actual settlement payout from my resent divorce, it left me no other alternatives.

With two bedrooms and all bills included, the exception would be cable and phone, living here would afford me the luxury of being able to eat. The building was older, but clean. The owners had recently invested some money and renovated all of the units. The surrounding grounds were well maintained, and it was in a safe enough neighborhood. As an added bonus, from the balcony of my eighth-floor apartment, if I twisted my head just right, there was a glimpse of the river to be seen off in the distance.

The check for first and last month's rent was signed, sealed and delivered. Just like that, I was locked in for the next 12 months.

Filling a space of less than 1000 square feet wouldn't be too hard. There always tends to be lots of furniture left over from a divorce, so I took a few of my favorite things and sold off the rest. In retrospect I probably should have taken more, but the memories were too hard to forget.

My wife and I had been high school sweethearts. We married, worked hard, bought a big old house, did renos and filled our home, with treasures from anywhere that we could find them.

Shelley was what my mother liked to refer to as "Tomboyish". She always cut her hair short and never wore make-up or dresses. She was always one of the guys when we went out with my friends, and she had no problem getting down and dirty in work or play and that's what attracted me to her. Not once during our 5 years of marriage, did I suspect that she wasn't happy.

Unfortunately for me, I turned out to be a bad judge of character. Shelly it turns out wasn't unhappy. In fact, she was quite content and that's because she was living a double life, and I was non the wiser. In fact, I may not have ever found out had it not been for a freak incident that changed my life.

On a snowy, wintery day just like any other snowy, wintery day, I headed out to work. Only today an accident that didn't even involve me would set me on my heels and turn me back toward home. About 15 minutes into my ride to work, I rounded a bend to find two steaming vehicles. Both were surrounded by shattered glass and metal debris. Just by looking at the wreck, you could tell that the odds of survival were minimal. As it turned out, two of the occupants of the first car did survive, but the lone driver of the second car, did not.

Being the first to arrive on the scene, I did what I could, but with only basic first-aid training to my credit, it wasn't enough. After statements were made and the investigation was complete, the officers suggested that I take the remainder of the day off. Time had flown past. I didn't even realize that it was a couple of hours into my shift. Making the call to work and explaining what had happened, I headed back to the safety of my home.

The idea of being comforted by Shelley made me feel better. Everything was as I had left it when I departed earlier. The only difference was the smell of fresh coffee and the sounds of music. Shelley worked from home and always had something playing in the background, she said it eased her mind.

Walking down the hall toward her office, nothing. Shelley's laptop was open, but the screen was black. Two warm coffee cups sat on her desk, but no one was there enjoying them.

At that very moment I knew. Somewhere in the deepest depths of my heart and mind, I knew where she was and what she was doing. You get that sickening feeling in the pit of your stomach. Climbing the stairs in silence, I heard the noises of sex. The grunts and groans of lovemaking filled my ears. I should have just turned and left, but I had to see it for myself.

Kathy Amato is a woman from just down our street. A woman that I would have had to guess was in her early forties, was on her hands and knees, in the same bed that I had only gotten out of a few hours ago. Behind her, sporting a two-way strap on dildo, was my wife.

Shelley knew what she was doing. Just by watching, anyone could have told you that this wasn't her first time performing this act. Thrusting forward into her partner she would occasionally slap Kathy's ass or thumb her asshole. Either way, Kathy seemed to be in a state of euphoria. Writhing and squealing on my bed while my wife pounded her cunt with a long, hard, piece of silicone.

When Kathy came, Shelley dropped like rock and crammed her face into Kathy's freshly fucked hole. I would have smiled if I wasn't so heartbroken. Shelley had always loved the taste of herself. She had no problem licking me clean after any event, whether it was my face or penis. So, going down on Kathy was probably the highlight of the day for her.

Sitting downstairs waiting for them to finish, my mind raced with how this would play out. Would Shelley offer me to join them in a threesome? Would she say that she was sorry? Was Kathy her only other lover? As it turned out, it was none of the above. Shelley did come clean or should I say, come out. She told me that sex with me made her stomach turn. It "wasn't me personally", but it was me because as she put it, I wasn't a woman. Apparently, our marriage was one of convenience. Her parents were old fashioned and anti-gay, so for Shelley, it was convenient to marry me.

That night my wife packed up all of her belongings and the next time I saw her was three months later at the lawyer's office to divide our assets.

Anyway, the past is just that, the past, I hold no resentment towards her. Shelley did what was best for her, and it's hard to fault anyone for that. So, moving back into the present. Things fell together quickly. The living room was set-up with my leather furniture and entertainment system, the master bedroom was done, the second bedroom became a catch all for everything that didn't have a place. When it was complete, I was proud of how tastefully decorated it was.

It took awhile to get used to the idea of living where I was. One of the things that I didn't bring with me was curtains and when I was setting up, I couldn't help but get a fishbowl feeling. It was like someone, maybe everyone, was watching all my moves.

Sleeping in my new digs wasn't easy. The bright lights of the apartments across the courtyard shone into my window lighting up the room. Going into the spare room, I found an old blanket that would block out the light until a better alternative could be had. 10:47pm. Piss on it, I wanted a beer.

From my balcony, the cool spring air felt right. It was my first time out there since I first viewed the apartment and during the darkness of the evening hours, the view was significantly different. Like me, many of the other tenants didn't have drapes, curtains, or blinds covering their windows.

I was immediately addicted to the view. Looking into the lives of those that were surrounding me seemed wrong but exciting all at the same time. On my very first foray into the perversion of peeping, I was blessed by two separate events.

The first was from one floor down and directly across from me. It was a short yet sweet view of a naked woman walking from what I would assume was her bedroom to her kitchen and back again.

The second lasted longer. The corner unit two floors down, I could see directly into the bedroom of a couple having sex. They weren't what I would call fat, but they weren't in the best of shape. If I had been scanning through the porn channels, this was one that I would have passed by, but here in the darkness, happening live, right before my very eyes, I couldn't look away.

In missionary, my rotund friend ploughed into the woman beneath him. Her large, saggy breasts flopped to the sides of her chest, moving along to the motion of his thrusts. It was like watching a silent porno movie from a long way away. Knowing what had happened or what was about to happen was a guessing game. I didn't even know that the climax of the movie had come and gone until the male character in my show, pulled his limp dick out of his partner and unceremoniously wiped it on what appeared to be a t-shirt.

When the light to their room turned off, I scanned the apartments in front of my balcony looking for more action. I was a junkie looking for my next fix. I failed to realize until it was too late that my free hand had slipped into my shorts, pulled out my penis, and I was subconsciously stroking myself. The only thing that alerted me to the fact that someone may be watching me as well, was a tiny glowing light that caught my eye.

The reddish orange amber came and went as if some kind of beacon in the fog. It took a couple of seconds before cigarette came to mind. I wasn't the only one doing some watching, but I was the only one doing it out in the open, with the lights on.

Monday after work, I stopped and ordered a pizza. It wasn't really the pizza that I wanted, but the pizza shop was located directly across from Best Buy, and what I did want, was in there. Instead of working during the day, I researched some useful information and $189.99 later, I left Best Buy with a pair of Nikon Prostaff 3S binoculars in a bag.

The foyer to my apartment held all of the mailboxes. Using my little brass key to open the small rectangle, I gather up some junk mail, when I noticed a cardboard cylinder leaning on the wall below, with #812 written on it in black marker. It wasn't post marked, but the number on it, told me that it was mine.

In the safety of my own place, I put down the pizza and binoculars, opened a beer and investigated my cylindrical tube. It was taped, but not enough to be suspicious. Using a steak knife was all that it took to remove the seal of the end cap. The contents were a piece of paper and a rolled-up poster of some kind.

Moving the inner wrap of the poster in a counterclockwise movement was all it took to loosen it so that I could get it out. Laying it flat on the table I found an excellent colorful version of Leonardo de Vinci's' Vitruvian Man. The handwriting on the paper attached, was a very stylish cursive, "812 welcome to the building. We need more twentysomethings in here. I think Leo's "V" man would look great if you framed it and put it on the wall behind your usual chair. Use the black frame in your spare room to accentuate it. P.S. nice penis."

What the actual hell. Did someone break into my apartment and look around? The only other way that they would know what was in my...holy shit. They could see into my place as easily as I could see into others, but who?

After my pizza, I pulled the frame out of the spare room, and with very little trimming, the poster fit. It sure enough looked good in the suggested spot.

Trying my best to be Sherlock Holmes, I put my back against the wall of my newly hung picture and tried to determine which of the windows could be allowing the stranger into my home. Five, possibly six. That was the number of apartments across the way and in the far corner that could see the wall behind my chair. Five for sure, the sixth was a stretch, but it was worth a consideration.

Getting into the other two buildings wasn't nearly as difficult as one might believe. Wait until you see someone leaving and walking in after they go, just like you are supposed to be there. With pad and pen in hand I got all of the apartment numbers, but the names were harder. All the mailboxes, like mine just had numbers, no names.

As day became night, I turned out the lights that trailed to my bedroom. Waiting impatiently until whomever sent my gift thought that I was asleep, I crawled in the darkness to my living room. My new binoculars took some getting used to, but with some small adjustments, they worked perfect. Through the process of elimination, I was able to cross two places off my list. Elderly and foreign families weren't the culprits. Ninety minutes later and still nothing.

The rest of the week was much the same. I tried but nothing. Friday night I lit up the whole apartment like the Fourth of July. I had a couple of beers out on the balcony. Made a show of taking off my shirt and heading to the washroom. I showered and came out wearing only shorts. Still no one visibly watching.

At midnight I shut everything down and went into covert operations mode. I put on a black hoodie, and black sweatpants. In the total darkness of my apartment I was invisible. The Nikon put me into the room of those across from me, but no one was there. No one was watching.

Moving to my spare room, I pulled open the window to reduce the glare and looked through the screen. The only action was from the hot little number that I had seen last week. I wished that it had been her that sent me the note and picture, but considering she lived on the seventh floor, there was no way that she could see up and into my place.

Tonight, she was naked and sitting in what was her apartment, 722. The reflection of whatever she was watching on her television, danced off her naked flesh. Her breasts and belly changed colors as if by magic. Watching as she raised her arms up over her head, she pulled her long hair up and wrapped it in a bun.

Her eyes never leaving the television, as she traced her fingers over her hardened, dark little nipples and circled her areolas. I zoomed in as close as possible and her hard tits looked like they were only six feet away from my touch. I couldn't resist the temptation of reaching into my sweats and wrapping my hand around my cock. I moaned aloud as the dark-skinned beauty from across the courtyard ran her hand down her hard belly to her crotch.

Her fingers were buried in her pussy, but I couldn't see the action all that well. I knew what she was doing, but her leg was in the way. Even when I zoomed in with the binoculars it didn't help. From the look on her face, what she was doing was working for her. As her clitoral stimulation continued, her legs slowly but surely started to spread. Her naked tits bounced from the motion of her hands on her cunt. Every so often she would grab at her nipples with her palm and fingers, pulling at the flesh in an almost abusive way. I wish that I could have seen what she was watching on the screen.

The strange serenity of watching silent porn absorb me. The only sounds to be heard were those of me stroking my hardon. Alone with the exhibitionist in front of me. I worked myself harder and harder.

The whitish blue light of her cell phone startled us both. For some unknown reason, I ducked behind the wall as if the call was to alert her that I was watching. The conversation was short and sweet, ending with her going back to the business "at hand".

Her fingers didn't do the trick, so Miss Seventh Floor picked up something that had been laying next to her. The shiny black dildo was short and thick, with a nub of sorts, that I assumed was to stimulate the clit when the dildo was fully inserted. Using a tube of gel, the little vixen lubed up the plastic phallus and started to rub it on her pussy lips.

The voyeuristic act of watching this beauty was easily, the sexiest thing that had happened in my life for the past 4 months.

Frothy juices coated the dildo as it slid in and out of her wet pussy. The art of steadying the binoculars in one hand while trying to focus on her face and vagina at the same time was a juggling act. Throw in the fact that I was jerking off, using my opposite hand, made it almost impossible.

With both hands, she pushed the little black fuck machine completely up into place, arched her back, and came. It was a mesmerizing display of sexuality.

Spent from her round of self-abuse, the beauty from below, pulled the glistening black unit slowly out of her pussy. Fully engrossed in whatever she was watching, she moved the toy up until it rested on her bottom lip. When her tongue darted out to taste her own juices, I shot a load of cum all over the wall in front of me. My caveman grunt should have been enough to alert the whole complex, but no one moved. No one that is except, the girl in 722.

Using her tongue to circle the head of her toy, she pursed her lips and sucked the shaft into her mouth. Giving the best or should I say only, simulated blow job that I had ever seen, 722 licked all of her juices off of the shaft.

My night would have been complete at that point had she not turned her head, looked directly toward my window, smiled, and as nonchalantly as possible, waved.

What in the actual fuck just happened? I hit the floor like a bag of wet cement. Crawling into my bedroom was my only option. Waiting, I could only assume that someone would come knocking on my door, but it never happened. In fact, Saturday and Sunday were also quiet. Common sense told me to not risk anymore Peeping Tom action for a while. I knew what I had to do, so providing the measurements to the clerk at Lowe's he was able to custom cut the blinds needed to cover my windows. Those along with a solid set of colored curtains, would give me all the privacy needed.

Work on Monday was exactly that, work. I couldn't focus on any tasks at hand. All I could think about was the raven-haired girl in #722. Did she know all along that I was watching? Was the call she received a tip-off? I knew that I was addicted, but how would I get my next fix?

I looked at everyone with suspicious eyes. Did any of them know what was happening? Almost slinking through the lobby, I stopped to check for mail. My heart stopped. Not because of the letter from my ex-wife's lawyer, but from the large folded manila envelope with the simple #812 written on it in black marker. It felt like I was under the spotlight. I could have easily made the elevator, but waited for the next one, just so I didn't have to ride up with anyone.

The freshly installed blinds and drapes were doing their job, the room was nearly dark. Using the newly found shroud of darkness, I opened the envelope with such a lite touch you would have assumed that I was defusing a bomb. The contents were simple, folded sheet of paper, a letter.

"Foul play 812. How is it that you feel it's okay to play our little game and be a voyeur, but after enjoying a show, you choose to not allow us the same privilege? Fair is fair my dear friend. Fair is fair."

As strange as it seemed, I felt alive, invigorated or at the very least rejuvenated. I stayed the course for the remainder of the week. Closed in behind my black out drapes. Saved from the prying eyes of whatever neighbors wanted a glimpse at my private life.

By the time Friday came around I was battling with my inner demons. Was I a fraud? I had the urge to watch and view the private lives of those nearby, yet I was hiding myself away.

Making all the usual stops after work, I was prepared for the weekend. Struggling to open my door with my hand full of bags, I noticed the tip of an envelope sticking out from under my door.

Opening it was my dilemma. I put everything away. Made dinner. Made a drink. Consumed both. Made another drink and all the while never taking my eyes off the thin, flat sheet of manila paper. My hands shook with anticipation as I tore into my letter. Today's message was short and sweet.

"#812. FYI. For your viewing pleasure, showtime is 9:30pm this evening."

It was currently 8:45pm. I had time for a quick shower, not that I needed one, but for some reason I felt dirty. I cut a couple of lime wedges and made myself another gin and tonic. It was shaken and not stirred, but that wasn't by choice. I had zero control over my arms. I was so nervous, my hands looked like I was afflicted with some sort of palsy.

9:27pm. Do or die. It was either time to stop being a coward and live like a lion or cower back into a hole and be a mouse. Dimming all the lights, I slid open the balcony door and stepped into the warm dark night.