UpSkirt, Sitting Uppie, and Downblouse Paradise
Heterosexual man pretends to be gay for voyeuristic pleasure in seeing an endless parade of panties, bras, tits, and pussies.
It took me a while but I found a loophole in the sexual nonsense that exists between men and women. Here I was all these years unsuccessfully trying to pickup women in bars to have sex when all that I needed to do was to pretend to be gay. What is it with women and gay men? When women think you are gay, they think that your penis is a free zone to be ogled, touched, and, yes, to have sex with without the guilt.
"Oh, it's okay to fuck him. He's gay. Oh, it's okay to suck his cock. He's gay."
I am a normal, heterosexual, 26-year-old man living with my friend, Jack. We were roommates in college, Boston College, and figured to continue the arrangement by getting an apartment together and became roommates in Boston, actually Allston, which is part of Boston but enough of a distance away from the unaffordable Back Bay and the Yuppies of the South End to find a somewhat affordable flat. The rents are so high in Boston that even splitting the cost between us, we can barely afford it.
I am an artist, a microscopic artist. I create art on a nail head, a matchstick or inside the eye of a sewing needle. It takes me considerable time to create one piece of art but when I do and sell it, that one piece will earn me enough money to support myself for the year.
Consequently, I work with teeny, tiny things to create my art; grains of sand are the most popular items that I use in my artwork. Presently, I've been working with the pubic hair of the common household fly to create human hair on my characters. Yes, I understand that flies have lots of hair but most of the hair that they have on their bodies are too big for my purpose, ergo the reason why I use their pubic hair. Whenever I kill a fly, I must take great care in not destroying his balls. Go ahead and laugh all you want, but one of my art pieces can sell for as much as fifty-thousand dollars. Who's laughing now?
As you can imagine, between trying to place a grain of sand or remove pubic hair from a dead fly and trying to put that in place on my artwork, I can get a bit stressed from time to time and need relaxation. Because I am in-between girlfriends, actually, I have not had a girlfriend in some time; I am horny all the time. Now, being stressed and horny is not a healthy way to live. Between studying for my Ph.D. in molecular biology and creating my art, I do not have time for a girlfriend. Thusly, I jerk-off; I jerk-off a lot.
Yes, of course, I would much rather have a woman, a hot honey that I could fuck all night and get regular handjobs and blowjobs but like I said I'm already stressed out enough without having to deal with the emotions of a bitchy and demanding female who wants to go places and do things. I just don't have the time for that kind of a social life right now. What I do all day is study and create masterpieces, albeit microscopic masterpieces. Whether I am studying or creating art, my eye is rarely away from a microscope. Truly, I am in my own world, albeit a little world.
Besides, my best friend and roommate, Jack, has a girlfriend, Sheila, a very attractive and shapely blonde, who has been coming over more and more, lately. Whenever Sheila is not there alone with Jack or with her girlfriend, Mandy, a lovely French firecracker, it is Jack's mother, Angela, a very busty Italian woman or one or both of Jack's two very pretty and sexy sisters, Gina and Sophia, with or without their girlfriends, Christine and Renee. Always, it seems, there is a female in the apartment. Always, it seems there are plenty of lovely young ladies that I can ogle, which is why I don't mind Sheila and her girlfriend or Jack's family or female friends of his family always being there because they all give me plenty of jerk-off material for that night.
Now, maybe because I have been without a woman for some time, like I said due to my studying and art, there is speculation from Jack, Sheila, and all who know me that I am a gay man.
"Wrong!"
Let it be said, allow me to set the record straight right now and for once and for all, I am not gay. I love women. Not that there is anything wrong with being gay, only, I love tits and pussy too much to be anything other than the proud pervert that I am. Besides, although I have been accused by those who have lost their patience and temper with me, I am not a cocksucker. After a while of unsuccessfully trying to deny the gay allegations, I decided to just ignore it and let people wonder. Is he or isn't he? Well, never in my wildest imaginings did I imagine what would happen once I stopped trying to convince women that I am not gay. Now, that they think that I am gay, they think that I am one of them.
Moreover, let me explain. Jack moved to Boston from Iowa. Most of his family is from Iowa. They all came here when Jack was small, relocated for a job, then some of their friends and family followed them here to Boston for jobs, too. By the way that they readily think that I am gay, it makes me wonder if there are any gay people in Iowa. Hmm, the Bible belt and all that, maybe if there are gays in Iowa they remain in the closet. Anyway, so to Jack and all who know Jack, I am Brian, the gay roommate.
"Hi'ya Sweetie."
Furthermore and more unbelievable, Sheila and Mandy and Jack's older sister Gina have tried to convert me. That's right. They thought by giving me hot, passionate sex that I would switch from the gay man that I am not to the straight man that I am. Go figure. Now, that's a whole story in itself. I truly had to play a gay man for these women to want to give me sex. Let me tell you, had there been a camera in my apartment, I would have won the Oscar.
"So, Sheila, let me get this straight. If I fuck you, I will no longer be gay?"
It all started when Sheila arrived when Jack was still at work. I had just gotten out of the shower, which is what I do whenever I know any one of Jack's women is about to visit our apartment. I strip and grab a towel. Well, to make a long story short, Sheila ended up giving me a blow job. Damn, she is one good cocksucker. Some weeks later, she demanded that I fuck her doggie style in the bathroom while Jack was picking up the take out food. Boy did I fuck her. I exploded cum so deep inside of her that had she not been on birth control, she would have had triplets. Sheila got Mandy in on the act, too. Mandy has blown me and fucked me, too. Alas, I am still not gay. As well as Jack's sister, Gina has given me unbridled passionate sex, too. They all thought that they could make a man, who they thought was gay, straight. Go figure. Life is good.
Ah, but this story is not about sex with Jack's women. This story is about all the up skirts, sitting uppies, down blouses and flashes of pussies and tits that I get because these women insist that I am gay. This story is about all the jerking off that I must do to relax from the stress of studying and creating my artwork. This story is about ogling Jack's endless parade of women.
First of all, many of the young women today dress like sluts and few of them know how to sit like a lady. Many of them sit like guys at a baseball game. Do they feel so comfortable at Jack's apartment that they do not have to take care in how they sit? Is it because they think that I prefer men to women that they do not have to be mindful of their wardrobe malfunctions? Do they realize that his roommate is a horny pervert who has not been laid in a while? Whatever the case, I am rewarded daily with views of the forbidden female body and given access to secret private places that no man dare to go, unless he is their gay hairdresser or their gay massage therapist.
"Ah, it is good to be thought a gay man when you are a heterosexual. Suddenly, I feel like Mrs. Doubtfire doing her business in the ladies room. Life is good."
Now, because Jack and I are young and good looking, therefore most of our houseguests are good looking and are our age, a little bit older or just a bit younger. Consequently, all of our female visitors wear revealing low-cut tops and short skirts and whether it is by accident or on purpose, who cares, I receive plenty of up skirt flashes and sitting uppies of panties or down blouse views of bras, tits, and nipples. Let me tell you, in the three years that I have been living in this Boston apartment with Jack, I have seen more panties, bras, pussies, and tits than if I was a straight man, which, I am, of course, only, they all think that I am gay.
"Hallelujah, praise God!"
The focal point of our small apartment is the living room and, of course, the couch in the living room. So, once I identified where the women like to gather, I made sure that my rickety, old chair was placed directly across from the couch to catch whatever action they were mindlessly, accidentally or purposely showing me.
As the weeks and months passed with their regular visits and multiple shows, I tried to think of more ways that I could innocently watch the up skirt, sitting uppies, and down blouse action. I decided on adding a few mirrors at strategic places and I dusted and polished everything to a high luster, even waxing the tile floor to a glistening gleam. You'd be surprised how many up skirts I caught on the reflection of the kitchen tile floor alone. Ah, life is good when you are a pervert and no one knows it. Yes, I even installed mirrors on the ceiling.
"Jack, why are your ceilings mirrored?"
"Oh, Brian needs it for his work. The mirrors allow for more light in the apartment."
"So, that is why there are spotlights and fluorescent lights everywhere. Every time I come here, the lights are so bright, I feel like my clothes are transparent." (Oh, and they are.)
