Her First Peeping Tom

(As a handyman, I find all sorts of things laying around client's homes whenever I go to them to fix something. The following diary was taken from one of my client's homes in Toronto, Canada, July 17, 2017 while I was putting in a new Water Heater. The diary tells the story of her finding out about having a Peeping Tom in her life. This tale was so very hot that I wanted to share her diary with you)

*****

Dear Diary:

It's not the first time I've caught that white boy staring through my window with his emerald green peepers!

Damn, is he ever a hot stud! Why on earth he feels he has to slither around like some unethical snake, peering into ladies windows, is really beyond me.

He is so smoldering hot he could probably get any babe he wanted, but not by peeping into kitchens and bedrooms, or walking through the neighborhood with those high powered binoculars hanging around his neck like some damn albatross. Didn't the hunky weirdo know that doing all that creepy bullshit was just going to make him look desperate and perverted?

I sneak around to the upstairs bathroom window and empty the cup of cold water out into mid-air. I have aimed it well, but the wind carries it a few feet away and it lands harmlessly in the bushes. Still, he hears the sound and looks up, spotting me holding the tell-tale cup in my hand. I duck back inside, knowing it is too late. He realizes I have spotted him.

My first reaction is that he will simply be afraid and take off, wondering whether or not I might call the cops.

But as I count off sixty seconds and peer back outside, I am astounded that he is still there, watching me hover above with the smoking gun cup in my hand.

I am both angered and afraid. I decide that I should call the cops, because this freak is just too kinky and scary. I mean he looks normal in the sense of being handsome and hunky and all, so why is he peeping through windows? Is he harmless or dangerous? I wonder if he has crossed paths with the cops before. I decide to phone and ask them. If this weirdo ever was arrested before, then his record should tell me whether I need to be concerned or not.

I head into the bedroom when suddenly there is a knock at my door.

I freeze! Could it be peeping Tom knocking?

I grabbed my phone and dial 911.

As soon as the operator answers, I change my mind hang up. I won't rat him out to the cops just yet. I want to find out what the hell his intentions are first. I wonder why a guy would be knocking at my door if he were caught red handed peeping in my window. If he was a sicko, wouldn't he be climbing in through one of those windows he was peeping into? Some were locked, but some were open. All that would separate him from the inside of my house is a flimsy screen even a child could kick out. I suck in my breath apprehensively and saunter down the stairs. It dawns on me that I can simply keep my cell phone in one hand and my long sharp nail file in the other. If he does try and rape me I can always jab at him with one hand, and dial 911 with the other. If he simply wants to adore my large breasted, Goddess like black body up close, and stay in that 'look but don't touch' frame of mind, then maybe I can accommodate him. And then again, I surmise that he might be in the mood for asking for consensual sex. Not that I'd be responsive, or would I? I guess it would depend on what the fuck is going on with this weirdo. Is he merely drunken and horny? Or a murderous lunatic as incredibly dangerous as he is incredibly handsome.

Armed with my phone and my file, I open the front door and then take two steps back.

He enters the door and before I know what happened, he takes two steps forward. We are now toe to toe, nose to nose and eyeball to eyeball. He is even far more handsome and hunky close up.

"You're not going to try and hurt me, are you?" I ask apprehensively.

He shakes his head no. Then he opens his handsome white mouth to talk and I smell the booze oozing off of him. Definitely drunk.

"Just admiring you through the window is all," he reassures me, and I get the sense that for a grown man, he acts much more like a kid. Almost like a frightened rabbit caught in a trap he can't get out of, partly because I caught him peeping and might recognize him or even know where he lives, and partly because he seems so enamored with me.

"And why would you want to do that?" I said, still not sure if I should believe him or not. I didn't want to perhaps dangerously let down my guard.

"I have the hots for you," he answered honestly. "For the last six months, ever since you moved into the neighborhood, I've been secretly following you around."

"You mean like a stalker?"

He winced. "I don't know if you can classify me as one of those. I think I'm not so much obsessed with you as in love with you. But I'm very shy, and very unsure of myself."

"A hot guy like you?"

"So I'm good looking? Where does that get me if I have a crippling shyness? I may even be kind of super buff as well, I guess. But I really don't know my way around women. I'm constantly putting my foot in my mouth and acting goofy and childish around them. With you, well I'm so enraptured by you that I'm willing to take a chance on exposing my feelings to you."

"You're just coming clean now because I was going to call the cops."

"Not really. I could have ran. It would have been at least five, or closer to ten minutes before the cops would have gotten here. I would have been long gone."

"So you stayed because you finally wanted me to know you have the so called hots for me?"

"No, I stayed because I'm drunk. Drinking gives me courage."

"I see."

"Can I kiss you?"

He says the words as though I might be more curious about him than scared. He's right. I set the phone down on the hall table and toss the file into the candy dish. For some strange reason I totally believe him and no longer find him potentially harmful. Just a big, super sexy, intoxicated white pussy cat, peeping through my windows.

"What's your name?"

"Tom."

"How appropriate. What's your real name?"

"Tom. Really, it's Tom."

I laugh. "A real peeping Tom? You've got to be fucking kidding me?"

"Does this look like I'm kidding you?" he blurts out, pressing his moist handsome lips to my stunned, defenceless mouth.

A burst of intense sensual electricity grips my entire body. His fucking damn lips are magical, like some kind of juiced sex toys. My nipples stiffen like crazy. I begin to pant.

When he finally pulls away, I can feel the steam shooting out of my damn ears.

"Wow!" I whisper to myself, almost silently.

He turns and bolts for the door.

He is extremely nervous, back into his frightened rabbit routine.

The door is unlocked, but he is too scared to remember that, and he fumbles with the simple latch, trying desperately to get the hell out.

"Why are you running away?" I ask, just as calmly as you please.

He turns, almost hyperventilating. "I kissed you," he mutters. "You can have me charged with assault for making physical contact without your permission."

I splash a quizzical look onto my face. Is he kidding me?

"The kiss was fine," I blurt out, deciding he is definitely more harmless than dangerous. "I actually enjoyed it. Your lips are magical."

"I don't believe you," he spits out, sounding weird and paranoid. "As soon as my back is turned you will call the cops."

I lifted my hands in the air to show off my empty palms. "I tossed my phone onto the hall table. I'm not going to call anyone."

He says nothing in response, but rather eyes me cautiously. I can tell he needs convincing.

"If you don't believe me, then simply kiss me again. I give you permission this time to do it. Honest."

"You enjoyed my kiss that much?" he asked.

"Uh-huh," I confirmed. A part of me thought he was absolutely harmless, but another part of me thought I was foolish to let down my guard. I was believing everything that was coming out of his mouth.

He feels emboldened by my words of encouragement and walks back up to me, launching his delicious lips a second time. Only now his hands reach out and clasp my tiny waist as his mouth works its scintillating magic, making my lips sizzle mercilessly.

I swoon, and pant afresh. His mouth is definitely a secret weapon.

When he finally pulls free I am in a quandary. He has made me unbearably horny. I am now so hot and bothered that I am shivering expectantly from raging hormones. It's almost as if I am falling under his spell, and somehow becoming helpless.

"Where the hell did you learn to kiss like that?"

"Was it enjoyable?" he asked, almost timidly.

"Truthfully? The best damn two kisses I've ever had in my entire life."

"Would you like some more?"

I stare at him incredulously. Of course I would like some more. But then it dawns on me, this guy's lips are more addictive then fucking cashews. You can't just eat one, or two or...or...and then it really dawns on me big time. If he is so damn good at kissing, what else is he good at? I now have to contend with the fact that I am in danger of getting in over my head with a very sexy, gifted kisser who is genuine yet full of sensual dynamite. How to resist anything he does? I need time to think, time to regroup and time to figure out just what the hell is going on. It is all happening too fast. He says he likes me, or rather that he actually loved me at first sight, only he was too shy all along to say anything. But now that we've met, and his peeping days are supposedly over, I need to get a grip on reality. Perhaps sending him away and arranging to meet him at some later date? That would give me time to figure out if I want to actually date him or toss him to the curb. Only lips like his are very hard to come by, and he is stunningly attractive.

He must have sensed I was reasoning things out, and that he was in danger of giving me time to send him packing for now.

"It's hot in here, probably from me drinking way too much. I'm roasting up. Mind if I take off my shirt?" he asks, yanking his t-shirt up over his head.

I am about to protest, but before I can formulate the objection with my slow moving lips, his glorious rippling abs and very sexy muscular chest is taking my damn breath away. This white boy is really smoking hot. So much so that I am getting way too hot under the collar myself. Really hot and bothered! Still, I hold my ground and try to keep my wits about me. There is still way too much I don't know about him to merely take his word for everything or plunge right in to the insidiously sweet temptation abyss!

"Put your shirt back on," I blurt out, almost unable to believe I had the willpower to resist such unbearable temptation. No guy I had ever been with or even seen on a mag cover, ever had such wicked ab racks like the ones he did.

"Your nipples are stiffening," he says ominously, using it as an excuse to delay covering up his glorious assets.

I glance down at my chest and am horrified by the bullet sized stubs bulging into my skin tight halter top. They indeed are stiffening, because I indeed am very, very, very horny! I immediately become perplexed and flustered, kicking myself. What the fuck was happening to me? Why was I letting some strange pervert in my house? Worse still, why was I encouraging him to kiss me? And why was I chatting with him as though I were out on some normal date. I was now furious with myself. Why couldn't I control my emotions or my sex drive? Why was I drooling over his body, and why had I not called the cops? Worst of all, why was I contemplating actually starting up some kind of a strange relationship with this peeping dweeb?

I instinctively press my hands against my own breasts, hiding my freak show nipples. "If you're not going to follow my rules," I snap at him, "then I'm going to have to ask you to leave and never come back. Now put your damn shirt back on."

I said that to him not because I really wanted him to put his shirt back on, or because I wanted him to leave, but because I needed to test him. If he was willing to follow my rules and willing to do exactly as I asked, then I knew I was going to be safe in his presence.

He sighed and put his shirt back on.

"Thank-you," I whispered appreciatively, while kissing him briefly on the cheek. His lips were far too deadly for me to risk another encounter with them tonight.

"I'd like for you to go now," I said, testing my own willpower. "But I'd also like for you to come back tomorrow night around the same time. I am going to make you dinner."

He seemed bewildered and flabbergasted. "You want me to leave right now? Don't you feel the chemistry between us?" he spits out anxiously.

"Yes, I do in fact feel the chemistry between us, which is why I am asking to see you again."

"But I'm here, right now."

"So you are. But I need to know that you'll play exactly by my rules and do whatever I say, when I say it, how and say it and where I say it, understand?"

"I get it. You're testing me, is that it? Trying to find out whether I'm simply a harmless admirer, or some raving creep lunatic."

"Something like that," I managed as I slipped past him and flung open the door.

He started walking past me.

"Don't bother trying to kiss my lips on the way out," I instruct him. "I'll see you tomorrow. Just come knocking at my door at this exact same time tomorrow night. And I will let you into my house again. Only this time you bring some wine and I will fix you dinner. Is Italian food fine?"

"Anything's my favorite if served up by you," he muttered back.

"I can see I'm not going to get a straight answer out of you so fine, Italian it is!"

"Actually, I am quite partial to lasagna," he blurts out. "And I'll indeed bring some red wine."

He exits quickly out into the night air, and a smile plays at the corner of my incredulous lips.

"By the way," his unexpected voice says to me. "I told you my name but you never told me yours."

"Shit. I thought you were half way down the street by now. Don't ever do that again, scare me like that. You understand?"

"Sorry."

"My name is Stacey," I blurt out.

I manage a tentative smile, and his nice emerald green eyes seem to sparkle at me. With the memory of his rippling abs still fresh in my mind, he is emboldened to risk incurring my wrath by trying to kiss me again. Only this time I raise a hand, blocking his moist handsome mouth from having access to my pink painted lips.

"Nice try, but don't do that again. Follow my rules. I'll see you tomorrow at this time exactly, for dinner. Now go."

XXX

He shows up on time with flowers and candy.

His door knock seems to have a sensual, enthusiastic rhythm about it.

I open the door quickly, maybe too quickly, revealing my anxiousness. He smells nice, sporting a kind of piney scent cologne. I really like it.

He is up close when he says hi, and his breath is fresh and minty. His teeth are a dazzling white, and he seems to have a softness in his stunning emerald green eyes. Gone is the brash confidence that empowered him to try and steal kisses. I am disappointed that he doesn't try to steal one now, upon his arrival. I suppose that he is scared I might call off the dinner date mid-stream if he provokes me.

I take his flowers and admire how the roses and carnations seem to mingle with just enough baby's breath to make the bouquet come alive with color and vibrancy.

"I picked them myself," he boasts.

"Not from my garden I hope," I blurt out, clearly horrified.

"No, don't worry, not from your garden," he asserts.

"Well in that case, they are just lovely," I say honestly. "Quite breathtaking, actually."

"Breath taking flowers for a breath taking lady," he says, his rich velvety voice warming my heart.

I suddenly stop admiring the bouquet and gaze into his lush, warm face, swimming with admiration for me. I wonder if he is for real. A part of me wants to simply let my guard down and just let the chips fall where they may, but I am hesitant. For all I know, he may have some kind of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde personality.

"I still know absolutely nothing about you," I say, my heart pounding.

"The lasagna smells nice," he spits out, trying to change the subject. He wants me thinking about him with my escalating libido, and not with my keen, sharp mind.

"Did you drive here?" I ask, wanting to know if he lives close by or far away. I can't remember seeing him at any of the local venues, like coffee shops, the market, the library, or the community center state of the art gym.

"Yes, I drove, but not far, and I parked at the corner a block away."

"Let me see your wallet," I demand.

He is startled. He never expected me to ask him for his wallet.

"Why would you possibly want to see my wallet?" he asks, almost trembling.

"I want to know your real identity, as in your social security number and your driver's licence. That will give me your current address. Just in case you end up trying to hurt me, or are not who you say you are."

He hesitates, but is powerless to stop me from reaching into his pocket and taking out his wallet.

He stares at me wide-eyed as I snatch a book and pen off the coffee table and jot down all his details. I am astounded that his real first name is actually Tom, just like he said it was.

He stares at me in silence as I take two minutes to write everything down.

"Now I know exactly who you are and exactly where you live," I whisper ominously.

I hand back his wallet and he pockets it, looking really nervous.

"You're just full of surprises, aren't you?" he asks, nodding back and forth for effect.

And then a sudden thought hits me. What if he's already taken? Maybe that's why he slithers around at night in the darkness, like some creepy snake.

"You're not married, are you?" I ask, no longer worried he is dangerous, but newly concerned that he might be a heartbreaking player or liar. He says he loves me, but before I commit any more of my heart, body or mind to him, I want to ensure that he's not actually already taken.

"I'm not married now, nor have I ever been married," he spits out indignantly. "But if truth be told, I would love to become married to you. I could support you quite easily and give you all the things you ever wanted."

"You would marry me just like that?" I blurted out, quite flabbergasted. "You don't even know anything about me. Besides, a guy who makes it his full time occupation to sneak around ladies windows can't have any money of his own."

He frowns. "There you go again, making a lot of assumptions about me just because I sneak around peeping at women who intrigue me. I did inherit a lot of money from my parents who died in an auto accident a few years back. I am actually a millionaire many times over."

His words floor me. He wants to marry me? He's a multi-millionaire? I am now kicking myself as sensations of warmth yet weirdness sweep over me. I am twenty-eight years old, and, by my friends accounts, I am one of the prettiest and sexiest black women in the city. And yet, no man has ever so much as hinted he would like to marry me before, except for the Tom now standing before me. My finicky heart is suddenly doing back flips and my usually rational and keen mind has also been flipped upside down by his provocative words. All my life I have dreamed of that special moment when a guy would tell me he'd like to marry me. I never dreamed it would be a guy named Tom who peeped into a certain lady's windows.

"And just how many other windows of impressionable young women have you peeped into, promising marriage?"

"You're the first."

His words slam into me hard. Am I really the only one? And if so, does this guy really love me like he says? And is he really a millionaire like he says? And then I am once again furious at myself. Asking him over for dinner as though he's not some nasty perv? Listening to him ramble on about how special I am? Believing his every word about being filthy rich and being so very much in love with me?