I lived at the top end of the village, my bedroom overlooking the main road and, of all things, a cemetery across the other side. Beyond that was the mountain that separated our valley from the next one across, so you'd think this was not exactly the ideal domain for somebody who held an unhealthy interest in space and astronomy while he was growing up. What we did have, though, was a loft conversion with two large windows - one on each side - that tilted open so you had a clear and unobstructed view of most of the night sky from inside the house. While most people had to put their stargazing telescopes outside in the garden, mine was up there in the loft warm and dry all year round.
It was a nice 'scope - 250x magnification. What that means is that something five hundred feet away would seem almost within touching reach of you as you gazed at it. I don't know how much it cost - £300, £400 maybe - as it was part of a long stream of space related Christmas presents that spanned several years from when I was 8 or 9 years old to the time that this tale relates to, when I was a nineteen year old getting ready to graduate from sixth form with my A levels and go to university. Water rockets, star charts, planetarium balls, computers and cameras had for years been my birthday and Christmas presents, and while the telescope was still a few years old, it was my most prized possession.
And not just because you could see details of the moon's rugged terrain with it, or make out the shape of the horsehead nebula in the constellation Sagittarius. Oh no. Since I had become sexually aware it had quite often been turned away from the night sky, and tilted much more earthward as a growing curiosity of not only what was above me, but also what was around me, began to plague my imagination. It had started with furtive spying on other kids playing on the mountainside, lighting fires with stolen matches, on older teens drinking and snogging and touching each other up supposedly out of sight of the village and their parents. Then once that had paled it had turned even more groundward in search of voyeuristic delights.
As I lived at the top end of the village the loft had a commanding view across the large, rectangular plot of allotments that lay behind our house. Around these allotments were other houses, all tightly packed terraced dwellings arranged around the perimeter of the allotments that took about ten minutes to walk around with my dog in the mornings. From the loft, with the telescope angled below the horizontal, I could see inside peoples gardens, kitchens, bathrooms and, obviously, bedrooms. The angles limited exactly what you could see, but with many houses I had what could be considered a fairly interesting view.
That's when I fell in lust with Rebecca.
Rebecca was like me. Imperfect. I was skinny, geeky by nature, more interested in technology and astronomy than playing football and rugby and would rather be out with a radio controlled car than a pushbike. Rebecca was a little overweight - though certainly nowhere near obese - and spent most of her spare time in her bedroom either playing The Sims on her computer or wiling away the nights on the internet. I knew this because I could see her through the telescope. I didn't have a full view of her bedroom, but I got enough of an angle on her room that I could see her desk and dressing table, and maybe a third of the bottom of her bed. It was a bit of a mess, with clothes scattered everywhere, books and papers and hair care containers all over the place, but that was no different to my own. Occasionally mine was tidied, usually shortly after my parents had gone ballistic on me, but more often than not it looked little better than Bex's. I didn't notice after a while, though, because all I was interested in was her. The lens no longer looked out into space, but deep into Bex's bedroom.
She was a little younger - not by much, though, and had long black hair, most often tied up in a pony tail, and pale milky skin because like me she would rather stay indoors than go out. I don't suppose she had many friends - I never saw anyone else in her room while I was spying on her - and her habit of locking herself up inside rather than going out probably contributed to not just her pale complection, but also the extra pounds that she carried. D on't get me wrong here, Rebecca was not a fat girl, but she did carry that extra baggage that comes with growing up and it hadn't burned off due to the lack of exercise that her internet regimen dictated. She had also been one of the b-grade pupils through her years in comprehensive school, and that's why I hadn't noticed her before - we shared no common classes. Pupils were segregated into achievers and under-achievers from the age of thirteen, but Rebecca had clearly worked hard to move out of the lower band and into the uppers, which I reckoned might also help to explain her lack of close friends. She had outgrown her old ones by leaving them behind in their second grade classes, and the ones in the upper band had their own cliques and she hadn't found a way to be included in those.
As is common with some overweight girls, her face was rounded and relatively plain. Soft. When you looked closer - as I did on the bus on the way in to school every day and during Maths which was the single cross-over lesson that we both endured together, you could see that beneath the puppy fat there was a very pretty face waiting to break out. Most don't notice these things normally, but when you begin to really focus on somebody the potential becomes so apparent that you wonder why the rest of the world doesn't see it. What attracted me to Rebecca, though, was not so much the awareness of how this girl could grow into a good looking woman, but that her secrets were every bit as dark as mine.
You see, the telescope showed me things about her that you would never normally imagine. It started when I was scanning the back bedrooms of the houses that overlooked the allotments, hoping to find a couple going at it like rabbits with the lights on and the curtains wide open - something that had happened just twice in about three years of below the horizon stargazing. Then one evening my lens settled on the glow of Becca's computer screen, and her profile highlighted in off-white light in the darkness as she MSN'd to complete strangers with her right hand while she felt her own boobs up with her left. My God that got me so hard it was painful, even though all I could see was a ghostly hand moving over her bra as the position of her desk and chair in relation to my view was at a bit of a difficult angle. I couldn't make out what she was typing, or who she was typing to, but I could see from the images that flashed up on her screen exactly what the subject matter was, and that made my stiff meat harder still.
Men were sending her grainy photographs of their cocks, and while they did that she was navigating through an array of folders and pulling up mobile phone pictures of her own hidden treasures. On one occasion I watched her spread her legs and put the mobile down there, before plugging the phone into her computer and uploading a beautiful picture of her fur lined pussy being invaded by a dainty finger, relaying20it then on to some unknown lucky bastard over the broadwave. She was very careful not to show her face on-line, but her tits and fanny were flaunted to all comers with wanton abandon. I longed for her MSN address as I watched her on those rare occasions when she was online and hadn't closed the blinds, my own hand working my hardness slowly as image after image of hard dicks and gaping pussies flashed up on her screen. Sometimes images of women with cocks in their mouths or men fucking away at their engorged, distended cunts made it up onto the monitor as anonymous wankers from all around the world traded dirty photographs with the object of my secret obsession, while I in turn wanked myself off into the microfibre cloths that I used to polish the lenses on my telescope.
All the while she sat there, leaning into the screen as she sent and received photographs, her hands working on her tits or moving purposefully between her thighs and out of sight to me. We wanked together, Becca and I, though she knew naught of me, remaining blissfully unaware of my hard, erect manhood being stroked in rigid salute of her as she laughed and sighed in a world of her own until my semen spurted into a cloth, often catching me by surprise as I watched her bare legs and feet propped up on the edge of her desk as she leaned back in her chair, the laptop showing a webcam of some stranger also wanking himself off as she chatted over MSN with him before the days of Skype made t yping old hat.
How I longed to hear her voice whispering those fuck-me lines, encouraging me to pump my cock harder, to spurt my semen over her full teenaged tits or her open slit, wet and slippery from having just been fingered by red painted nails. I lay awake at night long after she had switched off and gone to sleep herself, replaying the images in my mind, my eyes closed as her husky, lust laden voice urged me to finger her, to eat her out, to ram my hard cock inside her, to flood her womb with my seed or spill it down her gulping throat. I showered every single morning, desperately trying to think of an angle that could get me closer to her as I readied for school, paying more attention to my appearance than I had ever done in my life, depleting Lynx shower gel bottles at an alarming rate and going through a tube of toothpaste a week.
Then one day in Maths class when I was trying to conceal a raging hard-on beneath my desk, it suddenly came to me. This was the last lesson of the day, yet it was only lunch time. Normally I'd walk the four miles home instead of waiting for the bus, but most people that lived our way either spent the afternoon in the sixth form common room or in the library. So this time I stayed behind, leaving my bewildered friends to walk home without me, claiming that I was staying behind because I was having trouble with one of my subjects. I looked for Rebecca in the common roon, found it deserted, then after lunch break I wandered into the library.
She was there, and she gave me nothing more than a cursory glance as I entered the room. I left it five minutes, thumbing my way through the shelves of books, before finally plucking up the courage to sit opposite her at the table as she worked away at an assignment that she had been given while waiting for the bus to pick her up at the end of the day.
She looked up at me, her eyes reflecting annoyance and a little bewilderment that of all the seats and tables in the near deserted library I could have chosen to sit at I chose the one opposite her. " Hiya Rebecca. I'm sorry to be a bother, but did you get those equations in maths at all?"
"What d'you mean?"
"I just didn't understand how you get the answer from the question. I'm probably just being thick, but the workings out didn't seem to take me to the answer that everybody else was getting."
"Probably." she laughed. I was captivated already, I just hoped it didn't show too obviously. " It all seemed pretty easy to me."
"Could you show me?" I asked, and pulled out the work that I had done in the class and deliberately got wrong, having carefully made the same mistake on each of the sample equations that we had been given.
