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VOYEURISM.


Submitted:Mar 13, 2008    Reads: 570    Comments: 3    Likes: 1   


Tom sits with the light out in his apartment; his telescope focussed on the house across the road. He sees the woman cross the room with that wiggly walk she has, that sends a thrill right through him, makes him knock-kneed with excitement. She has a window open and a breeze moves the white curtains outward; she seems oblivious to anyone viewing her, unaware that she is being watched, watched closely. He can see the end of her bed, with its pink duvet, and wonders what it'd be like to be next to her, have her close to him, her arms around his body, kissing his bare chest.

She moves out of sight for a few moments; he wonders where she's gone, what she's up to, wants her to come back into view. The curtains blow wildly in the window, flapping about madly.

She returns into sight, her wiggly walk sending him all weak, making him feel uptight with desire, wanting to be there with her, to be able to touch her lovely backside, to run his hands over her hips.

She turns, looks out at the window and he steps back out of instinct, but she cannot see him in his dark room, and stretches her arms upward, pushing her breast outward, and he moves forward, his eye to the telescope, his tongue out slightly, licking his lower lip. He doesn't know her name; knows nothing about her; knows only what he sees and that he likes what he sees.

She moves backward, does a small twirl, holds her arms out as if she were about to be crucified, then slowly lowers her arms, embraces herself and kisses her arms tenderly. He sighs, holds his knees tight together, feels his palms sweat.

She walks to a closet, takes out a dress. She holds it up to the light, looks at it, brings it down to her cheek, holds it there for a few seconds. He lowers the telescope to view her legs; fine legs, the kind of legs he'd love about him, to give a mild squeeze, to ease the air from his lungs in play.

She stands still for a moment, her eyes focussing on the open window, watching the curtains flapping like sails. She walks over to the window, pulls down the window and the curtains are still. She stands peering out into the evening sky; the dress she had been holding is on the bed behind her; the bright light revealing her blonde hair and large dark eyes.

She turns and taking the bottom of the dress she is wearing, lifts it up over her head. She has a small white bra and white underwear; they fit snug against her skin. He breathes in deeply, bites his lower lip, sniffs the stale air. He wishes he was there behind her, touching her, helping her undress, but she is unaware of this, picks up the other dress, pulls it over her head, buttons it up slowly like some dancer.

Then she turns, walks to the window facing him, and peering out across the darkness at him, gives a slow little wave and a wide sly smile.





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