by Clare Lee
(12/11/02)
I’m not a pervert. I’m not a peeping tom or what you’d consider a voyeur. I’m a respectable married woman with children. Yet, the events that occurred last night have revised my opinion of those who do practise the above art forms. And yes, it’s clearly art.
I’d gone up to my bedroom, I was quite tired, you see. A hard day of running around after my three year old. It was dark and I switched on the light before going over to draw the curtains.
It was then that I saw her.
In the house opposite. I knew her name. Shandra, a young Indian girl of about eighteen. She was in her own bedroom with a table lamp on for subtle illumination, but her curtains were wide open.
She was only in her underwear.
For a brief moment, I was shocked. Didn’t she realise that anybody could see her? Then I realised, she wanted people to see her. Before I knew what I was thinking, never mind doing, I switched off my own light and stood behind my curtain and watched.
Shandra stood before a full length mirror, her back to me but I could see her front in the reflection. She wore a lacy, black bra with a pale lace upper and a black thong that slightly separated her bottom. She ran her hands, fingers splayed across her stomach and down between her legs to adjust the flimsy piece of material.
I licked my lips, unable to tear myself away and amazed at how aroused I was becoming. I knew my husband was downstairs. If he were to catch me....
Shandra cupped her breasts and pushed them together, then raised them to her own mouth to lick gently at her lace-covered nipples the way a cat laps at a bowl of cream.
I could only imagine the taste...I realised that I wanted to be closer, that I wanted to be in the room with her, to touch her....
...and to taste her.
My hand wandered to the front of my tight jeans and squeezed at my aching body through the denim. My underwear felt wet and gooey and I could feel my heat through the material. Suddenly I wanted my husband there with me. We could watch her together.
Shandra caressed her smooth, round bottom, pulling the thong out of her buttock crease with one hooked finger, then, inserting another inside her. In the reflection, her dark mouth parted and from the shadows I could see that her tongue was licking her lips as if she imagined a mouth there where her hand explored.
I felt ready to orgasm there and then. There was nothing for it, I ripped open my button and unzipped the jeans, inserting my hand into my knickers and sighing with delight as my fingers made contact with my tingling, melting body. I inserted a finger, imagining a huge cock instead and gasped at the rushing of my orgasm. A hot shiver made me flinch and my legs became weak, but eventually, my panting slowed and
I reluctantly withdrew my wet hand.
It was then I became aware of the other figure.
In Shandra’s neighbour’s house.
Watching me.
I slipped away, not daring to look back, ashamed, yet desperately satisfied.
