I used to be obsessed with voyeurism. It ruled my life. And I loved every minute of it. I lived in New York City which is a peeping Tom’s paradise. So many windows. I knew the patterns of dozens of my neighbors across the street. I knew who came home early and changed into comfy clothes. I knew who had a new boyfriend and would fuck with the shades up. And there I was, ready with my telescope. It was great. I thought nothing of all the time I wasted hoping to catch a slight glimpse of a woman naked. it was foreplay to me.
But it all came to an end. I had broken up with a long-time girlfriend. Weird isn’t it? I broke up with her and then became obsessed with seeing her naked again. One thing I knew, at night before she climbed in bed, she would go over to her bedroom window and close the curtain to block out the next morning’s sun. Sometimes she’d close the curtain before getting undressed. But other times she closed the curtain while standing there completely naked. That was the gold I was looking for.
One large obstacle, she lived in the 9th floor. I couldn’t hang out below her apartment window and look straight up. For one thing, I couldn’t really see into her window from that angle. For another thing, you can’t stand around in New York City in the late evening staring up at one particular window. You’d get arrested.
I had a different plan. I knew from her window I could see the sidewalk on the street corner a full block away. So I’d head over there every evening at about 9 pm. I’d stand on the sidewalk and casually look side to side, as if I was waiting for someone. But what I was really doing was glancing every few seconds in the distant 9th floor window. No one could accused me of peeping in a window from such a far away distance. That would be ridiculous. (I was being ridiculous.) But that’s what I was doing. I could stand out there for literally two hours waiting for the brief moment she came to the window and closed the curtain. Sometimes I’d get nothing but nightgown. But there were a number of instances, even if it was for only a few seconds, where I’d catch a long distance view of flesh. She was so far away I really couldn’t make out much of anything - a darker patch on her hips, her pubic hair. But still, to me it was the thought that counted. I knew I was seeing her naked.
You know what finally made me stop? I did this every night for months. After a while I grew tired of standing there, so I began to sit on the sidewalk. Homeless people sit on the sidewalk. But in my mind, I thought it was okay to sit on the sidewalk. People would walk by and look at me funny. I didn’t care. I was on a mission.
But one night I was sitting there. She never showed up. My mind raced. Did she have a new boyfriend? Was she at someone else’s apartment fucking him? These thoughts drove me crazy. I had to stay in my spot to see if she came home that night.
It became very late... and I ended up falling asleep, right there on the sidewalk. I woke up at sunrise. I had spent the night sleeping outside in New York City. Exactly like homeless people do. I was suddenly filled with shame and embarrassment. What the hell was I doing? This obsession had gone too far. I stopped cold turkey trying to look in her window, or anyone else’s window.
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