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  1. Gannon

    Gannon Contributor Contributor

    Jan 15, 2007
    Likes Received:
    Manchester, England

    Short Story Contest (63): Theme - Voyeurs - Submission & Details Thread

    Discussion in 'Monthly Short Story Contest Archives' started by Gannon, Feb 22, 2010.

    Short Story Contest 63
    Submissions & Details Thread
    Theme: "Voyeurs"​

    Open to all, newbies and established members alike. Please post your entries as replies to this post. At the deadline I will collate all entries and put them forward for voting in a seperate thread. The winning entry will be stickied until the next competition winner. Sadly, there is no prize on offer except pride.

    Theme: "Voyeurs" (courtesy of member Twisted Inversly). All interpretations valid.
    Suggested Wordlimit: 500 - 3000 words.
    Deadline for entries: March 8th 2010 10.00 am (UK local)

    There is a 10% word-limit leniency at both ends of the scale. Please try to stick within the limit. As below, any piece outside of the suggested limit may not be entered into the voting.

    The next contest will be themed "Fictional (Auto)Biography" (LordKyleofEarth). If you would like to prepare an entry in advance for this contest you may, but do not submit an entry until instructed to do so.

    There is a maximum of 20 entries to any contest. If there are more than 20 entries to any one contest I will decide which are entered into voting based on adherence to the suggested word limit and relevance to the theme, not on a first-come-first served basis.

    Try to make all your entries complete and have an ending rather than be an extract from a larger one and please try to stick to the topic. Any piece seemingly outside of the topic will be dealt with in a piece by piece manner to decide its legitamacy for the contest.

    Submissions may not have been previously posted on this site, nor may they be posted for review until voting has closed. Only one entry per contest please.

    Please try to refrain from itallicising, bolding, colouring or indenting any text to help avoid disappointment. These stylistics do not reproduce when I copy-paste them into the voting thread. You may use visible noparse BB code to preserve style if you wish by placing [ noparse ] and [ /noparse ] (without the spaces) around the entire text.

    Please remember to give your piece a title and give its word count in brackets at the top of your story.

    If there are any questions, please leave me a visitor message or PM me. Please do not clog up this, or any other thread, with your questions.

    Thanks and good luck.
  2. DvnMrtn

    DvnMrtn New Member

    Feb 18, 2009
    Likes Received:
    Canada - Winnipeg
    The Voyeur - [2000 Words] - Warning: Graphic Language

    I’m standing on a pile of what smells like sweaty gym clothes, waiting in my friend’s closet for him to come home. I try to shift around, searching for a spot where I can’t feel the soggy sweat patches against my bare feet. There is none. Between being nervous and the cold air my skin is crawling so much I think it’s going to jump off. I should probably mention that I’m naked. Pants down, hands lubed, ready to go.

    It wasn’t always like this. This voyeurism thing is relatively new. If I had a choice, I wouldn’t be doing it at all. I’d be doing what normal guys in the early twenties do when they need to get off. Dating, the bar scene, hell, even the internet. I’ve tried them all.
    It’s not that I don’t want to. I really, really, desperately do. Ever since the she-bitch that is my ex-girlfriend tore my heart out I’ve had intimacy issues. Intimacy issues is my way of saying I can’t get it up for any other woman. As I said, it’s a sensitive and embarrassing topic for me.

    My mind is racing even faster than my heart. ‘Where is he, already?’ I think to myself. My legs are sore from standing in one place so long and I can’t stand the smell of my friends drying undergarments. I step out of the closet, although I use that term loosely. By closet, I mean a small space separated only by a bead curtain that has the design of a weed leaf printed on. The real classy stuff. I cross the dark room and plop my bare ass onto his bed. The fresh air is nice, although I can still detect garlic and musk wafting over from behind the curtain of beads.
    Wriggling my ass around, I admire my friend’s choice of comforter. Maybe this is how he manages to get laid. Although I can’t see it in this light, I can tell it has a high thread count and was probably expensive. I grind my cheeks into it a few more times, imagining its silk. That only distracts me for a moment before the voice in my head is back reminding me how ****ed up this situation is. ‘How did it come to this? Sitting in my friend’s room, naked and waiting for him, coated in…’ I pop a finger in my mouth and give it a taste. ‘…in strawberry kiwi lube.’ God I’m pathetic. The voice continues, ‘Why do you do it man?’ I already know the answer, but for some reason interrogating myself distracts me from the shame, distances me in some way.

    My mind wanders as I begin to play psychologist.

    It started after the night I proposed to her. Candles in the dining room accentuated the twinkle that was already in my eye. I remember how excited I was, cooking dinner, constantly looking up at the clock, anticipating her arrival. My hand kept finding its way into my pocket, feeling up the small velvet box. The whole time I chopped, stirred, and fried I practiced my speech.
    “You’re the one for me.”
    “No one makes me happier than you.”
    “I don’t want to spend another day without you.”
    “I love you so much.”
    Hell, I even remember practicing the whole one-knee gig. Then the moment arrived and I hear a faint knock on the door. There she stood, beautiful as ever, my angel.

    I couldn’t even make it through the whole meal.
    “What’s wrong with you? Are you sick?” she asked me. She could tell something was up. Maybe it was the sweat or the nervous look on my face that said, ‘any minute now my hearts going to explode’. That’s when I did it.
    “I need you to marry me.”
    It took me a moment to remember to get down on one knee. I fumbled around for a bit, forgetting which pocket the ring was in before almost throwing it at her. A word to the wise gentlemen, no matter how much you practice, you will never get your speech right. It will vanish the moment you get down on one knee and leave you mumbling like a dork. It’s best to just get a nice big rock that will make up for all the mumbling. I’m sure your woman would agree anyway.
    “Oh. Um. Listen, it’s just.” She stuttered. The next words hit me like Thor’s hammer.
    “I cant. Sorry. No.” Next came the excuses, but I wasn’t paying attention. Between gasps of air I sobbed, trying to catch my breath.
    “I should go.” She said. And just like that, it was over. I still don’t understand why.

    It was weeks later, after I started eating and showering again, when I found out that I was impotent. I tried to masturbate, but anything sexual just reminded me of her. Even porn was useless. The rough monkey sex was too stark a contrast to the sweet sensual love making we used to make. And so for weeks to come, I couldn’t.

    It wasn’t until a particularly pathetic night where I was able to get off. Consoling myself with tears and beer I sat on my balcony and wished the night away. That was until I glanced through the window of a neighboring condo and saw a couple going at it. It was slow. It was sensual. It was the definition of making love. It reminded me of her, and just like that I was rock solid. With a beer in one hand and my dick in the other I went at it, tears still dripping down my face. You couldn’t imagine a more pathetic scene.
    After that, I waited nightly for a show. The time’s I actually saw anything were rare and far in between, but seeing as how it was the only way I could get off, it was better than nothing.
    Eventually the shows stopped all together. Maybe they found out, maybe they broke up, maybe they moved away, I don’t know. But by then I was hooked.

    My friends, being the good friends they are decide to drag me out and hit up some clubs. It wasn’t until halfway through the evening, after getting razzed for not chasing tail where I confessed. I don’t think they believed me because after a few good laughs and a few more beers, the night continued like as if I hadn’t just said, “Women are a waste of time. The only way I can get off is watching other people go at it.”
    One of my friends, Rodney, he must have taken me seriously because that next morning he left me a voicemail.
    “Hey man, it’s Rod. About your sex problem, you can watch me if you want. I donno, give me a call.” It was perhaps the weirdest voicemail I have ever received.
    I wasn’t going to call him back. The thing about Rodney is he’s one of the greasiest slime balls I know. Truth is, I don’t even know how we ended up being friends. I wasn’t sure how he got laid at all, but he managed. Rodney will stuff anything that will let him. I really wasn’t going to call him back. But when you’re balls are going to pop, literally pop, you’ll do pretty much whatever it takes to get off.

    That brings me back to my current situation, sitting in Rodney’s dark room with an ass full of silk. He told me to show up around nine and that he’d for sure have a piece of ass back for ten. A small digital clock in the corner reads five to eleven. I’m beginning to contemplate washing my hands and calling it a night when I hear a faint buzzing. A small light fills the closet. It’s my cell. I walk over and dig into the pockets of my discarded jeans. Getting strawberry kiwi lube all over my phone I flip it open to see a text message, “See you in ten!” And just like that I’m back behind the curtain with Rodney’s dirty laundry.
    I click open the small cap on the bottle of lube and give myself another healthy dose, rubbing it in while I wait. The next ten minutes seem to take as long as the last two hours.

    The slam of a door. The sound of laughter down the hall. Rodney’s home. My skin goes back to trying to escape and this time my heart tries to go with it. I suddenly become aware of how loud I am breathing. Any second now they’ll burst through the door, I have to be quiet, so unbelievably quiet. I have an easy time seeing through the curtain and I can’t help but think that seeing me will be equally as easy. This is a terrible idea.
    The door slams open as Rodney nearly pushes the girl into his room. They’re laughing and I can almost hear the saliva swishing around as they try to eat each others face. The room is dark but I can make out Rodney’s fat silhouette grinding and groping every piece of the girl he can get in contact with. I try to start masturbating but it sounds like someone is holding a microphone up to a jar of mayonnaise while their dog is humping it. Too much lube.
    Rodney quite literally rips off the girl’s clothes and throws her onto the bed. She’s about to say something, but he’s already on top of her. Before I know it, the bed springs sound like they’re going to implode while Mr. Macdonald’s farm has a party on top. It’s punishment to all my senses. I don’t even try to masturbate.
    “Oh yeah! You like that?” I hear Rodney grunt. Who says that during sex? They’re so into it I could probably sneak out without being noticed. I’m just about to try when I’m completely caught off guard.
    “Come on baby! Scream for me!”
    “Oooooohhhhh Rooodddneeey! **** ME!!”

    I know that voice. Suddenly my heart tries a different escape tactic, sinking into the lowest part of my chest; it tries to dig a hole through my back. I’m no longer cold, my skin is red hot. I try to ball my hands into fists but there is too much lube.
    Storming out from behind the curtain I scream in a rage, “What the **** is this ****?!” My voice booms so loud it cuts through their animal moaning. She screams and runs out of the room faster than the rabbits they were imitating. Rodney just rolls himself over and sighs, “Dude, I was so close.” The front door slams shut.
    “I can’t believe you man, that was the lowest thing you could have done.” I say. I want to attack him. I want to shove a fork in his eye and a spoon up his pecker.
    “Are you kidding? I just did you the hugest favour. What could be worse than not being able to have sex?”
    “So you’re idea of helping me is making me watch you pig-**** my ex?!”
    “Yeah, I know. She’s a terrible lay. Trust me, now you’ll be able to get over her.” I’m too stunned to say anything.
    “Only for you man. I wouldn’t have touched that troll otherwise.” I can’t believe my ears. Without saying a word I go behind the bead curtain, grab my clothes, get dressed, and smear strawberry kiwi lube on his walls as I leave.

    * * *

    This is one of those stories you never really want anyone to find out about. But the guys found out, which means that everyone now knows. Things between Rodney and me will never be the same.
    A few weeks pass before anything happens. But before I know it I’m back to having sex the normal way. Believe me, it was quite a relief.
    Maybe it was because voyeurism would never be the same after that. Maybe it was seeing my ex with greasy Rodney. Maybe it was hearing Rodney call her a troll. I don’t know. But whatever it was, I was over my ex and my impotency problems we’re gone. Other than being turned completely off of anything strawberry kiwi flavored for as long as I live I guess things worked out for me in the end.

  3. Prometheus

    Prometheus Banned

    Feb 15, 2010
    Likes Received:
    SW Montana
    Black Toenails (610) Graphic

    A cough could be heard from the culvert. It was a wet productive cough that carried well above the trickle of water. Near the far end a figure was squatting down with the urban equivalent of a creek running between his knees.

    He mumbled “****ing pigs” as he scooped up the oily water and splashed it into his red swollen eyes.

    “****ing tear gas, ****ing pigs, ****ing government, ****ing friends” echoed down the concrete tube. “Friends” carried the definite inflection that whomever he was speaking of no longer fit into the classical definition.

    Having finished flushing his eyes he duck walked towards the far end. He was wearing black cargo pants that were bunching in the crotch because of the awkward movement. There was a black bandana tied around his neck like a bandit who had already finished the job. The bandana and the black T-shirt below it were covered in snot, some dried and crusty, some fresh and still sliding slowly downward. The snot almost, but not quite, disguised the red “A” within a red circle printed on the front of his shirt.

    As he neared the end of the culvert he heard people. He thought: There’s no other option, even if I could remember the way, I ain’t going back. Slowly he inched forward until he could see out.

    There was a young petite redhead reclining on a park bench. One of her legs was folded up leaning against the backrest. Her other leg was bent with her thin foot on the ground. There was a bottle of whiskey next to her foot, it was mostly empty. She was wearing nothing but a black thong which someone was sliding down her thighs. This person was kneeling between her legs on the bench; his face was just inches above her navel.

    Even from this distance of over twenty feet her wet musky scent mixed perfectly with the whisky vapors. He found himself wondering how nice it must smell from where the other person was. He was dragged back from this pleasant thought by the painful realization that there wasn’t enough room for what was happening in his pants. Duck walking the last ten feet had shoved enough fabric in the area to make it painful, even before this.

    He was about to attempt to quietly sneak off in the direction opposite the couple on the bench, when the redhead pulled the shirt off her lover. Something wasn’t right. He….she had breasts. Before he knew what he was doing he had squatted back down, and caught the phrase “lesbians, yummy” running through his head.

    The woman on top pulled off the black stocking cap she was wearing and shook out her long brown hair. The brunette leaned forward and started kissing the redhead’s neck then moved slowly up to her right ear. The redhead moaned, lifted her pelvis against the brunette and then squeezed her between her thighs. The brunette drug her long hair slowly back down the redhead’s torso, making several side to side sweeps over her hard strawberry colored nipples. When the brunette’s back was vertical she took her hand and smacked the redhead’s thigh so that her legs were all the way open. The redhead gasped and the brunette threw her head back and laughed.

    When the brunette’s head was thrown back, the face of the man in the culvert froze with recognition. It was his wife who had gotten separated from him at the rally. Well, we haven’t had friends over for drinks in a long time. A friend, not friends, he mentally corrected himself. No need to spoil the ending he thought as he snuck away in the opposite direction.
  4. Tigress

    Tigress New Member

    Feb 20, 2010
    Likes Received:
    Atlanta, GA
    From Afar (512 words)

    He has watched her for years and loved her just as long. He’s seen her laugh and his heart has laughed with her. He’s heard her cry and his soul has shared her pain.

    He’s seen her lovers come and go, each one a knife in his gut. The jealousy eating at him while he watches them wrap their arms around her, slip their hands in hers, steal a kiss when they think no one is looking. But, like his love for her, the envy takes its place in the dark recesses of his heart, never to be seen by those on the outside.


    He sees her dressed for an evening out, her beauty bringing both joy and pain to his heart. He feasts his eyes on her as she walks away, yearning to touch her. To pull the pins from her hair and run his hands through her long dark curls. To trace his fingers down her spine, so inviting in her backless evening gown.

    From the window, he watches her disappear into a waiting car. Those long, lovely legs encased in silk stockings, elegantly bending as she steps into the car. Oh, what he wouldn’t give to be the skirt of her gown, to be allowed to rest against those glorious limbs. He listens as she speaks to the driver, her sultry voice sending a shiver down his spine as it has done for years.

    He watches her disappear around the block and his heart breaks with the ache of her absence. Awaiting her return, overcome with longing, he retraces her footsteps, mindlessly caressing the things she has touched in her passing.

    He sees a glass with the imprint of her luscious lips still up on it. Picking it up, he holds it tenderly in his hands. To feel those lips pressed against his, to taste the nectar of her kiss would be heaven.

    He finds a glove and caresses it against his cheek. Her scent still lingers on the cloth and he inhales deeply. The smell intoxicates him, making him swoon as visions of her swirl through his head. His imagination fully unleashed, he leans his back against the wall, closes his eyes and dreams of her in his arms. His body aches with the need to feel her, to hold her, to love her.

    His soul cries out with his longing, despite the impossibility of it all. She would never be his. She would never look at him with yearning, nor think of him with thoughts of passion, nor feel the ache of a heart in love at the sound of his voice.

    Slowly, he pulls himself back together. He replaces the glove, disposes of the glass and makes his way back to the window, awaiting her return.


    She is back and he is nearby, as always. Awaiting the signal, a nod of the head, the crook of a finger, beckoning him to her side. She is rarely aware of his presence, although his absence would be sorely missed. For he is her butler, after all.
  5. TheTomStrange

    TheTomStrange Member

    Mar 1, 2010
    Likes Received:
    Oh so that's what it means (621) Graphic

    It was mother who was to blame really. Honestly, who buys a 17 year old male a pair of shiny new binoculars for their birthday?

    Then again, as I admired Miss Appleby’s breasts as she slaved over the washing up, a chore she seemed to believe just had to be done naked, who was complaining?

    Well, the Browns’ had called the police that time, but they only wanted something to talk about at their pretentious wine-and-fish dinners. I should know. I watch them every Thursday. The best bit is when they do it on the table.

    Miss Appleby runs out of washing up, putting on a flowery, summer dress so she can go to the shops without getting curious stares from her non-binocular owning neighbours. The covering of her breasts snaps me out of it, forcing me to put the binoculars down, and go back to my geography homework.
    Booting up the laptop, I first go through my usual ritual of deleting the web history for the past month, should mother somehow figure out how to use a computer (unlikely, as texting still causes her to fall into a strange fit). Flicking through the previous twenty-eight days worth of pornographic subscriptions, with the odd geography plagiarism site now and again, I suddenly notice an old Google search.


    It all comes flooding back now. I had entered a short story contest on a dodgy website I had found. I soon withdrew from the competition (I discovered there was no prize) but not before I discovered a word I hadn’t recognized.

    Twenty seconds of research later, I was using my left hand to rapidly write mother a thank you card for the binoculars. The binoculars where on a makeshift stand of my own creation and my right hand was slightly preoccupied.
    I chuckled to myself, deleting my web history and leaning back in my chair to examine the clock. 7:48, Jane Tennyson will have her first client soon. I set up the stand.

    Jane’s husband had started working nights after times had got tough (we are, after all, in a recession). Unable to bear the idea of losing their beloved industrial three-room flat, Jane had decided to try her luck in the escort industry. An exciting new client every night at 8, how was I supposed to go back to television after that? Cheating on her husband for cash wasn’t beyond her.

    Luckily, remembering to shut the curtains was.

    I prepared the binoculars, hours of practise ensuring I knew the right zoom ratio to get the perfect view of Jane’s window. Rubbing my hands with glee, I put on a Scissor sisters album (difficult, as I had to use my feet), then leaned back to enjoy the show.

    However, using my feet to work a CD player had turned out not be such a great idea after all. It had caused me to kick my binocular stand, so I was now watching the window of Creepy Dave. Swearing loudly, I tried to move the stand back, but it seemed to have stuck.

    Creepy Dave certainly justified the nickname I had given him. Every evening, at seven-fifty-five, he liked to stand by the window and, in full view of my house opposite, shave his nipple hair. He did this with as little movement as possible, a look of focus on his well chiselled features, as if he had just made it through to the semi-finals of a particularly interesting staring contest.
    What was really irritating about Creepy Dave though, was his tendency to give me a painful erection, something none of the others seemed to manage.

    I had no idea why this was; perhaps I’d Google it once I finished the geography homework.
  6. nettkkr

    nettkkr New Member

    Mar 1, 2010
    Likes Received:
    Aberdeen, SD
    Obsession (1,291 words)

    There’s not much in life I thought I couldn’t do. I had PhD in Computer Science from Massachusetts Institute of Technology. I was golden for the rest of my life. Hi, I’m David Stone. There’s never been much in my life aside from my brilliant mind. That is, until Sandra Horner stood in my way.

    She’s a brilliant twenty-something woman with gorgeous blue eyes and a full mane of red hair that hung to her hips. I wanted her. I wanted to be with her. I didn’t want anyone to stand in my way. I’ve never felt anything like this for another human being. Scripting was a different story.
    I could immerse myself in code for days upon time and come out with the same pleasures as if I had just made love to the most beautiful woman in the world. That is if it compiled and ran suitably. However, I couldn’t hold myself in when it came to her. We met at Exotech. My entry level software engineering job. She was the GUI interface woman.

    If there was an issue with graphics, she was who you went to. I approached her one Saturday afternoon when our project was coming due.

    “Hi, Sandy,” I said spilling half of my coffee on my shirt as I said it. She giggled and returned the hello. I wasn’t about to let a little thing like coffee stand in the way of my mountain.

    I came back two days later, suave. Or, so I thought. I was enthralled she agreed to meet for after work drinks.

    Five o’clock couldn’t come soon enough. I found I was making excuses to walk by her cubicle. I didn’t realize at the time how very wrong this was. She was everything I wanted. Beautiful, intelligent and she had a great sense of humor.

    Finally the time came. We met in the lobby and proceeded to the local pub. Everyone’s eyes were on us as we left. I even overheard some of my colleague’s say, “I can’t believe he actually got a date with her.”


    The scene at Milo’s Bar was casual. Mostly it was packed with nine to fivers looking for some after work fun. As it was Friday evening, the place was more crowded than usual.

    We took some seats at the back of the bar, close to the kitchen doors. I ordered a Captain and Coke and Sandy ordered a strawberry margarita. We idly chatted for a while talking about some of our favorite things. It was hard to contain myself. I had no idea we liked a lot of the same things.

    Everything was going fine until the end of the night. We had been there for about four hours. Getting along well, laughing at each other’s jokes and even using very persuasive body language. For some reason when the time came, I reached over to her and said “I love you.”

    Yup, you can imagine what happens next. She gave me that stair of total absurdity and abruptly left my sight. I stood there shocked at what I did. It didn’t matter though. I knew I had to have more. She was my cocaine. I knew this.

    I swiftly followed her out the bar and to her car. My car was only placed a few spaces away so it was in no way a stretch for me to follow her more. She didn’t live far. We drove maybe fifteen blocks before she drove into her driveway.

    Her home was just as beautiful as she was. A lush yard caressed a winding sidewalk that ran from her front door to her driveway. Looking around I noticed that she had bushes on the south side by the end of the house. I hid in there for a while. Her bedroom window was right above me.

    I spent the night watching her sleep. Wishing I could be on that bed with her. Imagining I was on that bed with her. When dawn started peeking its head in the sky I decided I would have to head home and change. I took one last look toward Sandy and sighed. It was a beautiful night.


    I got home and felt restless. I needed something more. I needed to see more. I suddenly remembered that I had all my video gear in my storage above the garage. My two bedroom apartment wasn't large enough to hold all my gear, so some of it I held in a storage garage just down the street.

    I went into my garage and grabbed exactly what I needed: two digital cameras, a wireless transmitter and a wireless laptop. I knew she would be at work all day and I would have enough time to hook up what I needed. I put everything in the car then dialed the office. This made a great cover. I told them I was sick. Sandy would think it was because of what happened last night.

    I approached her house and slowed down. I didn’t want to stop exactly here. People were nosey after all. Instead I parked three blocks away in front of a coffee shop. I grabbed my bag and started trekking back to her house.

    It took me a while to find a way in. I finally found the unlocked window to her bathroom. Squirming myself in I fell with a dull thud to the bottom of her tub. She had a dolphin theme. How cute. I looked around to make sure no one saw my entry. When I was fully sure of myself I looked for the best possible placements for my cameras.

    Of course one would have to be in the bathroom. What type of stalker would I be if I didn’t have one here. Finding the ventilation shaft above her lavatory, it gave me the best view of her tub and surrounding area. Perfect. I placed the camera and turned on the power. I had to run a small wire over to an electrical source for recharging the batteries but that was easily hidden.

    After installing everything in the bathroom I booted up the laptop and turned on for camera one. Bingo. Houston we have lift-off. Now I moved to her bedroom. The possibilities of this room. I ended up going with the traditional overview of the bed angle. It seemed to work well for others you’ve read about in the past.

    Again I ran the very concealable power wire to the power supply and checked the laptop. Camera two is functional. Camera one wasn’t showing anything at the moment though, but that was normal. The cameras were motion sensored.

    I took the laptop to her garage. I looked around for a suitable place to hide this very intricate piece of equipment. When I finally found space I ran power and pressed broadcast. Nice thing about this is first of all it runs through twenty different servers before downloading to my home computer. Then the fact that wireless internet can be stolen. The neighbors had a Linksys router broadcasting with no password. Easy access.

    It’s been twenty five days now since I’ve installed my devices. I have hours of unedited and edited Sandy at my fingertips. Whenever I feel lonely or I need some private time, she’s always there to build me up. I’ve even gained a following of others over the internet. Every day I broadcast to the world short clips and short live spots of Sandy being who she is.

    The only thing I’ve ever wanted in life was the beautiful twenty-something woman, with long red hair that hung to her hips. I wanted her. I wanted to be with her. I didn’t want anyone to stand in my way.
  7. Rachael89

    Rachael89 New Member

    Feb 14, 2010
    Likes Received:
    Mirror, Mirror (736 Words)

    The girl is dancing to a song I can’t hear, mouthing the words as her body twists. Her arms are wrapped closely around her chest, her eyes are closed and her smile is rapturous as her movements slow. She begins to sway unevenly before taking a few sloping strides across her bedroom floor. She pauses, looks, then skips for a few steps before tripping over a slipper.

    I’ve been with her for ten years now, ever since she received her own room as a toddler. She was less fun to watch at the beginning, primarily because she hated being alone and was hardly ever to be seen except for when she was being put to bed. When she was a young child, I only saw her kick and blubber as sleep was enforced. She would roll over time and time again in her cot, her skin red and inflamed from agitation. She only stopped out of exhaustion when she realized her mother was not going to come back for her.

    Soon, the cot was replaced by a bed. She started attending school, and had friends visit her to play. Equally noisy, tyrannical creatures who rolled over onto their backs and screamed if subjected to as much as a pinch. I once witnessed a fight over a blue crayon that ended with one child shredding every one of its playmates’ scribbles. Every child in the room shrieked and shrieked, even when the grown-ups came. Even though I can’t hear them, I can imagine what a shriek must sound like from their faces: sharp, violent and packed with pain.

    Friends were chosen for her more selectively after that. She was never allowed more than two child visitors at a time, and as she aged the number of strange children who appeared in her room dwindled to zero. She learned how to play alone, resorting to her imagination. She loved play-acting more than any other activity, and would practice faces before me. Her sad face was a mass of tears and mussed hair, her happy one a manic grin. She was never satisfied, and her default expression was a solemn frown.

    It was quite fascinating to observe the changes in her face over time. It started off like the face of every other person to have lived before me, round, red-cheeked and indistinct. She was an uninteresting as every other child, her face either perpetually contorted by fierce emotion or still from utter passivity. By the time she was ten years old, much of the childish fat had receded; she was destined to be a skinny thing. She never smuggled gums or chocolates into her room so she could gorge herself at night as her predecessor had, and spent a great deal of her time close to me. She would comb out her lengthy black hair so it was spread over the width of her back, mimicking the look of the illustrated, golden haired princess whose picture was framed on her wall. The girl twisted her body around to reveal her back, as if to show me but in reality to show herself. I caught the edge of her smile before she turned around fully, got up and left the room.

    She uses make-up now. She has always applied it with painstaking care, and initially spent hours making her lashes long and sticky and her lips appear swollen and red. Her skill has increased with practice, and she no longer looks like a whore or a clown. Her art is subtle now, light dustings of powder and slight modifications to her features are enough to make her smile at me.

    I love her smiles, they allow my participation. You see, when she smiles at me I am required to smile back. When she glanced at me over her shoulder during her dance today, my body twisted as hers had done – I assumed her form in a fraction of a second, just quickly enough for her to catch me. I only know my form through her; her face is my face, her whole body is mine. I depend on her gaze to be.

    I hope another girl will come here when this one leaves. I like their smooth, pretty bodies, and the vanity they inspire. I like their subdued, slightly embarrassed smiles as they hook on their bras in the morning, pouting and twisting their torsos to view another angle. I like watching them, and knowing they don’t know I’m here.
  8. Cogito

    Cogito Former Mod, Retired Supporter Contributor

    May 19, 2007
    Likes Received:
    Massachusetts, USA
    The Repairman (approx 600 words)

    Frankie Monterosso pulled the cap lower to hide his eyes, and looked around carefully. The hallway was clear. He set down the yellow plastic toolbox, and pulled a pick gun and tension wrench out of the tool pouch around his waist. Within seconds, the lock cylinder turned and he slipped inside her apartment. She never came home from work during the day, so he had plenty of time.

    Locking the door behind him, he set to work. He donned a pair of latex surgical gloves and pulled a chair over to the wall near the outside wall. Standing on the chair, he lifted a ceiling tile and found the electrical cable leading to the ceiling-mounted smoke detector. He pulled a flat box the size of a paperback novel from the toolbox, and spent the next ten minutes splicing a power cord from the box to the ceiling wiring. He unfolded the antenna at the end of the box, then restored the ceiling tiles, and returned the chair to its place in the corner.

    Next, he removed the cover from the thermostat on the bedroom wall, and drilled a small hole through the O in HONEYWELL. He mounted a miniature wireless camera on the thermostat cover, and connected the power leads to the thermostat leads.

    In the bathroom, he mounted another wireless camera in a ceiling tile over the shower. Less than an hour after he entered the apartment, Frankie cracked the door open and made sure the hallway was clear, then left the apartment and relocked it with the help of the pick gun. Then he wiped the lock and the doorknob with a rag, and hurried back to the street.

    The city was sprinkled with security cameras these days, not to mention potential witnesses will cell phone cameras. Frankie ducked into an alley, and hurried for several blocks until he found a dumpster next to suitable cover. He stripped off the telephone company coveralls and cap, transferred his tools into a compact shoulder bag, and secreted the clothing and the yellow toolbox under the top layer of trash in the dumpster. The young man who ordered a Reuben on dark rye in a deli several blocks away bore no resemblance to the bogus telephone repairman.

    Finally back at his high rise apartment, Frankie opened the laptop on the living room table and typed in a series of commands into the web browser. Soon he was viewing the encrypted live images from the cameras he had planted. He didn’t know her first name, but her mailbox in the entry hall had been labeled “S. Munroe.” He’d call her Suzanne. She looked like a Suzanne. But she wouldn’t be home for another three hours, so he checked several other camera placements.

    None of his ladies were home. He sighed, and closed the laptop. He walked over to the tripod by the window, and looked through the high powered binoculars. They were still focused on Suzanne’s place. Slowly and methodically, he panned across the rows of windows visible from his location.

    He nearly knocked over the tripod when the silence was broken by pounding at the door. “Police. Open up.”


    Lieutenant Spinetti looked up as Officers Draco and Filene dragged the struggling, screaming suspect over to the cage and shoved him inside. Filene had a gash over his eye and his nose was red and swollen. Spinetti looked at Draco and cocked his eyebrow.

    Draco shrugged. “Squirrel went nuts when we seized his computer. Get this. He claimed we were invading his privacy.”
  9. Frederyk

    Frederyk New Member

    Mar 7, 2010
    Likes Received:
    [924] Unfortunate Descrier

    It is a dark night. The moon is barely peaking out of the heavily clouded sky, and the stars are completely obscured. Rain puddles speckle the roads from a not-yet-evaporated shower and the air is warm and thick with fog. It is the sort of thickness that is impermeable by lamplight and utterly disconcerting.

    A man leaves his apartment. It is a rectangular, two-story building with each apartment connecting outside via their doors, pretty near to a cheap motel's structure. Walking down the iron-railed stairs to ground level, he checks his watch, tapping it, but it isn't working for some reason. He shrugs and blames it on the fog, continuing down the street for his coffee run. The fog prevents him from seeing more than ten feet ahead of him, so he keeps to a straight path along the sidewalk.

    Every fourty feet or so a lamppost is present, lighting the way for a few feet, but proving seemingly useless as in proportion to the distance each lamppost is from the next. He has to go a good three blocks from his home, but does get to the corner he is looking for. Listening closely for cars, he walks across the street, crossing to get to a set of vending machines that has occupied the corner for years. They are a set of three; one for overpriced water, one for coffee, and one for soft drinks. The water and coffee vending machines are side-by-side, whilst the soft drink machine is perpendicular to them, making a ninety degree angle with the water machine.

    Pulling out his wallet, he unfolds the worn, false leather thing and pulls out a dollar that looks about twice as worse. Sliding it into the slit of the machine, it won't go but a centimeter more of its own volition. He lifts up his knee, trying to straighten out the tattered bill on his thigh and tries again. The dollar goes into the slot halfway and he sighs, content. Three-fifths of the way in, the machine spits it back out and it falls, drifting between the intersection of the machines.

    He curses and walks over to where it fell, it being the only dollar he has on him, and his apartment being half a mile away. He spots it, and leans down picking it up. One of it's corners is wet, and he wipes it onto his pants, muttering about the rain. Walking back to the vending machine, he raises his dollar again, pressing it into the slot, but stops, looking at it. The glow of the machine reflects on the dollar, and its corner is red. He looks down at the smear on his pants and at his hand, shaking a little. "Oh god" he mumbles, walking over to the place his bill fell. Pulling out his cell phone, he turns the light on, and points it at the intersection of vending machines.

    Dropping his cellphone, the screen breaks on impact. "Oh my God!" he yells, horrified, staring at the now dark space. He backs away slowly, grabbing his cellphone and turns to get back to his home.

    "Hello there" a man says evenly, in front of him as he turns. "What's wrong mister? You seem a bit distressed."

    "Oh God, you won't believe me but there is just something horrible that happened! Please," he says, putting his hand on the stranger's shoulder. "You have to see it! I'm so glad I found someone else out here, I thought I was alone."

    The man makes a surprised expression and looks at him, tilting his head slightly. "What is it you saw mister? Was it so terrible?"

    "It was a human face! It was horribly cut up in parts, but looked as if someone had just ripped it off the body! You have to believe me! We need to tell the police. This is terrible." he cries, pointing desperately to the intersection.

    "I see" the stranger says evenly, following behind him as he leads him to the area of intent.

    Pulling out his cell phone again, he shines the light over the bloody scraps of flesh that had once been a face, illuminating the identifiable remains of a nose, and a mouth connected to a cheek. The rest is just unrecognizable. "Isn't this just horrible?!" he exclaims, pointing fiercely at the facial remnants.

    The stranger walks closer and wraps his right arm around the man's neck, plunging the other into his stomach with a scalpel. Holding his jaw closed via his neck, he watches the poor man struggle, but go limp with blood loss and exertion, letting him fall to the ground. Restrained screaming does take much out of a man. Reaching down, he carefully slices a perfect outline around the man’s face, pulling the muscles to softly separate from the skin. Grinning, he does the same to his own face, and carefully places the man’s face over his. His skin surrounding the foreign skin quickly absorbs the new tissue and, flawless, he strokes his jaw line, looking at the man lying faceless on the ground, his head a bloody gore-spattered mess, his stomach of similar viewing.

    The stranger lifts the dead man over his shoulder and is careful to do so in a fireman's carry, but one with his back flipped, so as to not touch the man's stomach and defile his clothing. Walking into a narrow alley, he lifts the lid of a dumpster and pushes the faceless body in. Grinning, he walks away into the night laughing dementedly.
  10. breakingwave

    breakingwave New Member

    Oct 27, 2009
    Likes Received:
    Secret Admirer ( approx. 1350 words)

    The raindrops fell all around as the Maple tree's full and flowing branches were an effective shield. As I crouched down to become invisible to the teenagers who were running through the raindrops into the building, their shrieks of laughter and youthful energy came closer. I couldn't take my eyes off of these beautiful creatures, something inside of me was drawn to their pure and wholesome forms.

    Hopeful that I would be mistaken for other parents simply watching out for the safety of their child instead of being the voyeur that I was , all the while drinking in the sounds that came with this youthful liveliness. Everyone of my senses were on full alert, waiting and watching for the moment that meant so much to me, to take in the sight of her, however fleeting it would be. It would temporarily fulfill my desire for the day, my need to be connected to her.

    At last I heard a familiar tone and my eyes darted toward the sound of the shrill, thin voice. Her blonde flowing hair swished back and forth missing the raindrops that fell in-between her animated head, chatting nonstop to her fellow classmates as she hurried down the sidewalk to school.

    My body and soul ached as I saw her, wanting to be able to reach out and touch her, to caress her and to pull her close to me. I wanted to breathe in the smell of that beautiful head of hair and to gaze into those intense eyes and feel as though they would recognize me as someone who was significant in her life. My need to have her acknowledge me was almost more than I could bear. As I stood in the shadows, I quivered with both fear and excitement, paralyzed in my place of need, yet fearful that outside forces who uncovered my presence could put an end to this pleasure.

    The giggles and shouts of her fellow classmates abruptly brought me back to the reality at hand that I was an outsider within and around her world, where she did not even know of my existence . There was no warm comforting glance in my direction, no arms outstretched to hug me until the time we would be together again, these things only existed in my imagination. The very act of my hiding made me feel unclean and unworthy of being a part of her world.

    Every time that I saw her, it created a need for more personal contact. My mind would flow through brain storming sessions of how I could gain control of this hunger to be closer to her. Instead of becoming contented in what I was able to accomplish by way of deception with securing places to view her from, each time my moments of sparse enjoyment only made me want more. It was becoming apparent that this spying experience would not be enough for me in the future. I spend a great deal of my time trying to work out in my head how I could bring this desire I have for her into the light. I knew that timing would be everything and I fantasized of a day when watching her go into any building would be as commonplace as holding her hand or kissing her goodnight.

    I was aware enough to know that making myself known would be frightening to her and in many ways cause her to recoil with fear and disgust. I was not mentally able to prepare myself for such a reaction as yet, instead I choose to remain in my unrequited world, a creature of hidden joy and longing for her. How could I chance that such strong feelings of love be rejected?

    I found myself competing with the raindrops as the tears of fear and frustration along with shame developed into the physical manifestation of big water droplets that flowed down my face falling into a pool of salty water along with the rain that fell from the sky. My body heaved with waves of sadness, a mourning for a the lack of opportunity and reflecting on the choices that brought me to this desperate moment. Like the gray skies that surrounded me there was no sunshine in my life at this time and my promise of future happiness was all wrapped up in this one individual. I ceased to exist in the real world where daily activities and commonplace responsibilities took a priority. As I inhaled and exhaled, my whole body rhythm was absorbed in just one thought, to become physically close to her and to claim her as my own.

    These were not new feelings to me, they had become the purpose of my life. No matter how mature I would strive to be and make sense of this experience in voyeurism , I was totally out of control. I could not stop myself from planning out the next opportunity and working around my schedule for any prospect in which to be a part of her life, even one that was as merely an observer for the time being.

    I gasped as she paused before she entered the building, almost as if she were aware that concealed among the branches of a tree nearby, her secret admirer was doing just that, admiring her. My heart skipped a beat as I allowed myself to imagine that her beautiful face was seeking me out as someone she had come to know and trust. I could only hope that in our future meeting she would be able to feel as secure and comfortable and full of hope as her rain splashed face was able to demonstrate at that very moment. I wanted to touch those soft brown eyelashes to my lips and cradle that beautiful face. It took all of my restraint not to rush forward to secure her in my arms. There would be time for that later.

    My future plans included making myself known to her in the not too distant future. I mapped out the road to recognition of my presence in her life on a daily basis, it lulled me to sleep at night and it was the goal that allowed me to continue to live. I couldn't fathom a future in which it did not exist being by her side, able to reach out and touch her at my will and to finally abandon all of the various hiding places that had aided my silent but consistent peeping sessions to this point. The anticipation of our future relationship filled me with both fear and excitement. I knew it would be difficult at best but the reward of being near her would be worth the anxious moments.

    My yearning for her had begun it seemed so very long ago, a time carved out of desperate moments followed by choices that had become unbearable to live with. As I viewed her silhouette slowly fading into the building, I felt one last urge to make myself known to her. I wanted it to happen in an instant as I couldn't tolerate waiting any longer, much like jumping into a cold pool of water in the summer, anxious to get it over, to absorb the shock and get on with the joy. I willed myself to wait.

    This beautiful creature defined my sense of being , she was a part of me as much as the air I breathed. She was my daughter, my flesh and blood, the one they had taken from me the instant that I gave birth to her in that dreary, back woods hospital. The devil that I had made a deal with. I was young , unmarried and ill prepared to care for a baby, but as she was hastily snatched from my arms, a void entered my life that I had never been able to fill. I was not capable of understanding how costly this transaction would be. "Have a good day my angel.", Momma will check on you soon and one day you will be back in my arms again.
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