1. Gannon

    Gannon Contributor Contributor

    Jan 15, 2007
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    Manchester, England

    Winner DvnMrtn Short Story Contest 63 - Voyeurs CAUTION:GRAPHIC

    Discussion in 'Monthly Short Story Contest Archives' started by Gannon, Mar 21, 2010.

    DvnMrtn - The Voyeur - CAUTION:GRAPHIC

    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.

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