Behind Glass

From the age of thirteen I'd always been bad to peep in windows and expose my erect penis, often while completely naked, often out in public. I also had ( have ? ) what's called hyperactive sexual compulsivity, something that has been impossible to control at various times of my life. As a young teen I did get caught, twice, looking in windows but managed to get away with a severe scolding. I never got caught flashing. Prior to getting married at twenty-six years of age, I had retreated into pornography. My wife had no problem with that, but, voyeurism and exhibitionism was out-of-the-question ! So, I managed to control my impulses out of conditions of fidelity, but, goddamn it was tough.
After the death of my father, when I was thirty-eight, the grief process took me to some strange and dangerous places. In retrospect, I needed grief counselling, if not deeper therapy. The casual drug and alcohol use became more so, and I began peeping and flashing again. I lived in a small community so this was quite dangerous. I resolved that since I wasn't fucking anybody else, what I was doing was okay, and not worth mentioning to my wife. We had a great sexual relationship, even during this time, but, I found my morning wood put to better use. Each morning on weekdays, I would arise, turn on the coffee, and walk downstairs to my party room, disrobe, and jerk off my erection into a cardboard box. Oh, and I'd turn on a bright track light that not only exposed me, it spotlighted my activity. I didn't care who saw me, if anybody, the ridiculous hour of the morning, 5:45 a.m. Of course, eventually, somebody would.
A sixty-two year old woman, single, divorcee, lived next door. Walking her dog in the pre-dawn dark she soon spotted me. And, I saw her SEE ME ! Well, the glow of her cigarette paused long enough for me to know. Then, one morning it was closer, she was in my yard, watching me. A few days later we happened to be walking dogs at the same time. At first we made stupid small talk, the weather, bullshit, blah-blah. Then, she looked me in the eye and said, in a low husky voice, "I've been enjoying my morning show, really ! Can I get a little closer to look ? " I stammered, "Y-yes, sure !" She smiled big and reminded me, "A little earlier, okay, it's getting light so early, now !" I promised I would.
So, the next morning, there I am, stiffie in hand, jacking it into the cardboard box, and suddenly she's right at the sliding glass door separating us. It startled me, even more when she tried to open the door. I shook my head NO, and she backed off, but, opened her black robe to reveal her breasts and brunette bush. I stroked for several minutes, watching as she danced, shook her decent breasts, and fingered her twat. When I came, I shot it on the sliding glass door. She smiled and crept away.
So began the strangest sexual relationship I ever had. She too had a downstairs laundry room where she could cavort naked behind plate glass windows and I would stand close enough to ejaculate onto it as she shoved a black dildo into her cootch. She absolutely loved it, she would get down and lick the glass from the other side.
One night when the wife was out of town, after too much vodka and weed I went out on a peeping excursion. It was, maybe, fifty yards from the house, in a section of woods. A nudist couple could be seen just doing household stuff, little kids and all. Frustrated at no sex activity, I was heading back to the house when I ran smack into my neighbor, walking her little dog. All I was wearing was a loose pair of cut off sweat pants. I had no good explanation as to what I was doing back there in the dark, and hung my head almost comically with guilt. She picked up on it, immediately. "You were peeping on somebody, weren't you ? "
"Yes m'am, I was !" I admitted, really piling on the sheepish.
"Didja see 'em fucking ?" she asked in her cigarette growl.
"No, they were just..." I stammered.
"They're nudists ! The whole fucking town knows that ! Now, you do too ! " she sort of barked. "You ever peep on me when I don't know it ?" I just hung my head even more and she laughed harshly, "Of course you do you nasty boy !" Then, she gave me side face.
"Your wife outta town ?"
" Yes m'am, " I mumbled, and she looked around.
"Well then, you'd better just drop those shorts and give me a real close-up show !" she said with smile so lizard-like I could see it in the moonlight.
"Uh...drop...? " I wondered.
"Drop 'em and start jerking that cock ! Now ! You might have all night, but, I don't !" So, I dropped them, and a semi-hard loomed out.
"Oh, yes, nice !" she enthused. "Jerk it hard and fast !" I did as told, but, of course NOT to her liking, so she cooed suggestions, barked demands, all-the-while, "Harder ! Faster !" When I finally came she said, "Oh, now look at that ! Look at that fucking mess you made ! You're so nasty ! Such a nasty boy ! " I felt nasty, and deliciously lowbrow. She lit a cigarette and ordered me home as her little dog sniffed my seed on the ground.
I came home from work one day and my wife told me, "Oh, J--- was here today." I felt the sudden need to shit a cinder block as J--- was my behind glass lover. My wife even looked forlorn, making me sicker. I was just before blubbering my guilt when she said, "She's moving to another part of town. She left her address and phone number." Oh...well. I had a party three months later and invited her, and she showed up, alone. I did get to sequester her off to one side and we talked. We both agreed that if we had ever consummated our sexual activity, it wouldn't be as special. She wanted to continue what we had, but, I never saw her again. As I moved on from the grief process the hypersexual compulsivity abated, at least, somewhat. J--- moved to another town, and I read that she passed away almost a year later.

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