Other Fun People"
1. Here is the Interest Check, so you know what this RP is all about. (The post below will, of course, give you an idea of the type of writing I do and a little of the background of my PC, too.)
2. If you have a Character Idea -- based upon one of the characters below or of your own creation -- please PM it to me. (Just a basic idea, not a full profile.)
3. Please don't take the length of this first post as a precedent for what I will write in the future, or of what I expect from you, the other writers. My first posts for new characters are always long, but they get shorter when I begin collaborating with other writers.
hurried into the house, calling out a Hi! Bye!
to his parents as he pounded his way up first one, then a second stair case in the family's late 19th century home
. An only child -- and a relatively spoiled one at that -- he'd been afforded the privilege of claiming the entire third floor as his own, turning the rooms into his own personal library, exercise room, entertainment room, and, of course, bedroom.
But those were just names, and while each of the spaces was decorated in such a way as to fool his parents into thinking that he needed all of that space for the activities that the names implied, each and every one of the rooms had one specific purpose for Tom: Spying down upon his neighbors.
He killed the lights as he entered each room, opened the nearby closet or pulled out a dresser drawer, and in less than ten minutes had twelve telescopes and spotting scopes pointed at specific locations, as well as two pairs of binoculars hung around his neck, one a standard pair of day time viewing field glasses and the other a pair of light-enhancing night goggles.
Finally set up, Tom took a moment to walk back to each room and peek through the eye pieces at the darkening neighborhood below him; nothing happening, what a shame
. He returned to his bedroom, fished a composition notebook out from under his mattress, grabbed an ink pen and a warm, opened soda left over from lunch, and dropped into a big bean bag chair. He pulled the telescoping lamp out from the wall and clicked it on, filling the room with an eerie red glow; under this light, Tommy could write in the composition notebook easy enough, then -- at a moment's notice -- hop up and return to any one of the telescopes without having to wait for his eyes to adjust to darkness again, as he did when writing under a white light.
He began writing:
20 May 2011 -- Friday
School was a bitch! The Seniors are assholes, running about like chickens with their dicks cut off. Yeah, that's supposed to be 'heads' cut off, but sometimes I wish...
Maggie says it's jealousy. That I'm angry cuz I'm not graduating with them. Probably right. I should be over having to retake 6th grade; it's been 5 years. Not my fault I spent three months in a hospital. Fucking drunk drivers.
So, here I am, turning 18 tomorrow woohoo ... ! ... and I've still got a year of school left. Spent most of the year trying to get into Allison Foster's pants and couldn't get past a kiss on her door step after a date that cost me over a hundred bucks! Why...? Because I'm JUST a Junior. Forget the fact that I'm actually nineteen days older than her!
Through one of the opened windows, Tom heard the familiar sound of the back gate opening at the Young home. He straightened up, cocking his head to listen as he used his toes to kick his shoes off; wait for it...
he thought hopefully, wait ... for ... it ...
A moment later, the sound of a clasp jingling, followed by the loud click of a padlock opening sounded. Tom hopped up quickly, taking his notebook with him, and rushed across the third floor. He did his best Tom Cruise "Risky Business" sock slide across the hard wood floor, stopping before the open door of the Exercise Room
, and hurried to the window.
Two houses away, past the flowering plum tree in his own back yard and the telephone poles that lined the alley cutting through the middle of the 1600 block of Maple Street, he could see the young woman opening the small tool shed in the back yard of the Young house.
It's her! Oh, please, baby, please ... do it again for me!
He hurried back to his bedroom, slipping about on the recently polished flooring, and retrieved his early birthday present, then rushed back to the Exercise Room
. He moved the telescope aside and began rapidly attaching the new digital camera to the tripod.
And the entire time, his eyes danced between his work with the gear before him and the young woman retrieving the vacuum cleaner and mop bucket out of the back yard shed.
When Peter finally had the camera properly mounted, he carefully aimed it toward the third floor bedroom window of the Young house, into which the cleaning lady was entering via the back door. Peter turned off the automatic focus and used the manual setting to zoom in on the bed ...
Then, trembling with excitement as his dick began to rapidly swell inside his boxers, he waited ... very impatiently.
Harriet never saw THIS!
he thought to himself, realizing his heart was pounding. Or if she did, Louise Fitzhugh didn't include it in the book.
As he watched, he couldn't help but think back to that 6th grade year that he'd had to repeat after the car crash that had left him laid up
for most of the school year. His parents had been neither the video game nor computer types; they had had neither in the home then and -- with the exception of the living room computer which was strictly for homework -- had nothing like them today. So, Tom had read ... incessantly!
One Thursday, Miss Jacobs -- the very cute, very young Teacher's Aide assigned to tutor him six hours a week -- showed up with "Harriet the Spy", telling him that it was a charming
book that had inspired her to begin writing as a teenager. "And writing drove me into teaching, and teaching is now my life, and I am a very happy person, Tommy."
Tom hadn't planned on reading it; it was a girl's book
about a little girl
doing little girl things!
"Read it all the way through," Miss Jacobs had bargained, "and present me with an oral report ... and I'll bring you a tub of any flavor ice cream you want. "And don't
rent the DVD, Tommy, because they changed the story, as they always do, and you don't want to get caught quoting something from the movie that wasn't in the book."
He took the deal; who wouldn't for Rocky Road ice cream, right? The following week was Spring Break for those in school, and Miss Jacobs wouldn't be visiting him, so he had a week and a half to wade through the nonsense.
Just for the hell of it, he opened the book even before the sound of his tutor's old Slug Bug had faded away down the block ... and he didn't set it down until he'd finished it!
He loved the book, so much so that the next day he read it through again, and that night he began his own "Spy Notebook" using a composition notebook his mother had gone out to buy for him.
By the time Miss Jacobs returned that next tutoring Tuesday, Tom had read through the book four times and was working on his third composition notebook.
"This is amazing!
" the young teacher had said, snatching up one of the journals and opening it.
" Tommy had said, waving frantically from his wheel chair. "That's spy stuff! You can't read it."
"Spy stuff...?" Miss Jacobs had laughed.
Tommy could still remember flushing red and laughing nervously. He'd been conflicted about whether he should have been embarrassed to admit that he'd been watching his neighbors from his windows; or proud that he'd taken the initiative and energy to get out of his wheel chair and, using his crutches when needed, make his way about the large third floor. He'd responded to the teacher's question with a simple statement and an anxious question: "It's private ... and did you bring ice cream?"
That was six years ago, and Tommy had to clandestinely observe
people, out about the city, in his school, at sporting events or club meetings ... where ever
he found interesting people to watch and contemplate.
But the best spy stuff
, as he'd described it those many years ago, came from right here on the 1600 block of Maple Street. The Peterson family home stood taller than all of its neighbors, and having the entire top floor to himself was heaven
. He'd learned during those days with a cast enclosing almost his entire right side that with just his naked eye, he could see down into the back yards of each of the six homes on the block, including his own; and with a pair of binoculars, he could even see into some of the windows and watch wives cooking, fathers screaming at the televisions, and kids doing their homework or playing at their computers or rough housing in bedrooms.
As puberty reared its ugly head, Tom considered putting his writing and spying
aside, calling it just a childish game. That was until he found Missy Templeton sunbathing topless in her back yard one beautiful April Saturday. She would repeat this display two, maybe three dozen times over the summer, never realizing that the horny neighbor boy was watching her through a pair of binoculars held in one hand as his dick was being held in the other.
Later that fall, using the telescope he'd gotten for his 16th birthday, Peter watched Mr. and Mrs. Cooper fucking through the opened drapes of their third floor window ... then spied on Rob Taylor -- the only divorced man on the block -- while he fucked one woman after another beginning over the Christmas break and continuing onward into Spring when he finally settled down with, ironically, the first woman Peter had seen him with.
But the Pièce de résistance
came just this past March. Peter hurried home, just as he had tonight, eager to set up the small collection of telescopes and hunting spotting scopes he'd been buying at second hand stores and pawn shops without his parents' knowledge. He'd gotten the Spy Prep's
down to a science, often having the elevation of the tripods and the focal distance on the optics preset so that all he had to do was sit down and fine tune the focus. And this beautiful, surprisingly warm March day turned out unbelievable.
Peter had found Mrs. Henry on her back porch with a man -- who wasn't her husband
. The shapely mother of two with a flare for tight fitting clothes -- often, Peter could see her hardened nipples through the thin cloth of her blouses -- was on her knees between the man's bare thighs, her head bobbing rapidly over his groin. Peter's mouth had simply fallen open. In six years of spying on his neighbors, of moving up to better and better telescopes to be able to get clear views through their windows and down through the lattice shielding their hot tubs and sunbathing spots, Peter had never seen a woman performing oral sex on a man.
He'd been absolutely enthralled, so much so that he'd been hesitant to divide his attention between watching the pair down below and jerking at his dick for his own satisfaction. Peter had turned his attention to the man's face; the stranger's head nodded back and forth, falling back as the obvious pleasure overwhelmed him and falling forward to watch Mrs. Henry do her work.
Peter cursed himself! He'd recently had an opportunity to buy a directional microphone from a class mate and passed; the piece of equipment, which would have been perfect here, had been stolen from the High School's Media Department, and Peter had been afraid of getting caught and, subsequently, possibly have his spying career
He'd watched the man's head fall back one last time and, even from two houses away, imagined he had heard the man's grunt of ecstasy. Peter quickly turned his attention back to Mrs. Henry; he knew from a nasty porn video he'd watched on his cousin's cell phone what the married woman was doing to the man -- milking
his dick for all of the cum in it ... then swallowing it!
Peter wasn't sure what he thought about some of the things people did to one another when naked in their beds ... or on their back porches ... or, like today, in their back yard sheds. He knew that all of these acts
got him hot, and he knew that he wanted to at least try them all out some day. He knew
he'd like to have some woman slipping her mouth up and down his
groin like Mrs. Henry had been to that stranger; but he wasn't sure whether he'd want to have his own
mouth on a woman's private parts, like he'd seen Rob Taylor doing once to a fiery redhead laid back on his kitchen table.
What he knew for certain
was that he would love to be inside Mrs. Young's place right now. Peter's beautiful lawyer neighbor had recently been promoted and was working long hours in The City, and her husband -- an Army officer -- was away someplace, Afghanistan or Iraq, Peter thought without certainty. Mrs. Young had hired a house keeper -- a beautiful woman who looked early 20-ish, Peter thought -- who came to the house every Tuesday and Friday to vacuum and sweep and fold laundry and clean...
... and other stuff.
Peter had only caught her at her other than domestic
task once before, and unfortunately -- while he'd been able to get the binoculars up quick enough to know what was going on -- he hadn't been able to get a clear enough, long enough viewing to really enjoy himself. For the past several weeks, he'd been watching the house, and watching the woman. And every day, he'd been disappointed by one thing or another; either she didn't partake
of her personal task, or Peter's parents called for his immediate attention on some issue; or the woman closed the bedroom drapes; or the time of day was sending a glare off the window that prevented Peter from seeing anything at all.
But he was confident that today was his day when -- in the little viewing window on the back of the zoomed-in camera -- he began to catch glimpses of the woman walking back and forth through the master bedroom. Peter only saw flashes, but it seemed that she was gathering laundry, hanging clothes, carrying cleaning supplies to the bathroom, then back again. He stared at the little screen for what seemed like an eternity; all the while, his hands were between his thighs, pressing hard against the blue jeans enclosing his rock semi-hardened dick.
Suddenly, the woman was in the window, her back it. The lights were off in the bedroom and -- with the clouds passing overhead changing the light conditions outside -- sometimes it was hard to tell what was going on. But she was definitely stripping back the bedding, laying it neatly on the floor at the bed's foot.
Yes ... that's the first step baby, keep going
, he thought, pressing harder against his hardening penis.
The woman disappeared from the image at the back of the camera ... and didn't return.
"No ... no ... No!
" Peter spoke aloud, the disappointment obvious in his voice. "Where'd ya go, baby...?"
He stood and began searching the rest of the home's windows with both his naked eyes and a pair of binoculars. Mrs. Young typically left all of the window shades and drapes pulled back, to spill the natural light into the home. Yet, Peter could find no sign of the woman anywhere.
He was about to shift to a different observation point
, hoping to get a better angle on the Young house from the windows in his bedroom at the far end of the hall, when suddenly there was movement in the camera's viewer.
Peter looked back, and his heart literally leaped with excitement as he watched the woman -- now fully naked
-- lay back onto the bed. Peter quickly zoomed the camera in closer, then cursed himself because as he adjusted the focus, he did so in the opposite direction and lost a long moment as he corrected his error.
When finally the image was as clear as it could possibly get, Peter's mouth dropped open at the sight of her
, thighs parted, knees high, eyes closed ... and fingers toying in and out of her pussy.
"Oh ... god ..." Peter muttered, quickly pressing the little red button on the back of the camera to begin the recording. "Un ... be ... liev ... able..."
He watched the screen intently as the woman's hand moved about her pussy. She was gentle with herself at first, simply touching her pussy with the pads of her finger tips, wetting them, then sliding them upwards to, virginal Peter presumed, manipulate her clit.
Peter gave her a thorough review
. She was a beautiful woman. He'd guessed 20-ish when she'd been fully dressed, and he stuck with his estimate now. She was petite, with small firm breasts, a flat belly, and long, lean legs; even from two houses away and through max zoom on a $400 camera, he could see the occasional sparkle of something at her belly button and knew that her smallish brown nipple were as hard as his dick.
He wondered how she could think that masturbating in her employer's bed was a good idea. Girl's leak ... don't they...?
Then he remembered that she had been stripping the bed just before this and realized that her next likely chore
was laundry, including the sheets upon the bed she was fingering herself upon.
There was a flash of light near her, a reflection; it repeated, again, then again, then again as her movements caused something on the bed beside her to move about. Peter wanted to zoom in further, but he was already at the end of the camera's range. Suddenly, he realized what it was. It was a picture frame, and while Peter couldn't see the image in it, it was definitely a photo of a person.
She's masturbating, thinking about someone particular ... who...?
Peter wondered. Mr. Young...? Master Sergeant Young, U.S. Army...?
Or ... maybe it was a picture of Mrs.
Young ... master lawyer,
Peter thought, smiling at just the thought of these two women in bed together, playing with one another's breasts, licking at one another's pussies.
Suddenly, for just for a moment, the sun's bright shine on the outside of the home caused the camera to automatically adjust and darken the image almost to a black. Peter almost screamed as he panicked, thinking, How do I fix it? How do I fix it?
But the picture returned, revealing the woman with both hands between her thighs; the long fingers of one hand were rapidly moving side to side over her clit while the fingers of the other hand altered between quickly turning small circles over her pussy and delving deep inside of it with two, three, sometimes four fingers.
Her hips began to rock rapidly and her back arched, then fell, then arched again. Peter lost track of times -- had a couple of minutes passed, several minutes...?
-- but he could see that the woman was getting close
. Quickly, he stood and unbuckled, unbuttoned, then unzipped his jeans and pushed them down to mid-thigh; his fully hardened penis popped out through the fly of his boxers, pointing toward the camera and the image of the woman it wanted to be inside.
He sat back down, scooting his ass forward in the chair, and returned his gaze to the camera. Peter grabbed his shaft, squeezing tightly; he wanted to come with
her. He may have still been a virgin, but he'd heard all about simultaneous orgasms
; and he wanted their orgasms to be as one. This was as close to having sex with a woman as he'd ever been, and he wanted it to be right.
Unfortunately, fantasy and reality are rarely one in the same. Two pumps into masturbating, his penis erupted, sending a volley
of cum out onto the leg of the tripod before him. Peter grunted with surprise ... and satisfaction, as his dick continued to leap in his hand, sending ejaculate out onto the floor, onto this jeans, and finally all over the fingers that were now rapidly jerking up and down his full length, trying to extend the euphoria as long as he could.
The feelings running rampant through him were unbelievable. He'd masturbated before -- actually, he did it a lot! -- but this climax ... later, he would realize that it had been like none he'd ever had before, going all the way back to his first time.
And he owed it to her
Once he was able to open his eyes and focus, he looked back to the camera again. She was done,
too. She was laying still on the bed, her head to one side, her legs stretched out; her chest was heaving under her labored breathing, but her hands -- still over her pussy -- were as still as Peter's own.
He first feeling was disappointment; he'd wanted them to cum together, and he'd missed her orgasm totally. But looking at the camera -- at the little red light telling him that her orgasm had been preserved for his future enjoyment -- Peter knew that they would
cum together in the future...