Nosy Neighbor...

Here is a story I wrote about a voyeur who maybe gets more than she bargained for...I definitely got hard writing it...It gets me hard reading it...I hope you can get into her mind and enjoy...

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------



 


Maybe he's putting on a show for my benefit; maybe he's just
stupid. I don't know. What I do know is that ever since he and
his wife moved in behind me, hardly a week goes by without him
beating her. I can hear her cries, and I can see the outlines
of their bodies cast in silhouette on the curtains as he follows
her from room to room. That seems to be part of the plan, if
there is a plan - they always seem to have every light in the
house on whenever they start one of their fights. I don't really
know what, if anything, to do about it. For now, I'm just going
to keep some notes and see if that helps me sort out my thoughts.

The first night I heard them, I spent quite a while trying to
sort out exactly what I was hearing before I looked across the
backyard and saw them outlined in the bedroom window. He had
taken off his belt and wrapped it around his fist and was slashing
at her, and she was breathing in great ragged gasps between the
cracks of leather across her body. I stared, fascinated, and held
my breath to listen. I'm not sure he said a single word during
the whole time I stood watching, and she just moaned and
whimpered. I watched his arm go up and down like clockwork, and
I heard the sharp snap of the belt, and I was rooted to the spot.
Finally, he stopped, and I heaved a huge breath and came out of
my daze. I poured myself a stiff drink and went to bed, hoping 
to forget the whole experience.

A couple of weeks later, I heard him yelling at her as I passed
through my kitchen on the way upstairs. Feeling a little guilty
for having done nothing the other time, I hurried past the patio
screen and up my stairs. From my bedroom window, I watched in
horrified fascination as he chased her around his kitchen, raining
open-handed slaps on her as she ducked and weaved to escape. At
one point, he caught her wrist and twisted her arm hard behind
her back, and then jerked her dress up and spanked her so hard
it hurt me just to listen. She escaped, finally, and he clattered
down the basement stairs after her. Whatever happened after that
was mercifully quiet, at least. I wondered at the time if he was
just drunk or actually some kind of psychotic madman. I decided
not to get involved; I had read another article in the paper
about abusive husbands and restraining orders and dead women, and
I did not want to be on this guy's bad side. Surely this woman
had some kind of support system, friends, a backbone, or
something, I figured.

Thursday night, and he's at it again. In the bedroom, with the
belt, or something like it. I can hear him talking or murmuring
as he's beating her, and she's sobbing desperately, but I can't
make out any words. He's really going at it with the belt,
though - I cringe every time I hear the sound. I'm surprised she's
not screaming her head off. I can't wait for wintertime and
closed windows.

A couple of weeks have passed, and I thought they might have settled
down. No such luck. Ten at night, and he's chasing her around the
house again. Whatever he's got in his hand makes a different sound;
it's not the flat snap of his belt. It's a higher-pitched, shorter
sound. He's calling her every name in the book, and every now and
then he really lays one on her and she gives a quick shriek before
darting away from him. This is insane.

Sunday afternoon, of all times. This is a really weird one. I hear
his voice raised for many seconds at a time, followed by one stroke
of the lash, then sobbing. Rinse, repeat, over and over and over.
It's as if he's lecturing her and punishing her, or maybe making her
do something over and over until she gets it right. I'm going to the
movies. I guess it's pretty much too late for me to try to send in
an anonymous tip; besides, it would be pretty obvious to him that
I had done it. I still haven't decided whether this guy is a
psychopath or just an *******, but I'm amazed she hasn't walked out
by now.

I'm still not sure if I saw what I think I saw. Got home late Friday
night, about half drunk from a painfully uncomfortable office party,
and somehow managed to screw up a T.V. dinner (did I mention I was
drunk?) Threw out the mess, poured some wine, and sat out on the
deck in the dark. Finally realized that he was at it again, only
this time they were in their garage. After some crashing around and
shouting, she flung the back garage door open and ran into her
backyard, apparently not knowing or caring that I had balcony seating
for the whole spectacle from my chair on the deck. I kept quiet and
watched, and he came boiling out of the garage after her. Round and
round the yard, and then he finally tackled her. In a flash, he had
her doubled up and pinned, and I could swear he had a whip in his
hand. Whatever it was, it was thin and flexible, and he jerked her
little sundress up around her waist and whipped her bare *** right
there in front of me. She squirmed and whimpered, but didn't cry out
the entire time. He must have slashed that thing across her *** twenty
times before he let her go, and then he let her stand up and then
drove her like an animal back into the garage, whipping her upper
arms. I finished my wine, passed out cold, woke up freezing at three
A.M., and crawled into bed. This is what I think I remember, but it
sounds more ridiculous now with each passing minute.

It's been a week and a half, unless I missed one of their episodes.
He's slapping her around in the kitchen again, and she's crying out
louder than I've ever heard before. I guess he figures that if none
of the neighbors have reported him by now, no one will. One of us
should do something. Here I sit, sipping tea and pecking at a laptop
while the poor woman is being beaten half to death. Truth is, I'm
scared of the guy - I live alone, and I hate to think what would
happen if that maniac got tired of beating his wife and decided to
beat some other woman for entertainment.

Oh, gross - here's a new wrinkle. Every light in the house is on, as
usual, patio curtains open, and he's got her naked on her knees in
front of him on the kitchen floor. He's got one hand wound in her
hair, the other hand swinging the belt, and she's sucking his ****.
Not that she has much choice about it; he's stuffing himself into her
mouth and whipping her. If I were him, I'd worry about getting my
**** bitten off, and if I were her, I'd have done that and worse a
long time ago. This is just sick. I'm going to go upstairs, turn
on the stereo, and try to scrub that image out of my brain.

Running laps around the backyard again, going at it with the belt.
At least they're both dressed. What the hell is going on here?!?

I've gotten into the habit of checking up on the happy couple pretty
much every night around ten; how's that for disgusting? This is
worse than reality T.V.

I was this close to calling the cops last night. Truly, I was. I
got home late and was rummaging in the kitchen when I looked across
and saw her on her kitchen floor, not moving. When I looked closely,
I realized two things - she was naked, and she was hog-tied. That's
it, I figured, the guy has finally flipped out and killed her, and
I'm probably next. My hand was reaching for the phone when he walked
into the kitchen and stood over her. He talked to her for a minute,
then leaned down and whipped her right between the legs until she
howled. I almost dropped my tea, horrified. He stormed out of the
room, she squirmed for a minute, and then I just shook my head and
made supper. He came back twice more, repeating his bizarre
punishment, and I retreated to the basement to watch a movie. I
don't even want to think about what she felt when he slashed that
belt up between her legs.

This is getting to be too much. Last night, I drank way too much
wine, and then I sat out on my deck for two hours in the dark,
hoping to see another performance. I need to get out more, get a
life, or something.

Nine days later - they're at it in their bedroom. At least the
curtains are closed this time.

They scared the crap out of me last night - she got loose into her
backyard, then stumbled along until she found the gate that connects
my backyard with theirs. I had forgotten all about the gate years
ago, but there she was, fumbling with it. As I stood in my darkened
bedroom and looked down, she ran right into my yard and hid in the
bushes. He followed, found her, wound his fist in her hair, and
literally dragged her back into his yard before throwing her to the
ground and then driving her back inside with the belt. First thing
this morning, I went and got a sturdy lock for the gate. Who
knows - the next sight I might see otherwise is him raping her on
my back steps!

Ick! Mixed emotions for me this time - it's good that they have a sex
life of some kind that doesn't involve brutality, but I still didn't
need to see it. Upstairs in the bedroom, he had her on all fours on
the bed and was standing behind her, pounding away. Have these people
never heard of curtains? The sad thing is, I stood there and watched
the whole thing. She gets more sex than I do, but at what cost? Still,
I watched. She actually seemed to enjoy it when he came inside her,
and I was jealous.

Yesterday was a horrible, ****** day all around. I finally got home
from a late day at work, flung off my clothes, put on a T-shirt and
shorts, and took a bottle of vodka out on the deck. Next thing I knew,
I had my hand down my shorts, waiting for the show. I really do think
I'm losing my mind. I started this journal to try and decide what do
do about the neighbors, but now it's just True Confessions, and all
I do is watch them anyway. Maybe this will turn out to be therapeutic
for me somehow. They kept to themselves last night, oddly enough, but
that didn't stop me from sitting there drunk and angry, ************
in the dark. So I'm a terrible person - so what.

All right, I'm more or less convinced now that he's playing to an
audience. Whether or not he really knows when I'm watching, it seems
to be part of his game. He brought her out on his patio last night,
naked, and tied her to a lawn chair. He took his time, and he used a
lot of rope - by the time he finished, she was spread open for
display, knees up and ***** spread, aimed right at my back door. She
couldn't move a muscle, and he gagged her with something that looked
like a sock. He left her there for an hour, struggling against the
ropes - I'll bet the mosquitoes ate her alive. I've given up any
pretense of worrying about her - I just stood there in the dark
bedroom window and watched, touching myself. Finally, I couldn't
stand it anymore and I fled to a hot shower and bed.

Not much going on...

Whoa! Two whole weeks! This is some kind of record, I think. But,
then, he did do something I've never seen before last night. He
dragged her out on the patio, naked, with a gag in her mouth and
her wrists tied behind her back. Then, he slipped a noose around her
neck, ran the rope through a hook screwed into the patio cover, and
hauled her up on her toes before tying off the rope. As she balanced
on her toes, he worked her over with his little whip, leaving welts
I could see from my deck. I sat there with my T-shirt on and my shorts
around my ankles, sipping wine and playing with my ***** as I watched.
For his finale, he gave the rope another jerk and hauled her clear
off her feet, and I came hard as she swung by the neck, kicking and
*******. When she passed out, he untied the rope and let her fall in
a heap, then threw her over his shoulder and went inside.

 

 Who is sicker - him or me? Don't answer that.

 


Back to the ****-sucking, looks like. Same as before, but out on the
patio this time. I may as well admit it - I had two fingers buried in
my *****, knees wide open in the dark on my deck, and I couldn't take
my eyes off them. Looks like he's pretty well-hung; I wonder what it
feels like to take that **** deep and suck on it. He didn't beat her
nearly so much tonight, I don't think - he just hauled her out in the
open and showed her off as she sucked him and sucked him until he
gushed down her throat.

Whoa - last night was amazing! It's been a few days since I saw
them, but then all of a sudden he had her out in the middle of the
backyard on her hands and knees. Naked, of course, with his belt
looped around her neck. She hunkered down and spread her *** wide,
and he entered her. He had the end of the belt in one hand and his
whip in the other, and he started working her over as he ****** her.
As he got more excited, he whipped harder and pulled tighter on the
belt; soon, she was impaled on his **** and hanging by her neck. Her
hands went up to the tightening belt noose around her neck, but he
beat her until she willingly crossed her wrists behind her back. She
hung there, out in space, **** swinging as he ****** her and beat her.
I could hear her choking and see her writhing, and I came over and
over as he slammed into her. When he came in her, he hauled back on
the belt and bowed her back nearly double, cutting off her air
completely as he finished. Her hands dropped and twitched frantically,
but he didn't let go of the belt until he had pumped out every drop
into her. When he was done, he let go, and she collapsed in a heap
on the grass. I clamped my knees together and clenched my dripping
hand as hard as I could, almost fainting at the strength of the
******* that rolled over me one after another. I don't remember
seeing him pick her up and take her inside - I don't even remember
picking myself up and going to bed.

This really is affecting my life way too much. I've been seeing them
in my dreams lately; watching her take his abuse and then drawing
closer and closer, horrified and fascinated. The closer I get, the
more terrified I become - and when I'm almost on the verge of taking
her place, I wake up yelling and thrashing. It's awful - it's like a
train wreck, but I can't resist watching it.

He hogtied her out in the yard on Tuesday night - I missed most of
it, I'm afraid, because I got a phone call in the middle of it and
had to turn away in order to concentrate on the conversation. I should
come up with some way to film this stuff and put it on the
Internet - I bet I'd make a fortune. I was bitterly disappointed to
miss the show that night.

You know what? I think she likes it. I don't know how, exactly, but
I'm beginning to think that she's as turned on by all this as I am.
Or maybe, I'm getting as turned on as she is. Whoa - this is getting
weirder by the day. There's really no way she could enjoy all that,
is there?

I'm almost certain now that they know I'm watching, and that they've
got some specific goal in mind. They're getting more and more
extravagant, and they're risking more and more when it comes to their
other neighbors. He tied her up right in the middle of his yard and
then raped her horribly not ten minutes after I got home from work.
I could see it all, and I knew it was staged for my benefit. He
****** her savagely, then made her suck him, then came back around
and ****** her right up the ***, and then looked right at me in my
bedroom window. I don't know what to think - is he going to eventually
kill her while I watch? Does she care? Do I? I'm not sure what I'm
going to do if he actually kills her. If this is some kind of mind
game they're playing with me, I don't know how to stop it, slow it
down, or what they want from me.

I took a week off and traveled out of state, trying to clear my head
without the distraction of the circus next door. It was a nice trip,
and I must have caught them by surprise when I returned late. The
next night, though, they were at it again. He tied her to the chair
on the patio like before, then gagged her and whipped her while I
watched from the darkened deck. What the hell - I drank some wine,
played with myself, and watched the show.

He was teasing her last night - he had her strung up by the neck
again with her hands tied behind her back, naked, and he was slowly
******* her. I watched his strokes, slow and long - he must be hung
like a horse. He'd pull almost all the way out, playing with her,
and she'd arch toward him, trying to get him deeper inside her. He
would tease and tease, then bury himself deep inside her - I could
see her whole body shudder and twist when he slammed against her.
Then, he'd pull back, and I could see her straining toward him. As
he drew her along, the rope around her neck pulled tighter, and I
could see her twisting her neck and chafing her wrists against the
ropes. I clamped my hand over my mouth to keep from crying out and
squeezed my ***** while I watched - I don't know about her, but I
was dripping down my thighs at the mere sight of their sex. She
inched forward little by little, and finally she was on tiptoe, legs
shaking, body bowed out toward him. He kept his hands on his hips,
refusing to touch her with anything but his ****, and I could see
her panting as she tried to **** him and keep breathing at the same
time. She was twisting at the end of the rope, and I had to sit down
because my own knees turned to jelly. He finally grabbed her hips
with his hands, and she flung her legs up convulsively to lock her
ankles across the small of his back. He wasn't holding any of her
weight in his hands, just kneading her hips - her neck bent at an
angle, and her mouth opened wide as the noose took her entire weight
tight around her throat. He slammed in and out of her, and even I
could see her face darken - then, he squeezed deep and tight to
finish inside her as she passed out and her legs flopped down and
out to the sides. When he let go, she slipped off his **** and swung
like a pendulum for a couple of seconds, totally limp. He lifted her
by the waist and untied the rope around her neck, carrying her inside
with her hands still bound. I hope she's still alive. I'm going to
bed now.

What would it feel like to hang like that, fighting for air and having
******* one after another at the same time? Last night's episode was
different - he wasn't making her choke herself to unconsciousness,
not really. Or, maybe he was - maybe the lure of his sex inside her
was so powerful that she was helpless to resist, compelled so strongly
that she hung herself rather than give up the feeling of that ****
inside her. Did she feel turned on, or did she feel a sick fear as
her body betrayed her and kept straining toward him even though she
felt life slipping away? What was that final lunge like, when she
flipped her legs up and felt her weight jerk against the noose,
cutting blood and air off completely? Did she know he'd let her dangle
there naked for me to see, that she'd **** herself and twist like a
side of meat until he decided to take her down? I found the whole
experience shattering, and all I did was watch. Time to go to
work - as if I will be able to concentrate after that experience
last night.

Sat up for three hours tonight, waiting - for nothing. I feel
ashamed, but not ashamed enough to swear off sitting in the dark and
watching.

Two more nights - nothing, zip, nada. Maybe he did actually kill
her, after all.

Well, it's official. I am totally addicted to the spectacle next
door. Tonight, I left the patio curtains open and the light on as
I ate supper, just to make sure they knew I was home. Late in the
evening, just as I had nearly given up for the night, I saw him bend
her over his kitchen table and **** her. He caught her wrists together
behind her back, flipped her skirt up, and slid in and out of her
slowly, grinding his hips against her *** at the end of each stroke.
She ate it up, writhing and pressing back against him, and I soaked
clear through my panties before stripping them off and stroking
myself. I realized too late that I was standing in the patio door,
backlit by the dining room lights - while he ****** her, he could
see me clearly, and it probably didn't take too much imagination on
his part to figure out what my right hand was doing. Woops!

All right, now it's obvious. She does in fact like to be beaten. He
had her out in his yard on all fours and was ******* her doggy-style,
and he was whipping her *** and her back the whole time. Watching
closely, I could see her wiggle and press her *** back against his
hips every time he cracked the little whip across her *** cheek.
She even bowed her back and angled her arms away so that he could
curl the whip around and lash her bare ****, shaking her head as
that big **** pumped in and out of her. I sat on the deck and watched
them, hungrily listening for the sound of her moans and the leather
thongs scoring welts across her sweaty skin. I dropped my wine glass
at one point, and he hesitated for just a second between
thrusts - I'm sure he heard me, sure he knew I was up there looking
down across the fence as he ****** her silly.

Nothing for three days, again. I thought he was escalating, getting
wilder and wilder, but now he's having these odd dry spells. Wonder
what's going on?

I was able to lure them out again by leaving the patio door and
curtains open and the light on as I ate; same kind of show in their
kitchen. It's weird - just as it seems I've learned to exert some
influence over their behavior, I've gotten so hooked on the
experience that I find myself inciting them instead of being glad
that I can get some peace and quiet when I want it.

I was bad, so bad, last night. I lit a small, dim candle on the
deck, and then I watched and waited. I wanted them to know I was
there. Sure enough, he brought her out into the yard - apparently,
we've got some kind of quid pro quo going now. If I'm in the kitchen,
they're in the kitchen, and if I'm outside, they're outside. He
tied her wrists and ankles, then flipped her on her side and ******
her for me. I realized after several gulps of vodka that I had
forgotten supper, but I could hardly get up in the middle of the
show and start rattling dishes, could I? As she writhed in the grass,
I quietly peeled off my clothes, dropping them to the deck. When she
started panting and shaking in ******, I did the same, pressing my
thighs together against the hand between my legs and stroking my
nipples. Right as she cried out softly, I thundered into my ******,
shaking like a leaf - the candle flared up, and I wonder whether he
could see anything up on my deck. I just lay there panting afterward,
legs splayed open, flexing my sore fingers while he moved around to
let her suck his **** clean. I debated blowing out the candle, but
then decided I didn't much care if he saw me naked and sweating.

I wonder who's playing whom, here - am I egging them on, or is it
the other way around? Does it matter?

 


I showed myself eating supper again, and they replied in kind - he
had her naked and kneeling and sucking his **** before I even finished
my sub sandwich. When I finished, I walked to the door again, fully
aware that I was backlit. After a few minutes of watching his ****
slip in and out of her throat, I slowly, deliberately unbuttoned my
dress and drew it up over my head, then held it away from me for a
moment before dropping it to the floor. They continued what they
were doing for a moment, and then he led her out onto the patio. She
dropped to her knees and started sucking him again, and I took off
my panties, slowly. Our yards both slope downward to the fence; he
could see me from about the knees up, I figured, over the top of the
fence. I dropped my hands to my crotch, keeping my elbows out to the
side so that some light would show past, and opened my *****. He
redoubled his strokes, slipping deeper into her throat. There was no
more pretense, now - we were both openly playing to each other. I
swayed from side to side, really getting into it and breathing
faster, and he suddenly jerked back and sprayed his whole load all
over her face. I almost fainted and fell through the screen door.
There we were, ************ together - me with my hand, him with
his wife's warm, wet lips and tongue.

I took the lock off the gate, but I left it closed. I'm afraid to
think what that means - what I really want. I spent the night in the
basement afterwards, alternating between pure fear of the unlocked
gate and powerful urges to go upstairs and play the game again.

I opened the gate and left it ajar, just a few inches. When we played
the game tonight, she wasn't tied at all - just standing in the
kitchen, naked in his arms, ******* him vigorously. As she came, she
hiked up one leg to rub her foot along the back of his thigh as she
ground her sex against his. This time, I didn't turn out the light
and go upstairs - I opened the patio screen and slowly walked down
the steps into the yard. I wondered if he had noticed the gate
standing slightly open. When I got to it and peeked around, I saw
that he had led her out into the yard. Neither of them looked over
at the gate, but they walked silently out into the open, stopping
about twenty feet away from me. They went back to slow, sensual
******* standing up for a while, and then he lay on his back in the
grass, opening his legs to show me his wet **** and balls. She
mounted him, facing away from me, and slipped him inside her. She
rode him slowly, grinding back to drive him completely inside her and
then rising until I could just see his tip held between her lips. I
held the gate with one hand to steady myself as I kneaded my own
***** lips and tried to keep quiet, out there naked from the waist
down in the dark. I could tell when he came by the way his balls
jerked upward, and she ground down hard as he emptied himself.
Afterwards, she pulled free and crawled up him, and I watched him
drink his own fluid from her *****. I staggered back across the
yard, knees wobbling, and crawled into the house.

I hid for a few days after that one - what an experience!

Back on the deck last night, I honestly was not thinking about our
little neighbor games for once. I was surprised to see her open the
patio door and come outside all by herself, and without him there to
begin with I didn't realize she was starting the game. I got my
first clue when she whipped off her dress and was naked underneath,
however. She had a long, thin scarf with her, and as I watched, she
sat down and tied one end tightly around her crossed ankles. After
making a slipknot with the other end, she lay on her belly, crossed
her wrists through the loop, and snapped her knees straight to jerk
the knot tight around her wrists. In less than a minute, she had
******** and hogtied herself, displaying her naked body for me. A
few minutes later, he came out. He squatted on the grass before her
face, worked his **** out of his shorts, and slipped it into her
mouth as he levered her head back by the hair. My fingers slipped
up my thigh and under my shorts, and in moments we were all back
in the game. I could hear her gulping for air and sucking him, and
we all came within the same minute. He untied her wrists and ankles,
and we all went back to our respective houses. I can't believe she
came out on her own and exposed herself to me - opened her nude
body wide and then rendered herself helpless.

He tied her to the clothesline pole as I watched from my deck,
standing behind her and teasing her with his fingertips until she
moaned and came again and again. He had her spread open and tied
fast, and he spread her ***** lips for me, showing me all her
secrets - he may have also had his **** up her ***, but I couldn't
tell from where I sat. He wrung her like a dishrag, kneading her
***** and breasts while she thrashed and panted in his arms, and I
soaked my seat cushion as it went on and on. We were all
frantic - all naked and sweaty and panting - and before I knew what
I was doing, I was down the deck steps and across the yard. I opened
the gate wide and stepped into the gap, looking both of them right in
the face and rubbing my hand between my legs while I squeezed a
breast. None of us said a word, which was good - it would have broken
the spell. I saw now that he was definitely ******* her up the ***,
stretching her around his thickness as he showed her off to me like a
prize fucktoy. He came with a grunt and a twist, she dissolved into a
puddle of shivers with a long, wavering moan, and I fell down right
there on the grass, grunting and shuddering like an animal. When my
head cleared a little, I felt burning shame wash over me in a huge
blush, but at least I wasn't the one getting humiliated and ****** in
the ***, was I? I literally crawled back across my yard and up the
deck steps - but I left the gate open.

Three days spent cowering in fear. This is ridiculous.

All right, this is it. I've showered and shaved, and had a nice big
wallop of vodka. I'm wearing a dark blue sun dress, and nothing
else. I've got a scarf with me. I've added this last note and printed
it out to leave on my dresser upstairs, so that you'll know what
happened if I don't come back.

In just a few minutes, I'm going to turn on the dining room lights,
open the curtains, and have dinner. When they start the game, I'm
going to play, and then I'm going to open the patio door and walk
across the yard to the gate. I'm going to go through it into their
yard, walk to the very middle of the yard, take off my dress, and
fling it away. I've already made the slipknot loop for my wrists,
and I'm going to sit down and tie my ankles. I'm going to face away
from the house, lie down on my belly, open my thighs, and cross my
wrists behind my back. I'm going to slip into the loop and jerk it
tight, too tight for me to loosen.

I'm going to lie there, totally helpless and completely exposed,
waiting for them. Scared as I might be, I simply must experience
this - whether it be sex, humiliation, pain, or all three at once.
I want it - I want it all. My hands are shaking so badly I can barely
type, but still I am thrilling to the idea of feeling hands on me,
fingers in me - I wonder whether I'll wind up sucking him, what
it will feel like to have him slip into my ***** or split my ***
with his ****. I wonder what she'll do, if anything. I have to have
this. I imagine he'll beat me - I wonder what it be like to lie
trussed before him, feeling his belt across my *** or his whip
between my legs. Will he hang me? Will I beg him to, after an hour
or two of the game? Every muscle in my body is straining toward the
pair next door; I have to go.

 

If I return, I'll describe the experience in this journal.

If this is the last entry, you'll know what happened.

 





outwest39 outwest39
41-45, M
Jan 8, 2013