Chapter 9

My car became my iron womb; my mobile cave. I felt safe in the compact space and gloried in the freedom of flight I enjoyed as I drove through the empty deserts of the southwest. I even cooked meals outdoors and slept in the car I called home. What need had I of people? All I needed was to make some money now and then to buy gas and oil for the car and food for myself.

I stopped at one small town to work as a waitress in a diner. The manager of the place was a lecherous hick who kept pawing me every chance he got. I hung on just to get enough money to travel again. I wound up in a mountain resort where I got a seasonal job as a chambermaid. The food and lodging were free and I made out well in tips. At the resort my compulsion for voyeurism rose up in me strongly because I had so many opportunities to see others in sexual action. People tended to be a lot more casual about themselves during vacations and I often passed open doors and windows in my job as chambermaid to see couples, many time of the same sex, making love. When I opened doors to change beds I felt a thrill when I caught a man in the nude. I could have avoided surprising the men but I, alone of all the chambermaids at the resort, took pains to see naked males.

Once the season was over I traveled again. With my tips, salary, and what I had saved by eating and sleeping free at the resort filled my money supply to the brim so that I didn't have to look for work for three months.

I went all the way to the east coast where I got a job in a Miami Beach hotel as a messenger. My duties were light and, although the pay was small, men tipped me generously. Behind their generosity was the hopes that I would accept their offers for dates. I smiled and led them on. By the time the season was over I had made enough money to take a vacation myself. I went all the way down across the long overseas bridge to Key West and enjoyed off-season rates and the sun.

My window overlooked a beachfront where young boys between the ages of ten to fourteen swam in the raw. They were the children of the area's residents and they knew all the secret spot for "skinny dipping."

I drove north, up along the coast just to see if I could find any more of those beaches where boys swam in the raw. Once, in Virginia, I came upon a group of campers, those trucks that were made up into living quarters. They were parked near a beach and, to my delight, I discovered that some men and women were swimming in the raw. I focused my binoculars on them and watched a couple make love on the sand. When it grew darker I moved on and spent a night at a motel.

Jobs came and went. The miles came and went. The years came and went. The car I had bought in Arizona gave up the ghost in Maine. I then started traveling by bus and rail. I was in the midst of a long escape from myself. I was afraid to settle down in any one area and get involved. Now and then I did become involved out of sheer loneliness, I suppose, but the affair always ended badly. In Chicago, Illinois I met a cute fellow who invited me to share his apartment. He found me a job in a department store and, once I started bringing in money, he quit his own job and allowed me to support him. Once again a man used me. I packed my one suitcase and took the next train out of Chicago.

The pattern was always the same; after a bad experience with a man I would return to the safety of voyeurism. Then, after I became so aroused by what I saw, I reached out for love again. The pattern repeated. The man turned out to be a bastard and I ran and ran.

When I was working in a club in Las Vegas some creep developed a crush on me. He followed me home and took to peering in my window. This, I felt, was really ironic! I would've laughed it off but I couldn't have some guy stare at me all night so I was forced to call the cops. They told me that all Peeping Toms were harmless. When I went to court to swear out a complaint against the guy he couldn't even look at me. He was a little, scared rabbit of a guy who didn't have the nerve to do anything but look. He was sent away to the county jail for five days. I thought this was senseless since it was so obvious the man was off his rocker.

I left the topless club and became one of those girls who bring free drinks to gamblers. It was my duty to get people so drunk that they would make foolish moves and overspend. In the long run those "free" drinks were very expensive.

Las Vegas was good to me and I brought my first new car. I drove back to California and even dared enter that city that had given me my worst

memories. . .Los Angeles. I suppose I wanted to see if I could end the memories by facing the city again.

I went back to the restaurant where I had worked so hard as a girl but all the help had been changed so no one recognized me. I saw a teenaged girl working at the counter as I had done. She was pretty but her face was sad. What was her problem? What was she running from and where was she running to? Southern California seemed to be the gathering place for runaway and drop-outs of all ages and colors. One writer once said that the United States was built on a tilt so that everything that was loose in it naturally gravitated to Southern California. Well, maybe he was right. This was my second visit to the Land of Fruits and Nuts.

I didn't stay in Los Angeles for more than a day and went south. I drove across the Mexican border and became an international voyeur. When I was staying at a hotel in a fairly large Mexican city I trained my binoculars on a house where two couples seemed to be having a wife-swapping party. One couple was obviously Mexican and the other was clearly American with their light hair, pale skin and blue eyes. I watched the dark Mexican male mount a rather plain woman and ram his prick into her cunt. My line of vision was perfect since I could actually see the spot where the genitals met. The man's balls bounced as he screwed and he seemed to be exceptionally virile because he kept pumping for a very long time. When he shot his load the Mexican girl spread herself out on the bed with her legs apart. She had a hairy snatch and her breasts were round and soft. The American male covered her with his body and I watched his ass rise and fall slowly. I breathed heavily as if he were getting into me instead of her. Once more I was at the stage where I was ready to risk my heart and emotions again via an involvement with a man of my own. I fought back this urge hoping that it would go away because all it ever gave me was trouble and more trouble.

The American girl and the Mexican man then Frenched one another. I trained my binoculars on the man's mouthing's and then the girl's. She raised her head slightly to take his testicles orally. As she did her eyes met mine. She shouted something and I stepped away from the window. The shades were drawn in the house below and I suffered the humiliation of being caught again.

But I wasn't really caught since all the girl saw was the glint of my binoculars. I heard her talking about it with her male traveling companion from the United States. They were in the hotel bar and I was eating at a table only ten feet away. "Damn Peeping Tom," she was saying in a drunken voice. "Probably some perverted son-of-a-bitch who gets his kicks by going to stag movies."

The man kept shushing her but she kept insisting that they find out, through the desk clerk, who rented the room. I knew that all it would take to get my name was a couple of bucks to grease a palm with. But, thankfully, they drove away a few minutes later with their Mexican friends. I checked out of the joint a returned to America.

Sometimes the desire to peep overcame me at odd moments. When walking along a street in Dallas, Texas one night I chanced to look in a basement apartment and caught a flash of nudity. I went over to the window and looked down at a middle-aged doing push-ups on the floor. He was far from being good looking but I found that I couldn't take my eyes off him as he went close to the floor and up again. He had a hairy ass and his prick hung down like a dead flower.

My car was a valuable asset in both my desire to continue my long escape and my compulsion towards voyeurism. By peeping through a car window I could always take off quickly once someone caught me at it. A car also got me around to many hundreds of houses I would never have checked out if I were on foot. Apartment houses and hotels remained my favorite peeping grounds since they offered so many windows. My mode of operation was to go behind these buildings at night and glance at the windows as I drove slowly past them. When something caught my now most experienced eye I would stop. If I could get close to the building to find a safer spot I would do it.

In Boston, one warm evening, I saw a black man with a white woman making love. They were in a second-floor apartment and at the rear of a building that overlooked a parking lot. I was parked in a direct line of vision with the inter-racial pair. I slumped down in the front seat and trained my binoculars on them.

The black man had the white girl up against a wall and I got a side view of their connecting bodies. There was no light on in the room but I could see them in the blue-yellow moonglow which flooded the love-nest. Their bodies were so perfectly lit by the full moon that my binoculars were effective and I could see the man's long, dark cock sink into her slowly. He was taking his time and she seemed to be in no hurry, either. The black man pulled back showing me his meaty tube that was now shiny with moisture from the girl's pussy. He pushed in again and out again. The man never hurried and he kept screwing the white woman for what seemed to be fifteen minutes before he came. The couple left that spot in the wall near the window and I waited for them to return. As I did I gazed up at the other windows.

On the fourth floor a boy of about eight or nine opened the window and exposed his pecker. At first I thought he realized who I was and what I wanted but he started to urinate. A long line piss fell against the ground with a splash.

A light went on in the inter-racial couple's window. I saw the black man with his back turned fingering the lamp. The white girl wasn't there. He turned and exposed his dark spear of a prick and a beautiful ebony body. The white girl entered the room and gave him a pack of cigarettes. I had the idea that that was what the man was looking for. The girl had small breasts and wide hips. Her hair hung all the down to her waist. I could see now that she wasn't more than eighteen while her black lover was at least thirty. Just as he lit a cigarette he saw me staring at him. He rushed to the window. "Fuck off!" he screamed at me.

I started the car and sped out of the parking lot. As usual this near-miss with capture excited me. I drove to the hotel I was staying at and went into the bar. I wasn't strong on drinking but I liked a nip now and then. A tall, young black man was leaning against the bar and he eyed me up and down. He waited until he was sure that I was alone and then he moved over to me. "Buy you a drink?" he offered.

My instincts told me that the man, like so many others had been, was trouble. Yet I was turned on to Negro meat at the moment and allowed him to buy me a drink. After two more he invited me to his room. His name was Jimmy and he told me that he was a jazz pianist. I had worked around bars too long to trust what anyone said to me in them but I wasn't at all interested in how he made a living. I was just interested in how he made a loving.

As soon as we got to his room he kissed me and pawed my body. He had me up against the wall as that other black man had that white girl. I zipped his pants open and took out his prick.

"I hope you don't expect me to pay you," he said softly.

"I'm no hooker," I assured him.

"Just a girl out for dark meat, huh?" he said with a hint of meanness in his voice.

I tightened up. I could sense that trouble coming faster now and let go of his cock. He grabbed me violently and threw me against the bed. "You may not expect money but I do. How much you got on you, baby?" he demanded.

"Let's just forget it," I told him with perfect control. By now I was used to dealing with bastards. "I'm out of the mood."

"I don't care what kind a mood you are in or out of I want your money," he said a little put off by my calmness.

Jimmy, or whatever his name was, operated a sweet racket. First he got a white girl into his room and then he demanded money. The girl couldn't complain to the police because then she would have to reveal the fact she had gone along with him willingly. So many people had so many hang-ups about inter-racial sex that it was an easy thing to exploit. I, however, had no compunctions about going to the police and told the black con artist so in very clear terms. It was obvious that he wasn't used to this response and staggered backwards a little. "If you want my money you'll have to take it," I said seeing that I had him on the run. "And, if you take it, baby, I'll scream."

The handsome black stud lost all the wind out of his sail. He didn't try to stop me or make a grab for my bag as I walked out of the room. I sighed heavily in disgust. The fucking pattern of voyeurism, reaching out for love, and disappointment had repeated itself again. And this time I didn't even get laid.