Chapter 11

My life changed to the extent that I went to live in New York City for the first time. I had been to a lot of cities in my travels but I had always missed the biggest one in the country for some reason.

Richard lived in a modern, co-op apartment in a building that overlooked the East River. Again habit made me search for other windows I could peep into. I was glad to find that the apartment was so high above ground that it made voyeurism very difficult if not impossible. I would've hated to have moved in next to a sexy hotel where orgies went on every night.

My husband made fifteen thousand a year which meant that I had leapt from poverty into the middle class in one day.

We went back to Sunny Gardens the next weekend and were greeted warmly by our naked friends.

I kept telling myself that the marriage had killed my desire to peep at others. Now and then I caught myself glancing at naked men but I figured that this was only natural in a nudist camp. Then, while passing the area where all the mobile homes, campers and trailers were one evening I chanced to look in at an open window. I saw a well-built man, completely naked, washing his face over a basin. His face was full of soap suds and his eyes were closed so I couldn't really see who he was and he, because of the soap in his eyes, couldn't see me looking at him. I moved in closer. There was something familiar about him but I just couldn't place the body. He had a nice cock and a shapely rump. When he washed the soap off his face I could see who the object of my attentions was...Richard.

I was actually peeping at my own husband and in a nudist camp of all places!

When Richard saw., me he jumped. "Lorna! You scared me," he smiled.

"I'm a Peeping Tom," I informed him flatly.

He laughed. It was a good joke. Who ever heard of a female voyeur?

I went back to New York with my husband feeling very depressed. That crazy, mad, insane desire to watch others on the sly was still with me even after a good marriage. It was just the force of habit, I told myself. It will go away in time.

But it didn't go away. When the cold weather arrived and we stopped going to the nudist camp I found myself hungering for the sight of other naked bodies. Every night I slept nude with a handsome man but I still had that damned compulsion!

One of the best hunting grounds turned out to be a row of apartment houses in Queens. By parking in a lot nearby I could train my binoculars on literally hundreds of windows in complete safety. I saw naked men, women and children and every kind of sex act possible. Once I even saw a woman pour milk over her breasts so her cat would lick them. In ..another window I saw a group of teenagers having a sex orgy. When I became aroused I forced myself not to masturbate. I had a stud at home, after all, who was able to take care of all my erotic demands. This was the only real change in my mode of operation.

We went back to Sunny Gardens that following summer and this provided some outlet for my voyeuristic passions. Yet, oddly enough, I found myself somewhat bored with so much skin on display all the time. According to nudists this was only normal and it was all for the best. Once people took nudity for granted that would be the end to sexual hand-ups...or so they believed. It wasn't so in my case.

I used to think that I became a Peeping Tom out of sex starvation but this wasn't so. Richard was very sexy and, in the nudist camp I had all kinds of bodies to look at. Yet, with an utter lack of logic, I was still a voyeur.

In my travels around the city I found what I had always been looking for...a perfect spot for a Peeping Tom. It was repeat of that spot in Phoenix. An empty building faced an apartment house which meant that I could get some good, close up views with my binoculars. To make matters better Richard had to go out of town a couple of nights every week so I had plenty of time to indulge my eyes to the full.

I fixed a thermo of coffee and dressed in black slacks and a dark jacket. I parked near the building so that I could use the car if I needed a quick escape. When I climbed up the creaking stairs excitement warmed my blood. Nothing had changed. I was still a dirty young woman.

On the third floor I found an interesting sight. In the apartment directly opposite the old building a girl was living with two men. She was shapely and pretty in a hard-faced way. The men were about her age and very virile which made me wonder why they didn't get a girl each. At night all three went into the same large bed where they got into all sorts of positions. Once I saw all of them lay on their sides naked. While the girl was blowing one man the other was screwing her in the ass. Although the men seemed to enjoy the sexual acts her hard face never revealed any kind of emotion. I figured her for a prostitute who looked upon sex as a business and not a pleasure. Maybe the men shared her for the same reason they shared the apartment...to save money. New York City was an expensive town.

One night I had a Peeping Tom's dream of a sighting. Four apartments had something going on at the same time. The shapely girl was taking on the two men as usual. She was stretched out across the big bed while both of them licked her from head to tee in a mutual around-the-world job. As always she wore a blank expression.

In another apartment a husky man in his thirties was making love to a girl who couldn't be more than eighteen. She seemed scared and I soon found out why....she was a virgin. I had a good view of the place where their sexual parts met. When his long pecker sank into her pussy blood began to form as her virginal veil was torn apart. In all my prowling I had never seen a girl get her cherry broken. Once the girl got into the swing of things she started to push her body up against the man in passion.

A third apartment revealed nothing more than a man sleeping nude on a bed. He was pushing fifty but he had a young body. His limp penis lay long against his pale skin and, in his sleep, he scratched it now and then.

I was having a grand time switching my binoculars from window to window until I heard a noise behind me. When I turned I saw the shadow of a man. "Don't be scared, mister," a voice said. "I like to look, too. That's why I'm here. Can I use your binoculars?"

Another Peeping Tom! My male counterpart. He came closer and we could see each other better in the gloom of the old building. He was in his twenties and attractive in a bland sort of way. When he discovered that I was not a man he drew in his breath. "A girl?" he gasped. "I never knew girls liked to look, too."

I smiled weakly. 'That's what everyone thinks," I told him.

He knelt next to the window I was staring out of with my binoculars. Although he was as stunned by this meeting as I was he couldn't take his eyes away from the displays of sex and nudity across the street. I gave him the binoculars in hopes that he would become more interested in those other people than in me. I had always heard that Peeping Toms were "harmless" and now I was going to see if this were true or not.

The man seemed to be too engrossed in what he saw to annoy me. "Look at that girl with the two guys!" he exclaimed. "I bet she's a hooker."

His observation proved to me that he was not new at that game of voyeurism. He also immediately detected the fact that the girl with the older man had just lost her virginity. He recognized the vibrator the woman was using on herself and commented that the man who was sleeping alone probably wanted to be looked at. "For every Peeping Tom there are hundred people who want to be looked at," he informed me.

When I thought of how careless so many people were about showing themselves in their apartments his comments didn't seem entirely without value. I thought of all those men and women who sat by their windows naked as if hoping that someone would look at them and recognize their existence.

The Peeping Tom put the binoculars down and turned his eyes to me. "Could I...could I see you?" he asked timidly.

When I gave an evasive reply he offered to show me his body, a professional courtesy as one voyeur to another. Before I could react he started to pull off his clothes. When he was naked he exposed the fact that his penis was hard, upright and ready. He wanted to do more than just look.

"Please," he begged when I kept my clothes on.

He was so awfully sad that he touched my natural generosity. I had never cheated on my husband except with my eyes but this was a very unusual case. The man wasn't going to force me into a sexual relation. He might even be satisfied by just looking at my naked body close up. I took off my clothes. When I was naked he stood there staring. "I...I never. . .I never.. .did it to a girl," he confessed with a stammer.

A virgin in his twenties! What a tragedy. I, at least, had enjoyed some moments of intercourse during my years of voyeurism. This Peeping Tom was living proof that voyeurs, instead of being sex fiends, were actually very timid. He didn't even come close to me as we stood facing one another in the nude. He was leaving it up to me to make the advance. If I gave him his first piece of ass would he be cured of voyeurism? Maybe I couldn't cure myself but at least I could help another poor soul in distress. I put all our clothes together on the floor and then stretched out on them. "You can fuck me," I offered.

The young man seemed frightened by my offer but he knelt down besides me. His dick, which had been so hard before, was starting to shrink and become soft. Voyeurism had excited him but actually making it with a girl on a personal level was another story. This, I could, see, was his problem.

I grabbed his penis and hand-pumped some hardness back into it. He was such a scared rabbit that I even had to tell him to mount me. When he did I was the one to guide his tube into my cleft. As soon as he got the first inch in his prick seemed to dissolve. Impotency hit the young man like a hammer and he cried out in frustration. "It always happens like this!" he shouted. "I can never do it!"

I was willing enough to stay with him all night if need be to complete the sexual act but his inability to love drove him wild. He struck at the first thing he could find to vent his frustrations on. . .my face. Hitting another was strictly against his nature and he looked at me aghast when blood tricked down my cheek from a cut lip. "I'm sorry!" he gasped. "Oh, I'm so sorry!"

The young man wept as he hurried into his clothes. He kept telling me how sorry he was and then he rushed down the creaking stairs and out of the old building.

I lay naked on the floor, stunned by the experience I just had. His punch hadn't hurt me but the agony of his inability to love like a normal man did. He was in worse shape than I was. But, then, as a woman I did have to worry about physical impotency. A vagina was just a passive opening while a penis had to be hard and aggressive to enter it. If I had been born a male instead of a female I might be wandering around the city now boiling over with desires I could not express. For the first time I could see that a female voyeur had it over her male counterpart in one respect at least.

I dressed and walked down the stairs without looking over at those windows. I drove back to my apartment and, as I had done before after a session of frustration and voyeurism, wept aloud. I cried for myself, that young man, and all the other Peeping Toms in the world. We were all so alone, so isolated in our private hells that no one knew of and that even seemed comical. Voyeurism wasn't a comedy.. .it was a tragedy.

That meeting with a fellow Peeping Tom in the old building made me realize that I needed professional help. I could never "cure" myself of voyeurism alone. The psychologist I went to was Charles K. Webster, the man who wrote an introduction to this book.

After months of treatment I gained insight into my particular problem. My desire to watch naked men from afar started when I was a girl on the farm when I saw them taking showers. Sexual patterns that are formed in childhood usually remain with people all through their lives unless changed via intensive psychotherapy. Since I found a great deal of delight in watching nude men through the windows on the sly this carried over into my adult life. My need to look at men secretly quickly became an even stronger habit after having so many bad personal relations with them. In voyeurism there was safety. I could have satisfaction without committing myself to anyone.

My voyeurism dominated my sensual feelings to such an extent that I couldn't shake it off even when I married and had a good sexual relationship. The reason I grew bored with watching naked bodies at the nudist camp was because that element of watching m en in secrecy was gone. It was a case of forbidden fruits always being sweeter. Back on the farm I knew that I shouldn't be watching men take showers and that was what gave my actions an added thrill. When looking became "legal" that thrill was gone.

Once I understood what had turned me into a female voyeur I lost all interest in prowling around and looking into strange windows. Not all Peeping Toms, male and female, are so lucky. According to my doctor voyeurs rarely seek professional help. I can only hope that at least one of these unfortunates will read this book and find the courage to seek out a doctor as I had. To this person I say.. .voyeurism isn't incurable. I know because I was once a female Peeping Tom.