“Peeping Toms” by Stephen Hayes
Writing coaches caution anyone from starting a story with, “It was a dark and stormy night.” But I’ve always wanted to begin a tale with these words—and now you know what I think of writing coaches.
Anyway, my wife and I had only been married a few years and were living in a duplex in Oxnard, California, so close to the beach that our driveway was covered in sand. One stormy evening, my wife phoned to say she was leaving work late and was in no mood to fix dinner. “I’ll pick up something on the way home,” she said.
I felt guilty that she was the one caught in the storm. “It’s raining pretty hard. Be careful,” I said, just as the electricity went out.
While waiting in the darkness for her to arrive home, I lifted a blind and glanced out our front window to check on the storm. Without street lamps, I couldn’t see much, but I could hear the wind howling like a banshee in heat, along with the sound of swirling sand scratching the world raw.
A light winked on across the street, the golden glow of an oil lamp. I could clearly see into the bedroom of the young couple who’d recently rented that bungalow. I’d yet to speak with them; for some reason, I’d been put off by their attractiveness and athleticism. They stood beside a large bed. He leaned toward her, bent down and kissed her long and hard. She unbuckled his jeans.
It felt wrong to be ogling them as they undressed, their perfect bodies reflected in the circular mirror of an old vanity hugging a wall. I considered lowering the blind but couldn’t. It was like watching a porn movie being filmed before my very eyes. What if they needed extras?
As the wind whipped sand around the edges of their window, I watched as they pleasured each other. I’d been married a few years to a woman with a healthy sexual appetite, and I’d read Everything You Always Wanted to Know About Sex, but Were Afraid to Ask, not to mention my familiarity with Kama Sutra, whose illustrations I’d committed to memory. I wasn’t without a certain expertise in this area and considered myself a competent swordsman, but the Olympian acrobatics and exuberant gymnastics of this energetic couple were far beyond anything I’d imagined, much less attempted. Whereas I’d be huffing and puffing, with sweat dripping from me in unsightly fashion, this couple was clearly not out of breath. Instead of sweating like railroad workers shoveling coal into a blazing furnace, their naked bodies glowed like burnished gold in the lamplight.
I lost track of time, the window steaming over from my hard breathing. A noise alerted me to the fact that I wasn’t alone. My wife was standing behind me, a boxed pizza in her hands. I could feel my face turn scarlet, and I wondered what she was thinking. I’ve married a voyeur, a Peeping Tom!
But her eyes weren’t on me—she was watching the couple across the street, the marathon pair into their second hour of lovemaking. I took the pizza from her hands and went to the kitchen. When I returned, she was still standing there, watching as intently as I had been. I tried to remove her coat, but she was transfixed by the show and wouldn’t budge.
If she was going to enjoy the performance, I saw no reason I shouldn’t, as well. At that moment, we witnessed something taking place in the bedroom across the street that shocked both of us. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing, and neither could my wife, whose jaw was hanging as low as mine was.
My wife finally tore her eyes from the window. She swung her purse at me, yelling, “You told me that was IMPOSSIBLE!”
She stomped off.
Back in the bungalow, the dude who’d made me feel like an incompetent kindergartener was no longer naked. He and his lady had donned terry robes, and they were now waving at me.
Stephen Hayes is a Northwest humorist and creator of “The Chubby Chatterbox,” a blog focused on humor, culture and travel. Hayes is an artist, traveler and world-class screw-up. His writing is an unabashedly sentimental exploration of growing up in the 1950s, 1960s and beyond. Check out his writing at chubbychatterbox.com
Again, this story appears in “Not Your Mother’s Book…On SEX.” Coined by the Northern Star in their review as the “compilation of copulation” (http://bit.ly/1b3iTfe), this book is filled with 69—yes, 69—carnal stories about everything SEX!
To submit your stories for consideration in future NYMB titles, go to http://www.PublishingSyndicate.com and click on the “Not Your Mother’s Book” tab.