Escaping my hiding place chapter eleven

CHAPTER ELEVEN

“No body has ever been thought less of because they were persistent!”

I woke up to soft, gentle, moist lips lightly sucking themselves onto my lower neck, then releasing their grip gradually like a piece of bubble gum off the bottom of a shoe.

As I began to stir from my slumber, the kissing was replaced by a warm body snuggling up behind me. I could feel the firmness of her perfect pert petite breasts squashing up against my back, the tickle of her pubic hair rustling against my naked backside, and the softness of her skin massaging just about every other part of the back half of my body, as she gently rocked me back and forth.

Her arm was over my side and she was playing with my small crop of chest hair. I moved my hand up over the top of her tiny and oh so cute fingers, which she then intertwined with mine and responded with another kiss on my neck.

I smiled and closed my eyes again, determined to let the moment linger for just a brief few seconds more, before opening them again and looking at the alarm clock sitting beside the bed.

“Shit” I said, as I saw the time click over to 9:29pm.

“Do I have to go?” Ellie responded with much more breath than voice

“I think so” I replied “what time does your boyfriend get home tonight again?”

“About ten”

“Damn it……….I guess you better hurry”

“I’m so sorry honey”

“It’s ok sweetie, it’s not your fault”

“Yes it is…….it’s all my fault”

“Well I guess…….but I knew your situation, I didn’t have to agree to go along with it”

I turned to face her and she gave me a deep sensual kiss on the lips.

“You’re so good to me JayJay……….. I’m so lucky to have found you” She said

“I’m lucky to have found you too” I responded

We then looked deep into each others eyes with our foreheads touching, just smiling warmly. After about thirty seconds we started to kiss, softly at first but then harder and deeper, when she suddenly pulled away, with my tongue still submerged deep into her mouth.

“Ok ok ok ok ok” She said “I have to go”

“I know” I replied “Doesn’t mean I have to make it easy for you to leave me”

“Oh hon…….you know it’s never easy to leave you”

I smiled warmly and she pulled herself away from me, got out of bed, and began to get dressed. I just lay in bed and watched her. I always liked to watch Ellie get dressed.

She was wearing a small blue mini skirt and a tight red t-shirt which showed off her amazingly sexy, petite, yet curvy figure. After putting on each item of clothing she stopped and gave me a kiss. Panties – kiss, bra – kiss, skirt – kiss, t-shirt – kiss, sock – kiss, sock – kiss, shoe – kiss, shoe – kiss.

I then walked her to the door holding her hand; but not saying a word. As I opened the door she looked up at me with her amazing puppy dog eyes

“Miss you” she said

“Miss you too” I responded

Then one last kiss and she turned and walked away, stopping only once to turn back towards me just long enough to give a quick finger only wave goodbye.

After she departed I went back inside to contemplate what was happening in my life.

Actually hang on.

I was going to mess with the order of this little tale of mine for a while, but I think I’ve just changed my mind; I can’t suddenly head into a section like this out of the blue. I think maybe I’ll just leave it in for you as a little teaser of things to come. So where was I anyway………..oh that’s right, I’d just re-enrolled in university.

Well suffice to say I actually managed to survive the next few weeks leading up to starting another semester of schooling without having a bath with my toaster. That’s not to say I didn’t spend much of that time in an absolute panic. And I can’t promise I was my usual careful self when crossing the road in front of semi trailers, but I did make it to registration week unscathed.

After getting lost on campus for about three hours, waiting in the wrong long, long lines four times, then asking advice from people who were in no position to give it; and successfully not managing to talk to any other students all day, I finally walked off campus back to the train station holding a class schedule. This schedule included three subjects (figured that way I could still fuck up as badly as last time and still be allowed one more semester).

Those subjects were ‘Nature Photography’ (chosen because I figured nature photography might include lots of time in nature, and therefore not in the class room, ‘landscape drawings’ (ditto), and ‘Cartooning” (well I explained before my natural ability in this one)…. (Wow that was very un-modest of me, see how much I have grown!).

The morning of my first class I was the most nervous I had been since hiding under a cling wrap machine while nine year olds vandalized a factory. Mostly I was just nervous about being thrown straight into the social aspects, which are especially forced in the first week or two. Then I reminded myself “you’re going back there to add some human contact in your life, so grow up you little fuckwitt”.

So I psyched myself up and made my grand entrance. My first class was a practical for my cartoon course, so it was only a smallish classroom. I walked in and the tables were all huge and had drawing paper on them, and the walls were lined with thousands of pictures of all sorts of cartoon characters; Mickey Mouse, Spiderman, Sponge Bob Square Pants, Tom and Jerry, Captain America, Donald Duck, and many, many more.

There were only three other people in the room when I came in. All girls sitting in the middle chatting away, I don’t think they even noticed me coming in. I took a position in the back right corner which allowed me to watch as the class filled up. In the end seventeen people came in.

Out of seventeen, eleven of them were girls “yes! Great ratio” I thought as they walked in, and obviously six boys, when including me. It was a strange looking bunch, there was a girl with dreadlocks and about five girls with a prominent piercing or tattoo, there were your usually preppy polo shirt wearing students, there was a really slutty looking girl wearing a midrift exposing singlet that barely covered her breasts and tiny, tiny shorts (who likes short shorts…..I like short shorts), and then there were several slobish looking people, including myself.

About ten of the other people set themselves together in groups of three or four, chatting together like they had been friends for years, but obviously weren’t because I heard several of them introducing themselves, so that I could be consumed with jealousy for their confidence. The rest of us knew no one and talked to no one however, so I wasn’t the only one sitting alone looking uncomfortable at least. Then eventually the teacher came in.

The teacher was the biggest nerd I have ever seen. He was about as skinny as toothpick. He had no jaw and a massive overbite. He had a rapidly receding hair line which he made no attempt to cover up or shape into any style. He had a tie with Beavis and Butthead on it, and he actually had a pocket protector in his shirt pocket (I honestly thought they were just invented for the movie the revenge of the nerds!).

He walked into the room with a huge bag over his shoulder. Quickly without saying a word he climbed up onto the desk at the front as. Everyone in the class suddenly moved into their seat and sat quietly. After about thirty seconds with no one saying a word, he suddenly put his arms on his hips and looked up to the ceiling on his right.

“I AM TEACHERMAN” he yelled

“I AM ON A ....MISSION.... TO USE MY POWERS FOR GOOD NOT EVIL”

“TO GIVE GUIDENCE WHERE NO GUIDENCE WAS GIVEN BEFORE”

“AND TO CHASE TRUTH, JUSTUCE AND GOOD MARKS FOR ALL”

“Hey I like this guy” I thought.

He then leaped to floor and picked up his big bag, then opened it up and ran up and down the isles pouring its contents all over the floor. It was comic books! More comic books than a comic book store. Every type imaginable!

Pretty much everyone in the class began to giggle as he did this. He then leaped back onto the desk in a single bound.

“YOU’RE TASK FOR TODAY!” he yelled

“PICK UP ANY OF THESE COMICS OFF THE FLOOR, AND USING THE PAPER IN FRONT OF YOU AND ANY PENS OR PENCILS YOU LIKE, DRAW ME SOME COPIES OF SOME OF THE CHARACTORS”

There was a bit of a murmur and a pause before everyone started to sort through the pile and make selections. I chose a ‘Ducktales’ comic and proceeded to draw quite a good attempt at an Uncle Scrooge.

Meanwhile ‘Teacherman’ was walking around the class, occasionally stopping to give people advice or just ask their names. By the time he was up to me I had drawn Uncle Scrooge, Huey, and Dewy and was just about to draw Luey. He stood over my shoulder starring at me working the whole time I drew Luey, which made me very nervous, which of course made Luey my worst drawing so far.

“Shit…you fucking idiot” I thought to myself

“What’s your name?” Teacherman asked me

“Jason” I replied

“I’m John…nice to meet you Jason”

“You too”

“You know you have some real talent there…..keep going”

“Thanks sir”

“I didn’t say my name was sir, I said John, we just have fun here, no formalities”

“Ok Si…..John”

“Wow, he said I was talented, no one has ever said that to me, about anything!” I thought to myself as he moved onto another student.

By the time the class was finished I had drawn a good fifteen different comic characters and was feeling pretty damn good about myself, but then I didn’t know what was about to happen.

When I was on my way out I happened to make eye contact with the girl with dreadlocks. She smiled at me. So I smiled back.

“I like your hair” She said to me.

“Ok now what the fuck is going on is this some cruel hidden camera TV show where people give you compliments, then suddenly some bastard jumps out and says ‘sucked in you’re on ‘Arsehole Camera’, and in fact you’re still a complete loser’?” I thought

“Oh thanks………………you too” I finally replied.

What a great first class. I felt on top of the world. The best thing was the whole rest of the first week kept along this path.

For my drawing class they just let us to go anywhere we wanted on campus, and to draw anything we wanted, as long as it was from a distance. Same again for photography, just chucked us cameras and said go and take photos. I also had several more semi decent exchanges with other students. It was all moving along swimmingly, like some talented athlete in the Olympics, well maybe not quite that good, but not drowning at least, which is what I usually would have done in a pool of water such as this.

In fact I only had one really uncomfortable experience in the whole first week. I was walking around campus minding my own business on a sunny afternoon, as I tended to do. When suddenly I heard a voice behind me!

“Jason……………… Jason Domey right?”

I swung around to see standing right in front of me a girl from high school that I had had a huge crush on; Stephanie! Steph and I had actually sat next to each other in English. Well that’s what I used to think anyway. In actual fact I sat all alone. The class room was in a horseshoe shape, and I sat on the left end. Of course in a full class room with a horseshoe shape, someone has to sit next to you.

So to my real joy it ended up being Stephanie. I had a crush on Steph about the size of an Olympic pool, mostly because she had breasts so big she would struggle to swim in any pool without them dragging along the bottom.

My crush may have been basically about her breasts; however that wasn’t the only thing I liked about her. After one had starred at her breasts for a while, one is bound to realize that one should better look somewhere else, at least briefly. Which lead me to occasionally find my eyes drift up and look directly at her face, and she had one of the most gorgeous smiles I had ever seen. Could light up any outdoor pool, if anyone was actually looking at it, and not her breasts! (Ok I’ll stop with the pool analogies now - that’s what I get for trying to write while the swimming’s on TV)

She even sometimes said hello to me, one of only two or three girls in the school to give that a go from time to time. Unfortunately of course, she didn’t sit there to sit next to me. She sat there because the next seat along was where her boyfriend sat!

His name was Stone! That was his actual name, the name his parents had given him! I always wondered how they had seen their little baby, all so cute and vulnerable, and so accurately picked what his brains would be like. They should be psychics. They could go from hospital to hospital helping parents name their children based on what they would eventually turn out like. And it could be like “here you go Mr and Mrs Condor, here is your baby girl whom I have named slutty! Or here you go Mr and Mrs Peterson, here is your cutie pie baby boy whom I have named Pedophile Priest, or as I like to call him PeePee!”

So anyways, Steph came up to me and said hello. Despite my excellent social skills which had been developing all week, I reverted back to highschool me. So our conversation went along the lines of this

“Hi” I replied

“How have you been? I haven’t seen you in ages”

“Not bad”

“Cool….I’ve been great….University is going fantastic….I have a new really cute boyfriend….his name is Bruiser (“are you fucking kidding me” I thought)….I think he might be the one”

“That’s good”

“So what are you studying?” she asked

“Art”

“Cool…I’m doing law; can you believe Stephanie Moore is going to be a lawyer?”

“Nup” I replied, not so much because I couldn’t believe it, more because it was the most fitting one word answer I could come up with

“Heeeeeey………….oh well I guess I deserve that…..I was a bit of a scatter brain at school”

“Yep”

“So what else have you been doing with yourself?”

“Nothing”

“Are you working too?’

“No”

“Play any sports these days?”

“No’

“Are you enjoying art?

“Yes”

“Oh fuck, I better come up with more than a one word answer to one of these questions soon” I thought

“Still see anyone from school?” she asked

“No”

“Fuck another one worder” I thought

“Really………..no one?” she asked

“Not if I see them first!”

“Oh fuck that’s a really lame joke” I thought

“Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha” she genuinely laughed hard

“Why is she laughing so hard? Oh Fuck! I hate it when someone laughs at a joke which is patently not funny! That joke is so fucking old and over done, surely she has heard that before, she was probably even thinking it, but didn’t say it because it was so corny and terrible and certainly not worth a mention. So why the hell is she laughing so hard? It must be one of three things, 1. Maybe it actually is funny, so does that mean I can actually adlib hilarity and cause random people to fall into fits of laughter, only I have completely lost the ability to figure out myself what I have said is funny, therefore rendering this quite a desirable ability useless, and even makes it a handicap, because now I have to question everything I ever have the urge to say, even more so than usual, in case I say something hilarious right at the time it’s the least appropriate, or when I am trying to be genuine or sweet and I’ll get passed off as a class clown, and no one will ever take me seriously. 2. Maybe she is just humoring me, in which case she doesn’t like me at all, and is just taking the piss out of me. And if she is doing this, maybe everyone I have ever talked to has only done so to take the piss, and therefore I am even a bigger joke than even at my most pessimistic I thought I was! 3. She is some kind of lunatic who just laughs at everything, like she’s high on some fucked up drug from the sixties, and if I spend anymore time in her company she will slowly drag me down to her mental inadequacies, and I’ll be trapped walking around like some six year old school girl, just giggling to myself always, until eventually they lock me up in some mental institution where people eat their own poo, then lick your face!” I thought to myself, while starring at the top of the one hair on her head which was out of whack with the rest, just one strand which frizzed upwards. Finally I looked back down at her face. She was scowling.

“Well better get back to class” She said, before scurrying off quickly.

I don’t know if you have noticed yet, but I can sometimes have a tendency to over analyze things.

So anyways apart from that little encounter with Steph, my first week back as a student went pretty much ok, and then I pretty much settled into College life really well, and even quite enjoyed it sometimes. Art was such a better school for me to be involved with, I liked the teachers better, I liked the students better and I liked the work better, and subsequently I liked life better!

Escaping my hiding place - Chapter ten

CHAPTER TEN

“The first step to improving your life - is the decision to change!

Nothing great ever just happens”

My first step in putting this criminally insane master plan into action was to look up every night school, every day school, every college and University in my accessible area and order subject catalogues. There was no way I was going to make the same mistake I made the first time I went and do horribly boring subjects. I was going to choose this purely on what interested me, and which classes I thought would have the highest ratio of girls to boys.

I ruled out all the business school courses straight away, too boring. All the science courses went next, too technical. I threw out things like drama (don’t think I need to explain why on that one). The IT industry went next, I didn’t even know how to turn on a computer.

So I continued to sort though them, and continued to rule out course after course which I was either way too stupid, well not stupid, just unqualified for, and class after class that I was just too scared to do for various self conscience reasons, until finally I found myself holding a booklet from my old university in the school of visual arts. Art! I had never really thought of art as a career before. Art to me at school was mostly doing doodles to stop myself from falling asleep in math’s class.

I actually really enjoyed doing doodles while I was at school, and was actually not bad at them. I could do some very close copies of numerous cartoon characters like transformers and smurfs. But I drew all sorts of things houses, people, penises, still life.

I was reminded of a time in school when I got in huge trouble one day for my approach to a particular assignment we had been set for the day. I am not sure what the assignment was on, but I remember that we were supposed to put a big heading at the top of the page about what we were writing about. Unfortunately by the time the teacher said “pencils down everyone, and pass your work to the front!” I was still working on my heading. Not because I was so stupid that I couldn’t write a heading, as some of you may be thinking, but because I had been doing it over and over again in all sorts of different ways, with letters slanting, with patterns, with other symbols which represented the letters. I just got lost in it.

However when the teacher saw it she wasn’t as impressed with my artistry as I was. Instead she yelled “JASON PAULINE DOMEY (have I told you yet I had a girls middle name – my parents thought I was going to be a girl and couldn’t give up the name - see people have been screwing me since birth) ARE YOU SERIOUSLY GOING TO TELL ME YOU HAVE SAT THERE FOR THREE HOURS AND NOT EVEN STARTED AND NOT ASKED ONE QUESTION!”

“Sor” I nearly got out

“EXPLAIN YOURSELF YOU NAUGHTY BOY”

“Well ummmm”

“WELL……WELL…..IS WELL ALL YOU HAVE TO SAY”

“No miss”

“WELL YOU CAN GO TO THE PRINCIPLES OFFICE AND EXPLAIN TO HIM WHY YOUR WASTING EVERYONES TIME”

“Yes miss”

With that I plodded my way to the principles office and reluctantly went in and explained myself. The principle responded much the same way as my teacher. I copped a long lecture about wasting my time, and the teacher’s time, and the other student’s time, and my parent’s time, and his time and about forty other useless tid bits of crap.

Don’t teachers realize that they need to nurture and encourage student’s interests, even if it affects their other work occasionally? That’s how to make kids to not hate school! I just made a mental note to look up that teacher and throw a brick through her window! “IS THAT A GOOD ENOUGH EXPLANATION BITCH?”

So the school of visual arts it was going to be. I felt really comfortable with that decision from the start. Not only was it an area that I actually had some interest in, but surely the art world would be filled with cute young girls. I might have still been way, way too shy to talk to them but I could definitely perve. Maybe that would inspire me. The female body is gods greatest ever art work after all!

Unfortunately this decision posed one massive problem. Out of about a hundred course booklets sprawled out across my floor, the single one I had decided upon was possibly impossible. I had flunked out of that university. They weren’t going to let me back after my half hearted completely fucked effort the first time around.

However going by my new rule that I had to decide what I wanted and do it no matter how hard it was; I decided that I must still make an attempt. I decided the most likely way they would let me back in would be to write them a letter explaining how the first time I was there without wanting to be, but this time I was there because I wanted to make something of myself. And hope that I could convey enough passion to woo their hearts into granting me restitution in their institution.

So I sat down and wrote my most passionate letter ever. Then I rewrote it. Then I rewrote it. Then I rewrote it. Then I rewrote it. Then I was basically happy with it. So I rewrote it two more times, and then was finally ready to send it.

Unfortunately I had no idea who to send it to. So I went down to my local Kinko’s and made a hundred copies of it. Then I went over to the university and stuck it under every single office door I could find on the campus. I didn’t care what the door said, chancellor, chief financial officer, or school nurse. Then I sat by the letter box waiting for a reply.

Day one - nothing, day two - nothing, day three - nothing, day four - nothing (although I did eat an excellent pepperoni pizza that day), day five - nothing, day six - nothing, day seven - nothing (I’m still not sure why I checked the box on Sunday), day eight - one letter with the university letter head!

I opened it up and read inside.

Dear Mr Domey,

I am writing in response to your many letters, posted to numerous staff members, in relation to your desire to re-enroll in our University. I regret to inform you that unfortunately at the point a student fails out of this institution he or she is no longer able to participate in any further classes to be held by our professors.

However, should you ever choose to read the forms which were supplied to you at the time of your initial enrolment, you may be interested to note on page two, appendix III, it states “a student shall be deemed to have failed out of his or her chosen course at such time that he or she receives a failing grade in a total of eight subjects over any three year period’. Having reviewed your academic record from your first semester with us, I have noticed that you only enrolled in four subjects, four of which you failed. Thus you still have four more subjects with which to fail before you have indeed failed out of this university.

Therefore I am able to inform you that you are most welcome to enroll in any of your desired classes from the school of visual arts for the next semester starting on February 27.

I am not quite sure what to make of you Mr Domey. On one hand I admire your tenacity in sending your many, many letters. Although I question your intelligence having not bothered to even check whether you had flunked out, and having sent one of your letters to the janitor!

I do hope your commitment to your studies is far greater on your second journey into higher learning, and will watch your results with great interest.

Regards,

Norman Johnston

Head of admissions

BACK TO UNIVERITY! Oh my fucking god. Didn’t I remember how god damn happy I was to be gone from that place. The introducing yourself! The speeches! Class participation! Group assignments! Bullies! Teasing! Social situations! Study! Lectures! Tutorials! Professors! Had I gone completely insane! How did I come up with this fucking life plan! Stupid! Stupid! Stupid!

Escaping my hiding place - Chapter nine

CHAPTER NINE

“It doesn’t matter how low you get,

There will always be someone worse off than you,

Someone who wished they could have what you have;

So appreciate everything good in your life,

However little - for some have nothing good at all!”

This is actually where we came in at the start of my story. I didn’t mean to give you quite so much of my life history, but we ended up taking the scenic route. Not scenic like a drive through the Canadian Rockies, with huge snow capped mountains towering over the landscape, creeks snaking there way through the country side lined with pine trees and maple trees, and Moose, Elk and Grizzly Bears playing in the fields. Not beautiful scenic, my story is more humiliating scenic. Like watching a baby hit his father in the balls with a hammer. Everyone loves laughing at other people’s pain, I don’t know why, but we do, human nature I guess.

It’s really quite hard to explain how I felt, but the closest I can come up with is this, I felt my life was like a bloody fetus lying in the corner of an operating room in an abortion clinic, while the thirteen year old mother sits on a bench crying over her forty eight year old lover who had promised her he loved her, and promised her he would leave his wife for her, and promised that pregnancy wasn’t possible for a girl her age, and had dumped her the minute she came to him with news she was pregnant. I wasn’t just covered in blood, and completely unwanted by anyone in the world. I was unwanted from people whose lives were fucked aswell. I was the epitome of unwantedness. I had absolutely nothing in my life to be happy about.

What do you do when you hit a point like this? I lay in agony in deep thought trying to come up with some answer, any answer, to that question, I didn’t think of anything else for days on end. Then I finally decided that I could keep feeling sorry for myself for hours, and days, and weeks, and months and years, but if I wanted more out of life I had to actually go out and find it. No one was going to do it for me, and I was never going to do it myself if I didn’t stop being such a wimp and start doing something with my life.

As I described this epiphany earlier - I had had enough of living that way. I needed to change. I needed to find love. I needed to set goals and achieve them. I needed to find something to be passionate about. I needed to find a reason to wake up in the morning, rather than lying awake all the time wishing I could sleep. I needed to find a reason to leave my apartment and my neighborhood and go to where good things happened and good people frequented. So that’s what I set out to do.

I have heard people say that the hardest step of a journey is the first step. This is especially true when you have a fractured shin bone. But what’s the first step when you’re where I was? This was not an easy question to answer. For me the answer came with one simple decision.

I decided that from that moment forward, from then on, all the time, for ever more, that at what ever moment I was in, I would think to myself, “what is one way I can improve my life right now?”, and then no matter how hard or scary a thing that would be, it was something I would do.

So for me the first step was deciding that even though I had a major fear of doctors I would go to one to see to my injuries. My fear of doctors went back to when I was fifteen and had to have a blood test, and the doctor taking the blood kept missing the vain, he did it three times in my left arm, then said “sorry young fella, not going to work in that arm today, give me your other arm” and then he tried three more times in that arm. Still no success! Then he had me go back to the other arm and squeeze a ball for five minutes or so to get more blood pumping. Which he was finally able to extract from me, and then proceeded to drop the vile of blood on the floor, where it broke and splashed disgustingly across the tiles!

This of course meant that he had to suck more out of me! So back to squeezing a ball again, while a nurse mopped up a puddle of my own blood off the floor, which for some reason was a process started by smearing it all over the place. Then finally after extracting another vile of blood I was told I could leave.

Of course you all know the kind of luck I have by now. On my way out, with a gush of relief flowing over me having come to an end of that ordeal there happened to be a loose nail protruding from the wall, which I of course scrapped up against, not just ripping a gorge of flesh from my upper arm, but also causing the doctor to say “going to need a tetanus shot there now aren’t you”. So I got to get my ninth and most painful injection for the day, at least my arms got a rest, this one was in my ass!

My fear of doctors might also have something to do with when I was twelve and had a stomach ache and a doctor decided the best way to try and figure out what was wrong was to fondle my penis. Although it wasn’t until blood day, as I referred to it from then on, that made me declare I would never go back again.

However with my new attitude I knew that to heal fast and well I needed to see a doctor. So off to see the doctor, the wonderful doctor at the free medical clinic I go! Fortunately it was just down the road from me. I hobbled my way down there and joined a line of people waiting to be helped at the check in counter.

There were two nurses working the counter. One of them was a really pretty brunette who looked about seventeen. The other one was a short stubby woman, who looked one hundred percent like a man except with a pony tail and a small tight white nurse’s dress on. I waited in line thinking to myself “please be served by the cutie, please be served by the cutie please be served by the cutie, etc etc”. Until eventually the man woman with an equally manly voice took my details and told me to take a seat. Meanwhile the guy in front of me in the line who I had heard say was in for a sore throat was being walked over to a seat by the cutie nurse who was rubbing his back and saying in a very, very sweet voice “there you go, you poor man, we’ll make you all better, promise”. Damn luck!

I sat for about an hour before I was taken into a doctor’s room. And I spent that hour studying all the other patients to try and figure out who was the worst off. I widdled it down out of numerous unwanted possibilities until I had my top three, in no particular order

1. The man who decided to sit just opposite me who had a nail still lodged right though the middle of his hand and blood all over himself.

2. The mother and about seven year old girl, who were both almost completely covered in very chunky looking vomit, I wasn’t sure who had vomited on whom!

3. The man who stood in a corner with tears in his eyes and his hands over his bottom, with eyes darting from side to side, back and forth, like he was watching a tennis match, left right, left right and in every direction, non stop, and who responded to several offers for him to sit down by just shaking his head wildly. I didn’t know what he had done to his ass, but what ever it was I didn’t want to do it ever!

I finally got into see a doctor, who was a very old looking Indian man, with the thickest accent I have ever heard in my life. I spent about forty five minutes with him as he dabbed some red liquid on all of my cuts which felt like a white hot spear was being thrust into me over and over. Then he spent sometime putting in stitches in about seven places in my body. Then for some god only knows reason decided to poke every single one of my three thousand seven hundred and sixty three bruises. Finally I was able to leave and after breaking down his language code I’m pretty sure he told me something along the line of “yu of tree bwoken wibs, a fractured in yu shun bone, many, many, many hurted bones in yu hol if de body, and ov had to ov t-hurty sevone switches”. There was one quite good thing I left with. A prescription for the most powerful pain medication on the market!

Thus I was able to spend the next several weeks lying in bed tripping off on some legal fantasy chemicals. They took away most of my pain which was wonderful, but they also made me very, very sleepy which was heaven. It felt to me like I slept more in those four weeks on those drugs than I had in the whole year before.

After four weeks I didn’t even want to sleep anymore so I would try and fight the drowsiness for as long as I could. This to my surprise caused me to hallucinate, and was lucky enough to have some wonderful times playing with oh so cute cartoon bunny rabbits, and was able to have a long chat with an alien about the meaning of human life. It has something to do with marketing apparently!

After five weeks of being a government sponsored drug addict, doing nothing but sleeping and eating - my prescription ran out, which meant I was supposed to be relatively healed and would be required to get back to some form of normality. What I wasn’t expecting was the strange way I felt about that prospect. I think normal people call it optimism. Certainly not something I had felt before.

I had faced up to one fear so far in order to improve my immediate situation, and it had paid off handsomely. The old me would have sat in that apartment for months in complete agony and ended up with scars all over my body from poorly healed wounds, just to avoid a visit to a doctor. However the new me went, and I had a very much needed five weeks of great rest, my stitched up wounds had already all healed to being almost no longer visible, and the only pain I had left was my still sore ribs and shin. But overall I felt the best I had in as long as I could remember.

I started to really look forward to what my next risk would be to improve my today. What could actually truly improve my day though? What did I want? After much self deliberation I finally came to the conclusion that even though the thought frightened me to death, what I most needed were other people in my life.

How does a person like me even try to introduce other people in my life? I had never really had a friend, not a true friend, and my sex life to date included one fat old ugly woman! I didn’t even know one single person I could call to go to a movie with.

I ruled out the ‘looking for love’ newspaper section straight away. No way I was going on that haunted mansion ride again. So what other methods are there? I could only think of one other sure fire way to meet lots of people, and the fact I made this decision still shocks me today. I was going to re-enter a world which I had dreaded and hated and failed miserably at the first time around, I was going to go back to school.

Escaping my hiding place - Chapter eight

CHAPTER EIGHT

“Sometimes it doesn’t matter how hard you fight,

You just weren’t meant to win

That does not mean you failed!”

This was blackness like I had never seen before. It was much darker than the black from a black car or the night’s sky; it was even blacker than my room with the spray painted window shut. This was real black as pure as it could be. Occasionally it would be replaced by horrible images of the man standing over me hitting me repeatedly with the piece of wood, and I could see chunks of flesh coming off with the nails. Then blackness again! So much blackness.

After a long, long time I finally began to regain conciseness. I opened my eyes, but couldn’t really make anything out except that it seemed nighttime already. My vision had become extremely blurry; it was a shockingly frightening situation. I could tell I was lying in the shrubs still, I could feel the sting of the branches digging into my back. I tried to stand up but had no strength.

I didn’t pass out again. I just lay there in total agony for what felt like hours. After a while I began to regain focus in my eyes and looked around to see that the shrubs were covered in blood.

I realized I had to get out of here no matter how painful it was going to me. I started to push my way out of out of the shrub and felt the most intense pain of my life. I tried to yell out but nothing came out at all, just a heavy breath of air. I decided to try and roll my way out, and felt a spiral of pain as I broke free, then collapsed again sideways and rolled onto the soft grass.

I lay like that for a minute or two regaining my breath. Then pushed myself back up to my feet, and then tried to walk. I took about four or five wobbly steps, like I had just drunk five cases of beer. Then fell to my knees.

I tried this again for the same result. Then again. The old me I think would have given up in times like this and just allowed myself to pass out again and hope someone helped me eventually, for some reason though I was consumed with determination here. I couldn’t stand for more than a few steps in a row, but I still managed to half crawl, half wobbly step my way home. Cars drove past almost constantly the whole time, I couldn’t believe no one stopped to help me, but I guess that’s the world we live in these days. Strangely I was almost glad about this; I hated the thought of having to explain what had happened to me.

I opened my door while still on my knees and collapsed inside onto the floor, and that’s where I stayed. I lay there with the door wide open face down for several hours. It amazed me how incredibly worn out walking/crawling around two blocks had been. I was in lots of pain too of course, and just moving any part of me would hurt, even lifting a finger or wiggling my toes, there wasn’t a section of my body which had escaped their cruel punishment. All I could do was try to stay as still as possible.

I didn’t pass out and I didn’t sleep either. I just lay there. I spent eons of time just focusing on a single thread which was hanging off the end of tattered blanket. Barely another thought went through my head the whole time I was on the ground. I didn’t think about the attack, I buried it deep into my mind and basically never really thought about it again. One of the skills you acquire when you live a crappy life is the ability to hide bad memories in your own mind.

Eventually I got up off the floor and stumbled over to the bed. As I lay there, finally starting to try and sleep, I began to feel a real sense of regret. Regret and guilt! It took over me. I felt guilty for Wendy “for Christ sakes that wasn’t even her real name, I had been calling her that for months” I screamed at myself.

With the advantage of hindsight it suddenly became clear what a downright awful a thing it was to invade her privacy like that. At the time I had justified it to myself by thinking “I find her attractive, girls want to be found attractive, and so she would be happy to have a guy looking at her because he finds her attractive”. Not like that though. The honest truth is that it’s the most disgraceful thing I have ever done. I am not at all proud of it, but I can’t take it back, and I can’t deny I enjoyed it in the moment, but I do honestly regret those actions.

I felt guilty towards her brother. I started to think about if I had a sister and someone violated her like that. I’d want to do the exact same thing as he did. Only I wouldn’t have the guts! Maybe it didn’t matter if I was lonely and depressed, so what if it wasn’t fair that arseholes and bullies from school got to have sex with beautiful girls where as guys like me get nothing . Life isn’t fair, that’s not an excuse to treat other people with so little respect.

I felt guilty towards myself. Why hadn’t I just chosen against becoming a peeping tom? People make that decision every day, “should I go look in some girl’s window tomorrow? Hmmm no I think not, I might go to work instead!” What if I had quit peeping the day before this, why did I wait till today to start seriously considering it? Why didn’t I keep a better eye out for people coming? If only?

My life always seemed to come down to ‘If only’s’. If only I was better looking! If only I was smarter! If only I was taller! If only I was thinner! If only I had more money! Always blaming something out of my control, I never seemed to say if only I had tried harder, or if only I had put up with a little embarrassment for a lot of gain. Always excuses. I was sick of making excuses.

I eventually got to sleep and actually slept through the night. When I woke up the sun was already shining through my open window. The warmth of the beam of sun hitting me right in the face was what woke me up. My first thought was “mmmmmmm that’s nice”, “then oh fuck I slept in I’ve missed Wendy!” and then “Why do I hurt so incredibility badly”, to finally remembering, “That’s right, I had the fucking shit beaten out of me”.

I climbed up out of bed and walked over to the mirror. I looked into it and immediately burst into tears. I looked like a can of spaghetti had exploded inside of me and had ripped holes in my skin everywhere and was slowly eeking out.

There wasn’t a part of me which wasn’t red with blood or black from bruises. I had full chunks of flesh hanging off me by thin threads of skin. I was missing two teeth from the top near the back, and my lips were so swollen I looked like one of those awful victims of wanting collagen injections. I pulled off my shirt, painfully, and found similar grotesqness there. I took off my pants and realized I was one enormous bruise with a million cuts thrown in. On top of that my family jewels (not worth much in our family) were swollen to about three times their normal size and were as purple as a piece of grape bubblegum. Worst was that they were also covered in blood veins which made the whole package look like something from a “worlds ugliest sea creatures” TV show. Not the fashionable look for ones goolies.

I cried hard, so hard I could barely make any noise, my mouth was just stuck wide open with a weird squeal noise coming out. I just stood still looking at my mangled body in the mirror. It was damn well frightening. It’s not an image of yourself you ever think you will see. I stumbled into bed and realized something. My life had spiraled out of control. No that’s not right, that suggests my life was once in control, that’s certainly not true. What I realized was this was officially my rock bottom!

I thought I had hit rock bottom several times before. In high school, in University, and of course not that long ago at the cling wrap factory. And at hitting those points I always went through a period of improvement. Before suddenly, as I was climbing out of my hole, the walls would give in and I’d smash into the ground again and this time break through the surface into a whole new hole and hit the bottom of that one. This bottom I was in now however, I was sure this one had to be the absolute bottom of my seemingly bottomless pit.

It was like I had been eaten by a lion and the lion had shitted me out, and then a giraffe came and ate that shit, and then shitted that shit out, then a zebra had come along and eaten the shitted giraffe shit of the shitted lion shit of me and shitted that shit out. All the while hyenas stood by laughing, laughing, laughing. And this had gone on through bugs eating the shit of the shit of the shit of the shit, and then the bugs been eaten and shitted and that shit had been eaten and shitted until finally I had got the point where there were no more animals of life willing to eat my shit. My life was so shit that shit eaters thought I was too shitty to eat.

Ironically I reached this conclusion while sitting on the toilet not shitting due to my chronic constipation. Having the shit beaten out of you seems to not be a literal term. When I have the shit beaten out of me, the shit stays in there for a long time. It’s really quite a shitty feeling. Especially when all your ribs are broken and bruised and you have a million cuts on your body that stretch open as you struggle to squeeze out your human waste. But that’s what hitting bottom is all about isn’t it. It’s far too shitty to actually be shitty.

.. ..

Escaping my hiding place - Chapter Seven

CHAPTER SEVEN

“Great opportunities come up all the time!

You just have to be on the lookout for the right windows”

I was frozen with fear and time seemed to freeze with me. The next few seconds seemed to take twenty minutes; I was desperate to turn and run but was stuck to the ground like someone had hammered nails into each of my feet.

The man in the middle was the biggest, he looked like a world wrestling champion, with biceps as wide as my chest, which were busting out of a skin tight yellow t-shirt. He seemed like the leader of this group, and he was the first to talk, actually it was more like screaming, only with a deep booming voice, “T h a t s m y f u c k i n g s i s t e r y o u f u c k i n g p e r v e r t !” he yelled at me as the four of them charged towards me.

Then in super slow motion, he raised a big chunk of wood from his side to high above his enormous shoulders. Then slowly started to swing it towards me. I still couldn’t move. I could see it coming towards me clearly, a thick whitish square piece of wood about twice as think as a baseball bat, but just as long, and alarmingly with two nails protruding from the end. I could see them clear enough to see the rust on the sharp points, yet I just couldn’t move out of the way.

Suddenly someone switched off super slow motion and turned on fast forward. The piece of wood flew towards me at a thousand miles an hour and smashed hard into the side of my face. The force of it was so strong that I flew over and hit the ground so hard it felt like I had been dropped from a plane. Then all three of them started to kick me over and over again. They pummeled me all over, my head, my arms, my stomach, my legs, and most painfully my reproductive areas.

Over and over and over and over and over! I lost all the breath from my lungs quickly and couldn’t shout out. I just let out howling squeals like a piglet being used as a soccer ball. The pain was so overwhelming and consumed me so much I couldn’t even fight enough to raise my arms to cover my face. I just lay there limply being beaten like a piece of meat at the butchers under the hammer, being tendered up for some fat rich bastard. Finally they stopped.

At least that’s what I was thinking when the blows suddenly came to a halt. Instead they all stood over me yelling angry, angry rants, although I couldn’t make out what any of them were saying, my ears were ringing loudly, like I was trapped in a church bell tower, from the numerous kicks which had all but crushed in the side of my head.

Then I saw the main guy lifting the wooden bar high above his head again. He then lowered it down on my face using all the might he could muster. Then again! Then again! Then again! Then blackness.

Escaping my hiding place - Chapter six

CHAPTER SIX

“There is only one secret to success in life;

Always do your best at anything you do!

That’s the only way you can GUARANTEE you will make the most of yourself”

Bad times ahead. I was fired. I was humiliated. I couldn’t face leaving the apartment. I didn’t leave one single time for the next five days, not until every morsel of food I owned had been consumed, or at least gone too moldy to keep eating much more of it. I mean there is only so much green bread anyone can eat! Then I went about twenty one hours without eating a thing. Eventually I was so hungry I had to go out for food. I didn’t dare walk all the way to the supermarket. I went straight to the ..seven eleven.. and bought three loaves of bread and a jar of peanut butter. Then I ate nothing but peanut butter sandwiches for four days. After that I went back to ..seven eleven.. and bought three more loaves of bread and a jar of nuttella hazelnut spread. I then ate nothing but nuttella sandwiches for four days.

In this whole thirteen days I don’t think I slept for more than two hours straight - even though I spent nearly the whole time in bed. Occasionally exhaustion would see me nod off for a little while. But if I actually tried to get to sleep my mind would just race through images of my face covered in blood, or a couple of hundred cling wrap workers laughing there asses off at me.

So to keep my mind off it I watched television. I watched Opera and Maury Povich, I watched corny soap operas, I watched infomercials and I watched kid’s cartoons. I had about fifteen movies on tape, and I watched them all twice. I’d watch anything at all, no matter how uninteresting; just to avoid hearing the voices in my head.

With my window spray painted black I began to lose all track of the time. I couldn’t guess the time within ten hours of the real time. I didn’t know if it was night or day. My only guidance was my growing memorization of the TV guide. I eventually got to the point where I knew that if I didn’t start leaving the house I would actually die soon!

So I started going for walks. I still didn’t feel like I could handle facing any other humans, so I would go walking at night. At first just short ones, but over a few weeks it came to the point where I would walk for hours and hours. I found whole pockets of my neighborhood which I didn’t even know existed. I found the nice streets and the streets actually worse than mine. I would be approached by dead ugly old prostitutes who I couldn’t fathom would ever find a customer, but that was about all the human contact I had to face. Hey at least someone was willing to have sex with me, that was something to be grateful about.

After a while I found myself studying various houses I would come across. I would walk along the nicer streets and try to pick out the houses I would like to live in. I would imagine what types of people lived in those houses. Were they like the leave it to beaver family? Were they like the Simpsons? Or were they like my family? Really, really fucked up! I started to come up with images in my mind of what a perfect family would be like. Then I would imagine myself in a family like that somewhere. Sometimes as a brother and sometimes as the father. It was always different, but it always made me feel good. Just the thought of being part of a family with some love thrown in somewhere! I had missed out on a lot of things in my life, but love was the thing I had suffered from missing out on the most. It was just like me to make connections to what I wanted, not through people, but through objects which were associated with people. Like a house.

I wondered if I would ever live in a house like those, and have a family. I know most really pessimistic people constantly worry about the future, but I was never really like that, I have always been good at just taking each day as it came. Standing in front of those beautiful houses I began to think about the future though, and what I wanted from it, and I knew that included a loving family, one day, maybe, as unlikely as it seemed to me, it also seemed inevitable. I guess in some ways I had more faith in myself than I ever believed I did.

One day I was staring up at a grand Victorian era mansion, surrounded by beautiful gardens, which was only two blocks from my apartment. It was early in the morning; I had been walking all night and was just about to reach home as I found this house, just as the sun started to make its first impressions on the sky.

I was starring at one particular window on the bottom floor, I don’t know why I chose this window, but for some reason I felt some affinity with it. I must have stared at that window for five minutes, it was a large picture window with your standard cross pattern separating the panes of glass and floral curtains running down each side, it looked like it should have been on the cover of ‘Lovely House’ magazine. I had just stopped in front of the house not moving, standing on some stranger’s lawn when suddenly a light switched on. “Damn it, someone must have seen me” I said to myself as I hid behind a bush, ready to run for my life any second. But no one came out.

I began to peer over the bush and back into the window. Suddenly a girl appeared, right up at the window. I could see her clearly. She was spectacularly beautiful. She was tallish with blonde, blonde hair, long and straight bouncing off her shoulders. She was wearing baggy pajamas, but I could still see that underneath she had a most ample bosom, and a very nice figure. I was shocked. This was the best luck I had had since discovering that late night foreign films often had nudity, well nude middle aged French women who didn’t shave their arm pits at least. Only this was real life, and this girl looked like she shaved every bit of unnecessary hair off.

She stood looking out the window for ages, all the time looking upwards over my right shoulder. I looked around to see what she was staring at, and discovered from her window she had a really great view of a very pretty sunrise taking place. The sky was just starting to turn pink, and the waves of clouds glowed grey and orange and purple. Despite having the option of an amazing view of one of the most attractive girls I had ever seen; even I was captivated by this sunrise.

I eventually turned back around, and the window was empty. I put my head in my hands “damn it, damn it, damn it, damn it” I said to myself. She had gone. I had wasted the time I could have spent with her looking at a freakin sunrise.

Then I looked back up and saw the window suddenly fill up with the most amazing site I had seen in my life. Like the first explorer to cross the United States and walking along a desert path lined with shrubs and not much else, and suddenly seeing the Grand Canyon explode into view before his eyes. I saw the single best looking girl in the world fill up the window again. This time fully naked! “Yes she does shave every unnecessary hair on her body” I joyfully thought to myself.

I was blown away like a cow in a hurricane and then dumped in the greenest field ever created. I didn’t know what to look at. Her beautiful, perfect, magnificent breasts, her tight tiny shapely tummy, or her beautiful shaved pubic region! It was a sensory overload. She stood there like that for a long time, again starring up at the sunrise. With me staring up at her, nearly ripping a hole in the front of my pants. Eventually she decided to get dressed. First she put her bra on, then panties, then a blouse and a business skirt. She did this all while still standing in the window.

My whole life I had thought that a women naked was the only truly unbelievable visual experience a person like me could have. So I was really surprised to find out how amazingly erotic I found a women putting on clothes. When she was done she still looked incredible, in a business suit, looking very intelligent and important, it was sexy. She also looked a lot older when dressed like this. In her PJ’s or naked I would of guessed about twenty one or twenty two, but dressed she suddenly looked at least twenty five. I wondered if the right clothes would make me look more like an adult.

She stood at the window again, just briefly this time then turned and walked away. I waited for about ten minutes before finally conceding that she wasn’t coming back. I walked home feeling the best I had since way back when I was ten and my brother finally let me ride the bike that I had gotten for my birthday only three months after I had received it.

Feeling both happy for once, with a brilliant image in my head to block out my many, many awful ones, and feeling physically tired from such a long walk, I finally slept well. I slept for nearly eighteen hours straight. My new world record! When I woke up I watched some TV, and then realized that the sun must be rising again soon. So I walked the two blocks over and took up the same position as the night before behind the bush.

I waited and waited and waited for what seemed like an hour. Then just as I was about to give up and surrender to the fact that it was nothing more than a wonderful one off, she appeared again. There was something so magical about the way she would suddenly fill up her window.

She then proceeded to repeat almost the exact experience from the morning before. The pajamas, followed by the nudity and then getting dressed! All while watching the sunrise again. This girl obviously loved sunrises. I was starting to get quite fond of them myself!

Right then, it that moment, I started my brand new career as a peeping tom.

At first it was just the new love of my life. Window girl! Which was the first terrible nick name I gave her, but the best I could come up with at the time, in my defense my imagination had been overflowing with other thoughts to do with her! Then I shortened it to W girl. Equally crap. Then I decided to call her ‘Wendy’. Wendy my dream girl, who filled my life with starlight every sunrise!

After about twenty mornings of seeing her naked, I decided as brilliant as this was for a career choice for the moment I had enough time in my busy schedule to add several more clients to my morning routine. I just had to do some recruitment.

My original plan was just walking the streets at around sunrise trying to spot other naked girls in the windows. The closest I came to finding another nude friend, was one time spotting an extremely small man, short and thin, about the size of a small jockey, walking into his living room, with what seriously looked like a third leg, but upon which unfortunate further study showed to be a rather enormous male appendage. Lucky son of a bitch! He must have hot girls lining up all day to run their flags up and down his flag pole. For (hopefully) quite obvious reasons I didn’t go and look at that house again.

Instead I decided that further thought must be given to my recruitment process. Before I could do that though I had to fix up my financial situation. I knew working was just not going to agree with me. So I had to convince the lady at the unemployment office that I deserved to get unemployment benefits again. So I picked out my worst outfit (this wasn’t hard I only had two to choose between. Grey sweatpants and a plain black t-shirt with holes. Or a grey t-shirt with black sweatpants with holes, I went for the holey t-shirt and grey pants). Then I decided to cast aside my usual washing routine of once a fortnight. On top of that I wore that one outfit twenty four hours a day for three weeks, without having one shower. Then I went down to the office without fixing my hair at all either. I looked like I had just spent six months in a prisoner of war camp. My clothes were crumpled and noticeably filthy, my hair was a cross between Don King and Billy Ray Cyrus, and I stunk like a garlic farmer who washed in the sewer.

I walked into the office and my contact, Dorothy Raven, spotted me right away and told me to come over and sit down. As I got closer she started to do the limbo.

“That’s strange!” I thought to myself before realizing she was actually just arching her back with her head back to take what ever measures possible to not have to smell me.

“Maybe I didn’t need to go completely without showers” I thought

“Hello Miss Raven” I said quite cheerfully, trying to portray a sign that I hadn’t intentionally made myself look awful for her

“Hello Mr Domey” She replied

“The reason I am here is that I was fired from my job……it wasn’t my fault…..they were robbed by nine year olds……I hit my head, they drew on my face……I got a round of applause……they had lots of magazines……I tried to shoot myself with a cap gun…..they made me wear a grimy t-shirt……worse than this one…..they were mean…..it was dark…..I didn’t know they were nine…..I was afraid….I told you I would be afraid’

“Stop rambling Jason” She interrupted

“But I’m trying to explain”

“Its ok Jason, I heard what happened….I was wondering when you would come in again. I will do my best to get you some other job, perhaps something ….. less dangerous. But until then you will start receiving your unemployment benefits again right away”

“Really, Thank”

“Now please, please, please get out of my office and go and have a shower…. you do have one don’t you?” She said interrupting me, obviously trying to end the conversation as soon as possible.

“Yes Miss Daven”

“Good day” She said and then walked away. As I left I saw her head straight for the bathroom. Probably smelt better in there.

“Joy to the world, they’re giving money to me, to me, to me, for free”, I sang to myself as I walked home.

With my finances sorted out in the best way possible I was free to recruit some new window shopping opportunities.

I decided to take the chance out of whether houses had nice girls in them or not, and start only going to houses where I knew for sure that beauty was present. Unfortunately I didn’t know any other houses with hotties in them, but I did have had a plan.

I started going to the train station every afternoon and watch people get off the trains. School girls, girls on their way home from work, yummy mummies, girls in their teens, girls in there twenties, girls in their thirties, girls in their forties, girls in their fifties, well not many in their forties and fifties. Then when I saw someone I would like to see more of I would follow them home.

At first my following skills were very ordinary. I would constantly get caught and have women looking back at me looking very worried or upset. Sometimes they would run away, sometimes they would go into shops and not come out for hours. Occasionally they would pull out cell phones and start making calls while frantically looking back at me and I was forced to abort the mission. Two or three times I had girls actually confront me and tell me to “STOP FUCKING FOLLOWING ME, YOU FUCKING CREEP!” Or something like that. And I would be forced to reply lamely something like “I’m not following you, I’m walking home, it’s not my fault your walking the same way” with a nervous voice which sounded on the verge of tears.

However over time I began to master my new trade. First thing I realized was that people take far less notice of other people walking behind them when they’re on the other side of the road. One thing for sure, never cross the road when they do! That stands out like me at a trendy nightclub, always noticed, always disturbing.

Next thing I realized was that it’s sometimes possible to follow someone from in front of them. Like if they’re walking down the strip of shops next to the train station, I could walk in front of them and stop every now and then to look into shop windows and get a look at where they were, so not to lose them. Shop windows also had the advantage of having reflections. One of the keys to following someone is to never look at them directly, look at the car driving past them, or at something making noise on the other side of the road as they’re walking past, or in the reflection of anything glass.

My next big break through was deciding that I didn’t need to follow a girl all the way home the first time I saw her. Over time I began to get into tune with the routines of various females in my area. Many got the same trains on a daily basis. I could see a girl on a Monday and follow her for a block or two and see where she turns next, then just by chance I could be walking down that street in the opposite direction on Tuesday and happen to see which way they turned next. Then Wednesday just by chance I could be walking down the next street and see where she went, and so on and so on. I became a master sleuth. I was the Sherlock Holms of the stalking trade. I was the best in the business. After a couple of months of following girls around I got so good that it had been a long time since anyone had even noticed me, and I suddenly started to know where just about every attractive girl with in a five mile radius of me lived, and I also knew all of their routines. I knew when they left for work, when they came home, what days they stopped to buy groceries on the way home, what days they went to the gym before coming home. I bet I knew more about their routines than they did half the time.

I began to put together statistics and charts on who I knew, where they lived and what they did. I had more than fifty different women on my list. Women of all hair colors, ages, body shapes and heights. They all had only two things in common, they were so very shaggable, and anytime they were in their home neighborhood I knew exactly where they would be. I don’t think most people even realize what creatures of habit they are. We all seem to fit our leisure and work time around a set criteria and it’s hardly ever broken. I didn’t even need a watch anymore, I knew if Vanessa (I even started to know lots of their names over time, if you spend enough time stalking someone you pick up things like that, you can hear a friend yell it out, see it on a book they’re carrying, or hear them on the phone) was walking into the seven eleven to buy a bag of sherbet lemons (she bought them every second day), it meant the 4:08 train had arrived three minutes earlier as Nessa (as I called her) was on her way home from school. This made it ..4:16pm.. (the train was always five minutes late).

Once I had my list perfected it was time to move onto phase two. I chose girls from my list one at a time and gave them my full attention. I would make my mind up to be casually walking down their street just as they were getting home from work or school, and watch to see a light turn on to indicate their bedroom. I would stalk out houses for twenty four hour periods to see what their living arrangements were like, see if they had brothers or boyfriends, see if their windows were easily seeable from the street, or see if they had good and safe viewing spots from the street.

As time progressed my list started to get smaller and smaller. Occasionally I would fluke a success and spot a bit of hairy goodness or her bouncing friends before I had really gotten to know a girl. They were first on my list of regulars. Then I came up with my top ten best peeping tom targets. Ten girls who had consistent knowable routines, who were very attractive, who had no known dangerous room mates, who had bedroom windows I could see into, and who had houses that I could feel safe outside for reasonable periods of time without constantly worrying about being caught .

Once my list was complete I could go to each house every day. I never had to give any houses too much time every morning. I knew what time these girls would be showering, and when they would be getting dressed for the day. So I just waited to see if they were in the mood to check out the weather while still in the buff. It still amazes me how many people do it. You just have to be at the right place at the right time to see it.

After only about six months since I had been fired from my job I had started to see on average about five or six naked women a week. I started everyday with my sunrise honey, Wendy, who always managed to make more than the sun rise every morning. Then I would walk from house to house to get my other fixes. No other girl was ever as reliable as my first true love, or as hot as her, but with ten on my list I usually got to see at least one other girl a morning. I couldn’t believe my luck. Who would have thought that I of all people in the world would have such access to such a large and regular variety of beautiful naked women to look at? I was seeing so much nakedness I thought playboy photographers would even be jealous of me.

Seeing them the way I did, I thought, was even more exciting than if they had just let me see them. This way it was still a challenge every day. There was still that moment or two when I would hold my breath as a girl I was watching for would be getting out of the shower and not sure whether or not she would walk by the window. There was that adrenalin rush every time. Nine times out of ten I would still see nothing, with all but my favorite girl Wendy. So even though I was getting frequent sightings it was still a thrill every time I got a peek. Especially after seven or eight disappointments already that day.

Also the fact I didn’t see everything was a turn on. Sometimes a girl would come to the window wearing a sexy little nighty, or just panties and a bra. Sometimes I would see them topless or just whisk by the window with nothing on at all, and I would only sneak a peak, but it would be fleeting, and leave me desperate for more. Or sometimes I would get the full show and they would stand at the window for ages, like Wendy usually did, and I could study their bodies and decided what I liked most about them.

Surprisingly this changed all the time. Sometimes I would have a fully naked girl fifteen yards in front of me in the morning sunlight, and I would just stare at her neck, or her upper thigh. It was still the typical naughty bits I watched the most though. I especially liked it on those rare, rare occasions when they would turn around and show me their firm petite little butts and then bend over to pick something up and reveal the full glory of their lovely little friend down underneath. It almost made me orgasm on site. I wished I could be friends with her friends!

In the afternoons I could still continue to try and find more girls. Occasionally I would rotate someone out of my top ten and replace them with someone completely new or sometimes an old girl from my original list. Variety is the spice of life after all! However my stalking began to get less and less productive. It came to the point that I wouldn’t even see a single new girl at the train station for weeks.

It was no fun trying to follow someone home when you already knew where they lived. Sometimes I would follow home a guy just for the enjoyment I got from outsmarting someone, and not getting caught. Of course obviously I didn’t want that to go any anywhere.

Then even the peeping tomming started to head towards tedium. I still saw Wendy every day; she was the love of my life. But sometimes I wouldn’t even bother looking at more than one or two other houses. Sometimes I would just walk around the neighborhood at random hoping to spot something new just out of the blue. I never did though.

After a good solid six months of peeping tomming at every single day break, I was sitting in the bushes outside Wendy’s house one morning, waiting for the sun to rise, the curtains to be pulled, and my love to show herself to me, when I unexpectantly started to think maybe I should stop this. Actually I had thought this a bunch of times before, but what the hell else was I going to do. I didn’t have a job, or friends, or even family that I wanted to see. So I kept doing this every day. Even when I was feeling a little over it, I still very much enjoyed those moments would nudity presented itself. How could I not!

Yet this day was different, I was even thinking of giving up Wendy. Maybe it was because it was my birthday? My twenty first!

I had spent a long time that morning starring at the mirror. I hated looking in the mirror; I had never liked the guy in there looking back at me. This morning however I looked for ages. I starred at myself wondering where the hell twenty one years had gone. How did I get to this being my life? How could it be my birthday and the only person I wanted to see that day didn’t even know I was alive. In fact if she ever did know I was alive she would have me put in jail, where I would have to shower every day in front of big tough men, with much larger penis’s than me, and I would be beaten and called bad names and raped.

I couldn’t believe I was twenty one. I looked about sixteen. And that’s not even me being hard on myself, I actually did look sixteen. At university some of the kids called me Dumb Dougie Domey. After the TV character ‘Dougie Howser’ who finished his medical degree aged fourteen. Obviously they somehow had decided that I was just like him, only stupid. How on fucking earth did those arseholes actually think that I got into a University at fourteen if I really was stupid?

I was thinking all this in front of the mirror, and then again in front of Wendy’s house. Then I looked up behind me. It was probably the most magnificent sunrise I had ever seen. As much as the reason I had been doing this every morning was mostly about seeing naked women, I had also really enjoyed seeing the sunrise every morning. This one though was more spectacular than any of the others

The clouds had formed this amazing swirl. It started at one side of the sky as a small thin line, and then got thicker and darker as it swept across all the way to the other side of the sky. Like an enormous ‘Nike’ symbol. The clouds themselves had this amazing color pattern of wavy shapes every shade of grey imaginable. But most spectacular was the color of the sky. I had never seen so much color. At the bottom, surrounding the sun, which was an enormous sphere today, was a deep, deep orange horizon. The above it merged into a yellow as bright as a lemon and then to purple and red all up to the blackness above still with some stars out for show.

It looked just completely surreal. It looked like it was painted; only the artist had exaggerated every color to make it more amazing than life could really create. Only this was real! I wondered briefly if the sun had actually gotten closer to earth over night, the sun looked bigger than I had ever seen it. I wondered if the sun would get closer and closer until we all burned to death, except rich people who would probably build some kind of huge freezer house at the centre of the earth and leave all the poor saps like me behind.

Then it occurred to me, such a wonderful sunrise, and the world’s number one fan of sunrises was missing it, where was Wendy? I looked back at her window trying to see if there was any movement behind the curtains. Had she just slept in? Did she have to leave early today? Was she sick? Had something bad happened to her? I began to worry.

I broke out into a sweat and my heart was thumping and adrenalin rushing through me. It was a completely different sort of adrenalin rush than I normally had while out with my friend Tommy Peeps, this was fear for someone else adrenalin. I wasn’t used to fearing for someone else and I didn’t like it at all.

I began to think of all sorts of horrible things that could have happened to her. She could of fallen going to the toilet in the middle of the night, and smashed her head hard into the cold hard porcelain of the toilet, and cracked her skull open wide and be lying on the floor in a pool of her blood, bleeding to death unless someone came in and saved her! She could have been attacked in the middle of the night by a thief she startled as he climbed in her window in black clothes and a ski mask, and he might have beaten her to death with the hammer he had used to pry open the window.

I thought about going in to knock on the door and then going inside to save her, if she could still be saved. But what would I say if she was there and opened the door? “Hi I’m JayJay Domey, I have been watching you nakedly watching the sunrise every morning for the past few months, and was just wondering when you were going to put on your show for me this morning? I do have other clients to see this morning you know!”

Just about the exact moment I had that thought, I heard a noise behind me.

I turned around and saw four large men standing right behind me!