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This is a question Voyeurism

Enzyme asks "Have you ever accidentally seen something intimate and private and... well... ended up watching? Or found that others had been watching you?"

(, Thu 11 Oct 2007, 18:14)
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Oh God, how I wish I hadn't...
I'm no sylph-like dryad - I'm a 14st bloke. But I do move very quietly, ninja-stylee, and always have done. It's just always been a foible of mine. Scares the shit out of people sometimes, if they don't know I'm there.

So, many years ago, getting home from school one day, I slip into the house fairly silently and am about to start walking up the unavoidably creaky stairs when I hear someone or something make a sound behind the door I'd just passed.

I stop. Did I imagine that? Is someone in the house? Neither the folks nore anyone else are supposed to be back yet.
Freeze, go silent, listen for a minute. No, it's passed, I imagined it.
First step on the stairs, and I hear an unmistakable moan. Oh bloody HELL! That was my DAD! I've never heard that moan before, but in spite of my tender age I know *very well* what that moan is.

What the hell do I do?? I don't want to interrupt or let them know I'm here, because dear Christ I wouldn't want them to know I'd heard what I'd heard. Hell, *I* don't want to know I'd heard it either. And yet, I know, the first step creaks when you step OFF it! If I move, they'll know I'm here!
Shit. Don't panic. Close your ears, wait a few minutes, go to your happy place and, in the heat of the moment, they won't notice you slip away. They'll never know you'd been here. Forget it ever happened. It's a perfect plan...

10 statuesque minutes later I carefully sit down, trying not to transfer my weight. I get out my book and try desparately to shut out the grunting, moaning coming through the wall at me. Oh Christ, now SHE'S at it too! Please God, don't start shouting anything intelligible...

20 minutes later. Still going at it.

30 minutes - oh shit! It's over! It was so sudden, and I'm sat on the step with my book on my lap!
Fuck it, get ready to go. It's time to be stealthy and quick like a god-damned *ninja* and get out of there before they open that door, creak or no creak.

I pack up and it takes me 20 seconds to relieve the pressure on that step, and somehow not a sound escapes it. Like a fucking shadow, I'm across to the door. I'm a fucking hero.
Quick, slick, gently press on the handle, open...

"Oh shit!!" he shouts - there's my Dad, stark-bollock-naked, crabbing back into the room from which he has issued, red-faced and frankly sweatier than my mind can really cope with. Okay, time for ninja fucking deception:

"Jesus Dad, what the hell are you doing? I don't want to come home to your naked arse!" and slam the door like I've just got home.

I'm a god-damned genius.

And my mind is scarred, cracked and weeping, like a herpetic man's crusty member.
(, Tue 16 Oct 2007, 0:25, closed)

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