THE PEEPER’S ROUTINE

The Peeper had a routine. He wanted to be seen.

This was how he wanted it. This is how he needed it. This is how he got off. He was a peeper, a midnight creeper who dated these gorgeous gals from a distance. Wringing his hands, licking his chops, he glommed his glims on them through their windows as they undressed, unaware. It was sin-o-matic. It was more than a fellow could bear. But it wasn’t merely a-bash-the-bishop and retreat into the night scenario.

The Peeper had a routine, he needed to be seen.

It was part of his hang-up, his hang-down, his pervert peccadillo. He gawked, he came, she screamed, he went. He was rocked by her shock. He wanted her to see the effect she had on him. He wanted to get caught… almost. He dug the danger.

The Peeper had a routine. He had to be seen.

On this particular night, there was no moon at all, but there was a light breeze which made the sheers dance like smoke as they billowed and