My vagina was getting very wet knowing he was spying on my genitals, and it wasn’t only because I began to pee, the yellow stream emerging from my urethra and tinkling against the porcelain of the toilet bowl and into the water itself, the sound of me urinating filling the bathroom. I knew he was looking at me through the small gap in the drapes, not sure where to look.
Was it at my face that showed my relief as my bladder emptied into the toilet? Was it at my pubic hair and my vagina, visible between my legs? Or was it at my lowered panties and my bare feet? Even when we talked and I happened to be barefoot, he would always be looking down at my bare feet. Perhaps it was to do with his shyness around me having had a crush on me for years, or maybe he liked my feet?
I looked down at my panties as I finished peeing, seeing my creamy colored feminine stains all over the soft double cotton panty saddle, courtesy of my vagina self-cleansing during sleep. Could my voyeur see my private pussy stains on my panties? I hoped so.
Reaching out for the toilet roll, I unwound some toilet paper and applied it to my vagina, wiping away my pee. I let the toilet tissue fall into the bowl, and remained sitting on the toilet to empty my bowels. As I did just this, I knew I was being watched by him, and that he was seeing me do the most personal and private things on the toilet. My vagina tingled, and as I advanced the toilet roll to get more toilet paper to wipe my bottom I felt the tissue sticking to my aroused vulva, before I pulled it backwards to my anus.
Knowing I was being watched while I was sitting on the toilet was so exciting, sort of like a carnival ride at a fair ground, and I relished every moment of it as I sat pooing, intermittently getting toilet paper to wipe my anus. I wouldn’t have been so happy had he been in the bathroom with me, it would have been a bit embarrassing to me for him to hear and smell what I was doing on the toilet, but being watched from this distance was very arousing.
Again, I looked down at my lowered panties and bare feet as I moved my bowels, and thought about how last week he saw a lot more when he watched me on the toilet. Lots of guys — my brothers among them — seemed to think that the notion that non-pregnant women shed the linings of their uterus every 28 days, the blood flowing down their birth canals and out of their vaginas, a process known as menstruation or having a period was all a myth, probably more wishful thinking on their part. But thanks to his spying on me, my voyeur would have seen that it was all 100 percent true.
For one week each month he got to see me using the toilet while I was on my period — a process that always took longer due to all the blood that flowed out of me and the rather unfortunate effects menstruation had upon my bowels – my sanitary belt pulled down with my panties, a white rectangular blood-stained napkin attached to it. And when I finished using the toilet he would watch me changing my dirty blood-filled period pad, removing it from the belt and taking a new one and attaching it to the hoops. I would then pull up my sanitary belt, adjusting my new napkin so it would be comfortable between my legs and the right position for me to bleed into, before pulling up my panties to cover my feminine protection.
Being watched during my ladies days doing such private and personal female things was so arousing, and I knew he liked it too. I would place my used period pads in brown paper bags to dispose of in the outside trash, and I would see him hanging around, trying to make it obvious that he wasn’t watching me dispose of my napkins and liking what he saw, failing dismally but me never calling him out on it. And another time he was in the pharmacy waiting for a prescription when I walked in and asked the female clerk for sanitary towels. As I paid for the feminine hygiene products, of course sold in plain brown packaging for maximum discretion, I could see that he was trying not to eavesdrop, but that he was very much interested in what I was buying.
Normally having a period was not something I relished — I had a heavy flow, menstrual cramps and didn’t feel my best — things my female cousins and friends had also complained about when they had their monthlies. No wonder we sometimes called it the curse. And I could not have started my first period on a more significant day when I was aged 12 — 7 December 1941, the day Pearl Harbor was attacked by the Japanese, bringing America into the war. I sure wasn’t going to forget it. So knowing he eagerly anticipated my period each month, I did too.
But just who was ‘he’? Was he my boyfriend? No, far from it, I already had a boyfriend named Bobby, one of my brother’s best friends and very handsome, we had grown up together, went to high school together and we had been going steady for some time. And there was no way I wanted Bobby to see me using the toilet or having my periods, and there was no way he would want to see this either. My secret voyeur was named Eric, and we had also grown up together and were now seniors in the same high school. Like me, he was born in October 1929, but despite being next door neighbors since our formative years, he wasn’t anything like me or any of the other kids in the Maine town we grew up in.
I kept thinking about my neighbor/classmate as I continued to sit on the toilet, my mind taking me back years. I had grown up a typical All-American girl, and something of a tomboy due to my love of sports. During childhood I would more frequently be found outdoors climbing trees, building forts and playing Cowboys and Indians or playing football, baseball and basketball with my brother, male cousins and male friends than indoors playing quietly with the other girls. However, during the cold snowy winters and wet fall and spring days of New England I would be only too happy to stay indoors in the warm with the other girls and play quietly.
Despite my tomboyish ways as a kid, I always had a feminine appearance and wore my blonde hair long, and had no qualms about wearing skirts and dresses. As I grew older and my body changed into that of a young lady, I knew that I was pretty (but of course I was always too modest to say it aloud) and boys found me desirable. Not least Eric, who had had a crush on me for as long as I could remember.
Reaching for some more toilet paper, my memory took me back into the past again, thinking about how different Eric was from all the other kids in the town and surrounding towns in this region of New England. All of us were sports mad, and most of us played a variety of sports. I ran track at school and played for a girls’ softball team.
With his tall skinny frame devoid of any muscle tone and his poor eyesight that lead to him wearing glasses that lenses as thick as the bottom of bottles, Eric was not into sports at all, always the last picked and a hindrance rather than a help to the boys in gym class. He was most uncoordinated, and even at age 18 could not throw or catch a ball properly, or run a lap of the oval at school without getting puffed. Most significantly, he was unable to drive an automobile or even ride a bicycle. Seeing Eric setting off on his tricycle to run errands made me feel embarrassed, and I wasn’t the one riding the darn tricycle, I had been able to ride a two-wheeler since I was about four.