Not Really a Peeping Tom By Terveen Gill

It had been exactly one week of stalking, climbing, perching, and watching.

But he still wasn’t satisfied with what he had seen.

It hadn’t been enough to feed the greed inside him, exhaust the curiosity, provoke the rage.

And he wanted to be pushed till he burst. He had lost his backbone and nerve, but this would help them return.

She thought she was too good for him.

Her eyes spoke more than her lips, but they laughed at him together.

This time, he would be the last one laughing.

His camera hung from his shoulder. It would be click, click, click tonight.

She had just entered the building, her cheap perfume and overdone face excited him. He would be getting what he wanted.

The thought tickled him, but it also made him sad, then it nudged him to quit overthinking and get into place.

This tree was new to him, its trunk dry and flaky, enough branches to aid his ascent, not enough leaves to hide him.

But he wanted her to see him. He’d even shout out her name if she didn’t look, but first, he’d capture her in his camera, raw and indecent, dirty and provocative.

He was sweating but his insides had frozen, a numb bastard was better than an oversensitive moron.

His arms and legs worked, lifting and carrying him to a branch that was the perfect spot to wait, rest, and ready himself for her.

She was something else. A thing of beauty, curvaceous body, skin so tan and tight that it looked like caramel. He’d have a bite of her, a big one.

The bedroom light went on and the brightness splashed against the window.

She was already naked. He took a few shots but wanted to see more.

There was no escaping this time.

She pranced around like a nymph on marijuana, silly and self-absorbed, so full of herself.

He expected it to end in disappointment, but then an arm shot out and yanked her out of sight.

There was a squeal and muffled laughter.

Oh God! He was going to miss it.

There was a branch closer to the window, but haste was the harbinger of disaster.

A tree wasn’t the place to test one’s agility. His butt left the branch, but his foot missed the crook, and his hands grabbed what they could, but it was only air.

The branches broke his fall, also his shoulder, arm, and leg, and he landed on his side that probably broke something too.

The loud crash brought her to the window, and she looked down at him. Her reaction a mix of swearing, screaming, and spitting. He had had her where he wanted her – sufficient proof of a cheating wife meant a quick divorce with little to no alimony.

But his camera still hung from the tree branch, and she reached for it, hundreds of her naked photographs stored in it.

She would go to the police and accuse him of being a pervert.

But he would confess without reservation – he only had the brains to be a bungling idiot, not really a peeping Tom.