The Lunarium – an orgiastic peek at a voyeur’s secret social life.

The Lunarium: One man’s memories of the watchers and the watched.

Available on line at KathleenK.xxx – for rowdier readers.

Sixty-nine vignettes of voyeurism presented as “things” to think about. Not suitable for some, appreciated by others.

ADULTS ONLYAmateur readers may not be amused.

The Ninth Thing >< Procrastination

I’ll tell you about this later.

The Tenth Thing >< In the Car, in the Day

Do the watchers want to be watched? Can’t answer for all, but for this one, under some circumstances, yes, the risk of being seen is an element in the excitement.

I had a mild affair, years ago, with a woman who was married to a gay athlete (they were best friends). She was especially affectionate (starved?) and we found it exciting to fool around in the car. The catch was, I could only see her during the day so it was a challenge to find a place we would not be interrupted. One of our favorite places to go was the lakefront drive, it had small two-spot parking areas along the road, under leafy trees, and we’d find a place with one empty car in it hoping it belonged to somebody busy fishing. My friend would drape a car blanket from her shoulders to her knees and I’d slide my right arm over to her side of the car, under the blanket, and explore her body. She would lay back with her eyes closed, lips moved by murmurs.

Cars went past in both directions but the canopy of leaves always provided shade cover. I would feel my lover’s legs fall apart and discover the crotch had been cut out of her panty hose: she didn’t just snip in a slit, she’d remove the entire cotton panel so I could get my hand at her. She had a juicy pussy, she knew I liked that. I could prod at the mound and work my way along the closed lips to the place her ass rested on the car seat. She would brace her legs on the floor and tilt her hips up so I could get more of her. The angle of my approach was dictated by our side-by-side position, I had my elbow toward her far hip and my hand snaked over her thigh palm-side to her cunt, thumb up. My left hand would have been more maneuverable but it would have meant my turning in the seat and making our actions obvious. As we were, to the cars zipping past, we gave an impression of two people facing forward in a car. Perhaps one was napping? Nothing cuddly or outwardly intimate about it.

My fingers would become the focal point of my mind, I closed my eyes and felt this woman, I’d trace the curl of her pussy lips and feel the first creaming of her excitement. She talked while I touched her junction, she talked about getting caught, a cop coming to our car door, the three of us mutually aware of our relative positions, she being “interfered with”, and the cop watching, and me… nasty appreciative me willing to risk even that to get her scent on my fingers.

I, too, thought of being seen. I would be seen shoving her face-down onto the trunk lid of my car, I’d be seen yanking my zipper open and freeing my beast, witnessed slamming up into her, showing she was ready for me, I’d put a kink in every dick that drove by ‑‑ monkey see, monkey want to do. [I’d seen this face-the-trunk position in a movie once and, truth, I considered it a fantasy. It seemed so selfish/macho with the power of the vehicle (to escape) and the facing-away female like she was one in a nameless line. I didn’t want to do it that way, I wanted to think of doing it that way.]

Our actual affair was brief, but long after we quit having intercourse my friend would still meet me for a drive to the lake. For my entertainment, she’d masturbate to climax — something she had never done when we were still having sex (or before). The strain I felt in my cock was good, yearning for the days when this woman would have permitted full body contact with her. The fact I still did the lakeside thing with her was partially because it gave me time to gather my erotic thoughts. Sex deserved contemplation. I’d be nudging at my friend’s clit with the tip of my middle finger, hearing the impact in her voice as she whispered to me about being seen, being watched, being the show.

 

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Greetings from Kathleen K. I am interested in your comments. Thanks for taking the time.

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