Leanne wasn't fortunate with men.
She could never find the right guy. Some of her past boyfriends were nice, but they just didn't want to commit on her level. Leanne had given up on men, but she did want a baby.
When pressed, some past boyfriends were open about the issue but told her that they never wanted children, some said they didn't want the responsibility, some said they couldn't afford a child, some even said the world was overpopulated already. Some of them even broke up with her over it.
That didn't stop Leanne from wanting a baby.
During a moment of desperation, she phoned a clinic to see if she could find a sperm donor, but owing to a new law about donors losing their rights to anonymity, finding a donor was becoming difficult. Pride made her hang up before she pursued it any further. She was plain, but she certainly wasn't ugly. There must be a guy out there somewhere, she thought.
She could feel that her bodyclock wasn't going to slow down because of this problem...
Leanne first noticed the stranger on the night he moved into the flat opposite. Shrouded in darkness, she lay back on a recliner outside on her private patio, enjoying the excellent view she had of the new occupant's flat. She reached for her binoculars on the table beside her, mentally noting any dishy details of the new arrival. He appeared to be on his own. A single guy. She became curious about him in her own subtle way.
Over the weeks, Leanne became familiar with his routines. His work shift pattern especially. During weekdays, she was more confident in knowing when he would come home. That was when she would sneak into his flat and look at his collection of books. The first entry she made was a forced one, well more of a jiggle on his sliding door. Even though her disturbance was kept to a minimum, she was worried that it would be discovered. But no alarm was raised.
His book collection was what freaked her out. It was bizarre. She thought she knew it all. Through him, she discovered taboos. Taboos. Taboos about sex that she didn't even know existed - and she thought she was clued up. There were books on bestiality, copraphilia, loads and loads of extreme porn mag's. He definitely doesn't have a girlfriend, she thought. No woman could share a book collection as screwed up as this. They'd run a mile.
Repulsed, she stayed away from the stranger's flat a long while after that. She didn't want to be found by him in his own flat and end up beaten and trussed and repeatedly sodomised by this guy who could quite easily be some fucked up piece of cheese. Bondage was her limit; bummy sex, scat, was just not her thing. She momentarily shrugged off any curiosity she had towards this new arrival...
It was late on a Saturday night when, bored, she glanced up from her sofa while watching the tv and saw Hamish again. He had candlelight in his flat. Mmmm, a little unusual.
Curious, she switched off the tv, turned out the lights of her flat and sneaked out onto the patio. Her binoculars zooming in, focusing on his lounge room. Hamish wore a black leather vest, a studded dog's collar, a black leather pouch concealed his genitals. Mmmm, something kinky. This could be a laugh, she thought.
He disappeared from his lounge room. She waited, settling herself in the recliner. He suddenly reappeared from his bedroom, moving quickly, erratically, looking exasperated. He lifted cushions off his sofa, threw them back down.
What was he looking for?
He was muttering to himself, punching the air. He disappeared again.
Leanne suddenly knew what was missing. Was it his body language that reminded her? She remembered his first name taken from his handcuffs...
It was about her third or fourth break-in when she found them, she had just returned his underground magazine, "Graveyard Sex Review", when she picked up a pair of silver handcuffs. This was no imitation bullshit, mind you, this was the real deal, so she took them. On returning back to her flat, she examined them. The name 'Hamish' had been etched on both cuffs.
Remembering this, Leanne snuck back inside her flat and picked them up. She'd found them next to a catheter and a pack of collection condoms. What were these going to be used for? She returned to the patio.
Through her binoculars, she watched Hamish. He glanced up quickly, appearing startled by a noise near the entrance to his flat. He walked over to the front door and could be seen talking to a figure in the doorway. The figure entered. A call-girl!
Leanne watched the edgy negotiation, an exchange of cash for a moment of unimaginative, carnal release.
He directed her briefly before she moved inside. He closed the door. She undressed slowly. Her time was his money.
The call-girl moved over to Hamish, both of them walked out of sight. Did they go into the bedroom? Leanne looked but couldn't see anything. Her curiosity began to flare up. Where were they? What were they up to?
Leanne fought the desire to sneak over and enter his flat in the usual way - climbing up two floors and slipping over the balcony to perv. Instead, she waited.
Still no sight of them. Just candlelight flickering in the living room. The callgirl's jacket still lay on the sofa.
.... There is more of this story ...