Chapter 6

My life is full of secrets--like one of those North Sea icebergs drifting along with way more hidden away than visible.

I was secretive by nature and habit. I was forty and had been working most of my life. Ever since I was a teenager, I’d saved and invested fifteen cents of every dollar I’d ever earned. Lawn mowing and paper routes gave way to part time fast food jobs. Then after my degrees, my consulting work. As soon as I could I’d invested in the stock market and in real estate. I owned apartments and office buildings all over the state. But true to form, I kept my wealth under wraps, even Katie had no idea how much I was worth. I wasn’t extravagant, didn’t drive flashy sports cars or live in a vast mansion even though I could have easily afforded it.

Thus far, both my wealth and my kinks had managed to fly under anyone’s radar.

Careful control was my mantra.

Then I got caught.

Katie and I lived on a quiet, modestly upscale neighborhood. Typical middle America. I kept the outside of our modest three bedroom house meticulously groomed. Taking care if it was nice therapy after the stress of my business afairs

We had a pleasant widow in her late fifties living next door. I’d gotten into the habit of mowing her lawn and doing any repairs I noticed around the exterior of her house. Unasked. I liked to putter around outside and one thing just led to the next.

She was reluctantly grateful, something I perfectly understood. Who would ever want to be in a position where they had to owe or have to count on someone else?

Over the years, I had checked her out of course. My pervert side checked out every female over twenty I ran into.

Rita Brazzi was part of the large Lebanese community in our town. Raven black hair, beautiful brown eyes, big breasted and big hipped. Not fat exactly just solid. She was a writer by trade. Romance books. I’d checked them out, she was a good writer.

She’d caught me checking her out and seemed more amused than disgusted.

One day out of nowhere, noticed the shades of her bedroom were slightly askew-- perfect for viewing.

It was one of my dry spells with Katie, so one night I peeked—and got a nice eyeful of those mature tits and a nice black haired cunt. A mature woman. My favorite kind. I found that she owned an impressive collection of lingerie that she’d try on and pretend she was posing for someone laying on the bed.

I should have suspected a trap, but for once I was blind. She reeled me in like a fish.

One June day, just after I finished mowing her lawn, she came out and handed me a short story she had written...

“Mr. Stone thanks again for mowing. Do me a favor and read this and come over and talk to me.

Holy shit she could write. It was a story about a widow who found herself drawn into a lustful and depraved cat and mouse game with a peeping tom.

It was so very hot.

And I was so very fucked.

Later that night, Katie went off to her mother’s house for something, thankfully she didn’t ask me to go. I walked next door dreading what was coming next.

How could I have been so stupidly careless.

At my knock, Mrs. Brazzi opened her front door a drink in hand.

“Come on in Mr. Stone. Can I get you a drink. I’m having gin and tonic.”

“Sure gin and tonic would be fine.” I said and gingerly perched myself on a velour sofa. She bustled into the kitchen, I watched her go. She looked sophisticated and composed, in a flowing green kaftan. As she walked away I noticed the material catch and release between her ass cheeks.

Was she naked under that all that silk?

Her living room matched what I thought a writers room would look like with one wall dominated with three dark walnut bookcases stuffed full of books. Three over-stuffed chairs sat in front of a fireplace. The room was cozy and pleasant—a fact I would have a appreciated if I wasn’t so nervous.

She returned with my drink then seated herself gracefully across from me.

She gave me a mischievous look.

How did you like my story, Mr. Stone?

“Just Jake would be fine, Mrs. Brazzi,” I said. “It was hot. You write well.”

“Okay Just Jake, please call Rita. After all, these last few weeks we’ve been more than a bit intimate, don’t you think?”

Despite myself, I loosed a rueful laugh. “Okay Rita why don’t you let the other shoe drop. What’s going on.?”

“All in good time, Jake. You’re an interesting fellow, Jake. The last few summers, I’d come out of the house and be surprised to find my lawn mowed, very professionally I might add. Week after week you came over and did it without a word. You fixed other things as well, a sagging gate or a loose board. Why, Jake? Why did you make the effort for someone you haven’t exchanged more than the occasional greeting?”

“Short answer, I guess is that I like doing it. I like the neatness of lawn work. It’s a job that offers the instant gratification of completion. Your lawn isn’t all that large, after a while it became part of the chore of my own lawn mowing.”

She took a dainty sip of her drink. Her big tits jiggled. My eyes tracked them.

She noticed. Her lips pursed in a small smile.

“Hmm, I think you’re too modest. Tell me Jake have you ever heard of the book ‘Fifty Shades of Gray’?”

“Sure,” I said, “I haven’t read it, but I heard it was best seller. Very popular. A book that dealt with dominance and submission, I believe.”

“Best seller is too mild a description of its success. To my mind it was poorly written, but it and its sequels made the author millions.”

She took another sip of her drink.

“I’ve been a professional writer for a good long while. My books sell well and over the years I have a loyal group of readers, but I’ve never had a blockbuster. Like a lot of other writers, I’ve tried to break into the Fifty Shades genre without any success. My writing comes out flat. Which brings me to you Mr. Peeping Tom or more accurately Peeping Jake.”

The cold wash of panic must have shown on my face.

She laughed. “Jake, I’ve got the goods on you.”

“What do you want,” I said.

“Nothing but your absolute honesty and frankness. Next year I will turn sixty. I’ve been a widow for fifteen years. Up till recently my sex drive dead as last summer’s flowers.

“When I discovered you watching me, I felt violated. You invaded my privacy. I was furious. I decided to get dressed and confront you. But as I walked outside I heard your wife Katie scream for you to fuck her harder. You really should make sure your windows are closed before you engage in coitus.

She took another tiny sip from her drink.

“Something occurred to me as I stood there listening to you. After watching me undress, you felt compelled to go home and have sex with your beautiful wife. The idea that my body could engender such a response was unbelievable. It made me feel powerful and sexy. You fucked that wife of yours after watching me. You fucked me by proxy.”

She paused and we watched each other silently.

“Let me get you another drink.”

She got up and went into the kitchen. I sat there my mind whirling. She came back holding two more drinks. How many had she had, I wondered. I could feel the effects of the one I’d had. She made the drinks strong. l told myself to slow down. Rule number one about alcohol came to mind.

“Anyway, I came back in and wrote that little erotic short story in about an hour. It’s some of my most powerful writing in years.”

“Okay,” I said. “As weak as it is, I do apologize for invading your privacy. What do you need from me.”

“Jake, you my friend are a man with secrets. No one knows about your wealth. Not even Katie, I’d guess. No one seems to know all of the charitable things you donate too. For example, last year your foundation financed a computer lab for the high school--anonymously. You did the same for the town’s library. No one but me knows you’re a pervert as well.”