A voyeur meets a like minded soul and starts an alliance which opens up a hole new world

When I’m out hunting, I am, on the main, looking for bare legs, skirts and serious shopping, regardless of age. The bare legs are of course no tights or stockings hindering the ultimate prize, the skirt provides easy access and a sort of shroud from the the owner’s eyes above. Serious shopping allows loitering for a good enough time to capture the target. This time, I saw a very nice pair of mid forties nipples, thrusting not only through a very obvious brassiere, but through the lightweight, pale grey, vee neck top on an elegant lady. The bra was noticeable because I could detect it’s shape by the straps over her shoulders, a slight bulge of flesh below her armpits and across her back while she bent into a display cabinet. I filtered my way to the frozen foods department, carefully holding a corner of my nondescript but essential old army bag aimed at her.

The lad with her, aged about eleven, glanced away - very unusual - from his device, at me then downwards and sidled closer to who I assumed to be his mother and whispered to her. I was already alert but soon to be scared, as she stopped bending over, perusing the supermarket’s display of frozen pizza and started to turn in my direction. Not withstanding that sudden action, my usual modus operandi would have been to linger and surreptitiously enjoy close ups of her surprisingly daring dress sense to expose her teats, which were no doubt raised to high levels of stubbiness by the chill they had been near as dammit immersed in, when I reached her while capturing the view I aimed for. I had hovered about a metre behind her delectable yummy mummy arse clad in a light, airy, loose, white, calf length skirt, showing a crease over her hips which signalled low slung briefs. The skirt would have been semi-transparent if she’d stood in front of direct sunlight and I was aiming to get some video of that when she moved outside. Car parks afforded some good angles for that sort of thing, I’d discovered some time back and it was very revealing and added to the overall thrill.

Good views were countless this bright hot Saturday morning in August. Ladies were out in summer splendour, which according to the upmarket area I was hunting in, meant little garments and little concealment, apart from those euphemistically termed private parts. Micro mini skirts, mini skirts, buttock revealing tiny shorts, strapless tops, cropped tops, floaty misty fabrics, bare legs and all shod in sexy, tiny strapped sandals. I have seen white and black knickers and thongs through white slacks and skirts, why they wear black under white beats me but I love it when they do.

I scarpered fast without running through the mid-size store in a superb of Winchester and then hastened through the crowds outside, to my car. In – started - pulling out and away – I’d achieved a safe getaway and was I fucking thankful and wary about returning there for some time. To be done for taking videos up the skirts of unsuspecting females, upskirting as it’s known, would be a big voyeurism offence and receive a lot of local press publicity. Managing to calm myself down with deep breathing, driving slowly and calmly, I arrived about two miles away at another possible hot spot – a town square open market.

Parked not without some searching, I sat in the car and played back the video footage I’d captured so far. Only roughly three minutes of good video was worthy of editing later at home, out of thirty minutes nonchalantly strolling in that supermarket, a post office and a charity shop second hand ladies clothes department. I was keen to view Yummy Mummy’s face, figure and general demeanour having an interest and curiosity about all things feminine but she was the most attractive so far. Tall, elegant, sturdy but shapely, not big breasted (big nippled), well tanned, immaculately coiffured dirty blond hair, and I’d had the time prior to being spotted, to notice and video all that plus her bright red painted toe nails. Her round, precisely made up, full face suggested an executive role in a small local company as well as a mummy, but apart from her knickers colour, design and fit and hopefully more intimate details, that was the only guess work and not for long. I saved that element of the video for slow comfortable private viewing at home.

The market was busy and thriving, very county in style and produce and while it catered for all classes and types, there weren’t many chavs and hoi polloi about. I used a well tried route, commencing at a food outlet stall, mainly burgers. It was Bingo again, having escaped but forfeited valuable upskirt time with Yummy Mummy. There at the end of a queue, about four persons long was a sexy pair of young girls. I guessed early twenties, dressed for summer in no mean way and the Bingo prize was two very short, flared, one white, one pale pink micro mini skirts over stunning tanned bare pins. Swiftly I sauntered in behind them, not attracting their attention, they were so wrapped up tales of their recent holiday and as the queue moved on they were telling the burger seller all about it. I had oodles of lush time, which was not an easy ride as they were so animated and excited they skittered about on ridiculously high heels.

I moved on licking my lips in anticipation for later, seeing a schoolgirl. Uniforms weren’t needed in this holiday period, so her worryingly thin bony legs were topped in a washed denim mini skirt. It wasn’t tight, but short. Her feet were sockless in trainers. Her tee-shirt was tight, navy blue and I could see little evidence of breast but the straps of a bra were clearly in view. I knew she was a schoolgirl, because she was with a group of French mixed group kids, some younger – others older, shepherded around this cathedral city by two officious adults. I also knew because I had seen one of the adults, with this group, while visiting a local community centre, to do business, my other business with the manager who’d explained who they were.

This young girl was thin – extremely so, but very popular as she gabbled with the other at a CD selling stall. I managed to infiltrate the crowd, the usual way with a bunch of foreigners, by mimicking their way of barging in, regardless of standing in line in queues or not giving away to other interested folk – like me. She was attractive, a mass of wild raven hair which closed in her brow, she seemed to developing a set of sideboards judging by the growth of hair in front of her ears. I thought she could be of Romany extract, but who cares as I went into action. I managed to assert my position, after one or two unruly jostles, while I examined CDs by Sydney Bechet, Jimi Hendrix, SeaSick Steve. I was immediately behind the stick insect and managed minutes in a prime position.

Moving on nearing lunchtime, working my route, knowing where a good real ale pub was for a pint and a pie, I lingered at a charity stall, needing to vary my videos with a mix, which would prove successful with my followers. So far - Yummy Mummy, two modern stunners, a French anorexic and now an elderly lady. She was silver haired, a little scruffy, rimless spectacles, a wart on her chin and short. It looked like a plain pale blue blouse beneath - as you often see - even in hot weather, the oldies will wear heavy gear and this one was enveloped, her upper torso anyway, in a dark green knitted wool cardigan. Two pockets were bulging with whatever, dragging the loose garment out of shape, but not low enough to defer my interest in her thin, fussily patterned, below knee length skirt. It looked cheap and hung full, round her bare stringy legs which were shod incongruously in trainers.

She seemed to be with two partners, one maybe her daughter, mid fifties, equally scruffy, dirty blonde going grey bob, wearing a fashion item I find difficult to understand – but being male what do you expect. It was a maroon coloured top with cut outs why over her shoulders. A deep cut vee neck offered cleavage and I shifted. The one thing that pleased me, she was chubby, quite attractive in a brutalist way, her bosom – plentiful, swaying and rolling, not bouncing, was her black bra straps carving into her flesh. Her lower half was in tight jeans and trainers. The bloke with them was ugly, smoking and very scruffy although carrying their bags.

Manoeuvring behind the old dear - christ! she smelled, body and urine, not nice being close but I had several seconds in her odours, she was quite still, maybe not good on her pins, but that afforded me time – who knows, I have captured old dears with no knickers.

Needing to escape from her distasteful pong, breathing in fresh vegetables and fruit at the last stall, I retired to the pub and bought my lunch, sitting in a solitary window seat, left by a group of five business people and viewed the throng I would return to.

Buying another pint, I chat to anyone and struck up a conversation with a smart, casually dressed chap leaning against the bar, round my age, about – what else? The fabulous weather. We established a mutual interest in markets for different reasons. I stated I loved the, chat, the produce and the people watching hah hah, he declaring his passion for photography and crowd scenes in particular.

“Can I join you,” he asked. I looked over to my seat, my bag under the table on the floor and my newspaper next to an empty plate. “I like to chat.” “Yes of course,” I answered. “But you’ll have ... no you won’t ... that group are leaving, grab a chair.” We carried our drinks and settled, continuing the conversation, the view outside, sweltering sunshine etc. He frowned and looked closely at me, bit his lips then had a gulp of his lager. I sensed something, but what, he was weighing something or me up. Another frown and gulp, “Do you mind if I ask you a personal question?” I was mystified, personal, we hadn’t a clue about each other. I nodded, with a surprised expression, a go-ahead. “Not really personal ... would you mind telling me your name?” “Is that it? Pete, I’m Pete ... you?” “No that’s not the question Pete ... I’m Gary. It’s just that ... well, it’s like ... I’ve seen you around the market, you know - I wander...” he gestured at two big lens Nikon cameras, slung round his neck. “I hope you’re not going to piss off and not answer.” “Try me, I might.” “OK here goes ... that bag,” he grinned, nodded below the table. I thought Oh fuck! “I’ve watched how you handle it and where you go ... Oh fuck it – are you doing what I think you’re doing?”

Gary sat back as he said the words as if expecting me to lamp him, or storm out. The sense of how much he’d worked up to the question and the dangers in putting words to it was startling. He hadn’t a clue how I’d react and neither did I. Having had the early scare with Yummy Mummy’s son. It’s always on my mind, the what if situation. Now – should I tell him or stay shtum. “What do you think I’m doing Gary?” I asked, glancing around, seeing no one in earshot, the pub was quieter now the lunch rush hour was over. “I think you’re peeping up skirts, well not peeping but videoing ... you know?” he murmured. “You a copper?” “No honestly, I’m not, look here’s my card, I’m a professional photographer, do this sort of thing,” he indicated the market. “And loads of stuff, weddings, schools ... anything really.” I read his card and it seemed pukka, but how to reply.

“There’s a French school group out there,” I told him, trying to change the subject. “Yes - got them, in fact they spotted these,” he pointed at the Nikons. “And asked me to take shots, which I did, they wanted a whole group shot on the steps of the City Hall instead of their Smart phone jobbies. Will give them a freebie. But are you, you know, I mean videoing? Just that I am interested ... in what you do, might be ale to help.” Hello – interesting – help? “I mean interested like when you captured that skinny French kid at the CD stall. I was amazed at how you did it, but why her? There were one or two little madams, better legs, one with big tits ... for her age,” he snickered. “I watched you get the old bag too.” Man of my own heart. “Did her for variation...” Fuck I’d admitted it. “Yes I am Gary, so what now? Videoing up their skirts, it’s just my thing,” I gestured, open handed with a questioning expression on my face.

He frowned again, bit his lips, downed his drink offered me another, I declined so he didn’t top up. We discussed my methods, likes and dislikes, the results, the editing and what I did with the video images. He told me the access he had to schools, he had ceased primary stuff and concentrated on comprehensives, colleges, graduations and I told him about my blog supplying the name. Gary wrote on his card a URL and tipped me the wink to view and the need for utmost discretion, when I got home and we arranged to meet again. One of his aside comments was that he couldn’t believe how free and easy the school girls were in their attitudes, dress and behaviour when with boys. Very different from my days.

We went our own ways from the pub.

Buoyed up by meeting Gary, a like minded fellow, still unsure until I viewed what he’d given me and then if a joint project worked out, I roamed the market then a couple of large stores. I captured a middle aged, blue rinse, upper crust lady with her husband, an old, very smart lady and finally a middle class mum with her toddler in tow. Skirts of all types, colours and styles aplenty.

Gary had sent me snippets of fucking videos, but they were different in that – certainly not professional and polished however good they were, different that they all looked to be young girls and adult men. Blimey! Near the mark, as they say. But perfect to toss one off. I loaded my days capture, grabbed a box of tissues and concentrated on editing. Finally I could see the results.

Yummy Mummy was perfect. In the short time, I’d got her lovely legs and a trendy pair of cream coloured, lace inserts, high cut panties. Her butt cheeks were solid but showing the middle aged scourge of orange peel, the onset of cellulite. It was slight and I liked it, not airbrushed out like magazine stuff. I didn’t get a good view of the front of her gusset – in none pressured times I would have, but the one glimpse through the gap, the video slowed right down, revealed a sizeable bulge where her pussy lips would be.

Burger Bar beauties were next. The two had been on the move all the time I’d been behind them, so dexterity holding, moving and swinging my bag had to be expertly done, and I was expert, not to be bashing their lissome limbs and attracting attention. Fuck! I didn’t need any more. Two utterly cracking looking birds in after a sun holiday glow, gave me top class fare. Both in thongs, the pink skirted, wore pale pink, the white skirted wore white, at least they were the colours I could make out having only a sliver of material between sumptuous butts and the shadowed gussets, one carrying a panty liner.

Stick Insect skittered onto the screen. The washed denim skirt and emaciated limbs let ample light through to illuminate the treasure and what a treasure. Sensible, not skimpy, pink knickers wrapped rather than clung to her bony buttocks; the were a couple of loose folds, not the thing usually found on youngsters undies and wide gusset bridged the gap over her cunt. The treasure was the straggly black pubic hair escaping each side – this kid was mega hirsute. Quite rare at her age, maybe she hadn’t seen the porn most kids model themselves on. I got a lot of time and managed to raise my bag high getting superb close ups.