THE FOLLOWING IS PURELY FICTION...

I enjoy watching. I am what you could call a “Peeping Tom.”

This has long been my philia. My avocation. Since I was a child, I’ve been staring, watching others, “people watching.”

Humans are the most fascinating of animals. Perhaps this is due to their intelligence. Or maybe their dangerousness.

As a child I would spy on girls in the neighborhood. Going to all-boys Catholic schools made me extra curious about girls, what secrets they held.

I wanted to see girls. I wanted to know them. Learn them. So I’d watch them. Any way I could...

Weekends, after school, I’d hide behind objects in the playground, seeking girls, and spy on the girls as they skipped rope, played patty-cake or hopscotch. It was fascinating to see them, their clothes, their lithe, slender bodies, how differently they moved and talked! Their mesmeric motions!

Girls were all I could think of, from an early age. I never cared much to watch boys. Girls fascinated me more. Girls, the mysterious, magical creatures, full of surprises...

My girl-watching extended to my older sister, Marissa. In fact, she’s always been my favorite female to peep on...

She’s 3 years older than me and drop dead gorgeous. I’ve been enamored with her since I can remember.

I used to spy on her, sneak into her room, hide under her bed, lie in wait for when she’d return from playing tennis.

Under the bed, I’d perv, watch her change from her pleated white tennis skirt, white Holy Cross T-shirt, and white knee-high tube socks.

Oh, how gracefully she’d peel off her clothes, fling them into the hamper!

Then she’d stand in only her underwear. Usually a white sports bra and white cotton panties.

(My sister is a fan of white, and I’ve always admired the way it compliments her creamy vanilla skin.)

My sister would first reach into her dresser, sift, and select new undergarments, walk towards me, so close that I could only see her feet and shins! It was a double thrill, her being so close to me. The thrill of being caught. The electricity in my veins and my heart racing and beating like a drum in my chest!

She’d lay the fresh pair of bra and panties, usually white, but sometimes baby blue, on the bed. Afterwards, she’d whirl around, and as she’d slink towards the closet, I would gaze in awe at the contours of her deliciously round apple ass and the ripples in its fleshy mounds, the wiggling of her cheeks as they clapped and swayed towards the closet.

Then she’d open the closet, sort through her dresses. Most every dress was the same. Loose-fitting, floral pattern dresses usually accompanied by a scarf.

(From her tennis and California diet, she had a marvelous figure, but she kept it largely concealed under her conservative clothing, accoutrements... )

Once she had a dress in hand, she’d again approach the bed, and again I’d have adrenaline surging through my veins as she neared, seeing her feet only inches from my face, her purple painted toenails pointing right at me! Thank goodness her feet couldn’t talk!

At long last, here came the best part...

Marissa would stroll back over to the hamper. Arms akimbo, she’d hook her well-manicured slender little hands onto the bands of her white cotton panties and push them down, leaning forward, slightly, as she did so, the panties falling to the floor like flakes of snow, and once the panties met the floor, she’d step out of the panties, bend further forward, her knees arched and she’d scoop up the panties, dunk them into the mouth of the hamper.

The first time I witnessed her do this, I watched breathlessly. My eyes zoomed in on her triangle mound, her crotch, transfixed at her chestnut brown, tidy patch of curly pubic hair. I was even more amazed at her labia, her outer vagina lips, their cleft, the way they hung and protruded from in between her thighs. I was truly entranced. The sight of her heavenly cunt was phantasmagoric ... Her perfect little pussy like a peony in full bloom...

(What an incredible creation of nature the vagina is. Probably nature’s most triumphant, beneficial and useful creation, indeed... )

The icing on the cake came when Marissa would reach her arms behind her back, like she was being handcuffed. But instead of being cuffed, she was uncuffing, unhooking her bra and letting her bullet-shaped breasts fall free into the open.

Her breasts were voluminous. Bullet-shaped, C-Cup knockers that had thick pointy dark pink nipples the size of aperitif cups.

I would lick my lips, behold her breasts’ girth and wonder at how they jiggled like small bowls of jello.

She’d let the bra slide down and off her arms, collect it in her hands and toss it into the hamper along with the rest of her garments.

What a sight to behold! Every time she stood nude it was as if she was silhouetted in golden light!

My sister was the first naked woman I’d seen. And what a magnificent form she had. A small waist. Around 5’8 with an hourglass figure and such long legs, legs reaching approximately to the “divine” ratio ... How lucky was I that this was my introduction to femininity...

I wouldn’t look too much at her face when I’d spy on her, since I could always see her face. Instead, I’d focus more on her body, her breasts, ass, and vagina, since those weren’t what I usually could see.

But when I did look at her face, I’d admire it too, able to read it and appreciate it thoroughly. She had such a pretty look, with her almond-shaped face, her deep-set eyes and full lips, aquiline nose; the way she’d tuck her shoulder-length curly light brown locks behind her ears. I think she looked more serene in these moments, with no one looking, no pressure to play a role.

(That’s the beauty of peeping on a woman who is alone. You see who they really are. Their true character. How they are when there’s no one to please.)

My sister, naked, was a glorious, heavenly sight. A beautiful, radiant maiden.

My favorite part was the end of each episode, where she’d turn and slink towards her bathroom, and I’d laser in, follow and worship her nude wiggling ass as it got smaller and smaller and smaller, the farther she walked away, until finally she’d open and close the nut-brown bathroom door, and disappear from my vision, as magically and mystically as she’d arrived.

At this point, once the door was firmly closed. I’d creep out from under the bed and take off running, out of her bedroom, and back to mine, where I’d of course masturbate to my recently witnessed scenes of paradise!

I continued my peeping on my sister until I grew too large from weightlifting to easily fit under her bed. But I did still watch her around the house, followed her to the gym and watched her while she played tennis.

Watching her play tennis was especially wonderful. Her grace. Her lunging movements. How she strode and sprinted about like her feet didn’t touch the ground. How her pleated tennis skirts would at times bob upwards and reveal her panty-clad rear. Seeing her bend and crouch in wait for the ball, I’d drool, hypnotized at how her shapely behind angled to the air, and I’d appreciate and admire its shape as it turned and moved.

After seeing a naked woman for the first time, I came to fixate on women’s private parts. Any attractive woman I saw, from when I can remember, to this day, I’ll wonder what they look like naked.

I cannot help but stare at their breasts, buttocks, or marvel at their thighs if the thighs are revealed.

I regularly wear very dark sunglasses, even when it’s not too sunny.

I call my sunglasses my “perv enablers.”

They allow that I can peer and perv freely and stare directly at women’s asses when I walk behind them.

I enjoy watching women’s butts move, shake and dance before my eyes. Especially if I am walking behind them on the stairs. That’s where I get the best show.

Often, when I examine a woman’s ass, I inspect it to see if I can find the lining of her panties.

If her dress, skirt, or pants are tight enough, it’s easy to make out which style of underwear she has on, bikini, G-String, thong, briefs, hipster, French cut...

It’s always fascinating to ponder what color panties she might have on, too, and a bonus treat if the tip of the panties can be seen below the hem of her blouse.

I later discovered pornography. And I loved it from first sight. The ability to see, own pictures of naked women. Collect them.

Really, when it comes down to it, all porn is a form of voyeurism, watching other people naked, fucking.

But voyeur porn, now THAT is the ultimate.

I found professional porn fake, a simulacrum of sex. I wanted REALISM. Real girls. Not manufactured, lubricious, plastic pussy.

I started with upskirt photos that were taken in public places. Asia, Japan provided many of these. Asian upskirt pics are glorious. What a gift, seeing a tight ass in a pretty pair of pink panties, riding up an escalator, or a thong floating down the street in a passel of passersby.

Amateur porn, homemade, also satiated my desires.

It was so realistic, to watch real people fucking, to see the sneaky, grainy footage.

I liked the most deviant fucking best of all...

Such as the one porn channel I found of a guy who planted a camera in his hotel room and banged hookers in front of the hidden cam.

He didn’t wear a condom, either. The filthy animal! The danger, the sickness of it, made his channel a favorite site of mine.

Banging hookers without condoms was fun, but I wanted even more devious entertainment. And I got it when I discovered family voyeur porn. Brothers and sisters going at it. Mothers on cam, fucking their sons or fathers fucking daughters. Incest porn was hot, but only if it was hidden cam or POV.

Spy cams, public perv porn was enjoyable, but only took me so far. I had to try my own spy cams, make MY OWN voyeur porn.

Which leads me back to my sister. Once I couldn’t hide under her bed anymore, I knew I had to find new ways to see her naked. Whenever I jerked off to incest porn or college girls, she’d infiltrate my fantasies. I knew I needed her. I needed to see the wondrous curves of her delectable naked body again!

Thankfully, when it was time for college, we both were accepted to Holy Cross, the prestigious university nearby, and we both spent a lot of time at home, where I had ample access to her.

And by this time, technology had improved rapidly and assisted me greatly in my voyeuristic endeavors...

On the Dark Web, I found the ultimate in perving technology. A tiny drone that looks like a common fly.

Inside the drone, there’s a camera that can either snap photos or capture live video and audio.

After purchasing the “Fly Spy,” I installed its software on my computer. Then I charged it up and waited breathlessly through the lavender twilight of dusk. When the curtain of night finally fell, I sat back and controlled the majestic mini drone via its video screen on my laptop, and it lifted off and flew like a real housefly as it dispatched on a reconnaissance mission ... To my smoking hot sister’s bedroom!

The thing even made a tiny BZZZZZ sound as it zipped off. Ingenious!

Once the devious device was airborne, I guided it down the hallway towards my sister’s room at the end of the hall...

The drone sped far faster than I thought it could, and I was able to use my mousepad to easily maneuver it.

I flew the drone to the closed door of Marissa’s room. It zipped, plunged, and whizzed from the threshold in through the lower gap under the door, burst into her bedroom, and incredibly, the sight of my sizzling hot sister, in a bathrobe, all alone in her bed, emerged onto my computer screen.

Marissa noticed the buzzing sound and glanced up curiously from the pool of light pouring over her from her nearby reading lamp. But the room was dimly lit, so she didn’t see the drone, fortunately, and shifted her eyes back to her book.

(Fuck, it would have been terrible if she’d grabbed a flyswatter and wrecked my precious spy cam!)

Marissa was reading a romance novel, the trashy supermarket kind, with a cover of a long-haired, barrel chested man hugging a fawning damsel as they stood in front of a white sand beach, sparkly cerulean waters of the sea lapping at its shore.

I flew the cam to the wall on the left side of the room and pinned it there, high up on the wall, about in the crevice between the wall and ceiling. On the drone’s underside, it had tiny suction cup legs that let it stick to a wall like a real fly.

I watched for a good 20 minutes. Not much happened. Marissa just lay in bed, reading.

It was sort of boring, nothing going on, but still it was fun to be looking in on her, just knowing I could, and epic to know that I was owning her like this. And I was anticipating whenever she’d get up, like maybe she’d change, throw off her clothes. Soon enough, though, something much better happened...

Marissa laid the book onto her nightstand. I rubbed my hands together, thinking, okay, this is it, she’s going to get up and get naked now, but even better, she reached under her covers, closed her eyes, and began to play with herself!

I could see a tent rising over her crotch where her arm and hand were moving up and down, shaking her thick beige blanket.

She tossed her head back and moaned. It was so hot the sexy cry she made, too, got me instantly hard, and I decided to join her for some virtual mutual masturbation.

I squirted a dab of coconut oil into my palm, making myself a nasty little greasy hole to fuck, and, wishing that her fingers were my dick, I slipped my hand pussy in my pants, under my boxers and over my dick, and jerked myself off, jerking in tandem with my sister’s gyrations, her hip thrusts. She was really squirming and moaning too. Must have been a hot book!

Marissa worked harder and harder, her mouth agape, her chin in the air. With a couple last lunges and pushes, she finished herself off, and her body loosened, and she lay motionless in the bed, took a few deep, gasping breaths.

I hadn’t finished yet, however, and was still furiously beating my meat to the amazing sight of my post-masturbation sister. I got another treat, though, when she flung the blankets off herself, undid and took off her white bathrobe, got out of bed, and walked naked to the dresser.

She folded the robe, placed it on the stool under her makeup table. Then she swept her hair over her neck, opened a drawer underneath the makeup table, pulled out and popped open an orange prescription meds bottle and plucked out and swallowed a pill, and like she was floating, she moved effortlessly back over to the bed.

Seeing her sauntering about, fully nude, witnessing her naked body for the first time in a while, and seeing how well her figure had developed, matured and cooperated with the forces of time, and noticing too that she fucking WAXED her pussy, it bald as her silky, athletic tennis thighs, ah fuck, it put me over the edge, and weightlessly I was touched by the tingle of GOD and let loose a massive orgasm into a handful of tissues as I stared at her bare body on the screen.

After I came, I realized I hadn’t been recording, was only streaming the fun, so I desperately scrambled to snap a few screenshots of her prancing nudity before she flicked off the reading light, got back under the covers and went to sleep...

The next day when my sister went out to play tennis, I snuck into her bedroom like a burglar and was happy to see that her sheets hadn’t been changed. I wanted to sniff them, see if I could get a whiff of her cunt.

But no such luck. I lifted the covers and pressed my nose to the sheets, went at them like a drug-sniffing dog, but didn’t smell anything but fabric softener.

Marissa must have a super-clean, most salubrious cunt. Shit, it only made me want her even more!

I wondered what book she was reading. I wanted to read it too. I’m more a fan of thrillers, comedy, and smut- classic degenerates too, like Henry Miller and Bukowski- and I never read those grocery store paperbacks, but this one, whatever it was that made my sister masturbate, I wanted to know about that!

I went over to her bookshelf to search for the book. I’d remembered its cover, its cover’s color, and located it like a sleuth. When I lifted it up from the bookshelf, though, I got a surprise. Something I never could have expected...

A set of pictures fell from the book. Pictures of me. Pictures of me lifting weights in the backyard, shirtless...

What the fuck? I guess I’m not the only voyeur around here.

I couldn’t imagine that women were also voyeurs. I thought it was a guy thing. But I figured wrong. Apparently, my sister was watching me too.

Was it me she was thinking of when she masturbated? Why exactly were my pictures in her book? The book she’d been reading, or, at least looking into, before she fingered herself...

It got me hot. Thinking of her spying, staring at me.

It got me hot. Thinking of what she might be thinking about, what she might want to do with me.

I wasn’t a virgin, I’d been with a few chicks, losing my virginity my freshman year of college to a sexy coed with a big ass, a chick I’d met at a church party.

In fact, I’d fucked a lot. Freshmen, first year college students, released from our repression, paroled from the pubic prisons of all-girls, all-boys Catholic schools, our genitals uncaged and let loose onto one another at college ... GOOD LORD, what a smorgasbord of sexual activity my campus has been.

But girls my age were sort of boring. It’s not their faults. They’re young, like me, inexperienced. So, I always wondered what it’d be like to be with an older lady, a more MATURE lady, like my sister, how awesome she’d probably be in bed.

The ultimate idea came into being. To try to fuck my sister. Not only to fuck her. But get me killing that Crusader cunt on video...

But how to fuck my super-hot sister? We’re Catholics. Sex isn’t easy for us. It’s not a simple subject even under normal circumstances, and fucking your sister or brother sure ain’t normal...

I thought of ways to try to fuck her. But I couldn’t come up with any that didn’t involve alcohol or weed. And shit, if she told our parents that I smoke or, worse, that I tried to fuck her, I couldn’t stand to ponder the hell that would break out...

As luck would have it, though, fate would intervene. Fate in the form of a virus!

The virus crisis locked down everything in my town. School was shut. We couldn’t go out at all.

Sure, it sucked, being locked down. But the silver lining for voyeurs like me was that everyone was home, and I could snoop and spy on every hot chick in my neighborhood.

I flew my Fly Spy into a number of neighbor chicks’ and MILFs’ rooms, watched them as they undressed.

I perved too on the sexy suburbanite MILFs as they fucked their husbands and beat off to neighboring college girls as they banged their sneaky dick boyfriends who’d climb in at night through bedroom windows.

But I mostly peeped on my sister, who was hating being locked up. Instead of masturbating at night, she was staring blankly at the wall or watching dumb videos on her phone, not even reading her romance books. She was looking rather rough and enervated, wasn’t sleeping well, was trundling around the house like her feet were made of stone.

After almost a week of her barely leaving her room, I figured it was time for an intervention. I should help her out of her funk. I should cheer her up. And maybe have me some fun too in the process...

I didn’t know if she smoked weed or not. But I sure did. It was one of the things I discovered in college. Really helped take the edge off.

I decided to make my move, under the guise of a friendly visit to cheer her up. And I’d proffer her something to smoke, drink, and at the very least bring her a little intoxicating joy.

The classic song Kiss by Prince popped up on my YouTube playlist, and I chair-danced to it as I slammed a couple shots of whisky. Then I chewed an edible and gallivanted over to her room a little after 10 at night, about an hour after our parents were usually asleep.

Before I set out to see her, I sent my Fly Spy cam into her room to record the encounter, in case anything extracurricular occurred...

Carrying a bottle of whisky and a joint dangling from my mouth, I waltzed, Kiss still rocking in my head, and did a silly dance down the hallway, stopped, and rapped a knuckle on her door.

DUN-DUN-DUH-DUH-DUN-DUN...

Standing outside her off-white bedroom door, inspecting its red hearts and tennis ball sticker decor, I sensed my heartbeat quicken, and I awaited my sister’s arrival with bated breath...

Marissa opened the door with an apprehensive glare. She seemed surprised to see me. After all, it was the first time I’d ever come by her room this late at night.

“Yes?” Marissa asked, her voice lifting an octave, her nose scrunching up and both her slim eyebrows raised.

“Hey, sis. Wanna get high?” I asked in a muffled voice and twitched my eyebrows, the joint bopping up and down from the corner of my mouth as I spoke.

“No, I don’t. They test us for that, amongst other things. Didn’t you know I’m on the tennis team?”

“Of course, but I didn’t know they tested for innocuous substances, especially ones with medicinal properties.”

I withdrew the joint from my mouth and held it for her to view, have a whiff of its skunky aroma.

“It’s a miracle drug, you know. Helps with insomnia too.” I affirmed, grinned and nodded, doing what I could to avoid perving on her body too much. She was wearing a tight gray Holy Cross purple-lettered T-shirt and skimpy solid black shorts that allowed full view of her luscious, athletic thighs. I’d never seen her dressed in such attire.

And I’d seen her a lot...

Seen a lot of her...

“How do you know I’ve got insomnia?” Marissa asked, crossing her arms and tilting her head defensively.

“Those bags under your eyes tell of sleepless nights. If you can’t smoke, how about a sip or two of whisky?”

I slid the joint back in my mouth and bestowed the whisky bottle before her, hoisting it with two hands up in the air, like a championship trophy.

“Now that I might be interested in. Come in before you wake up the parents...”

Her defensive posture had softened into one of welcome at the sight of the Japanese whisky.

Smiling, she closed the door behind me and grabbed a couple cups from off the top of her minifridge in the corner of the room.

I slipped the joint into my front pocket and cracked open the bottle of Nikka.

She handed me a glass. Being chivalrous, I reached the bottle towards her and poured hers first, then filled mine, set the bottle down on her nightstand.

“Cheers.” I exclaimed, raising my glass and clinking it to hers.

“Cheers,” she replied, with a smile, and we both imbibed, had a long smoky sip of the honey colored potion.

“Mmm, zesty,” Marissa said, smacking her sexy lips.

“Have a seat,” she told me, nodding to her computer chair in front of her nearby desk, and she turned, gifting me a lovely look at her round ass as she took a few steps over to her bed, before she turned back towards me, sat into her bed, and leaned onto her set of pillows and stuffed animals piled around the headboard.

“You’ve seemed depressed recently, so I thought I’d come by to cheer you up,” I told her as I sat into the padded cushions of her swivel chair and sucked down another sip of the potion.

“Aww, that’s nice of you. I have been down, you know ... It sucks not being able to play tennis, go out. Being here with nothing to do, like we’re in purgatory. I’m usually so busy with tennis. And you’re busy doing, I don’t know. What is it you do exactly? You’re always in your room, on your computer...”

I didn’t want to answer that, at least not in total honesty.

“I, uh, like to work on the computer. Am experimenting with ... software...” I stuttered, and I could see her giving me a funny look, her lip upturning a little.

Another sip of whisky, a bigger one, and I felt a wicked jolt of liquid courage inject into my veins. I knew the perfect way to steer the conversation.

“Other than playing with software, I’m out in the backyard, a lot, lifting weights.”

That verbal shot took her off-guard. And she smiled demurely, looked away, her face getting red as a lobster. She then drained her glass with a healthy gulp, grabbed the bottle from where I’d set it on her nightstand, and poured herself a tall one, reloading nicely.

“Yup, I saw you out there, like, once or twice. You’re getting pretty ripped, little bro,” she smiled seductively at me, checking out my muscly arms, one of which was bent, holding my glass, and as it curled, she could clearly see my 16-inch bicep flexing.

I knew she was checking me out. I think she knew that I knew.

“I’ve seen you, playing tennis, like, once or twice. You’re looking, um, pretty fucking hot, I must say.”

I was surprised I’d been so up front and just said that the way I did. It just came out. Ah well, no way to put the words back in my mouth.

Once I said that, she giggled and looked away, diffidently. She paused, as did I. We both took a few more sips before either of us said anything.

Then I broke the silence.

“You’re hot. Like really hot. I was totally checking you out when you were playing tennis. You look so hot in that dress you wear when you play.”

It was the whisky and my subconscious speaking at this point. But it felt good, to tell her how I felt. Compliment her on her being a super-hot female.

“The white dress?” she asked, giggling harder and staring downwards at the floor.

“The white dress, yes. That dress is awesome.” I confessed to her, staring straight at her. She was crimson red by this point, still staring at the floor, giggling like a schoolgirl and smiling from ear to ear.

“Are you coming on to me? Is that why you visited me tonight?” she looked up accusingly at me after she said this, her big chocolate brown eyes opening wide, casting flares of passion.

“I visited you to cheer you up.” I told her, sincerely. Her grin returned. “Is it working? You cheering up?”

“Maybe...”

“So I should come on to you?”

“You could. You could tell me how beautiful I am.”

Her expression got more serious after she spoke these words, and she lifted her head up higher, stared right at me, with a wild look on her face, like a lion focused on its prey.

“Oh, you’re very beautiful,” I assured her, feeling animalistic myself.

“How beautiful?” she asked, her eyes locked to mine.

“Extremely beautiful.”

“Like on a scale of 1 to 10?”

“11. You’re so beautiful I’d date you even though you’re my sister.”

“For real?”

“For real.”

“I’d make out with you right now, if I could. Come right over there, sit next to you in your bed, and kiss you.”

“Really? You want to kiss me?”

“I want to kiss you ... Are you a good kisser, Marissa? I bet you are.”

My cock was starting to get hard. I lowered my gaze down to my sister’s thighs and marveled at them, their shape, succulence, how soft they must feel.

(As my sister aged, she’d started to resemble that yoga chick Adriene from YouTube. They both had similar looks, hairstyles, lower body types, athletic thighs and sculpted, healthy butts, particularly, their rears practically identical ... I’d been jerking off a lot to Adriene, seeing her do yoga, bent into the downward dog, her ass in the air. If my sister were in yoga pants, that’d be her... )

I thought I’d crossed the line, saying what I did. Telling my sister that she was probably a good kisser and that I wanted to make out with her.

After I’d spoken those words, she wasn’t responding, had gone quiet. And she started to look away, at the wall. I think she’d noticed I’d been perving on her thighs, too, and she crossed her legs and pointed them away, defensively.

Liquid courage powering me, I knew I had to go for broke. And I did.

“Hey, Marissa, it’s been so boring recently; let’s have some fun. Let’s make out a bit. Practice kissing. I bet you could show me a thing or two. Let’s do it, for real. Let’s make out. No one has to know.”

At this, her face contorted into a devious smile, a smile I’d never seen from her. She panned her gaze over towards me, smiled that devil smile right at me, and again locked her eyes to mine.

I thought she would think I was joking. Tell me to go away. I wasn’t expecting her to say what she did, which was: “Okay.”