Where I catch my son spying on our naughty neighbors

Where I catch my son spying on our naughty neighbors.. One day, goofing around on the internet, I came upon a list of things men love and women hate. First thing on the list: professional wrestling. I’ll leave it to you to judge the accuracy of the observation, but it did give rise to this story.

This was initially conceived of as a multi-chapter tale, but I liked the way it ended and decided, for the moment, to stick with it as written. Let me know what you think. End here? Add Pamela? Her friends? Milla and William? Somebody else? Something else? I tried to leave it open for additional chapters.


As always, all story characters engaged in sexual activities are eighteen years of age or older.

* * * * *

After we’d loaded her car with clean clothes and a couple of extra servings of the evening’s meal, Pam, home for Sunday dinner, and I were standing in the driveway, chatting, taking our time. Pam was in no hurry to get back to her text books and I, well Pam and I were laughing about my having to explain to my husband yet again that no, I did not want to watch Wrestlemania.

“I don’t know Mom, you could tell him all those buff guys turn you on, it might inspire him to get back in shape.”

“I fear it will take more than that. But maybe I should watch, even Todd turned him down.”

“Yeah, what’s up with my baby brother? He barely said good-bye. What’s this big school assignment he has to turn in tomorrow?”

“I don’t know, this was the first time he mentioned it.”

I glanced over my daughter’s shoulder, covered by the light brown hair that reached the middle of her back, to my son’s second floor window. The light was off, and although he could be working on his computer in the dark, there was none of the tell-tale flickering light that signaled his computer was on.

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What was he doing up there? Masturbating? Not for this long. Maybe he’d fallen asleep, but if he was sleepy he’d have said so. It wasn’t like he was avoiding his sister, the two of them had always gotten along. I was lucky that way.

I kissed Pam good night, watched her drive away, entered the house. My husband was sitting in the living room watching Wrestlemania on the HD flat screen television we’d purchased for last year’s Wrestlemania.

He patted the chair next to his. “Hey honey, why don’t you join me. Big match coming up.”

As I followed his gesture I saw something rarely seen, my son’s cell phone not in the possession of my son. Thinking this the perfect excuse to escape Wrestlemania and check on Todd without appearing to be spying, I picked up the phone and said, “In a minute honey, let me bring Todd his phone first.”

My husband, whose focus had turned back to the television, said “Okay, tell him Cena’s up next.”

The upstairs hallway light was off; no light showed under Todd’s door. Was he asleep? I tapped on the door, then again, and, sans response, cracked it open, thinking I’d make sure he was breathing and leave the cell phone on his desk.

What I saw was my son, ear buds in, music playing, staring at the window of his friend William’s bedroom, who lived next door. He was also playing with himself. What the hell was going on? While William’s light was on and his blinds open, from the standing position I couldn’t see into his room, but realized I could from the hall bathroom. Time for some mommy-investigation. I closed the door.

From the bathroom the answer was clear and disturbing, my son was a peeping-tom. William and a woman were on his bed in the doggy position, their bodies twisting together. Whoever she was, she was squirming in delight and you could see why. William rode her like a bronco buster.

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It had been years since I’d been fucked like that. Well, maybe I’d never been fucked quite like that. I wondered what Milla, Williams’s mother and my friend, would do if she knew her son was screwing some woman in the house. I checked for her car. It was in the driveway, she must be out with friends. I looked back to William’s window.

And while I’m not advocating for peeping-toms, I understood the allure. What was going on was intoxicating.

They were both coming. Even with their and my window closed it felt like I could hear their screams as their sweat soaked bodies shook, fell forward, slumped onto the bed. William crawled forward and slid an arm around the woman, held her to him. Good for him, he knew to cuddle after sex. On the rare occasions we still did it, my husband was far more interested in returning to the television or checking his tablet then holding his wife.

I needed to stop spying; this was wrong. I was about to back out of the room, I really was, when the woman moved; she was getting out of bed. Overcome with curiosity, I kept watching. Her body was firm and nice, but not that of a teenager. Who was she? She stood, grabbed a light robe from atop a chair, slipped it on, then turned towards the window.

And, too stunned to move, I watched Milla, incandescent smile on her face, stretch her arms, walk back to her son, who was now sitting up, kiss his lips, say something. They smiled. He kept his eyes on her butt as she left the room.

The cell phone in my hand, which I’d all but forgotten, rang.

Thinking, “Oh fuck,” I laid it on the bathroom counter, bolted out the door, ducked into my bedroom, started to close the door, then stopped, safely hidden by the dark when Todd emerged from his bedroom, ear buds out, wearing only underpants. Cocking his head, he followed the sound to the bathroom, emerged talking into his phone. When he shut his bedroom door I hurried downstairs.

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I was fetching my husband a beer, trying to get hold of my thoughts, my mind on the steady burn between my legs, when Todd said, “Hey dad, did you bring my phone upstairs, I thought I left it down here.”

“You did son, your Mom brought it up to you.”

I came out of the kitchen. “Hey honey.”

“Hi Mom. Did you bring my phone upstairs?”

“Sure did, but I noticed your light was out so I tapped on your door a couple of times. When you didn’t respond I figured you were sleeping so I left it in the bathroom. Is everything okay? How did the assignment go?”

“Everything’s great. The assignment turned out to be easier than I anticipated. I’m going out to hang with some friends.”

* * * * *

I needed to be fucked.

“Honey, I’ll watch Wrestlemania with you, but sit on the couch with me.”

“But this is my favorite chair.”

“I know, but I’d like to cuddle.”

With an exasperated, “Okay,” he joined me. I leaned into him, touched his leg, rubbed his neck, got an occasional, “Honey, I’m trying to concentrate,” or, “I could use another beer.”

After the Undertaker was carried out of the ring in triumph we went upstairs to our bedroom, where he pulled the clothes off his uninspiring body and said, “Honey, I know you’re in the mood, but I’m pooped,” got into bed, fell asleep, snored.

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