Line of Sight

"Do you mind? It's humiliating enough as it is!" They only laughed harder.

At 11:35 I got off the pot, waited hesitatingly a moment, then sat back down and waited out a last cramp. Then I disposed of the soiled towel on the floor and replaced it with a fresh one. I made a dash back to the toilet again before refilling the enema bag with 2 new quarts of water. I'd probably settle for twice tonight, I thought, not being into self-torture. Twenty minutes later, I found myself refilling the bag with quarts number 5 and 6, and then sending them down the tube and into my waiting rectum. I sighed as the water rushed through my intestines, cramping them.

At 12:15 AM, I scoured the enema tube with soapy water, hung the bag on the shower curtain with the tube in the tub to drain, and picked up the 3^rd, mostly dry towel, throwing it in the tub with the others. I left the set-up there in case circumstances dictated I needed one more. The thought caused me mixed emotions. There wasn't anything quite like an embarrassing enema to put a girl in her place. And the boys had certainly liked it. They wouldn't object to another, I knew. Emmett especially enjoyed the gurgling sound of the water.

"Okay," I said. The boys watched from the nightstand as I contemplated the two dildos on the bed. I was exceedingly nervous. I had already determined that I'd wag my tail first with the thicker, busier sword, just for the devious pleasure of it, and then get down to business with the one from the video. With a shudder I imagined myself making the handle disappear inside me, and then digging it out again with my fingertips, or expelling it manually, like the girl had onscreen. I decided that was an experience I wouldn't attempt. And I didn't. Not by myself, anyway.

"I'm not naming them," I said. "These are just tools. Tools to stick up my ass and enjoy myself with. They are not my friends."

Jacob thought this wise. "Keep it impersonal, Michelle."

Emmett snickered.

"What?" I demanded uneasily.

Emmett said straight-faced: "Impersonal. I should get impersonal treatment like that every night. But then, maybe I will," he added, snickering again.

I shook my finger at him. "I have a garbage disposal with your name on in, buster. Be careful." This got a hoot of approval from the others.

I looked from the bed to the window, fighting the irrational impulse to remove the blanket and open the blinds. That was insanity. I might as well soak myself in gasoline and immolate myself in bed. Why would I want to show myself off to him?

For the same reason you open the blinds in the first place, that persnickety voice spouted off.

Oh, shut up, I thought back sourly. I need to open the blinds. Don't you think?

And why is that? she demanded.

Because this guy went to a lot of effort for me and cares enough to cut off his nose to spite his face. And besides, he obviously likes me a lot. And like it or not, I think I like him. Or I'm obsessed by him, I'm not sure which.

It occurred to me the voice in my head sounded suspiciously like that of Jacob. I eyed him suspiciously, but his expression responded, What, too innocently. Berating myself, I rounded the bed and stood beside the window. I fingered the blanket aside and peeked out. The building across the way was half-dark, half-lit, about what you'd expect at 12:30 AM on a Sunday morning. One apartment in my line of sight was jammed with partiers; another had every light on and every window open, but not a soul in sight. I stared at the six apartments I most strongly suspected. Six bedroom windows, six wide balcony doors, and three den windows. The other three faced away from me by virtue of mirror image floor plans. Right now, I thought, someone could be watching me with night vision glasses. The thought made me shiver.

"Should I?" I asked. Two yeses and a no. Jacob, of course. I peeked back out the window and said, "The top apartment on the left is completely dark. The one under it has lights behind each window, but the blinds or curtains are drawn. The bottom floor apartment is dark except the bedroom window." I described the flip-side apartments, the top one jammed with partiers, the apartment below that with the lights on and windows open, and the bottom apartment completely dark. The final three, least likely apartments I described only for constancy.

"What are you gonna do?" Emmett asked. I pulled down the blanket in answer.

* * *

I wagged my tail, laughing giddily. The thick burly sword, protruding from me a good 12", swung obediently back and forth.

"This is so cool," I told the guys. It aggravated me that I could have done this last night, with Lex or with John—or both. I could imagine the sight of John protruding his huge, droopy rear end from my bottom, or Lex's not so massive one. Of course, it wouldn't have been in front of an open window, like I was now.

In 20 minutes things had changed. The middle left apartment was now completely dark, as was the one below it, and people had appeared in the Rear Window apartment on the other side. The party raged on in the apartment above, full intensity and a light had come on in the bottom floor bedroom window; as I watched one came on behind the balcony curtains. It didn't surprise me, with all the hubbub two floors above. Griming, I wagged my tail again.

Jacob said: "I see no reason I couldn't enjoy your vagina while you amuse yourself." Edward suggested the same for my mouth. Though it was an interesting concept, right now I just wanted to wag my tail. Emmett thought that an excellent idea, though he wondered when I'd get to my challenge.

"Maybe never," I told him. "I'm enjoying this too much." As far as it went, true, but I lived for my sexual challenge. Just ask Lex or John. And wagging my tail did quickly sate my curiosity. I sighed, knowing I was simply procrastinating.

The Christmas tree held no interest for me at all. I wanted the snake up me (yes, I am aware of the pun) and at ten minutes after one retired my muscular doggy tail. Excitement had rekindled itself and my hands trembled with anxiety as I removed the dildo (I wanted to name him, but still wouldn't) from the nightstand and held it nervously. How would I do this? The question had bothered me before. Obviously, trying to accomplish it doggie style wouldn't work. My arms weren't long enough. I suspected the only way it could be accomplished was on my back, with my legs back like the girl in the video. That idea embarrassed me for some reason. (As if none of this was embarrassing, right?) The worst of it was, how I wanted to arrange myself on the bed.

That is simply stupid, I told myself. I envisioned myself through the open bedroom window, laying crosswise on my bed, looking out the window down the length of my body, legs pulled back and out of the way as I attempted to penetrate my colon. All of this for the entertainment of my friend across the way with his binoculars or telescope, or whatever he had. If it was powerful enough, he could examine my widespread genitals up close. They'd be a perfect offering, though his attention might be distracted by the goings on below. Since he had given me the snake, I'm sure it would.

For the first time, it occurred to me that my presumption of maleness might be wrong. Could it be a girl? Had I attracted a lesbian? The idea made me grin. I found myself grinning at the window. That would be quite a surprise.

I applied an appropriate amount of KY to my fingertips and lubed the forward half of the shaft, and then laid back, raised my legs into perfect missionary position and thoroughly lubed myself. I grinned, imagining the excitement at the far end of the telescope. I imagined telescopes could be just as infrared sensing as binoculars. Trembling all over and heart beating like that of a race horse, I located my anus with the head of the snake, eased it in, and began to fill myself. The going was easy, after John and Lex and Emmett and Edward and Jacob. (Actually, Jacob was smaller than the snake.). It took only a moment to bottom myself out.

"Okay, guys...the moment of truth."

Did I have the courage to attempt this, I wondered? This was dangerous, video excepted, What I was doing could perforate me, punch a hole right through my bowels. Then again, the guy on the video had penetrated the girl's colon dozens of times, and this was an anal snake I was holding. I giggled, knowing that I held it at both ends, one with my hand, the other with my rectum. Taking a deep breath, telling the guys, "Wish me luck," I probed myself experimentally.

Ow, that hurts. But then, I was sore anyway. I probed again, pulling the sword to the right, knowing my sigmoid colon went off to the right. 90 degrees to the right, I reminded myself anxiously. How could—

"Ung, God!" I yelped. That really hurt! Panting, I eased back and let my spine fall out of the arch it had taken. Had the head just...that quickly? I didn't think so. I relaxed, making myself breath again. The pain receded quickly, telling me I hadn't down any permanent damage. I think I might actually have pushed the head into my colon a bit. I had felt it go pop, and the girl onscreen had reacted just the way I did when the head went pop in her, including the grimace and spine-arch. With a giddy feeling, I knew I had done it. I did it again, grinning at the window triumphantly.

Where are you? I thought. Are you watching me now, are you at your telescope? Still grinning, very excited now--embarrassingly excited—I tested the concept that I was indeed inside myself (exactly how I considered it), easing the dildo farther in a bit at a time until I knew I was actually fucking my colon. I pulled it in and out, turning concept into reality. Though still painful, the discomfort was bearable and overwhelmed by the shear excitement of what I was doing to myself. Raisng my head and looking down, I confirmed that more than half the shaft was up my bottom. I was 14" deep inside myself, and obviously able to take more. Exultantly, I searched the windows across the way, wanting to share this moment.

A light flashed.

I blinked, startled. Had I actually just seen that? Propping myself on my elbows, I concentrated on where I thought the flash had been: the window of the far left, top floor apartment. The light flashed again and I reacted exactly as you would expect I would.

Shrieking wildly, I twisted sideways and rolled off the bed.

* * *

I felt like a fool. A totally, idiotic, moronic fool.

"What the fuck were you doing?" I screamed softly, punching the wall hard enough to bruise my knuckles. I yanked back my hand and cursed softly as I held it between my left biceps and side. I kicked the foul length of rubber across the room and then kicked the wall with my heel, hurting that also. Cursing louder, I limped back and forth in a circle.

The guy had seen me, signaled me. I fought panic, resisting the urge to go hide in the closet. I peeked out the window, wondering if he could see my wide and frightened eye at a distance. I wondered if my pupil was dilated from fear. My arteries certainly were, judging the amount of blood I felt pumping through my body. I found myself pressed against the wall, terrified.

Just calm down, that voice said. You knew he was out there. You guessed, even hoped for him to be out there watching you. What's the big deal?

I shrieked at her in disbelief: Are you insane! Do you realize the guy just watched me fucking myself with a 2' long dildo? I peeked out the window again, breathless, nearly hyperventilating. No change at the bedroom window.

The light had been a flashlight. I was sure of that. He'd seen me searching the apartment building windows as I fucked myself and flashed once to locate himself. As I had stared at the window open-mouthed and startled, he flashed it again, to confirm my choice. I had panicked like a rabbit.

Of course I had panicked like a rabbit. Who wouldn't?

I moaned, wanting to just die. What if he knocked on the door? I moaned, imagining my humiliation then. I looked out the window again, this time easing over the blind for a better view. The light flashed again and this time I didn't panic. Instead, I shivered convulsively but continued to watch, to see what he'd do next. The light came on and swung side to side, before going out again.

What was that? I realized suddenly and waved back. The flashlight lit again and waved in response. And then I did the stupidest thing any woman could have done in my position: I beckoned him over.

* * *

My caller knocked softly. Shivering, I placed my eye to the peephole and looked out. He made no attempt to conceal himself, looking instead directly at the peephole from a distance of 2'. I stepped back, my heart in my throat. I couldn't swallow. I could barely stand up. Holding my robe closed at my throat, I slid off the safety chain, twisted back the deadlock and opened the door. Petrified, I held it open for him to enter.

"Are you sure of this?" he asked nervously, almost timidly. He was very handsome, a light-skinned black man with a crown of neatly-trimmed, almost to the scalp black hair. He looked as uncertain about this as I did. I gulped and nodded. He moved forward and awkwardly slipped by and into the foyer. I shut the door, but left it unbolted and unchained. He stood three feet away, hunch-shouldered with his hands in his pockets. His anxiety made me feel better.

"I'm Michelle," I offered in a wavering voice.

He hesitantly named himself Michael.

I motioned to step down into the living room. He eyed my powder blue couch, loveseat and chair as possible instruments of torture. I remembered barking my shin on the coffee table last night and winced in memory. Luckily, he didn't see this.

"Would you like something to drink?"

"What do you have?" he asked distractedly. Then he apologized, noting he was a bit on the tense side.

"You're nervous?" I said, laughing. "Imagine how I feel."

He smiled for the first time, and I swear, I fell instantly in love.

In a cracked voice, I listed his choices: "I have a six-pack of wine coolers, Heineken in bottles, Diet or regular Coke—although I think we might be out of Coke—tea and bottled water. Dasani, " I added as a nervous afterthought. I told my hand to relax and let go of my robe, but it refused.

He replied quickly, without giving it any real thought: "Diet Coke would be fine." He stopped in front of the blue chair but didn't sit down. I wanted a beer or one of those damned wine coolers; anything to calm me down. I suddenly remembered the condition of the bathroom and wanted to die.

"Can you excuse me a moment?"

Startled, he nodded as I beelined for the bathroom and shut myself in. As quietly as possible, I stuffed the contents of the enema kit back in the box, tossed it under the sink, and grabbed the soiled towels out of the tub. I looked around, wondering what to do with them. Finally, I stuffed them beneath the sink as well, praying he wouldn't have reason to look under there. Then I sat down to go pee.

He was sitting down at least. On the edge of the seat to be true, with his hands nervously on his knees, but he hadn't fled upon my unexpected flight. I smiled timidly and went into the kitchen for his Diet Coke.

"Would you like a glass?" I called.

I sensed him shake his head as he answered and smiled. This could be so much worse. He could be my neighbor from across the hall, Ted, a displaced cowpoke from Montana. He wanted to bust me like a bronc. I knew that, because he'd told me so one night at a party. I'd kept that a secret between him and I.

Ignoring his answer, I removed two glasses from the cabinet, hall-filled both with ice at the refrigerator door, and then filled both from one can of Diet Coke. Already, we were sharing. Feeling somewhat less than stressed to max, I carried the glasses out to the living room and offered him one. He took it gratefully and I sat down, across the room on the edge of the couch.

"Can I just be straightforward?" I asked. He nodded uncomfortably and I asked: "How long have you been watching me?"

He'd been expecting the question.

"About three months. Since the middle of August when my girlfriend and I broke up."

I couldn't help but smile. "Was that before...or after you started watching me?"

He smile beautifully again. "Her leaving had nothing to do with you, Michelle."

I nodded, relieved despite the question's nonsensicality. I also liked that he used my name. And then I saw him frown and followed his gaze to my left hand. His disappointment at the sight of my rings was almost comical, and touching.

"I'm married," I confirmed. "His name is Ken." Then I remembered he knew my name from the note, and probably knew Ken's also. "How do you know my name?" I asked, wishing immediately I hadn't. "Never mind. I guess it's not that hard to learn a person's name anymore, is it?"

He still looked embarrassed. "I did a reverse lookup. The listing noted Ken Morrison and Michelle Jones as the occupants. I guessed you were Michelle."

I laughed at his joke. "I figured it was something like that. I'm surprised they got the listing wrong though. I was Michelle Morrison when we moved here in May." It saddened him, appropriately or not, that I was married.

"I've never cheated on Ken," I said. "I'm not starting now."

He nodded, looking down at his glass. His expression was most definitely sorrowful. It made me regret my harsh, probably unnecessary words. I had the feeling he'd come with the idea of simply introducing himself, meeting me finally, rather than with any expectations of sex. I cleared my throat.

"Will you tell me about it? How you started watching me?"

It was a simple enough story. His girlfriend of three years—Michelle and white also, coincidentally--had left in mid-August, breaking it off—she said—because of his laid back nature and lack of impulsiveness.

"I wasn't wild enough," he admitted. "She said I was more Ward Cleaver than Eldridge Cleaver in bed. Though I suspect she had to Google to get that comparison. She wasn't the world's foremost fortune cookie, if you know what I mean."

"Was she pretty?" I asked candidly.

"Very. Not in a June Cleaver way, either." He laughed. "I never understood what she saw in me to begin with." I did, though I wasn't admitting it. "We met at an off-campus party our senior year at Maryland and she liked how I danced. She attributed it to my half-blackness," he said, grinning. I grinned back, acknowledging the touchy point. "I told her dancing wasn't the only thing I did like a black man, and she went home with me that night."

"And stayed with you three years," I offered, when he colored attractively. "She liked you well enough to do that. What did she look like?" I asked.

He stirred, uncomfortably.

"Like me?" I guessed.

He nodded. "Strictly coincidence. I wasn't looking for a Michelle replacement." He colored again at his fax pas. I colored also.

"Um...more Diet Coke?" I asked distractedly.

He nodded and gulped down the remainder of his glass quickly. "Thank you," he said as I took both glasses into the kitchen and added more ice, then Diet Coke.

"So, how did you happen to pick me?" I asked, silently cursing the poor choice of words. Make him more uncomfortable than he already is, I thought.

From the living room he answered: "Actually, I had noticed you before that. Michelle had, actually. She commented you looked like her twin sister, Beth. She's not your twin sister, is she?" he joked.

"Not unless I'm adopted." I had no brothers or sisters, much less an evil twin. Besides, I gathered she was older than myself, probably 25 or so. I asked his age.

"27. How old are you?"

22, I told him. "Michelle is 25?"

He nodded at my guess as I handed him his refilled glass. He sipped at it appreciatively. "I served two years in the Army before washing out on a medical discharge." He pointed at his back. "Spinal injury. Suffered when my Humvee capsized during a training exercise. I went to college on the GI Bill. That's why Michelle and I were both seniors.