Breaking the Duck! Ch. 02

I could not expel the visions from my head of my father's enormous erection ramming into my mother's stretched vagina with a violence that I thought would split her in two and tear her poor innards to shreds. I now believed all the terrible stories she had inflicted on me about the horrors of being penetrated by a man and that night as I lay in my bed clutching Mr Timmy to my budding breasts I swore that I would never allow myself to be used that way by a man, or for my poor little smooth fanny to be penetrated in any way.

*

The string ensemble rehearsals were much as to be expected and as usual I was relegated to coaching the less able group of budding violists but it only lasted a couple of hours and was followed by lunch at the Randolph Hotel with my old student roommate Alice Pellew who was married and no longer worked but had stayed involved with the schools orchestra project. We met up for lunch once a month after rehearsals and she always invited me to her regular dinner parties. I was well aware that she was actively engaged in trying to get me matched up with the train of available men that she invited to make up the numbers. After a few years when that failed she began attempting to get me seduced by various married friends or Lotharios. Alice had always been terribly concerned about my lack of interest in men from the time we were students, it really worried her in the way that it does some women that I was not interested in getting laid but showed no lesbian inclinations either. I carefully avoided discussing my real history with sex and of course she had no way of knowing about my developing obsession with obtaining my thrills from my voyeurism.

It had been Alice who had introduced me to the pleasures of masturbation when we were in digs together and was indirectly responsible for my becoming an addicted peeper.

*

It was one late evening a few days after the shaving incident. Glenda Sparkes our third girl was out somewhere with her boyfriend and I had been sitting in my room listening to a record of the Mozart Cello Sonata in D major, trying to jot down the score, and I thought that Alice was also in her room studying. I had decided to make a pot of tea before turning in for the night and pushed Alice's door open to ask if she also wanted a cup.

My best friend was sat in the middle of her room on an old hoop backed chair her knees wide apart wearing only her bra and was masturbating furiously with something thick and green, thrusting it in and out of her dripping shaved pussy with both hands. I was too shocked to do anything except stand and watch with my mouth hanging open for several long seconds. Part of me was horrified, it was too close to my own sexual phobia about penetration, but mostly I was fascinated and could not drag my eyes away from her pumping hands and sopping vagina.

"Oh God... I am so sorry, Alice...!" I gasped and started to back out of the room.

Alice looked up and started to giggle uncontrollably and then withdrew the source of her pleasure and waved it at me. To my amazement it was a thick green cucumber encased in a condom.

"Don't go Tommie..." She chuckled. "I was just trying out my new toy idea... It is absolutely super-dooper...you should try one...there are several in the fridge!" I was mildly surprised to discover that Alice masturbated. I knew that she had boyfriends, lots of different boyfriends but unlike Glenda she had never brought one home and taken him into her bed for the night. Getting caught with a man in the dorm would get you sent down. I had never really thought about her being sexually active beyond a little kissing and petting perhaps. My own sexual frustrations were a nightly nuisance, giving me hot sweats and keeping me awake, but I was too frightened to try and relieve them in any way, the experience with my parents still being fresh and scary in my mind.

"Er... I don't think so..." I mumbled blushing a bright pink.

Alice stood up and stepped back into her lace trimmed knickers then put her arm around my shoulders and drew me down to sit beside her on the end of her bed.

"You do 'DO IT', don't you, darling...?" She asked. I must have looked puzzled. "You do finger your fanny for relief... don't you? All girls do!"

I shook my head. I knew that girls did it but I just didn't have the courage to try.

"Oh Jesus Christ... You must be s-o-o-o-o frustrated...!"

"I don't want to... I couldn't... put anything inside me..." I stuttered. I was still perplexingly terrified of the idea of penetration but at the same time fascinated and hungry for it and my sexual frustration was growing by the day. I didn't want to talk about it.

I got up and went out to the shared kitchen down the hall. Alice followed me still in her bra and knickers and leaned at the sink watching me spoon tea leaves into the teapot and put the kettle on the gas ring to boil.

"You don't need to put anything inside you to start with...although it's really enjoyable if you do..." She persisted. "You could try just diddling your clitty... that's the best way to get an orgasm really fast...or bring yourself off with your fingers...there is a spot, just here..." She pointed to her Mount of Venus, "if you touch it...WOW!"

"I'm not sure..." I whimpered. I could feel myself becoming aroused just talking about it.

"Just try it, darling..." She laughed, "Or, better still find a man and get yourself laid!"

We never discussed masturbation again but I began to pay attention to my little Hooded Lady and my clitoris became the centre of my world but I still could not pluck up the courage to attempt any kind of penetration, not even with my own fingers.

A few weeks later Alice started to date Marcel, a third year Oxford rowing blue from Guernsey and I noticed that suddenly there were cucumbers in the refrigerator less often and that she was staying out late nearly every night. Then one Saturday night I was returning to the flat just after mid-night from a late night screening during the student film festival week. For some reason I had walked home through the back lane and suddenly realised that Marcel's car, a large Vauxhall saloon was parked at the side of the house in the shadows.

As I approached the motor I could see the slight rocking on the suspension and I knew, I just knew what was happening inside the car. There were people in the car, in the rear seat, and it had to be Alice and Marcel, I knew what they were doing but I just had to see. The urge was just totally compelling.

I crouched down and crept quietly up to the side of the car by the rear wing and carefully raised my head until I could peer in through the side window.

Marcel was sprawled out on the rear seat with Alice straddling his thighs, her skirt hiked up around her waist as she bumped up and down on his rigid cock. The window glass was steamed up from the heat of their exertions but I could clearly make out his hands grasping her round white buttocks and propelling her strongly onto his erection. They were both panting and groaning but were so totally absorbed in their lustful activities that they were completely unaware of my eyes on them.

Watching them shagging in the back of that car was the most erotic thing that I had ever experienced. My body was quivering with sexual tension and I could feel that my knickers had become soaked with my own sex juices and my little clitty was engorged and poking out, rubbing on the fabric of my panties so that I was ready to scream with the need to orgasm.

Marcel was starting to grunt his way to his climax and Alice had opened her eyes wide as his thrusting became ever faster. I didn't dare stay any longer and quietly scrambled away from the car and around the corner of the dormitory building. My own need for release was so urgent that I simply squatted in a recessed corner and thrust my hand beneath my skirt wriggling my fingers beneath my moist knickers until I found the Little Maid in the Boat and rubbed and caressed my clit until a shallow orgasm rippled through my body leaving me shaking and panting with relief. It also left me with an urgent need to pee and I had no sooner finished and was hauling my underwear back into place when I heard the crunching of footsteps on the gravel and had only just got to my feet when Alice turned the corner.

"What are you doing out here, Tommie?" She asked suspiciously.

I started to panic. Had she seen me spying on her making love? "Have you been with a man...?" She added peering into my face. "You have, haven't you...your face is all blotchy and red."

"Don't be silly... I don't do that..." I replied quickly and took her arm and guided her firmly into the building, "Your face is pretty red as well..."

That night as I lay in bed my thoughts kept returning to the unprecedented thrill that watching Alice and Marcel shagging had induced and the excitement from the risk of spying on them and my hand crept back down to snake beneath my nightgown and start to gently rub my Little Maid back to life.

*

My lunch with Alice brought back memories of the three years that we roomed together. It was nothing short of a miracle that she never caught me stalking her in that time. In our second year we moved into a shared house off the Cowley Road, again with Glenda and another new girl Teresa Lister. It greatly improved our sex lives as we no longer had to worry about college porters or scouts reporting our social activities to the Principal. Student sexual activity in those days was not just a matter of discipline but for girls in particular could mean getting sent down.

Oxford in those post-war years was full of handsome, mature and worldly wise young men who had returned to university life after their wartime military service and Alice and Glenda had no problems finding new admirers and changed their lovers almost as often as their clothes. Teresa was different. She was a religious, serious minded English Literature student and had a completely different outlook on life and sex to the other girls but the house we were sharing was hers, or at least the rent book was in her name and had been procured for her by her father who was a wealthy industrialist up north somewhere.

Marcel was followed by a dozen other guys who came to share Alice's affections and bed until our final year at college when she met George, her future husband who was the heir to a successful building firm in the city. Suddenly her interests changed from having a good time with lots of fun, alcohol and sex, to more sober pastimes such as tennis and golf and looking for a good position as a music teacher in one of the local private schools when she graduated.

Her change of life-style was a disappointment to me personally. For close to three years she had been of one of the most reliable sources for my now obsessional voyeurist activities. Alice and I had the two bedrooms on the second floor and I literally spent hundreds of hours on my knees peering through her keyhole watching and listening as she had raunchy and energetic sex with whoever was her current boyfriend night after night. I even paid to have a new hall carpet laid on our landing to save my poor bruised knees. George was either far less interested in sex than his predecessors or had fallen for Alice's 'respectable candidate for wife and mother' act as she steered him towards matrimony, a big house and his and hers motor cars. I can't remember him ever spending the night although they went away for long weekends a couple of times.

Of course it wasn't just Alice that attracted my attention as an avid peeper. Glenda's room was fitted with a new door handle and Yale lock without a traditional keyhole which provided her with a privacy from my curiosity that the other rooms didn't but it wasn't until our second year in the house that I discovered a loose floorboard in the meter cupboard which gave me a birds eye view of Teresa's bedroom below through the antique lighting rose.

I could only make use of my little peephole when Alice was out or otherwise occupied as I needed to lay flat with my bust pressed to the floor and my legs hanging out of the cupboard into the hall and nearly got caught a couple of times when I heard her door open unexpectedly across the landing and had to pretend difficulty working the gas meter for my room. I always made sure that I had a couple of shilling coins in my dressing gown pocket after that to provide an alibi.

Teri was not interested in men, or women to my knowledge, she never dated, she would become extremely embarrassed if the others started to discuss their sex lives and would leave the room blushing and all of a twitch. We all put it down to her sheltered and religious upbringing and this made the other two a little contemptuous of her in their modern post-war Oxbridge attitudes towards feminine sexual freedom.

The discovery of the peephole above her bed threw little innocent Teresa into a completely different light for me although I never shared my discovery with the other girls. Teri may not have been interested in dating men but she was as obsessed with sexual pleasure as I was. There was hardly a night went past when she did not lay naked on her bed and masturbate for hours bringing herself to thrashing moaning orgasm over and over again with her hands and various improvised phallus's that she kept concealed in her bedside locker. Spying upon Teri was fascinating. She had a nice slim body with small pointy breasts and a mass of black pubic hair shielding her slit which had very prominent full lips and became quickly engorged and swollen like a ripe fruit during her self-pleasuring activities.

It was innocent, dark haired, brown eyed Teri that expanded my knowledge of sexual practices. She regularly masturbated with a large cheval mirror angled at the foot of the bed so that she could watch herself orgasm, and she was the first girl that I had ever seen squirt whilst bringing herself to climax with her fingers thrust deep into her vagina. I naively thought that she was peeing and it was months before I overheard a conversation between two women at the tennis club which explained the strange phenomenon.

The other startling revelation came unexpectedly and almost resulted in my getting discovered. Teresa had fashioned or found herself a number of toys with which to fuck herself including a smooth glass rod about 1¼" in diameter with a rounded tip which was a particular favourite. One evening to my surprise and horror she coated her glass pretend penis with Vaseline and slowly but firmly inserted it into her anus until it had almost completely vanished and then brought herself to a massive orgasm by diddling her clitoris with the glass rod still inside her. The idea of vaginal penetration was an anathema to me and seeing her abusing her poor little poo-hole and obviously taking pleasure from it came as such a shock that I screamed out in sympathy with her maltreated stretched anus. She must had heard me because she stopped for a moment and looked up at the ceiling and I was terrified that she would spot my eyes through the brass filigree light fitting and squeezed them shut. I replaced the floor board in the cupboard and scuttled back to my room. The next day Teresa asked me if I had been unwell the night before as she had heard my scream. I simply told her that I had knocked my elbow. I was too nervous to go back to my peephole for a couple of days but I don't think that she ever suspected the truth.

*

That Saturday afternoon I left the Randolph Hotel a little after two o'clock and watched Alice walk away down Beaumont Street towards the railway station. Alice was still a very attractive woman even at forty, with a firm trim figure and dressed expensively and well and this year had fashionably coiffured auburn tinted hair twisted in the Audrey Hepburn look, that always attracted attention from any nearby males. She had told me that she would be getting the train home to her husband and two daughters but she had walked away with her car keys in her hand and I suspected not for the first time that she was using the rehearsals to alibi meeting somebody, probably a younger lover, if I knew Alice as well as I did. I was tempted to follow her out of curiosity and on the chance that her liaison might be one that I could secretly share.

Instead I decided to spend the afternoon at the cinema. The new Maggie Smith film, "The Prime of Miss Jean Brodie" was showing as a single feature at the Odeon. I had read and enjoyed the Muriel Spark novel and was impressed with the movie adaption and left the cinema with a recording of Rod McKuen's haunting theme music. The film was so intensely emotional and erotic that I hurried back to my apartment with the intention of putting the record of 'Jean' on my turntable and settling down to gently caressing my little Hooded Lady for an hour or so and then perhaps re-reading the novel until bedtime.

As was quite usual when I spent a warm summer evening at home I relaxed naked except for my Chinese silk dressing gown stretched out comfortably on the big leather sofa with a bottle of chilled Portuguese Vino Verde to hand and a packet of cigarettes, I think that I was smoking Rothman's King Size at that time, in the new flip top packs and had just bought myself one of the stylish slim gas lighters which were becoming popular accessories for ladies. I felt comfortable and content, the Bach Brandenburg Concertos were filling the room with a velvet blanket of sound, my mind was unusually relaxed and my body felt at ease and replete from the two long, slow, gentle orgasms that were a gift from my little Hooded Lady for the attention that my fingers had paid her.

It was dark outside and in, I hadn't bothered to put any lights on, I much prefer to relax in the darkness of a music filled room but I had left the vertical blinds at the lounge windows half open so that I could watch the star studded night sky and the silvery half crescent of the waning moon above the roof of the apartment block opposite.

My attention was caught by a light coming on in one of the flats opposite and out of habit I got up and wandered over to the window. I had long ago made a mental catalogue of exactly which window belonged to which apartment, who lived there, what their daily habits were and whether or not they were of interest to me as a Peeping Tom. The light was in the sitting room window of a first floor flat which was inhabited by an elderly couple who always kept their curtains firmly closed at night but held no sexual attraction and could be ignored.

The two other first floor apartments were occupied by singletons. On the left was a lady of perhaps seventy-five who still had her wartime blackout curtains at the windows and drew them promptly at sundown every night without fail. The other flat was owned by Mr. James Kent, a divorced solicitor with an eye for the ladies who would more often than not bring a different woman home a couple of times a week. His bedroom was on the other side of the flat and not visible to me, but I could get a good view into his lounge from my bedroom window and had several times crouched behind my half closed blinds to watch the good looking muscular lawyer wrestling with one of his married clients on his sofa and twice had been rewarded with a full performance of his lovemaking skills on the rug in front of his marble fireplace.

The flat above, level with my own windows, was owned by Mr and Mrs Lewis, an attractive couple in their early thirties who were on holiday in Italy that week but were careless with their windows and occasionally provided me with a bit of light titillation when dressing or undressing in the bedroom or coming and going from the bathroom. She was a pretty little brunette with small breasts who wore elegant expensive designer silk lingerie which made me quite envious. He was tall and slim with a shock of blonde hair and hornrim glasses and a habit of absent mindedly scratching his cock as he wandered about the bedroom naked after bathing. Their bed was not visible, which was a shame, as I suspected that their sex life was quite an active one and would have made for quite tantalizing peeping.