Femme Fatale

Elaine breathed a sigh of relief as she sat back on her couch sipping a glass of Chardonnay after she'd put away the groceries she'd picked up on her way home from work. It had been a busy day at the software company where she worked as a supervisor in the HR department; the development managers she worked with seemed incapable of organizing their time or keeping track of the candidates they were scheduled to interview. Often she herself had to chat with the job seekers herself, stalling for time until a tardy manager finally showed up.

She relished the quiet of her apartment away from the bustle of the office. After being surrounded by her co-workers all day it was a relief to finally be at peace, and she was perfectly content living in her little apartment alone, as she had for the past four years since the end of her disastrous marriage. After ena decade of putting up with a philandering husband her own company was all she wanted. Books, a glass of wine with a DVD, peace and quiet was all she needed to be happy. She had been lucky to get this ground-floor apartment, which was perfect for her. It looked out on a pleasant, quiet street, and if her bedroom towards the back had a view only of the rooming house next door and the walkway between the buildings, it was blissfully quiet at night.

After a simple dinner of soup and salad she decided to get ready for bed and spend some time reading before she turned in. She went into the bedroom and got out the short-sleeved pajamas she wore in the warmer weather, and began to get undressed. After taking off her shoes and lifting her skirt to remove her stockings, she crossed her arms and pulled the cream colored jersey she'd worn that day over her head. She tossed the shirt on her bed and patted down her wavy dark hair. As she started to unzip her skirt she glanced up at the window, then cried out in alarm - a face, a face in the window! She was sure she'd seen a man looking in at her, although he'd disappeared at her scream. She raced forward and pulled the window curtains closed, and grabbed her shirt and clutched it to her chest. She ran back into the living room.

Oh my God! she thought. Who was it? What should I do? She thought of calling the police. But what should I say? I don't know who it was, so what could they do? So embarrassing, do I really want to talk to them, to other men who would probably be snickering to each other after they left? Men! I've had enough of all of them! She got up and made sure the front door was locked.

She looked down at herself. Well, at least he didn't really see anything. All she'd taken off was her shirt, and she still had her brassiere on, and not a sexy looking one at that. It was a functional size 40C with simple, white cups that completely covered her breasts. Well, she thought, at least he didn't get to see enough to, well, for whatever peeping toms do when they spy on women! She got up and poured another glass of wine. What a pathetic bastard!

It took her a while to calm down before she took her wine into the bedroom and undressed before putting on her pajamas. She looked at herself in the mirror. God, what was he doing looking at me? I'm over 40 for goodness sake! She put her hands on her stomach. Look at me, I'm pudgy! She turned to the side and surveyed her body, running her hands down her front and grasping her prominent backside. Why doesn't he find some twenty-something centerfold model to go spy on!

She stood up straighter and sucked in her stomach. Well, I guess I'm not really fat fat, but still, well-padded! Not exactly model material. And look at that - I really do have a fat behind! She took another swallow of the wine, and then she smirked. Oh yeah, she said, I know. It's these. She took hold of her breasts and lifted them. These what that pervert wanted to see? Would he still like them if he saw how they sag? She swayed them from side to side. Well, they don't actually sag down to my stomach, but still - not the high, perky tits you were hoping for, were they you nasty peeper? The bra had you fooled, I guess! She put on her pajamas and went back into the living room.

Brassieres had always posed a quandary for her. On the one hand, large-breasted women who went without bras were probably not considered attractive because of the effects of gravity; also, it could hurt, especially when she exercised. On the other hand, when she wore a bra her breasts were so large and full and stood out so prominently that they drew double-takes from men that she definitely did not welcome! They were certainly what first drew the attention of her ex-husband, but that hadn't kept him out of the bed of his young slut of a secretary.

She fumed as she sat on the couch draining the rest of the wine. Men are such pigs!

==========

The next day she was still feeling a bit unnerved and self-conscious, so she wore a loose, untucked blouse, almost like a short caftan, that hung down to her lap. Even though her bra-encased bust pushed the blouse out prominently in front of her, the effect was tent-like, so at least you couldn't make out the shapes of her full breasts. Makes me look fat, she thought as she looked in the mirror. Well, so what? That should keep the guys' eyes off me - and the bulges out of their pants! That was another thing that irritated her about the men at work: so often in company meetings she'd noticed the tell-tale sign of an erection in a man who had been staring at her chest. So annoying - come on, guys, get over it!

Her costume choice seemed to be working, so she was finally able to relax. Towards the end of the day she had to go sit with a job interviewee, since Michael, the UI group manager, was late (of course). The job-seeker was young and kind of shy. He sat with his résumé folder on his lap, and was dressed in what passed for formal attire among young techies these days, jeans and a jacket and tie. When she asked to see his resumé he passed the folder to her, and quietly answered questions she had as she perused the documents. When she passed the folder back to him her eyes opened in surprise, because once again there was a man staring at her with the unmistakable sign of a sizeable erection between his legs! She'd tried so hard to minimize the impression of her bust, keeping her arms close together as she chatted with him, but then it hit her: oh my God, the skirt! When getting dressed she'd concentrated so much on her body above the waist that she'd completely missed the fact that she was wearing a short, tight skirt, and the young guy had a view up under it as she sat with her legs crossed.

Damn! she thought; will it ever end? Why can't these horny males just leave me alone? First a pervert looks in my window, and now this kid is getting excited just because I have legs? I feel like screaming!

She wasn't sure why she did what she did next. Was it a test, to convince herself that this guy had actually been looking up her skirt? Or was she so fed up with sex-starved men that a part of her wanted to rub their noses in it, punish them? She felt a kind of electrical jolt go through her as she imagined what it would be like for a man to have what he could never hope to get dangled in front of him just out of reach.

None of these thoughts were clear or conscious, but in any event she didn't scream; what she did was slowly uncross her legs and then lift her right leg, giving the job-seeker a clear view all the way up under her skirt, before lowering it to re-cross it with the left. She'd always had a penchant for older styles of underwear, and she knew that what he'd just seen were the tops of her nylon stockings held up by black garters, and the crotch of her lacy white panties. The poor guy's mouth was half open and he was blushing when Michael hurried into the room, apologizing for being late. Elaine stood up and said a quick goodbye, then left the room.

God, she thought to herself, why did I do that? That's not me! Well, the boy deserved it; he shouldn't have been looking up my skirt, it was certainly not my idea to get him excited! As she walked back to her desk she sighed. No, the kid didn't deserve being embarrassed, if that's what he was. It wasn't his face at my window. All he's guilty of is being a man, and men are at the mercy of their penises. She gathered up her things and left for home. But unfamiliar feelings still simmered in her, and she couldn't shake them.

==========

For several days she was careful to keep the curtains pulled on all her windows, and often turned out the lights in her bedroom when undressing. But she couldn't help being curious - who was it outside her window? Had he been there before? She'd often seen people using the walkway between her building and the rooming house next door - was it one of those people, someone who lived nearby? Maybe even next door? In any event, whoever it was will have noticed that she was not providing a show for perverts anymore, no more strip teases at an open window! Must be so disappointing for him. I hope so.

Gradually her sensitivity regarding her breasts subsided, and things returned to normal at work. She no longer went to great lengths to disguise her figure with shapeless blouses and dresses, and convinced herself that she shouldn't worry about other people's impression of her; she was what she was and that was that. One consequence of this was that she accepted her figure as something that was attractive to some men, and instead of being uncomfortable about it she found that she was experiencing a feeling that could only be called pride, a recognition that she actually influenced the desires of other people. Instead of the dark colors she'd favored after the voyeurism incident, she'd returned to the more varied garments she'd worn before, including the cream jersey she'd been wearing when she was spied upon. She was also aware that she was walking with a more erect carriage, almost challenging men not to be distracted by her prominent bust.

Is he still out there? she wondered to herself one night as she looked at her bedroom window, preparing for bed. She'd not been turning out the lights to undress for a while now, but still kept the curtains drawn. If so, he must have noticed that the light is on now, like it was before. Has he tried to watch me again? On an impulse she quickly pulled the curtains apart and looked out into the darkness. She saw nothing except lights in the windows of the rooming house next door. Silly of me, she thought. And what would I have done if he were right there! Screamed like a little girl? Ha! But was that a tiny bit of disappointment she was feeling? Oh, don't be ridiculous! She closed the curtain again and took off her blouse and brassiere. She looked down at her breasts. Facing the curtained window she cupped them in her hands and lifted them, squeezing them gently. Is this what you wanted to see, you pathetic weirdo? she whispered. Is it? She shook her head and laughed at her own silliness, then changed into her pajamas and went to bed.

==========

Over the next several days Elaine found that she was having trouble getting the voyeurism incident out of her mind. She kept wondering who the man might have been, was it an old guy or just a kid, maybe? But what difference did that make! Why obsess over it? He hasn't been back, as far as she could tell, so just forget about it. But she couldn't.

She knew that people sometimes used the path outside her window as a shortcut, and she found herself watching during the day on weekends to see what sort of people walked by. There weren't many, actually. Was the peeper just a fluke, some horny guy who just got lucky that one time? Lucky, ha! All he got was a big tease, she thought, and laughed. A big tease. He probably masturbated thinking about it later, masturbated in frustration. She shook her head; what a thought!

That night she decided she was being silly worrying about the peeper. After watching a DVD comedy, laughing as she sipped her wine, she turned off the living room lights and went into her bedroom. She turned on the light and almost as a kind of defiance went to the window and pulled open the curtains. There was no one there - of course - all she could see were lights on in some of the rooms in the rooming house next door. She went to her closet to get her pajamas, a bit tipsy from the wine, then stood facing the window and removed her blouse. Reaching behind her she began to unfasten her brassiere but then stopped - something had caught her attention. The light in the window directly across from hers had just gone out, but she thought she could see movement at the window in the darkened room. Feeling a bit uncertain, she turned her back and removed the brassiere. Shielding both her breasts with her left arm and hand, she walked to the window and closed the curtains. She put on her pajamas and got into bed; she felt uneasy, and it took her a while to fall asleep.

==========

A couple of days later when Elaine was returning home from work she stopped to chat with an older woman who was sitting on the front stoop of the rooming house next door smoking a cigarette. Her name was Margaret, and she was a cleaning woman who offered her services to residents for a weekly fee. Elaine sat down next to her, and while they were talking a man emerged from the path between the buildings and turned the corner, walking towards the entrance where the two women were sitting. He nodded at Margaret, but when he saw Elaine he stopped, seeming unsure where he wanted to go. He half turned, looking up and down the street, then mumbled about having to go back for something he forgot, and beat a hasty retreat around the corner back the way he'd just come. He was blushing beet red.

"Now what was that all about?" Elaine said.

"Beats me," said Margaret. "He is an odd one."

"You know him?" Elaine asked.

"Yes, he's one of the residents I clean for. His room is on the ground floor, right above the path."

"Ah," said Elaine. "What did you mean, that he's odd?"

Margaret laughed. "Well, you saw how he acted just now! Do you know him? He seemed to know you."

"No, I don't think so."

Margaret flicked the ash from her cigarette. "He's actually shy around most women, especially attractive ones." She leaned towards Elaine and lowered her voice. "Cleaning his room, I've learned some things about him."

"Really? Like what?"

"Well, his taste in magazines, for one thing. He sometimes leaves them lying around. I think he also lends them to some of the other older guys in the house." She took another drag on her cigarette. "You can probably guess what kind of magazine we're talking about!"

"Yeah, I think I can!" Elaine laughed.

"The funny thing is, they're really old. I mean, they're not glossies, like that Playboy one. The pages are dry and kind of yellowed, and the pictures are mostly in black and white. He must have had them since he was a kid!"

"Wow! That is odd."

"The pictures are really different from what you see today, too. I think today those kinds of magazines are full of naked people, but in these a lot of the women are wearing their underwear, things like big bras or corsets and old seamed stockings. God, they look like things my mother used to wear! And the women are not exactly athletic, either. Most of them have big busts, of course, and a lot of the pictures are taken from below so their tits kind of loom over you!"

"Well, tastes change, I suppose," Elaine said. "Except for some old guys."

"Yep, and we got a bunch of 'em here. Maybe this one grew up playing with himself while he looked at Bettie Page pictures."

"Or at his mother!" They both laughed.

Margaret snuffed out her cigarette on the stoop and slipped it into a pocket of her apron. "Well, I better get back to work," she said, getting up.

"Okay, Margaret," said Elaine. "Nice chatting with you. And educational!"

Back in her apartment Elaine was thinking about the guy who had just scurried away from them. From the way he acted she was sure he was the one - he probably saw me from his window and couldn't resist running outside to see if he could get a close-up peek. How pathetic! God, I can't believe I actually lost sleep worrying about him, just an old dirty porn collector. Now he's afraid to try again, and probably sits in the dark watching my window with his penis in his hand, hoping he'll see something he can masturbate to. Well, we'll see about that! Disappointment can be frustrating.

Getting ready for bed that night she walked by the open curtains twice, once in her street clothes, and once in just her bra and panties. Then she turned off the lights and went to bed. She slept soundly.

==========

Elaine began to notice a pattern. First, she learned that the man she saw when she was talking with Margaret definitely did live in the room facing her bedroom, when she saw him briefly appear at his window. Second, by looking from her living room window she learned that the light in his room was always on at night. But as soon as she went into her bedroom and turned on the light it wouldn't be long before his went off. It wasn't hard to guess what that meant! He must spend all his time in the evening watching, waiting for me to undress! I wonder if he pulls up a chair to masturbate, or just stands at his window doing it while he watches me? Pathetic!

She had pretty much lost any of the fear she'd had when she first caught him peeking at her. And her initial anger was gone, as well; it had been replaced by a sort of contempt for his cowardice and the permission he gave himself to violate her privacy. That was unacceptable! Maybe she should have told the police about it; it deserves punishment, it really does.

Elaine decided that she wasn't going to let that pathetic man have any power or influence over her, wasn't going to allow him to change how she lived her life. Why should she worry about keeping her curtains closed just because of him? If it teased and tantalized him and drove him crazy because she never undressed completely while she was in front of the window, well, that wasn't her problem, was it? If he wasted his time every night but never got the satisfaction he craved, well, good! It served him right.

She realized, of course, that what she was doing might be making him suffer, and she admitted to herself that that gave her a strange kind of excitement. She liked the thought that she had control over his arousal, and enjoyed dashing his hopes night after night. She could have put an end to the whole business by just keeping her curtains closed all the time - he would have soon given up and looked for excitement somewhere else. But she much preferred keeping him in an agony of sexual frustration, certainly an appropriate punishment!

Most of the time she just repeated what she'd done when she first identified him, allowing him glimpses of her in her underwear. Sometimes she'd undress in front of the window, slowly removing her clothes, making him hope that she'd keep going - but she never did. She might reach behind her back to unclasp her bra, or start to push down her panties, but always wandered away from the window before what he no doubt was dying to see was revealed. Remembering what Margaret had told her about his magazine collection, sometimes she'd be wearing vintage underwear, dark stockings held up with fancy garter belts, or a black demi-bra she'd found forgotten in the back of a drawer, that barely covered the large globes of her breasts. But after lifting her skirt and slowly removing the stockings and garters, or lowering the straps of the bra, she'd always step out of view before any of "the good stuff" was visible. Must be driving him mad! she thought to herself. She hoped so.

One night when she was performing this striptease she got a shock. After she saw the light in his room go out, she could see a trace of movement in his darkened window, as usual. This time she made out what looked like two shiny circles just visible in the dark. Then it hit her - binoculars! If he couldn't get his face right up to her window as he'd tried at first, then this was the next best thing!