The Story of Charlotte McPherson

One time, on a Saturday night when I was horny as hell -- well, I was always horny as hell back then -- I saw an attractive student with blond wavy hair, someone I didn't know, go into the apartment complex next to where I lived at the same time that I was about to go into my apartment.

I was too shy to say anything to her, but I went around to the other side of the building. I knew the layout of those apartments because I had almost moved there myself. I saw a light go on in one of the windows and then the blinds went down. There was a thick hedge a few feet from the side of the building, so I crept over to the window and found that the blinds were not completely closed at the bottom.

There was that student sitting on her bed facing the window. She had been wearing cutoff jeans when I had seen her outside, but those cutoffs were now off, and she was just wearing her underwear as she sat on her bed leaning against the headboard. Her feet were on the bed, her knees up, and her legs spread. She had just picked up a book.

That gave me a strange feeling. I liked the idea of being able to watch her without her knowing I was there. It kind of fed into my sexual feeling and made me hornier than I already was. I'm not describing it well, but you get the idea. Later on, I looked into it. Voyeurism. The desire to do that it's pretty common. I mean, who wouldn't take the chance to look at a pretty girl or woman if they had the chance.

Nowadays, with all the cameras and such, it would be too dangerous to try to do something like what I had done back then. You'd probably get caught. But this was a long time ago.

Anyway, if you're in your own yard looking into your own house -- how could you get in trouble for that?

At the sound of the shower, as quietly as I could, I made my way out to the backyard with our small step ladder from the garage. It was pretty dark and there was a little bit of rain but nothing too bad. Even though we're talking about the downstairs bathroom, the window was still eight feet above the ground in the backyard. That's why the ladder. So I set up the ladder and went up.

I remember being exciting because I was able to see the entire room through the gap in the blinds. On the right was the tub and shower with the curtains drawn, to the left was the toilet, and straight ahead I could see the sink and vanity. You could hear the soft sound of water. It was hard to tell whether it was from the light rain hitting the walkway next to me or whether it was through the window from the shower.

But at least some of the sound had to have been from the shower since it suddenly became quieter, and the shower curtain was drawn back after a few seconds.

I do sometimes wonder about why I was the way I was, and about what I did back then. I watched a program the other day. A documentary. It was about humans and natural selection. Part of a series. The first program in the series was about Darwin, those islands in the Pacific with the birds, and how people didn't want to believe what he had to say at first. That was interesting but the part that was more interesting, was the one I just saw, the last one in the series, about the reason humans are the way they are. That's supposed to be natural selection too.

A lot of the program was about the difference between men and women and mating strategy. About how women can have a limited number of offspring and men can potentially have more. It might explain the way men are, or the way they can be.

The experts on the program all wanted to talk about how complicated it is, with all the different forces. And people are intelligent so it's not just a matter of survival and mating. But I have to admit, by the end of the program it was hard to know what the experts really thought. Aside from the fact that it's complicated.

Anyway, maybe natural selection partially explains why I am the way I am, or why I was the way I was back in 1991.

In any case, my first look at Charlotte, after the shower curtain was pulled back, was of her squeezing water out of her dark red hair, which looked even darker when it was wet. She had her back to me, but I could tell that what I had memorized while she had been lying on the couch that morning was accurate. About the nice curves of her upper back, her lower back, her butt, and the back of her legs. As I think about it now, it's hard for me to think of anything better than that moment -- although there are a couple more that you'll hear about soon. Actually, as I think about the other parts that I'll soon tell you about, they are the best moments. But they are something else as well. The way I feel about it now....it's complicated. Again.

It was near the end of the summer, and Charlotte lived in southern California, so you could see the tan lines from her swimsuit. Or more than one suit. It looked as though there was one tan line from a one-piece suit she probably wore when she was swimming laps, and a second set of lines from a bikini. She was a little bit tan but still pretty light. Her butt was very pale.

Charlotte grabbed the towel after she was done wringing out her hair -- yes, Kathy did leave a towel for her -- and she started using the towel to dry her hair further as she turned toward me.

Just like her ass, her boobs were very white compared with her delicately tanned skin. They were a nice size. I'd say a little bit smaller than my wife's, but they looked just the right size for Charlotte. They were nice and rounded underneath forming a crease where each contacted the main part of her torso. Her nipples and the circular part around them, the areolas I guess, were pinkish tan. The contrast between the pinkish tan tips of her boobs and the light skin was pleasing.

Charlotte's pubic hair was exactly the same color as the dark red hair on her head. Although of course it was tightly curled. As I already said, the hair on her head was thick and straight.

Back then, most of the time, woman didn't shave off their pubic hair. They just trimmed it, so it was neat. Or they wouldn't trim it much at all. I could see that Charlotte did trim her hair. There's no way the hair could have grown in that perfect a triangle.

Anecdotal. Now that I think about it, I don't know for sure that women now shave more than they did back in 1991. That's just my impression. From the women I knew back then compared with what I see now. It's not like I took a survey or something.

And quite a few guys shave that too now. More than they did back then.

Anyway, at the bottom of Charlotte's triangle you could see the start of her pussy, and the start of two closely spaced vertical lines forming the part that covered her clit a little further below.

It was exciting to watch her as she went, drying different parts. Because it gave me the chance to look at everything that I wanted to see. But from different angles.

After she stepped out of the tub she went over to the mirror and used a circular motion with the towel to wipe off the condensation. She wanted to see herself.

Since she was standing directly in front of me and she was leaning forward a little bit, to look at herself, I was able to have a closer look at the length of her back. Her waist was slender, but her body widened nicely at her hips. The back of her legs and her calves looked strong, smooth, and slender. The smooth white curves of her perfect ass turned in all the right places, including down into the darkness of the lower center in just the right way.

The lips of her pussy were proportioned exactly as I had seen through her thin leggings earlier that morning. Puffy lips on either side of the slit in the middle.

Charlotte's expression in the mirror looked serious compared to usual. Her face still looked beautiful.

It was exciting to see Charlotte this way. To see everything. It was a kind of tipping point. I know that now but wasn't completely aware of that at the moment. But deep down, I knew then that something would have to happen. I wasn't sure what. I knew I would have to make something happen if it didn't happen on its own.

---

"How was work today, honey?" My wife used to call me 'honey.' She still does. "There's a plate of food for you to microwave."

My wife, Charlotte, and Amelia were sitting on the living room couch when I got home in the evening.

"It was alright. Just the usual. How about you three? You have any fun?"

"Yes, Kathy took us to the Art Institute." Charlotte seemed very excited about it. "They had a special Jan van Eyck exhibit that was amazing. The Institute had brought in a lot of paintings from museums all over the world."

"I wanted to see the impressionist collection, but Charlotte made us look at every detail of the van Eyck exhibit." This wasn't the first time that Amelia complained about Charlotte. It seemed like she was always complaining about her. It was probably because Charlotte always got a lot more attention than she did. I could go into the reasons for that, but you can probably figure out for yourself why that was.

"What kind of paintings were they?" I could tell they were Dutch, from the "van" part but was interested in what Charlotte might have found interesting.

"I'm not sure how to describe them Burl. I know the artist painted them during the Northern Renaissance period. I would say they were semi-realistic but uniquely stylized. There was a creepy famous one called the "The Marriage of Arnolfini."

"Creepy how?"

"The guy's face was disturbing. And the bride was pregnant. It just made me wonder what had happened. Well, there's the obvious about the pregnant bride." Charlotte and my wife both laughed at that, while Amelia scowled. "But the guy looked like a specter, and it made me feel sorry for the bride. I'll have to take an art history class at Stanford -- I'd like to learn more about artists, and the various artistic periods and movements. I'd like to be able to describe their works in a more sophisticated way."

"No, you already did a nice job describing right now."

The entire time we were talking, I was watching Charlotte. I remember she was wearing a tight-fitting, horizontally striped, light purple and white slip dress. You don't see people wearing that kind of dress very often now. But the dress and colors were common back then.

Anyway the dress was low cut in the center so you could see the skin on the upper rise of Charlotte's breasts. And the dress was short and made her legs look long. And you could see the shape of her waist and hips. I was thinking about how I knew what she looked like under all that. Both from when I was pretending to read the paper yesterday and from when I was able to watch her after her shower. I'll be honest -- it had been hard for me to think about anything other than Charlotte from the start of her visit.

"I'm glad the three of you had a good time."

Amelia was still frowning.

My wife started talking about the weather. "We did have a good time. Except we should have brought jackets. It was cold." It had been unusually cold for a few days for that time of year. And wet too. "Poor Charlotte was so cold."

"Ha. Don't worry about me. I'll live." Charlotte laughed. "It's just colder here up north than I expected."

"How about I make all of you something hot to drink while I microwave my dinner? What would you like? Tea? Hot chocolate? Something stronger?

"Yes. Hot chocolate. That sounds great. Thanks Burl." That's what my wife said.

So I went out to the kitchen and put the tea kettle on.

Remember I mentioned about a tipping point a little while ago? Well this part is where I really did tip all the way over. After I had finished watching Charlotte the previous evening, and before my wife and Amelia came home, I went into the bathroom attached to our master bedroom and took several sleeping pills from a bottle that my wife had.

She, Kathy that is, had a prescription from the previous year when she was going through a difficult time. Her uncle, who she was very close to, had died unexpectedly. This had caused my wife to have trouble sleeping for some reason. Well, maybe it was a good reason. She was upset, and I couldn't blame her. Her uncle, her mom's brother, was a nice and generous guy. But I knew the pills worked well for her. She would fall asleep and be fine the next morning.

Serendipitous. That's what my plan would have to be. Or at least partly. Because I knew the 'what' but only part of the 'how,' not the entire 'how'. It had been just an idea, not really a plan. It was more about trying to be ready in case an opportunity arose. And now it had arisen.

No, I can't remember the name of the pills. Just that they had worked well for my wife. I do remember my hands shaking when I crushed the pills between two spoons -- one pill each for my wife and Amelia, and two for Charlotte -- and then stirred them in with the powdered hot chocolate. I remember being torn. My hands were shaking because I do know right from wrong.

Do you remember those old TV shows or movies where someone would be trying to decide something difficult and there would be a little version of the person with a halo sitting on one shoulder and another little version of the person, this time with horns, sitting on the other? The angel and devil versions of the person would argue and try to convince the person, to try and bring him around to their viewpoint. That's what it was like for me. Except the devil version was just holding up a picture of Charlotte, with her smiling heart-shaped face, dark red hair, her blue eyes, her mischievous expression, her pale naked breasts with the pinkish-tan areolas, the deepening curves of her butt as they descended inward, her dark red pubic hair, and her puffy labia (yes, I looked it up). I think when the angel version saw the picture the devil was holding he decided it wasn't even worth trying.

So I put the three mugs of chocolate on a serving tray. And I was careful to have them match where my wife, Charlotte, and Amelia were sitting on the couch so they would each get the right mug. And I almost forgot, but I put my plate of food on there, too.

But when I came back out I saw that my wife and Charlotte had somehow switched places; my wife was now in the center of the couch and Charlotte was on the right. So I had to set the tray down on the coffee table and hand my wife her mug, and then bring the tray over to Charlotte and Amelia so they each received their correct mug.

"Thanks honey."

"Yes, thanks so much Burl." I saw that Charlotte was now wearing a sweater. So that's probably how she and my wife ended up swapping places on the couch -- when she went to get her sweater, my wife had moved to the middle of the couch.

"Yeah, thanks." At least Amelia smiled a little bit this time instead of scowling.

I sat in the armchair and had my dinner while the two sisters and their half sister (my wife) sipped their hot chocolate. The three of them were discussing what to do the next day.

"Hey, let's go to the natural history museum tomorrow." I guess Charlotte hadn't had enough of the museums yet.

"Yes, we could do that!" My wife was always up for the museums. Whenever anyone visited somehow that's what the visitors would end up doing.

"I was hoping to go back to the mall." That was Amelia.

"Well, there's no reason we can't do both." My wife is a good hostess. And I think she was excited to have her two half-sisters visiting on their own, without their dad and his wife. So she wanted to be accommodating.

I guess I should explain why my wife and Amelia got special mugs of hot chocolate along with Charlotte. Well, the reason for my wife should be obvious. If I happened to be getting up out of bed later I'd rather have her sound asleep instead of having her ask "honey, where are you going?" In Amelia's case, it was because Charlotte and Amelia were sharing the guest bedroom. Amelia had the small bed there and Charlotte was using a portable foldout bed we brought down from the attic. I didn't want Amelia to wake up. I probably didn't have to explain all that because you had likely already figured it out. Maybe not the details but I bet you surmised the general reason.

"Gee, it's not that late but I'm already getting sleepy." My wife was stretching and started yawning.

"I know. It's hard to keep my eyes open." Amelia yawned in sympathy with my wife.

Charlotte was resting her head on my wife's shoulder and didn't say anything.

"We should probably go to bed." My wife again. "Charlotte, wake up."

"Uh...Bryce?"

Oh yeah, now I remember. That was the name of Charlotte's boyfriend back home. I'm not going to bother giving him a fake name at this point.

My wife just laughed. "No, I'm not Bryce. C'mon Charlotte, go get ready for bed."

"Alright. Oh, I meant Kathy." She started laughing too. She must have realized that she said her boyfriend's name accidentally.

Charlotte and Amelia both got up, and Amelia steered Charlotte toward the downstairs bathroom, which was next to the guest bedroom. I heard water running and it sounded like someone was brushing their teeth so I was pretty sure they would both make it safely to bed.

"Burl let's go to bed. I'm tired."

"Alright. That sounds good. I'll just read for a bit."

I was surprised that Kathy let that go because it's unusual for me to read like that before going to sleep.

After we got cleaned up, my wife put on a nightgown, I striped down to my underwear, and we got into bed.

Prosaism. My wife was asleep before her head hit the pillow. But really. I knew the signs from when she had been taking her sleeping pills the year before that. I decided it best to wait for twenty minutes. I didn't read. I just thought about Charlotte.

---

I was walking quietly down the stairs, wearing my bathrobe over my underwear. My idea, if anyone woke up and asked me what was going on, and here again it was an idea rather than a plan, was to say I thought I heard something fall and wanted to make sure everything was okay. Kind of a feeble as an excuse but it would have to do.

When I got to the guest bedroom door I reached for the handle and started to turn it. It was locked.

I remember at the time almost laughing about it. Because I had nervous sweat under my arms. And I could hear my heart pounding in my ears. And I could see that my hands were shaking. It looked like I would just be going to go back to bed and wake up and go to work in the morning. Just as usual.

But then I realized pretty quicky that the privacy lock on the guest bedroom was the same as the one on the downstairs bathroom. It was one of those old locks where the lock is built into the part right next to the doorknob. The kind where you lock it just by pushing in a small button. So I went to the kitchen, where we used to keep the key and came back to the door. As I turned the key in the knob the lock made a very loud click. Or it seemed loud since everything else was so quiet. I opened the door a little and looked in. I couldn't see very well but I could tell nothing was moving. Although I could hear Charlotte and Amelia breathing softly.

I waited in the doorway for a couple minutes to let my eyes adjust to the dark. But I knew I wanted to see better so I took a few steps back into the hallway, turned on the hallway light, and then came back to the doorway. The light lit up the room nicely. It gave off a warm yellowish glow.

Now I could see Amelia on the far side of the wall in the bed below the window. She was lying on her side facing away from me toward the wall. Charlotte was lying on her back with her face turned to one side, her dark red hair splayed across her pillow. She was covered with a blanket. I haven't seen anything more beautiful than Charlotte during that visit in 1991, or since. Except maybe Charlotte at subsequent times when she's come to visit. Or when we've visited her. She's the same person but older. Well, so are we all.