Voyeur in a Country Town

A fictional tale, but inspired by the woman who is real including the surroundings and circumstances that day. This is also exactly the same shop where I captured the Fruity View set of upskirt photos that started my Paradise adventures. On a different day though.

She was tall, large, sort of bulky but with a shape you could admire taking all things like her magnificent mop of thick dark hair, heavy eyebrows, full lips and lush brown eyes into consideration. I mean I'm no oil painting, but you know - a voyeur looks at females in a slightly jaundiced way. She was in a small fruit and veg shop in a southern market town and I'd got there too late to catch the market for my first real foray into the new summer season of uppying as the temperature was in the low twenties and humid with it.

Delayed on my travel from a project north of London, I cursed the broken down truck near Heathrow that reduced the M25 to a stop/crawl for over three junctions. I would have been in time for the lunch time trade in the street market with the housewives, tourists and office workers out in their miniskirts and was looking forward to an hour or so trawling the stalls and small shops with my bag cam.

She was studying cauliflowers. The US readers of this might wonder what that is as you don't eat fresh vegetables over there do you? but she handled this large example like a shot putter would his (or her) shot. Bouncing it in her hand without letting go of it. Her skirt attracted me to enter the shop which reeked of lovely greens, soil and fruit. It was dark grey but silvery patterned, then I realised it was a summer dress, light and airy, hanging from a formidable pair of bazongers, with a loose little belt higher than her waist just cinching it in to give her the profile I had spotted. The material flowed softly wide and fluttered round her sturdy though nicely carved legs. Her ankles were shapely.

From the safety of the fruit counter, falsely perusing some nectarines I watched as she leaned and I thrilled to the way the slight sultry draught through the small arcade filtered through this shop and wafted her skirt, the hem of which was just at her knees, away from her legs. She spoke with a cultured almost haughty tone in a rich thick timbre.

"This one is much better," she declared, strolling towards the flustered assistant who was apologetically glancing at the two old dears who fussed at having to wait.

I had caught the scenario when I walked in. My target - as I had decided with a touch of desperation by now, was buying quite a lot of stuff and the assistant had rightly pointed out to her that the cauliflower had some discolouration and would she like to change it, hence the queue building up. The two old dears tutted and glared as Madam Target finalised her shopping and I chuckled inwardly on the way old people, who have all the time in the world, always get impatient when queuing or have to wait for anything. I studied her from the back of the shop vainly looking for VPL and not seeing any which kept my hopes up of something a bit daring, but her garment and persona didn't offer too much evidence of anything. I decided to be patient and wait and hope she would go to another shop as she had virtually finished in this one and watched her lightly proceed out into the arcade in a pair of black slip on, inch high wedge heels.

Sauntering out un-noticed, my hopes of even a forty something butt and gusset were falling as she made her way towards the arcade exit and the car park. The two bags looked heavy, but she carried them easily, firm arms taut and bare below the delicate little loose sleeves that masked wide shoulders. My mind was racing on the subject of her undies. She had a very slight Mediterranean look, but only slight. I decided she would be hairy and licked my lips at the prospect - if I got a chance, to capture my favourite delicacy of pubics curling round a scrunched up panty gusset which clung in that dark, damp and wonderful crevasse.

I did scan the arcade looking for more youthful women, but there were none and I started to curse my luck and the waste of the already recording, cheap but effective non digital, non remote cam whirring away in my bag - capturing superb closeups of the palm of my hand, such is my carrying style. Then the turning point of my day happened.

Through the doors came a scruffy but genteel elderly man wearing a battered old straw hat rakishly to one side of his florid face, grey hair sprouting shaggily round his ears. His red, white spotted neckerchief suited his faded blue Oxford shirt and threadbare fawn coloured corduroys. Sandals protected bare feet and his face lit up as he came face to face with my target.

"Oh there you are Daddy. I'd almost given you up. Let's get these to the car," she said pleasantly and my mind sunk as he turned, took one of the bags and they wandered towards the exit chatting.

I glanced round and thought I saw a pair of decent legs in the shoe shop right next to the doors my target had just exited. As I walked towards the shop, guessing that the legs might be in shorts as that was my luck today, I noticed Madam Target and Daddy had stopped inside the doors which were propped open by two litter bins.

"Well if that's alright with you daddy," she was saying.

I lingered, looking intently into the plate glass at the reflections and not the shoes.

"Yes of course darling. Thanks for doing my shopping, but I promised Charles I would meet him at the club and have a pint before he goes off on his cruise. Last one, you know - pint, he'll be allowed to have. You know what Amelia is like," he added, winking and nudging her arm.

"Oh she's not that bad. Anyway there'll be oodles of cocktails to drink, I'm sure he'll find a way. Give him my best wishes. Now I'll spend a little more time in the town, it's so nice when the townspeople and tourists have gone and it's quiet," she told him arrogantly. "Are you sure you can manage that to the car?"

"Of course darling. Stop fussing. I'm only seventy," he chuckled as he took the other bag. "Anyway - swung you over my knee many a time didn't I?"

"Daddy!" she exclaimed. "I'll see you at the manor later and cook you a nice meal. Get that salmon ready and you and I can talk over old times over a G and T and some nice wine before I go."

"Sounds delightful Biddie darling. You always were my favourite," he said throatily. "Don't know what I'd have done without you."

"Off with you and have your pint and only one as you're driving," Biddie answered and pecked his cheek.

I watched her as she watched him approach an old Rolls Royce and shove the two bags carelessly in. He waved as she did and he fired up the car and purred away. She turned with a satisfied little smile on her face, me thinking that yes - she was a Biddie. One of these upper crust abbreviations but what for? Anyway I noticed the laughter lines round her eyes and mouth as I turned round and innocently studied my watch. Biddie seemed to stand and take stock of the arcade, her brow furrowing until she decided her next port of call as I wandered into the arcade, guessing rightly that she would follow.

My hopes were now high, she was browsing at virtually every shop and then she entered one of my favourite types - a greeting card specialist. Women spend hours over choosing cards and it's perfect as there are shelves high and low, getting bends and stretches of skirts and sometimes the deliciously daring squat over my bag - if I'm quick enough to spot it and retrieve the bag a second after the downward swooping butt offers it's secrets to my lens. Biddie wandered toward the new baby section and I moved round the racks to approach from the rear. There were no security cameras visible, the shop assistants were deep in idle chat and several other women mooched about giving me cover.

I lowered the bag and moved in, picking a card as I swung the bag under her gently wafting skirt. I was thrilled to capture several seconds as Biddie stood quite still, her legs crossed unfortunately until she moved one leg. I swung away and then back in as her stance was now wide legged and I got a precious few more seconds. She reached up for a card off the top row and I held back as her skirt flowed between her taut legs and then she read the card at length as I swooped once more. At the same time I picked another card and manoeuvred round her and was overjoyed as I moved when she bent and stooped. Resolutely I kept the bag still, my heart pounding at the wonderful exposure I was getting. Biddie raised upright again and all hell let loose!

Her skirt had caught on my bag strap buckle and the weight alerted her and she whirled round as the bag came free. Shit! it was only fractions of seconds, but she glanced down as I fumbled, but my bag had twisted and I couldn't conceal the lens.

"What are you doing?" she demanded and then her eyes squinted down as I looked as innocent as I could and made to retreat.

"Is that a camera?" she asked loudly and several pairs of eyes glanced over at us.

"Er yes, it's just too big to go into the bag. A work thing - damn nuisance," I added, stepping away from her but she blocked my passage. "Sorry about that. This card will do me OK."

"I think you were taking pho..." Biddie blustered and then paused, glaring around.

It was if she felt embarrassed, the way she dried up. I took the opportunity to glide away, putting the card back on the shelf, but she hurried after me and I feared the worst.

"Excuse me," came the shrill anxious voice. I hurried on as it wasn't her voice and wasn't male.

"You er... wait..wait it's er OK," Biddie called out imperiously although I recognised a note of conciliation.

I turned round. She stood glancing at my still retreating figure as she sorted some coins from her purse to pay for the card she had left the shop with. The assistant trotted back inside as Biddie bore down on me like a battleship in full steam. Even in my deep rooted fear and being frozen to the spot, the first time I had encountered any suspicion, I noticed the wondrous bounce of her bosoms. Obviously cooped in a big brassiere but still able to provide their own captivating motion.

She stood and took a deep breath as I did, waiting for the accusation and wondering why I had remained for the retribution. She was actually looking down at me, but I reckoned it was her shoes that gave her the slight extra height, but she was a big woman. Her next comment took me completely by surprise.

"Look it's OK. I mean this may sound silly, but I know what you're doing. Can we talk?'" she said quietly, glancing round guiltily as if the whole world was waiting for our next move.

The arcade was dead quiet until the hum of an invalid chair took it's obese driver past an iron statue and disappeared into a book store. I was somehow intrigued and puffed my cheeks in a nervous blow out gesture, then I nodded and looked around. I pointed to some seats nearby and we walked some distance apart until we sat, the odd couple, at each end of the four man bench, her studying me and me watching the sun catching the feathery down on the front of her lower legs . Voyeur to the end and this maybe wasn't the end. Biddie shuffled closer and spoke.

"You were filming up my skirt weren't you?"

"What makes you say that?"

"That camera, even it's a work thing and too big, you wouldn't just have the lens exposed would you?"

"I'll show you if you like."

"What - all the ladies bottoms you did before mine? Heh heh! I don't think so," she was almost chuckling.

"How can you be so sure?"

"I know. I am certain. It's OK I'm not going to report you, although I should."

"Well thanks for that, but they wouldn't do anything."

"Don't be too sure. I have connections."

"Look this is silly. Why do you want to talk to me?"

"It's er.. well personal. And why me for God's sake?"

"You're er...well you're.."

"A woman, simple as that. A poor defenceless woman. Your prey, your target. But Christ! I'm 46 years old, going fat, no makeup, with greying hair. What about all the young girls and their mini skirts?''

"Well let's put it this way. Yes you're a woman, but you're not exactly and old wrinkly. I mean I wouldn't film you if you were and......well you are an attractive woman - that's the point."

"You said you wouldn't film an old wrinkly - correct?"

I nodded, resigned to the outcry once she had got my confession which must have been written all over my face. She nodded triumphantly and rubbed the palms of her hands over the tops of her thighs. She looked around the arcade, sleepy in it's afternoon heat, the sounds of the market stalls clattering steel as they were dismantled in the distant square.

"I don't know whether you saw my father earlier. I gave him the shopping," she said quietly as if passing on a deadly secret.

I nodded.

"Well he was caught doing that. Er.. you know photographing up girl's skirts on an escalator. Had been doing it for years apparently. I was working in Africa for the Ministry when he was caught and quite frankly I couldn't bear the shame and come home to the press outrage," Biddie told me. "It was because of his status you see."

I nodded although I didn't see and looked a little more sympathetic, in fact I was spell bound.

"Anyway to cut a long story short, they couldn't pin anything on him legally, but he was warned and the press had a field day and he retired and moved to England."

"Where did it happen?" I asked.

"Paris where else? Place full of pretty girls yah?" Biddie stated in a Sloanie way. "He was the trade commissioner at the British Embassy."

I nodded, actually in genuine awe and rolled my lips inwards and nodded in an understanding expression, hoping she would continue. She had slid nearer in her conversation and her skirt was allowing much more of her meaty thighs to be exposed. I was half torn between cutting all this crap and getting away and continuing to hear her out. I unzipped the bag and switched off the cam, her eyes almost beady as she watched.

"Why are you telling me all this?"

"It's just a puzzle on why do men do it I suppose. Daddy couldn't explain. Alright, Mummy died some years before, but he still was a charmer and much adored and I'm sure had a pick of sophisticated ladies in the diplomatic parties - but..." Biddie's voice tailed off and she looked almost vulnerable as she gazed round the arcade.

I chimed in.

"I don't know your father's reasons, but I can only say it's such an adrenaline rush and feeling of triumph when you see a good looking woman's intimacies exposed on your lounge TV. And of course I can....Well I'm a widower and lonely I suppose, you know what I mean."

She nodded knowingly, but I wasn't sure she was on the same wanking wave length as I was.

"You said good looking. Is that how you see me?"

"Yes I told you earlier, you are an attractive woman and quite a capture on film if you see what I mean. Sophisticated, elegant, well bred and all that."

"How old are you?' Biddie said pointedly but preening at the same time..

"55," I lied about the missing 6 years.

Not sure why. Was I on the pull?

She nodded and peered closely at me.

"I don't why I started this conversation," she murmured.

"You could have screamed blue murder and had me done," I added.

"Something inside and Daddy.... bbbb..but - you really think I'm attractive?"

"Yes of course. I mean you're letting me go right?"

She nodded.

"I mean you're not reporting me," I continued.

Again a nod.

"So there's no reason to try and flatter you and crawl to you in order to secure a safe exit. Yes, I can say truthfully that you are one fine attractive woman."

Biddie gulped and glanced nervously around, wringing her hands. She dipped into the miniature bag resting in her lap and wiped what were apparently sweaty hands with a lace handkerchief..

"When are you going to look at the film?" she glanced at my bag.

"Tell you what. I'll bin it if you like," I offered incredibly.

What was I saying after all the shit during the day?

"'I'll take it out now and throw it away eh?"

"No no don't do that. There's no need.......er.. well I can tell you something. just to make it better for you," she simpered, glancing into a tiny mirror and smoothing the odd stray hairs that flitted round her full features. I noticed the odd grey one.

"Look, I don't know your name. I don't owe you anything but I'm drawn to you somehow in that no one has ever said I'm attractive and you have."

"So what can you tell me?" I asked, a touch of impatience marring my interest. "And I am not kidding when I said that about you being attractive."

"It's very naughty but something I got used to in Africa. Was there twenty years in very hard and difficult conditions you understand?" she confided, sliding to a thigh touching position. "I haven't got any knickers on," Biddie whispered.

It was my turn to look around. Was I dreaming? No - she sat there bold as brass, her deep brown eyes boring into mine, searching for my reaction but there was a hint of a grin flickering round that lush cultured mouth.

"Christ!" I exclaimed.

"You shocked?"

"What do you think? A girl of your upbringing. No it's a wind up, you're just teasing me," I laughed.

"Play it back then. Go on play it back now," she challenged.

I unzipped the bag fully and drew out the camcorder and switched it to playback. It whirred for a moment and I guessed the duration and pressed play. As it was a cheap version it didn't have an LCD screen so I peered through the viewfinder and gasped at the revelations confirming Biddie's words. Dumbfounded at the intimate peeps at her crotch from pavement level I ran it to the end of her involvement and then reversed it as she waited with high anticipation written all over her handsome face. Her eyes urged me to tell her. I didn't speak, but offered her the cam to see for herself. I had no qualms about being seen in a public place with the cam as we would just look like a couple of tourists looking at the scenes we had captured.

"Ooh! I say. It's amazing and ever so revealing," Biddie gushed, squinting into the eyepiece.

I just smiled satisfactorily until she handed me the camera back.

"I think I can see why now," she suggested. "I mean - why you do it."

"Pretty obvious I'd say apart from what I've already told you, the rush etc," I responded.

She nodded and pursed her lips. I wondered if she might just be thinking how many times I would wank over the show. I was looking forward to it even now, fuelled by the glimpses I had just rushed through.

"Am I still attractive, now you have seen my er...?" she stopped.

"Dead right, even more so," I chuckled. "Just my type, couldn't be better," thinking about her exotic crotch.

"Well you can't really see all of me can you. I mean I fidgeted a lot."

"Yeah, but it's the usual capture. Look I'm happy, you don't seem upset. Can we leave it at that?" I asked, wanting to get away as I couldn't see this situation developing any further to my advantage.

How wrong can you be?

"Capture? Oh is that what you call it. Sounds awfully decadent doesn't it? Look. I'm going to stay with daddy for a couple of days then I'm leaving the country for five years. Another charity project," she declared. "If you promise not to follow me or try to contact me and on the basis that we will never meet again, I will help you achieve what you really really want......I mean beyond your wildest hopes before you set out today."

I gazed at Biddie and expressed my intrigue. She continued.

"You follow me around for the next few minutes as if we've never met. I will browse in shops and you film up my skirt again......but hang on," she stopped my initial protests at the futility of her idea, when it seemed to me I had enough upskirts of her.