The Adventures of Shat: The Peeping Toms, part I
The Peeping Toms, Part I
: Getting Caught
My heart pounded intensely in my chest almost as if it were trying to escape up my throat and through my mouth. I choked, gasping for air while my lungs were struggling to keep up with my legs, both pumping harder than they had ever done so before. I felt like I was drowning in the humid summer night’s air. No matter how deep my gulps, it wasn’t enough to catch my breath.
I darted down the hill, my best friend Shat a few yards ahead of me, in desperation of reaching the safety of his bedroom, as if it would be some sort of sacred sanctuary protecting us from living up to what we had been caught doing.
Behind me I could hear him, the angry husband and the sound of his deep and heavy breathes, inhaling and exhaling like a ferocious mushing beast. The sound trumpeted in my ears, enveloping my thoughts with intensifying dread, causing my imagination to run wild with images of what would be in store for me if he did in fact catch up. I struggled to push my legs faster. Shat’s house was still a little ways off yet. Could I make it before being caught?
To my relief, the further I ran the more distant the sounds of the angry husband became. I glanced over my shoulder to find that he had given up the chase after about fifty yards. The sprint and asphalt of the road had taken its toll on the barefoot, middle aged man. Finally reaching sanctuary, Shat and I thrashed through the front door, tearing our way through the house to his bedroom down the hall. His dad glanced up from the couch with a brief look of confusion; the thought seemed to be almost immediately dismissed as behavior like this wasn’t uncommon in rambunctious fifteen year old boys. It was especially not uncommon in these two boys.
Shat slammed the door behind him, locking the jiggly door knob that could provide no real protection. We sat on the floor, our backs leaning up against his bed, panting heavily.
“Think he’ll actually come to your house?” I asked Shat frightfully.
Before he could answer the door bell rang. A short moment passed. I prayed the angry husband would simply tell Shat’s dad what had happened and leave. Confrontation was now my biggest fear. The thought of facing the angry husband seemed worse than any alternative. I’d have willingly wrapped my nuts in duct tape, made out with the fattest and ugliest girls at school or taken part in the most disgusting of dares than face this guy face to face.
“Boy’s, come out here.” Shat’s dad called with the definitive tone of irritation in his voice.
We emerged anxiously and hesitantly from the bedroom, hands in our pockets, both slouched over and looking at the floor, scared to death to make eye contract with either of them.
“What were you boy’s doing in their yard tonight?”
Shat shot back with a quick lie. He had become very skilled at this. “We were looking for Nate,” the angry husband’s son. “We wanted to see if he could hang out.”
The angry husband glared back at us in disbelief, “So you hid in the bushes outside my window because you were looking for Nate!”
His voice raised full of anger and Shat’s dad stood up strait, perhaps not sure whose side he should take.
“Well, yeah. We just wanted to hang out.” Shat persisted.
“I don’t care what you wanted; don’t come in my yard again!” The angry husband pointed at us, “If I ever catch you over there again I’ll call the cops.”
Shat’s dad apologized and the angry husband went back up the hill. Shat’s defense started almost immediately, maybe even before the door closed. His lies weaved in and out of one another trying to mask why we were really hiding out in their yard. I doubt his dad bought a word of it.
I had learned early on in the friendship that Shat’s parents were soft on punishment and once the angry husband left I began to relax a little. Shat’s dad eventually shook his head in surrender and sent us away. Even more importantly, his didn’t call my parents!
It had to be obvious to the angry husband why we were hiding in those bushes. Every boy on the block would have been there given they knew what we knew and had the guts to do so, at least that’s how we saw it. For in that house lived every teenage boy’s wet dream!
For years we had been checking out the angry husband’s wife, a beautiful, busty and almost too friendly, blonde bombshell. In reality she might be considered as only being a bit above average, but to a sexually budding fifteen year old, she was a goddess, a milf in every sense of the word, and we loved her.
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This concludes Part I of The Adventures of Shat: The Peeping Toms. Check back soon for part II of this epic tale. And as always, thanks for reading The Jackass Soapbox!
April 24th, 2008 at 9:12 am
[...] Part II of The Peeping Toms picks up with my recollection of the first time I encountered the sexy milf, Mrs. Greare! Read part I here. [...]