Part 3: The Peeping Begins!

Shat had developed a good friendship with Mrs. Greare’s son Nate as a younger child and spent a fair amount of time at their house. Shat would brag about seeing Mrs. Greare in her underwear or bikini and he swore she walked around the house in skimpy nightgowns when he spent the night. In the back of my mind I usually discounted his claims, thinking he was full of crap, but then one day everything changed for me.

A few months before we got caught peeping, Shat took me up the hill to the angry husband and Mrs. Greare’s house.

“C’mon dude, be quiet” Shat whispered.

It was the middle of a June summer day, sun directly over head and the heat was blistering. A car could have passed down the road at anytime yet Shat seemed un-phased by the risks. We creeped up to the privacy fence and began peeking between the slats. Before my eyes lay Mrs. Greare butt naked and spread eagle right before us. I couldn’t believe it.

Most people would have considered us perverts and inside I knew what we were doing was wrong but we were fifteen and totally paralyzed by her vagina. The horniness had kicked in and I couldn’t resist. It was a force greater than my freewill. The very sight of her made my joints tighten and my muscles ache, it took everything I had just to hold still. Despite my efforts, I couldn’t help rustling around.

Shat grabbed my arm. “Dude!” He whispered angrily.

Mrs. Greare raised her head a bit looking towards us. Sun glasses hid her eyes and I couldn’t tell if her sights were focused directly on us or not. My heart sank into the pit of my stomach. We were caught for sure!

But wait… something astonishing happened. Mrs. Greare relaxed her head and continued to sun bathe. Shat and I finished our brief peep show and retreated to his house unable to believe what had just happened.

“Dude, she freaking knew we were there! She’s gonna call the cops man. What are we going to do?” I was frantic.

“Man, she doesn’t care. I’m telling you. I think she’s seen me there before dude. I swear she doesn’t care.” Shat reassured me.

Then it hit me. Maybe he’s right. After all, why was she facing towards the corner of the yard with her legs open, lying on a towel a good twelve yards from the pool? Why didn’t she just lay next to her pool? Perhaps she was trying to get out of sight from any neighbors who may have had peeping eyes like ours, but she had to know we were there! She had to hear me moving and Shat whispering!

For me the fear of being caught outweighed the reward of trying to catch Mrs. Greare in another compromising situation, but the horniness was strong in Shat. She had become a dangerous object of obsession for him. Shat now even insisted that she flirted with him when he was hanging out with Nate. I was slightly inclined to believe him.

Eventually Shat would convince me to go peeping with him again, this time at night. We crept up to the side of the house, crawling into the bushes completely enveloped in darkness. Shat peeked up into the basement window, the blinds were left completely open and there she lay on a couch in front of the TV.

Shat grabbed my shoulder, signaling for me to come up.

Sure enough, she was wearing one of the skimpy nightgowns Shat had told me about. She sat in a way that her smooth, tanned legs were tucked beneath but also out in front of her. Her thighs were fully exposed and you could see her silky panties. You could also see the outline of her wonderful breasts in the loose garment and her hair was let down, draped around her shoulders.

I literally couldn’t believe my eyes. We stayed for a few moments then headed back home. I was having a hard time catching my breath. I was terrified but excited at the same time. Shat and I knew what we were doing was wrong, but he and now I had started to believe that she was luring him in.

A few days later we would go peep again. We creeped back into the bushes like before and Shat rose up to look for Mrs. Greare.

“I don’t see anyone dude, I wonder where they are?”

Then I rose up to catch a glimpse, “I don’t see anyone either.”

We sat in the bushes for a few more minutes before we decided to give up. Shat started looking for a good chance to make a run for it.

“Alright dude, you ready to get out of here? Oh wait.”

The angry husband was walking around the house. He walked right by the bushes we were hiding in at the farthest end of the house and into the back yard, stood for a moment then came back. This time he stopped in front of the bushes.

“Boys, you can come out or I’m going to come in and get you.”

My heart stopped. I whispered to Shat, “say we’re playing hide and go seek.”

“No, say we’re looking for Nate.” Shat replied back.

“Boys, you’ve got to the count of three to come out of there.” The angry husband said, quite angrily.

“Uh, we’re looking for Nate.” I whimpered.

We crawled out of the bushes and the angry husband took us to the front porch. He started questioning us but we didn’t say a word. Then came the knife in the heart,

“Kristy, call the cops.”

I looked around to see Shat fleeing for his house, I scrambled to catch up. It was only a few seconds until I heard the angry husband in my ear, chasing my down the hill the Shat’s house.   You already know the outcome of the chase.
We had never peeped before Mrs. Greare and after Mrs. Greare we never peeped again. In fact, peeping never even seemed like a worthwhile activity to us. Mrs. Greare simply made it impossible to resist. That long golden hair, her year round tan and that knockout body enslaved our sense of logic. We were a victim of extreme horniness.

Now an adult, I realize the power of horniness. Horniness turns off the brain. It makes you act irrationally and foolishly. It results in the death of both logic and reason. If a man cannot learn to harness his urges it will rob and deprive him of everything he has.

For some of us it’s harder to control. For my buddy Shat, that battle to control his urges must have been the equivalent an internal world war. Today we still grapple these urges and fight this war. Every man has different secrets and techniques for keeping it at bay, and those that can’t fight off the urges go on to become regulars at strip clubs or worse, the deviants blacklisted by society listed on the sex offenders registry.

Whatever technique you employ to deal with the horniness is up to you, just make sure you deal.

Shat revealed to me a secret grapefruit masturbation technique he employs, a few years down the road. Do anything it takes to keep the horniness at bay.

I still remember one of the first times I saw her, that busty blonde bombshell of our youth. Another friend of mine, Kyle had brought her to my attention when I was about thirteen. I had gone to church with him one Sunday morning. It was spring time, just warm enough for short sleeves and shorts. We were standing outside after Sunday school, waiting for the service to start when Kyle pointed her out to me.

“Dude, check it out.” Kyle nodded, tilting his head in her direction.  “She’s totally hot, dude.” Kyle said, practically drooling and tongue hanging out of mouth. “Man, I’d hit it.”

It turns out, boys and men of all ages love talking about how they’d hit it. And sadly, most teenager boys plagued with puberty might hit just about anything almost anytime. Horniness becomes your greatest enemy that you never knew was your enemy.

When you’re a kid, horniness is something new to you. And the fact that you haven’t learned how to handle it yet makes it dangerous. I suspect a large percentage of full grown men still have a hard time handling it which is why most of us go on to lead lives full of something I refer to as ‘in the closet’ masturbation. Horniness is no joking matter.

The willingness to hit it can be the worse side effect of this newfound horniness. As sad as it may be, a young, horny teen wants to hit most everything and if it can’t be a living, breathing girl, they may seek out substitutes to fill their needs. Most of these can be found at your local grocer and retailer. They can include but are not limited to:

• Various fruits and vegetables, preferably micro-waved grapefruit (if you aren’t well endowed) or watermelon (if you like something cold and soggy but firm).
• Fruit pies, lasagna and casseroles. (It’s a popular myth that masturbating with a warm pan of lasagna feels similar to having sex with an actual vagina. I’m unable to confirm this as I enjoy eating lasagna more than screwing it.)
• Tube socks filled with Vaseline (just don’t let your mom find them.)
• The bottoms of your sister’s stuffed animals (for the demented and confused.)
• Various pieces of soft but firm furniture (any one have an old couch cushion lying around).

I know it sounds disgusting and disturbing, but this is the reality of being a male teenager, which actually is very disgusting and disturbing at times.
“Dude, I’d totally hit it too!” I replied.

“Ha, you can have sloppy seconds, you can hit it after I hit it dude.” Kyle shot back.

“No way dude, that’s gay! Don’t be a fag.” And so the conversation goes.

Kristy, the angry husband’s wife stood midway up the stairs at the face of the church. She was wearing a translucent, silky yellow dress. You could see the tight fitting slip beneath it and the curves of her body it revealed. Her golden hair blew in the light wind. I still remember her perfectly tanned skin how white her teeth were.

At that moment I wasn’t so much horny as I was mesmerized though I’d have never admitted I wasn’t totally horny for this woman since admitting anything else as a teen is considered gay and homo.

“What’s up dudes?” Shat had walked up while we were pining over the beautiful woman. “Man, you guys check out Kristy Greare today? Damn she’s fine! I’d so hit that!”

To Shat, Mrs. Greare was more than just someone to dream about having sex with from a distance. Over the course of his early teenage years he’d developed an obsession with her which eventually led to us getting caught peeping in her window trying to catch a glimpse or her in a night gown.

Shat had developed a good friendship with Mrs. Greare’s son Nate as a younger child and spent a fair amount of time at their house. Shat would brag about seeing Mrs. Greare in her underwear or bikini and he swore she walked around the house in skimpy nightgowns when he spent the night. In the back of my mind I usually discounted his claims, thinking he was full of crap but then one day everything changed for me.

It was a day I could never forget, burned into my memories forever! And I cherish it with every fiber of my being.

——–

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.

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.

 ——–

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!

Shat is an interesting guy. His life is definitely the most entertaining I’ve ever had the chance to witness. Forgetting the fact that my existence intertwines so much with his, if I were simply listening to stories about this guy’s life I’d be amazed. Shat and my life intertwine so much that I can hardly see an old acquaintance or friend without being asked, “hey, how’s Shat doing?” Only they don’t call him Shat, only I call him that… behind his back. So simply put, I’m a Shat expert.

Over the life of this website I’ll tell stories about Shat as part of “The Adventures of Shat” series. Some of these stories will involve me, some won’t, but they’ll all be amazing and entertaining.

For clarification, Shat is not Shat’s real name just as Peavey is not my real name. We’ve changed our names to protect our identities. If Shat or my family were to ever learn the truth about us we’d be pariahs, we’d be cast away from our family in shame, and we’d probably be arrested where some sort of statute of limitations didn’t apply!

So everybody (all 3 of our readers) please give a warm welcome to the newest character in the Jackass Soapbox world, SHAT! If you look to the right you’ll see a new category has been dedicated just to his adventures.