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Diary of a Voyeur
2005-07-21 - 11:19 p.m.


before/after
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So I was stumbling around the internet tonight.  Stumbling around looking for "Luann Porn".


Luann DeGroot.  Luann from the comic pages.  I figured the way the dude draws his stuff, somebody else out there must have thought of it and made a site.


Sure, I know how that sounds, but really, I wasn't necessarily looking for Luann.  There's also the lovely Tiffany.  But I digress.


Anyway, I didn't find shit.  Well, rather, I DID, but it was in the form of a rather nasty site I stumbled across.  Fuckin' scat-lovers.


Regardless, I found this other site, for hookups.  It looked pretty large so I checked it out.  You can sort results by zipcode.  So I checked mine.


Holy shit is there a lot of freaks in my area.  I think I recognized one girl, one we were all hot for in highschool.  Green eyes, darker complection, blonde hair.  Her eyes were the key.  Utterly captivating shade of green, the kind that just ensnares you into looking longer than you otherwise would.  Hot body.


But she always went for losers.  Whatever, y'know.


Still, I couldn't help but think of signing up.  You can sign up for whatever freaky shit you're into, bondage, groups, crossdressing, whatever you like.


And the thought occurs to me to sign up, but only sign up for voyeurism.  I will only watch you fuck.


Night after night, watching people I only vaguely know by running across them in the supermarket, invited into their homes and offered a kitchen chair positioned by the bedside while two obscenely fat and pale people pork away in a heaving mound of sweaty, pasty white flesh.


I would keep a notebook.  That's what this diary would become.


Aug 28th.  The Johnsons-again.


Bill Johnson went at it with fervor, taking her from behind this time before going back to good ol' missionary position.  Mary stared at me with blank eyes as her head lolled, not sure if she was seeing me, or lost in some prescription drug haze.  She stirred momentarily.


"Argentum," she heaved, out of breath, wiping the sweat away from her hairy upper lip, "Join us."


"No thanks," I said, not being rude, "Have fun."


They know this is all I do.


"All done?" I asked as Bill collapsed in a heap of exhaustion.  After all, it had been ten minutes.


They grunted in semi-unison.  I let myself out the back door.


Note to self:  dog no longer barks at me.  I am part of the household.


Shit that would be funny.  I could make a novel out of it:  TALES OF MIDWESTERN FREAKINESS.  I could bring headphones and eat fruit while I watched.


Of course, I don't have enough time to do this.  Maybe I should make time.  Probably wont.


There's just not enough time in this life to pursue all the disparate things I want to do.  I've spent so much time to learn sale-able skills lately I feel out of touch with myself. 


I guess soul-sucking corporations will do that to you.  I have this big presentation coming up.  Had I played my cards differently, I could have been a corporate man.  Reasonably successful, secure.


I just don't know if I want that.  How about this, I give you great ideas and plans, you give me a lot of money.


Unfortunately, I'll probably give it away for free.  And they will fumble with it, and lose it.  My ideas for the company are ahead of the curve.  Probably too far ahead of the curve.  But by the time they realize they needed what I did badly, and needed to begin implementation then, it will be too late.


Fortunately, if I ever have to compete against my erstwhile bosses, I know that in any environment, I could kick the living shit out of them.  They don't have my skills, connections, or native talent.


I have to wonder if they know that. 


Probably not, hubris blinds.


Still, I need to figure out what I'm doing with them, what I will be doing with them.  And maybe adjust the trajectory of my life a little bit.


I still have many things I yet wish to do.


Then again, if they dump a lot of cash on me, I'll stay with them long enough to make them money, or put them in position to be competitive in new markets.


I wonder if they realize that.


Probably not. 


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