Thursday, June 29, 2006

The Fireman, Part I of II

I wouldn't necessarily describe myself as a Peeping Tom. More like a curious on-looker. With binoculars. It's true that I sometimes find myself watching the neighbor's shirtless yard-boy in action, or oogling cute guys at the park, but I think of that as just innocent watching. I mean, it's not like I'm crawling around in the bushes outside someone's window or touching myself while I do it. Although there was a time...

In 1993, I was living in White Plains, NY in a six-story apartment building. I distinctly remember the apartment number, 2R, because my friend Sue and I assigned random but memorable names to the apartments of all our friends. She was 3Asshole. Rob was 6Sexchange. Elise was 4Motherfucker. I was 2Retarded. Appropriate, I know.

Apartment 2Retarded was my first real place out of college. And by "real" I mean that it was neither in someone's basement, nor shared with a cross-dressing landlord. It was a sizable one-bedroom with a large living room and bedroom, a small but newly refurbished bathroom and a very large eat-in kitchen. It had all the comforts of home and came complete with complimentary car radio theft every couple of months. While I enjoyed the entire apartment, the kitchen was without a doubt my favorite room--not because I was a cook, but because of the view.

One summer night I staggered into the kitchen after an all-night movie marathon to make myself a peanut butter and jelly sandwich--in the dark--before heading to bed. As I was leaning against the counter enjoying my snack, a faint but noticeable light washed upon the walls of my kitchen. I concluded it was from the apartment one floor down and decided to take a look.

I didn't have a great view at first. While the blinds were open and light flooded out, the downward trajectory and angle of my view kept the majority of the apartment out of sight. As I watched carefully to see if I could catch any subtle movement, dark, muscular legs and bare feet walked into, then out of, my view. My heart jumped. I put down my sandwich and checked out the view from the kitchen's second window to see if the view was better. It was. Oh MY, how it was.

There, sitting on his bed in nothing but his boxers, was a dark-haired Italian guy about 24-25 years old. He was absolutely gorgeous and I was absolutely giddy. I stood watching that night until he turned off the lights to go to sleep. I had no idea this would be the beginning of a long and incredibly fulfilling relationship.

To be continued...

1 Comments:

At 11:42 AM, Blogger Sorted Lives said...

On-looker, peeping Tom, a spade is a spade LOL -- look forward to Part II

 

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