peeping tom

A Shot of Misery #4

Apr 10, 2026

We’ve met before. We know you well. We know what scares you. We know what makes your skin crawl.

I am the writer. Let me tell you the tale of the perverts who live across the road from you.

We have a routine, Carla and I. We’ll sit, once we’ve had dinner, once everything is all cleaned up and we can sit. We’ll sit and wait. It’ll normally be around 8 but perhaps a little earlier. Our neighbours; this is around 8, they’ll go into their bedroom. And we’ll have a great view - our houses are parallel along the street.

They sleep on the ground floor: he broke his leg maybe 2 years ago and they moved their stuff down whilst he was recovering and just never went back up, that’s when we got involved in the story. And it’ll be about 8, or thereabouts, and they’ll start kissing and undressing. They’ll get naked and they’ll lay up on the bed and make love to each other. Most evenings she’ll ride him, I like that view; but sometimes he will take her from behind and that’ll make Carla happy.

We’ll sit there, in our living room; eyes fixed through that window and just watch. We won’t masturbate or anything like that (although I have done when I’ve been alone and I’m sure Carla has too but she is very adamant I just caught her scratching that one time).

We’ll sit there and watch our show. Nothing much other than that happens in that window. Perhaps one of them will orgasm too quickly or they’ll get interrupted, and that certainly adds an interesting element, but I’m glad it stays roughly the same every night. It’s comfortable, Carla and I’s routine. Have dinner, clean up; take a seat, watch.

They normally take about half an hour, roughly 8.30 it’ll be done so then Carla and I turn our attention to the house two down.

Now, to do so, or to get the best angle, we’ll have to shift the sofa slightly; to get the best angle. But we’ve been doing it for years now, we know what the best angle is. So we shift the sofa and we start watching. A family, parents and a kid; and they’ll start eating there dinner. At 8.30. At 8.30 they’ll start eating their dinner and Carla and I will say the same thing every time. We’ll say that we don’t understand why anyone would have dinner so late. Why wait til 8.30? Such an odd way to live.

The parents cook together, which is lovely; and they’ll always hold hands before the meal. The kid, generally; will rush through their food and shoot away. We don’t, Carla and I, we don’t really understand what the parents are saying to one another. Sometimes we play a game where we try and guess. Sometimes we just try and pay attention.

I assume they’ll have dessert in a different room, but we never get to see.

I always wondered why the couple parallel stop sex at 8.30 but Carla quite cleverly pointed out that they do the same thing as us. They turn their separate seats in their living room toward their side window and watch what we watch. I don’t really talk to them, neither does Carla, but if we did I bet we’d talk about that odd family we watch who have dinner far too late.

Carla suggested that they might not even have dessert. I told her she was being ridiculous. Everyone has dessert.

Now, if we haven’t already turned away (I must admit, it’s not our favourite window to look through), we will turn our attention to the corner of the street. We never quite know what’s going to happen; it really does fill us with excitement. Very often, Carla will shield her eyes or rush off to bed because it all gets a little too extreme.

Street lamps all on, so you know it’s night-time. The corner of the street, normally, it’s something involving teens. Like a drug deal or something of the like, I assume. Or someone getting beaten and laughed at. Kids are the worst. I won’t leave the house any later than 9, they scare me; scare me.

Tonight, there was a group of kids on bikes shouting and swearing at each other, laughing and joking. It was actually quite sweet to watch. But then it turned, like it always does; teens these days can’t help but turn everything violent. We watched, Carla and I; we watched 2 young people stab another in the abdomen, help them to the ground and kick and kick and kick them. They ran away pretty quick. There was just this kid lying on the ground, dribbling blood all over the pavement.

I could tell that rest of the neighbourhood watched the 9 o’clock show. Always so passionately violent, grotesque often. Too much, most of the time; but we’re always there watching.

It was a little too much for Carla tonight. She stood, planted a kiss on my cheek and off she went upstairs. Now, normally if Carla goes to bed this early, I’ll make myself a cup of tea and shuffle the sofa right up close to the window. There’s a new window to watch, and Carla has mentioned that she’d love to start but it only ever really starts just after 9.30 and she’s either too tired or already in bed. I told her I wouldn’t start watching but I lied.

The window is the other side of the street, to the left. It’s on the corner just passed the street lamp. It’s a bit of an odd window, sometimes nothing happens at all but it’s one of those windows that’ll absolutely draw you in and you won’t turn away in fear of missing something. Tonight seemed to be an elderly man being beaten to death with a rock. I don’t really think Carla is missing anything.

If I find myself without the drive to go to bed at around 10/10.30, I’ll pull out my camcorder. It’s a bit dated now but it still works. If I’m going to be out the house, I’ll ask Carla to record whatever it is I’m going to miss.

So I’ll sit there and watch. I’ll watch and I’ll watch and I won’t ever miss a damn thing.

I’m catching up on the other night’s sex session from the couple parallel. It wasn’t all that engaging.

And once I’m all done, I’ll go join Carla in bed. She’ll ask if I’m alright, I’ll say yes; kiss her and we’ll fall asleep.

The end.

We’ve met before. We know you well. We know what scares you. We know what makes your skin crawl. Help me feed this beast. It lives off what makes your stomach turn.

Like a shot of misery that slithers down, its tendrils contain the unborn upset of not knowing til it’ll tear more than just my throat apart. That is, unless you keep it fed with your distress.

We’ll be seeing you soon.