Voyeur #2 – Fiction

Every teenager with enough money to own a car learned to makeout here. The romance of the glimmer of stars, the hopes of broiling hormones that tonight might be the night that they will “cop a feel” and the danger of being caught by the Staties and their blasted spot-lights, made this a prime spot for the under-100 crowd looking to get-off or to get-off watching others get-off. For every car caught in the slow-motioned jello-like jiggle of “auto-stimulation”, there are three cars hovering around it, shark-to-seal-like preying and praying for a foggy silhouette. They sit and they wait, craning their necks, trying to appear like they have other business on the river at eleven at night with not a working street light to be found. Their reclining seats allow them to semi-hide behind their B-pillars. The unsuspecting lovers, too horny to care, allow the fog to form on their windows as oblivious to the outside world as if they had just painted the windows black. But the hoverers see. They align themselves so that the lovers are between them and the moonlight. Their strategic maneuverings are as thought out as pawns attacking the center squares in chess. Any movement inside the car translates to an X-rated drive-in show free of charge.

I, too, sit alone watching. But my show is not the flimsy shadows on a window of limbs and bobbing heads. My show is much more real and in my opinion, much more interesting.. I see the heads of desperate men. Men, with their mid-life crisis Miatas and their min-vans. I see baby seats in their back seats and “We will never forget” bumper stickers. They vary in age, but most are middle-aged men. I am watching the watchers.

Across the street, there is a hotel and in the top window, just five stories up, I see a figure that knocks me off balance. There, standing in the floor-to-ceiling window of his hotel room is that most amazing image I have ever seen; an elderly man, wearing nothing but a leopard print thong. He is looking down at the Lover’s Lot and for a brief moment, I am the one being watched.

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