Voyeur

Scanning, uploading and/or distribution of this book via the Internet, print, audio recordings or any other means without the permission of the Publisher is illegal and will be prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law. This book is a work of fiction. Names, places, events and characters are fictitious in every regard. Any similarities to actual events or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. Voyeur Copyright©2008 Jon Michaelsen ISBN: 978-1-60054-253-4 His and His Kisses Cover art and design by Anastasia Rabiyah

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Published by loveyoudivine 2008 Find us on the world Wide Web at www.loveyoudivine.com

Voyeur By Jon Michaelsen

To Rick, the love of my life. And to Dawné Dominque and Max Griffin, whose encouragement and support means more to me than they could ever know.

Chapter One

“Cheer up, Kevin. It’s spring!” Kevin looked up from the flat screen monitor of his computer. “What now, Alice?” He loved his one friend at the office, but at times, she annoyed the hell out of him. She smirked and ignored the friendly jab. “Honestly, Kev. You should get out more. You look like you’ve lost your best friend.” He forced a smile. “Well, if anyone around here knows how that feels, it’s me.” He rifled through a stack of financial statements scattered across the desk. “It’s not a good day. If I can’t get these spreadsheets to balance before the Stutman meeting next week, I’m screwed.” “Correction,” she said, and moved behind the desk. “We’re screwed.”

Voyeur He flicked off the screen. “How ‘bout lunch?” Alice crossed with him to the door and smirked. “I thought you’d never ask.”

**** The warmer temperatures and longer days of April awakened a dormant nature. Spring permeated the air, and Kevin relished every moment of the city coming to life. He couldn’t wait to get home from the office before the sun faded. He often spent much of his time in his garden on the balcony of his twenty-eighth floor condo. The cultivation of an array of claypotted plants amounted to no more than an urban collage of colors, both brilliant and full. He took great pride in his hobby, often working well into the night. A pastiche of carnations and snapdragons filled every inch of soil in the pots. Though not one to gloat, he knew that he possessed the proverbial “green thumb”. It was sometime in mid-April when he first noticed the man who lived in the adjacent high-rise penthouse apartment. The building stood a couple floors shorter than Kevin’s apartment. Poised behind a giant palladium window, the stranger sipped a beverage while staring out across the western horizon. Molasses streaks of the sun's rays cascading across his shirtless torso cast a halo often seen in sultry scenes of a Hollywood movie. He raised a free arm and pushed fingers through a mess of dark curls. 2

Jon Michaelsen The ringlets of hair fell about his face as he let his hand travel along the back of his neck and around to his chest. He drained the last of his drink and rested a hand on a stomach that was toned and defined by youth. Fearful the guy might notice him staring, Kevin kneeled and peered around the edge of the foliage of his garden. True to form, when presented with such a tantalizing image, he began to perspire. Within minutes, his body soaked the cotton shirt. He wiped hands on the back of his shorts, careful not to tip backward and risk discovery. Heart palpitating, Kevin remained transfixed, staring over the pageant of colors at nothing short of an Adonis. His eyes blurred the more he strained to look at that angelic face through the window that reflected the glowing embers of a dying sun. A light breeze caused his eyes to tear up, but he refused to wipe them, afraid he’d miss even the slightest blink of an eye or flex of a muscle. The object of his desire stood there, frozen in time, gazing out at the sunset, perhaps daydreaming. Arms came from behind and wrapped around the man’s torso, pulling him away from the window and out of sight. He disappeared.

**** Later in the week, Kevin sat at his desk and stared at a spreadsheet of figures. He calculated and recalculated the numbers, but each time he ended up with a total different than before. He snapped 3

Voyeur his fourth pencil and held his face in his hands. Frustrated and exhausted, with a headache the size of a boulder, he sighed. Monthend loomed and the more time he spent on this client’s portfolio, the less time he had for his other accounts. He’d spent the last few nights tossing about and awakened by nightmares, none of which he could recall. Each retching experience left him drenched in sweat and drained. Though forty-five minutes remained of his shift, he logged off the computer, killed the lights, closed the door to his office and exited the building. He walked a couple blocks to Peachtree Street and headed south, strolling past a menagerie of street vendors who hawked everything from faux designer handbags and watches to fake collegiate team jerseys and sweatshirts. He entered the Five Points Rail Station and boarded a crowded commuter train headed west. Exiting at Centennial Olympic Park, he walked the few blocks home. Inside his unit, he rushed to the wet-bar camouflaged behind a beveled mirror door in the kitchen. He poured a tumbler full of scotch and downed half the amber liquid. Though not prone to needing a cocktail before dinner, tonight he made an exception. His was anxious, but he couldn’t figure out what made him nervous, or why he lacked focus at work. The guy in the window, maybe? He shrugged. Whatever caused his stomach to grind the last few nights and be responsible for his restless sleep, now seemed poised to ruin the rest of evening. He stepped out onto the terrace and moved to the railing to 4

Jon Michaelsen stare across the horizon. The scenery appeared aseptic, and not as beautiful as the other day. Could it the absence of that angelic face? The golden rays glistening across his bronzed skin? He frowned. The sun set the same time every day during spring, spreading tranquility across the sky. So, why should today be any different? He chanced a glance toward the window across the way. The glass stood empty and dark, the vertical blinds drawn. No young man peered out. Disappointed, he sipped the alcohol dry and moved back inside. Before going to bed, Kevin opened the mini-blinds in his bedroom. The floor to ceiling windows covered the south wall and overlooked the city. He looked up at the night sky that resembled a black canvas littered with white dots of various shapes. The view engrossed him. He stood there longer than he’d intended, when a flash caught the corner of his eye. He glanced down and across to the adjacent tower. A light glowed against the backdrop to reveal a bedroom of the unit across the way and by his calculations, the same floor belonging to the hot guy from the window. He made out a dresser, reclining chair and the lower portion of a frameless bed. His heart jumped into his throat, excited with the prospect of seeing the guy again. He would wait to catch a glimpse of the man once more, and he’d be content. Afterward, he’d go to bed and forget about him for the night. His plan failed the moment a figure moved within sight. He found himself trapped, frozen by hunger for more. The stranger 5

Voyeur he saw days before passed by the window. He moved about the room getting ready for bed. Sitting on the edge of the mattress, he removed his sneakers and socks, and stood, unbuttoning his jeans, letting them fall to his knees. He sat and slipped free of the denim. Kevin’s heart pounded in his chest like a jackhammer. His stomach somersaulted and his mouth went dry. What luck! Adrenaline shot through his body. Clad only in white briefs, the man came forward to the window. Kevin panicked. He tried to move away, but stumbled. He regained his balance and eased forward like a child sneaking a peek at Santa Claus in the middle of the night. The blinds no longer glowed, and the guy disappeared once more.

**** When Kevin missed his alarm in the morning, he called in to explain his tardiness. He showered, dressed in a pale blue linen suit with a yellow tie, and rushed to work. When he arrived, he found Alice waiting in his office. She handed him a cup of coffee. “You’re late.” “I called in.” Kevin pulled the cord of the lamp on his desk. “You missed our appointment.” Her eyes followed him around the room as he opened blinds 6

Jon Michaelsen and turned on the radio. He placed his jacket on the back of his chair, plopped down behind the desk and narrowed his eyes. “You’re late once in a while. Give a guy a break, will ya?” “I am never late,” she sassed, brushing aside auburn curls. “Relax, already. I’ve proofed the figures. We won’t be late for the presentation.” “I did that yesterday.” He felt the irritation rising in his voice. “I know, but I found several mistakes.” Rolling his eyes, he retrieved a pair of reading glasses and placed them on the bridge of his nose. “Where?” He figured she’d already marked the errors, like usual. Her character often involved pointing out the faults in others. He watched her tiny body squirm with agitation. “Pages three, five and eight.” She pointed to each correction. “What in the hell was on your mind yesterday, Kev? You know this is an important proposal. If we don’t show the Stutmans they’re investments are solid, we’ll loose the account. That’s half a million in revenue for this firm.” “I’m sorry, Alice.” He sighed. “I promise I’ll pay closer attention. Okay, let’s get to the meeting.” Kevin drifted through the rest of the day. The image of the guy in the adjacent high-rise seemed to be everywhere, haunting him around every corner, in the lobby, even in the break room. Men who passed him in the corridor took on the features of the mysterious young man. In the john, a colleague stood beside 7

Voyeur Kevin at the sink as they both washed their hands. Turning to exit, he nodded at Kevin, who could only see the full lips of the stranger from the window. On his way home, he passed a photography store. The window display featured binoculars of various sizes. Kevin entered to browse with no intent to purchase, but he left with an inexpensive pair of binoculars. Embarrassed and feeling guilty, he concealed the purchase under his blazer and rushed home. That night, after Desperate Housewives, Kevin glanced out the glass door to the balcony. The blinds across the way were open and lights illuminated from the penthouse. Seized by the possibilities, he rushed to get the binoculars. Sneaking to his bedroom window without turning on the lights, he pressed the rubber tips of the scopes to his eyes and focused. He’s lifting weights! The guy appeared far better looking than he’d imaged, with a narrow nose, sharp jaw line, dimples and piercing green eyes. He could easily be a runway model at Bryant Park. Shirtless and wearing white gym shorts that clung to his body like a second skin, Kevin watched as he bent down to retrieve a set of chrome dumbbells. He curled the weight in each arm, twisting his wrist at the top of each pull, his stomach contracting to reveal solid muscle. Kevin couldn’t help but count the lines of the six-pack. The stranger’s biceps bulged with each repetition. He ignored the stirring in his loins and struggled to keep the 8

Jon Michaelsen binoculars steady. Finishing his routine, the man moved out of view, perhaps to shower. Kevin remained at the window waiting for his return. His hands shook, his chest heaved. What are you doing? he chastised himself. Becoming a freaking Peeping Tom! A flash regained his attention. The guy reappeared, a white towel secured about his waist. Kevin stared through scopes, the heat of his eyes fogging the lenses. The man moved toward the window and in a quick one-two motion, he stripped from the cloth and closed the blinds. Kevin stood awestruck, angry he’d drawn the blinds, but thrilled to get a glimpse of the beautiful man. He stayed at the window for an hour longer, hoping the guy would return and open the blinds. Although he tried many times, he couldn’t pull himself away from the window. He wanted just one more look before going to bed, an image to take with him into slumber. His eyes aching from the strain of staring too long through the rubbertipped scopes pressed into his face, and frustrated the glimpse he prayed for never came, he fell onto his mattress well after midnight.

9

Chapter 2

Alice rushed into Kevin’s office and closed the door. “You look dreadful!” Her brows furrowed, creating thin, jagged lines across her forehead. “Thanks for your vote of confidence, Alice.” Kevin snorted and reached for his second cup of coffee since arriving to work. “This is the third time this week, Kev. Is there something going on that you’re not telling me?” She closed the door to his office and moved to his desk. “Have you met someone? You know, I can keep a secret.” “Alice, you’d be the first to know. Honest.” He cradled his head, and searched the top drawer for aspirin. “Please, can you lower your tone a few octaves, for my sake?” “Don’t be such a snob.” Her face contorted in surprise. “Who is it?” “Alice, please. Not so loud.” He tried to avoid her stare, but failed, too excited to keep quiet any longer. “I haven’t met anyone.

Voyeur Well, not exactly anyway.” “Fine, be that way then.” She scoffed, turning to exit. “Just don’t come crying to me when he dumps you.” The slamming door sent shock waves through Kevin’s head. He reached for more aspirin, swearing to forget about the man in the window.

**** Rebounding from the earlier insult, Alice invited Kevin to an art show that evening in Buckhead. He jumped at the opportunity to stick to the promise he’d made earlier to himself. After the show, they drove to Jake’s in Midtown for dessert and cappuccino. “You don’t have to explain,” Alice said, slipping a bite of strawberry cheesecake between her candy-coated lips. “If you wanted me to know, you’d have told me by now.” She looked away. “What more is there to say?” “You’re making more of this than there is, Alice,” he insisted, sipping his double-shot. “You always do.” He pursed his lips and pouted as she rolled her eyes. “Okay, I haven’t met anyone, at least not yet. There is one guy I’d like to meet, though. She squirmed with elation. “Who, who? Tell me everything!” “I don’t know.” He sighed. “I’m afraid to say anything.” He took a bite of chocolate cake and slid the fork across his tongue, savoring the frosting, his cheeks flaring with heat. “I don’t want 11

Jon Michaelsen to jinx my chances. You know how superstitious I am.” “Kev, that’s not fair.” She frowned, and patted his hand like a grandmother reassuring a child. “Okay, honey. Just be sure to let me know when you’re ready.” Kevin arrived home well after midnight. By happenstance, he glanced out the living room window before closing the blinds for the night. All appeared dark across the way, not a single light glowing in the penthouse. Sighing, he brushed his teeth and crawled into bed.

**** Kevin awoke later than his usual Saturday routine with the light of day in his eyes and the smell of freshly brewed coffee wafting through the apartment. On mornings like this, the coffeemaker’s automatic timer proved a blessing. He stretched arms and legs out across the queen-size mattress before pulling himself to the edge of the bed. Feeling refreshed, he slipped into a pair of shorts and padded to the kitchen. He retrieved the newspaper from outside the front door, and proceeded with his coffee cup to the balcony. The morning breeze felt warm and pleasant, especially after the long, cold winter. The sun’s rays glistened on the petals of his flower garden, laden with droplets of dew. He settled in a deck chair to read and sip his coffee in the sunshine. About an hour later, perhaps urged by 12

Voyeur some innate sixth sense, he peered from behind the paper and glanced across the way. Bingo! The man from the other day gazed out the large window again, dressed in a t-shirt and snug gym shorts, oblivious to the attention he spawned. Seized by the moment, Kevin rushed to get the binoculars. In his bedroom, he peered through the mini-blinds to shield his presence and watched the stranger move away from the window, only to emerge moments later onto the terrace with a towel in hand. He glanced up at the sky as though measuring the sun’s intensity or the right angle to position his body. After spreading the towel across a chaise lounge, he set a bottle of tanning oil atop a short table next to the chair. Reaching over his head with one hand, he tugged the shirt off with a quick jerk before tossing it onto an adjoining chair. Both thumbs hooked beneath his waistband, and he slid his shorts down over bulging thighs, revealing little more than a patch of baby-blue cloth concealing his manhood. He sat with his back turned to Kevin, and removed each leg from the garment like he had all the time in the world. Kevin stood spellbound. His heart pounded hard in his chest, reminiscent of a cartoon character chasing a buxom maiden. The guy caught in the scopes pivoted his frame and straddled the chaise. As he began lathering his body the binoculars revealed every ridge and muscle of his flesh, from the tops of his wide, flat shoulders, to lightly feathered pecs, and further down to a washboard stomach that belonged to a small percentage of youth these 13

Jon Michaelsen days. Each twist and turn, indeed, every movement, revealed sculpted lines and curves that caused Kevin’s mouth to go dry. The man re-oiled his hands and began applying to his lower legs, before working up to his calves and thighs. Kevin held his breath, licked his lips and tried to swallow without blinking. He watched as those hands slipped inside thighs and up to his crotch, which became the star attraction as one of his hands darted beneath the Lycra fabric to adjust himself. Kevin felt the bulge of his prick straining beneath his shorts, begging for release. Are you insane? He didn’t avert his eyes. Has your life become so lonely and desperate that you’re reduced to spying on unsuspecting, male sunbathers? Whatever the case, he couldn’t pull himself away from the window. The feeling was akin to asking a child to hand over chocolate ice-cream, or an aging siren to forgo a round of botox. He remained mesmerized by the stud who leaned back against the chaise to apply oil to his face and neck, across his wide chest, and finally, to his abdomen. For the next several hours, Kevin stared through the blinds, his arms growing tired. He strained to keep the lenses steady and his view unobstructed. He watched beads of sweat build on the chest, in the valley of muscle and across the abs. He took a break when his subject took a break. He lunched when the stranger grabbed a bite. Only when the guy left the terrace for the day did Kevin finally relax, praying, pleading for a miracle that the 14

Voyeur beefcake might pass naked before the bedroom window. He didn’t have to wait long. Some minutes later, the man entered his bedroom with a white towel riding low across his waist. Kevin focused, willing his arms to fight against the strain in order to make out the thick lines of oblique muscles that formed a perfect “V” beneath the cloth. Oh, what I wouldn’t give. A couple of crisscrossing, blue-green veins, bulging from the strain of taut muscle, slashed across the smooth skin below the navel. Adrenaline shot through Kevin’s body. Blood pounded in his ears to a dizzying level, becoming almost unbearable. He struggled to steady the scopes, keep his eyes focused. He blinked as little as possible, and only to clear his eyes from the glaze that formed as he stared at the body of his Adonis moving about the room, hoping, praying the towel would drop to reveal what his imagination only assumed to this point. The guy crossed to the table next to the bed, picked up the telephone and chatted with someone, laughing, smiling and tossing his hair back as he ran a hand through wet, dark curls. A pang of jealously grew in the pit of Kevin’s stomach, winding its way up through his torso to clutch his heart. His face grew hot and sweat seeped from his forehead and under his arms, as if he’d come in from a five-mile jog. He suppressed his anger and turned his attention to his lengthening cock, which begged for release from within his shorts. He popped a button with one hand and lowered the zipper, 15

Jon Michaelsen dropping the fabric below his hips without lowering the binoculars. He strained against the material of his boxers, burning, aching, wanting more than he was going to get. Kicking the garment aside, he used his free hand to dip beneath the elastic of his shorts, taking in as much of himself as possible, feeling the shaft thickening even more between his fingers. He stroked himself, slow at first, with long, teasing tugs of his fingers that worked to increase the fire in the base of his balls, sweat dripping down the sides of his face. He reached lower to tug on his balls, rolling each one between his fingers, feeling them swell and stretch the skin of his sac. He ached for the stranger in ways he’d never experienced before. Closing his eyes, he fantasized that his hands ran along the muscular ridges of that taut, flat stomach, reaching down below to the prized cock that awaited him with full attention. His desire flared to an unbearable level, his breath coming in quick, short bursts as he began stroking himself, matching the rhythm of an unheard melody drifting in his head. Sweat gleamed off his skin as he moved his hand up the shaft to the swollen head. A bead of precum dibbled onto his fingers, providing lubrication. He moaned, low and soft, imagining his cock was that of the stranger as he squeezed his hand around the length. The thickness comforted him, begging for release, and increasing the desire as he began to pump harder. He opened his eyes. The Adonis propped himself against 16

Voyeur the headboard and lay prone on the bed, the lower ends of the towel peeled back like petals of a white flower in bloom, revealing thick, hairy thighs. The perfect scene proved too much. With one more stroke, he exploded. Stomach and muscles convulsed so hard, he dropped the binoculars and doubled over.

**** Kevin’s fantasy drew him in further. His days at the office felt drawn out and miserable. He stopped going out to lunch, instead packing a bite to eat so he could leave earlier at the end of the day. His evenings ran well after midnight, and sleep became more restless. He spent his spare time peering out the window, hoping to catch a glance, just one more look. Within a week, he’d purchased a camera and tripod. A week later, he added a telephoto lens. Soon, he’d amassed a collection of stellar photographs, all capturing the imagines of an abstracted, young man in his prime. Kevin became obsessed, all but ignoring his responsibilities at work and at home. His boss expressed dissatisfaction with his tardiness and increasing mistakes. Friends calling his home spoke to an answering machine. Even Alice received the cold shoulder when voicing her concern, but he didn’t care. He delved deeper and deeper into his compulsion, convinced he could stop spying at anytime. 17

Chapter 3

Kevin noticed a sudden change in the routine of the man he watched for weeks now. He followed a schedule around the time he might catch the guy passing before the windows, working out with free-weights in his bedroom, or sunbathing on the terrace. However, the blinds across the way opened and closed at irregular intervals for two days, and the lights burned well into the evening hours. The guy he’d lusted after roamed freely throughout the penthouse, more frequently than not, in the nude. He surmised the man’s companion might be away for a while, perhaps on a business trip. Though intrepid at best, the idea to introduce himself urged him on. His actions became irresponsible, voyeuristic, and ignited a desire in him that he couldn’t explain. He decided to take time off from work. Once he cleaned his suite from top to bottom, he stowed the camera equipment away. He spent the next few days sunning on the terrace, hoping to catch the guy’s attention, relegating the floral canopy out of the way.

Voyeur Kevin’s body was lean and tight, but not as muscular as he was tall. More endowed than most, he filled the tiny swimsuit he sported in hopes of catching the stranger’s attention. On the third day, he received an acknowledgement from the man that he hoped for, a subtle nod at first, leading to a flirting smile. The guy pointed downward, toward the street, an invitation offered and accepted just as quickly. Kevin stepped into shorts and pulled on a button-down shirt, rushing out the door of his condo like a naval officer disembarking from a ship docked in port following months at sea. On the sidewalk, he searched, seized by the thought he may not recognize him fully clothed. Anxiety waned when a hand gripped his shoulder from behind and said, “Hi, there.” “Um, h-hi.” He turned and stuck out his hand. “I’m Kevin.” “The name’s Tony.” Kevin felt a little squeeze of his hand before letting go. He swallowed hard, wondering if the man of his dreams held on longer than necessary. His emerald eyes captivated the sunlight. “I uh, noticed you out sunning before,” he said, searching for the right words, praying the man didn’t think of him as some sleazy, peeping tom. “You’ve got a really great body.” He felt his cheeks flush. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—“ “What’s to be sorry for?” The man’s thousand-watt smile intoxicated him. “I work out at least five days a week,” he said. 19

Jon Michaelsen “Thanks for noticing.” “Who wouldn’t…I mean, you should be proud,” Kevin stammered. “Your hard work has paid off.” He kicked himself for gushing like a schoolgirl. You idiot! You’ll run him off. Do my words sound forced, or worse, immature? He fretted, knowing that he lacked the social skills of most men his age, preferring instead the comforts of his home to a loud, smoke-filled bar or discothèque. “I hope you don’t mind me being so forward.” That damn dazzling smile made him feel warm and lightheaded. Kevin’s legs shook as his gaze roved down Tony’s chest and lingered a moment. He glanced across to a neighborhood tavern on the corner of the opposite building. “Would you like to go in for a drink?” “A cold beer sounds great.”

**** Kevin returned home after drinking a couple beers, more excited than he thought possible. Tony had accepted the offer of dinner the next night in his home. He planned to prepare fabulous lasagna and serve it with a tossed Caesar salad and French bread. Feeling a little buzzed as he crossed the threshold, he checked phone messages. All three calls were from Alice. “Kev, this is Alice. Are you okay? I heard you took the week off due to a family emergency. Is everyone fine? Call me.” Delete. 20

Voyeur “Hey, Kevin, it’s Alice again. You haven’t called me back. Are you out of town? Please, call me.” Delete. “Kevin, I need to speak to you. The Stutman’s called. They’re questioning the quarterly projected figures we provided for next year. We really gotta talk. I hope everything’s okay. I’m really worried about you, Kev. Call me, please!” Delete. “That woman can be such a leech.” He moved to the window to check out the view of the building across the way. The roofline retained its original copper pediments and architectural molding above every window, so common in the 1920’s era. The façade of dark red, Georgia brick, and pitted from years of assault from the elements, looked out of place among the newer dwellings. Kevin’s own apartment block appeared boring in comparison, a post-modern glass box with stylistic detail, save for the curved, metal balconies suspended a few feet out from the flat surface of the building. Not spotting the image of Tony, he turned away from the view and walked to the kitchen to prepare dinner for one.

**** The following night, he showered, dressed in a pair of his favorite khaki’s and a powder-blue shirt, splashed on cologne and set the dial of the radio to jazz. He waited for the knock at the door, walking around the condo and lighting sporadically placed 21

Jon Michaelsen candles before checking the table setting numerous times. Tony arrived at seven-fifteen, dressed in a pair of baggy, cream-colored linen pants and a turquoise Polo. He carried a bottle of chilled champagne and two crystal glasses. “Hey,” Kevin greeted, ushering the man inside. “It’s nice to see you again.” “Sorry I’m late,” he said, in a warm tone. “Oh, it’s fine.” He took the glasses and closed the door. When he turned, he tripped over the foyer rug while leading his guest to the open kitchen that overlooked most of the living space. “I’ll pour us a glass of champagne.” Tony held onto the dark green bottle of bubbly. “If you don’t mind, I’ll open the bottle for us. Do you like champagne?” Kevin melted. “Of course.” He lied. At this point, he’d drink antifreeze if the man handed him a glassful. Tony popped the cork with thumb and forefinger, hooting when the champagne spilled over the rim and across his fingers. He shoved the fountain toward Kevin, laughing. “Don’t waste it,” he said, encouraging him to sip from the bottle. He lapped the foaming waterfall as if standing beneath the fountain of youth. Tony slurped from other side, their noses and tongues mere inches of each other. An awkward silence befell and Kevin froze, staring into the eyes of a man too good to be true. I must be dreaming. “So, “he asked, pulling back and thrusting out one of the flutes. “How long have you lived in the building across the way?” 22

Voyeur “Just a couple months.” Tony poured the golden liquid in each glass, taking his flute and drawing the glass to his full lips, pursing them and taking a sip. “And you?” Is he teasing me? Blood coursed through Kevin’s veins like a looping roller-coaster. “Well, I bought this condo about three years ago. A good investment at the time,” he explained with a flourish of an arm toward the living room. Regardless of the words he spoke, he felt foolish, unworthy of being in the company of someone so beautiful, so perfect. What could he possibly see in me? “Are you warm?” I could open the sliding door, let in some fresh air.” “Sure, why not.” Tony glanced around the room, inspecting the traditional furnishings and the ancient scenes framed on the walls. His eyes landed on a pink sculpture mounted atop a white marble pedestal. “Are you the artist?” Embarrassed, Kevin wished he’d removed the bizarre obelisk, a product of his earlier artsy years. “When I was young, and in college,” he confided. “I grew tired of living the life of a pauper, so I became an accountant instead.” “You’re very talented.” He flashed a smile. “You should take it up again.” “You really think so? I don’t know…it’s been a long time.” He stared at Tony from across the room like a puppy awaiting the command from its master. “What about you? Any unsuspecting talents lying beneath that cool and confident exterior?” He 23

Jon Michaelsen crossed to the oven in the wall and removed the lasagna, setting dinner on the stovetop to cool. “Well, if you really want to know, I’m a starving playwright,” Tony offered, joining him in the kitchen to help out. They enjoyed a knowing laugh before moving to the dining table. Easy conversation filled the evening. They discussed family and friends, places they’d traveled, and a myriad of other subjects that included movies, music and favorite books read. Kevin tried not to gush, but lost himself several times and complimented Tony on his chiseled body, his dazzling eyes and his sharp, Italian features. They finished the bottle of champagne, and he found himself relaxing in the company of such a gorgeous man. He hung on Tony’s every word, captivated by tales of the man’s many adventures of traveling the world after high school. He’d lived in places for a few months at a time, experiencing opportunities that happen only once in a lifetime for most people. He sensed Tony was holding back, though, keeping a comfortable distance, offering a slight touch of the hand or furtive glance. Kevin surmised his guest didn’t want to spoil the evening. Though frustrating, he forgave him without belaboring, and drank in every word that spilled from the man’s sensual lips, aching to taste them. Before desert, Tony announced, “I’m sorry, but I have to go.” He put his hand over the top of Kevin’s, wrapping his knuckles in 24

Voyeur a warm, sensual manner, squeezing for reassurance. “I’m expecting a call, and I can’t be late.” They stood from the table. “You understand, don’t you?” “Um, of course.” He tried to shield his disappointment. “I’ve really enjoyed your company.” What are you saying? You sound like your father! He felt like a school-age boy out on his first date. “Can I see you again?” Tony took Kevin’s hands into his own. “Sure, but…I have a difficult situation.” “You don’t have to explain,” he said, staving his jealousy. “I know you have a boyfriend. I’ve seen him.” Tony’s eyes never left Kevin’s. “It’s complicated.” He frowned, a downward curve tugging his lips. “Our relationship is…well, let’s just say it’s not solid. I’ve saved enough money and plan on moving out soon.” Kevin stared into his brooding eyes, sensing the emotion in his words. “I’m sorry it didn’t work out.” Tony’s tone sharpened. “Look, maybe this was a mistake.” “No! I mean, look, I totally understand. It’s fine with me, really.” Kevin struggled to find the right words to ensure Tony’s return, and growing desperate by the second. “I really enjoy spending time with you. I’d like to see you again. Maybe we can get together tomorrow night?” Tony moved in and took Kevin’s face in his hands, planting a soft, lingering kiss. Kevin darted his tongue in all directions, but 25

Jon Michaelsen his crush yielded the passion by returning his in slow, deliberate movements, tracing Kevin’s lips and feeling the groves of his teeth. He never broke contact with his mouth as he wrapped him in a tight embrace. He received Tony’s hard body like a flower opening to the morning sun. His splayed hands massaged the man’s solid shoulders and muscled back, and slid further down to his narrow waist. His own heart thumped, sure Tony heard and felt it. The few seconds together aroused a need in him much stronger than mere desire. Leaning against the granite countertop for support, he felt his cock surge at the touch of the man’s hips. He thought he might pass out from lack of air. Tony pressed his cock into him, and the bulge sent sensations exploding through him like never before. Time and space stood still, cabinets and countertops, indeed the entire room evaporated into thin air as he lost himself into the man of his dreams. He prayed the moment would last forever. Tony released him, pulled back and opened his eyes. His voice turned husky and dispassionate. “Thanks for dinner,” he said. I gotta go.” He turned, crossed to the table and scooped up the champagne glasses before Kevin came back to earth. “I had a great time.” Kevin rushed to the door. “Me too. Can I see you—” Tony opened the door and left without another word. Kevin stood in the foyer, bewildered. His mood falling fast, he clicked off the stereo and rushed to get the binoculars. Leaving the lights 26

Voyeur out in the bedroom, he stripped naked and moved to the window to stand vigil, watching the lights come on in the penthouse across the way. He saw Tony head to the window and linger for a moment, as if looking out at him before shutting the blinds. Tony’s partner returned the following day. The shades covering the windows resumed their normal schedule. Saddened and depressed, Kevin reset the camera equipment.

27

Chapter 4

Arriving for work earlier than usual Monday morning, Kevin stopped by the break room to grab a cup of coffee before heading to his office. Outside his door, Alice smirked and followed him inside when he unlocked the door. He entered with the steaming cup in one hand, a briefcase in the other and a folded Wall Street Journal hooked under his arm. He whistled a favorite Elton John tune as he crossed the room and set the items on his desk. “My, my, you sure as hell look cheerful this morning.” Her face contorted. “You never called me back, Kevin. Didn’t you get my messages?” He grimaced. “Look, Alice. I’m sorry, really. I intended to return your call, but things got busy this weekend.” She narrowed her gaze, crossed her arms in an unforgiving posture and waited for an explanation. “Honest,” he said, cracking a smile to ease her anger.

Voyeur “You had me worried, Kev.” Her eyes followed him as he flitted around the office opening blinds, booting up the computer and adjusting the volume to the radio on the shelf across the room. “Wait, something’s not right here,” she said. “What’s up?” “What do you mean?” He tried his best to feign surprise. “You. You’re…well, I don’t know. You’re acting different. If I didn’t know any better, I’d guess you got laid this weekend.” “Alice!” He felt his face blush, and averted his eyes from her probing. “You did!” She screamed, shedding the gruff exterior she carried in the room moments earlier. “Oh, Kevin, I’m so happy for you. You’ve been in such a rut lately.” “Keep your voice down, please.” He dropped into the seat behind his desk and looked up at the one friend he could confide in. Reaching into his briefcase, he extracted a stack of folders and shoved them out to her. “Here, I spent time this weekend verifying the conclusions in the spreadsheets and ran several queries in the database to ensure the data used for the Stutman’s proposal are on the mark. However, I heard their concerns, so I created a document that will help explain the methodology behind the calculations. We can set up a meeting tomorrow to review everything with the client.” “Fuck the client,” she said, snatching the files from him. “Tell me! Did you get any or not?” She reached across the desk and nudged his arm. 29

Jon Michaelsen His face flushed again. Catching her eye, he felt like a teenager with a serious crush. “Does it show that bad?” “Does it ever.” Alice fell into the seat beside the desk. “Spill it. I want every detail.” Tension eased and he smiled, trying hard to keep his voice down. “I’ve met someone.” He sipped coffee, lowered his voice to a whisper. “He’s very special. I can’t remember the last time…” His words trailed off. “Oh, Kevin. That’s wonderful.” She leaned forward. “When can I meet him?” He frowned. “Well, that’s the sticky part. Tony lives with someone.” Her brows furrowed. “He has a partner? Kevin. You’re having an affair?” “Shhhh!” He glanced out the through the glass separating his office from the main interior to ensure none of the staff heard. “I guess you might say that, but it’s not what you think.” His jaw tensed, and he felt like a jerk. “I don’t know, Kevin,” she cautioned. “You need to be careful in these situations. And I should know.” She stared off into the distance for a moment. “Look, it doesn’t sound like someone you should get attached to, you know?” His body stiffened. What is she saying? “I’m a big boy, Alice,” he defended. “You sound like my mother, and I didn’t like listening to her either.” 30

Voyeur “I care about you, Kev. Honest, I do. I just don’t want to see you get hurt.” “Don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine, really.” She patted him on the shoulder. “Okay, I believe you. I have to get to work now.” She turned before walking out the door. “I’m here if you need me.” He flashed a smile, one of many that seem to come so easy these days, like never before in a long life of missed opportunities and heartaches. “You can count on it.”

**** Kevin refused to let his friend’s advice dampen his spirits. He remained jubilant throughout the day, chatting with co-workers during lunch and breaks, and even worked beyond his normal hours to complete tasks neglected over the past two weeks. Sometime after nine o’clock, he entered the lobby of his building and checked with the concierge for his mail delivery. “You’ve got nerve, man.” The clerk scowled and dropped the stack of envelopes on the counter between them before backing away. Kevin had never encountered the man’s rudeness before. A pang of anxiety swept over him. “Excuse me?” The clerk jutted his chin in the direction of the common area, over Kevin’s shoulder. “That guy over there is waiting for 31

Jon Michaelsen you, a couple hours now. He asked to be let into your unit, but that’s against building policy, as you know.” He glanced over and snatched up the mail. “Yes, yes, I know. Thanks.” He hurried across the marble floor to the twin sofas and tables in the three story atrium. The crisp, pungent odor of eucalyptus hanging in the air assaulted his nostrils. “Tony?” “Hi, Kevin.” He shot up from his seat and shoved his hands in the pockets of his low-riding jeans. Tony sported a crisp, white oxford shirt, untucked sans for a small patch above his belt buckle, which appeared to be a silver Jack Daniels insignia. “Hey, look man. I’m sorry to bother you, but I didn’t have anywhere else to go.” “No, no, it’s fine. What’s wrong? You look upset.” Kevin noticed his eyes were bloodshot. He spotted a red, swollen lip and saw dried blood on his knuckles. “Oh, my God! Are you okay? He fought the urge to reach out and pull the man into an embrace. “What happened to you?” Despite the circumstances, his loins stirred. “It’s nothing, really. I’m fine. We had a fight, is all.” Tony’s eyes darted beyond him and back, pleading. Kevin saw the clerk sneering in their direction. “Can we go upstairs?” Tony mumbled. “Yes, of course.” He fumbled for his keys. “Come on, the elevator’s over here.” 32

Voyeur Inside the automatic doors, Kevin inserted his key in the slot next to the number of his floor. The elevator surged upward. Breathe. Tony leaned against the mirrored walls with his eyes downcast, kicking at the heel of his right foot. A mess of dark curls fell forward as the passing floors lit up the panel. Kevin tried to focus his attention on anything but his hardening tool. They exited and walked a short distance down the hall. Unlocking the door to his unit, he rushed about the main room, flipping on light switches, opening blinds and gathering up the morning newspaper. Tony crossed to the open kitchen, leaned over the sink and splashed water on his face. Kevin pulled a towel from a drawer and held the cloth out to him. “Are you hurt elsewhere?” he asked. “There’s blood on the sleeve of your shirt.” Tony inspected the bottoms of his forearms. “Oh, it must be from my lip. I’m not bleeding anywhere else.” He locked onto Kevin’s eyes. “Look, man, I’m really sorry to barge in like this. I only moved here a few months ago. I don’t know anyone—” He cut him off with a flick of his wrist. “It’s okay, really. I’m glad you came here.” He smiled, hoping to get one in return. “In fact, I’m flattered.” Tony flashed a row of perfect, white teeth that shot a warm, tingling sensation up his spine. “Here, let me get the blood off your lip.” He wet the corner of the cloth and turned back to the most amazing emerald green 33

Jon Michaelsen eyes on the planet. “Wh-why don’t you remove your shirt, and I’ll wash out the blood before it sets in.” Tony unbuttoned his shirt from the bottom and worked his way up to his chest. He peeled the garment off his shoulders and let it slide down his arms behind his back. Kevin avoided licking his lips. The view through the binoculars didn’t compare to detailing the man’s toned musculature up this close, nor the light dusting of freckles scattered across his skin. He almost forgot the blood on his lip until Tony leaned in, turned his face upward and opened his mouth for easier access. Kevin’s cock stirred in his pants and his heart thudded like a jackhammer. He struggled to speak. “Wh-What happened?” he asked, brushing the corner of Tony’s mouth with slow, easy strokes, careful not to inflict further pain. He applied enough pressure to wipe away the crimson stain. The brooding eyes set against sun-bronzed skin and dark hair swept his heart. He wanted nothing more than to take this man into his arms, love and nurture him, and never to let go. “I don’t know.” Tony’s brows furrowed as he recalled the events. “A bad day at the office, I guess. Said he lost a shit-load of money in the stock market.” His tone sharpened. “He came home angry and started accusing me of stuff. We argued and one thing led to another.” He choked back tears. “He pushed me, and I popped him.” His eyes pleaded with Kevin for understanding before averting to the floor. “I didn’t 34

Voyeur mean to; it just happened. He slugged me back and told me to get out.” Kevin listened, but didn’t hear most of what he said. He remained focused on the man’s open lip and the clenching muscles in his face. His mind flooded with possibilities, the thought of this man pinning him to the mattress, wrapping him in those strong arms, sliding into him. He stepped back to admire his handiwork. “There, much better now.” Turning away, he called across his shoulder. “Let me get something to clean the blood from your shirt.” After fetching the fabric cleaner, he ducked into his bedroom to find a shirt large enough to fit Tony. He remembered a green polo a few sizes too big, given to him by his grandmother last Christmas. He rushed back to his guest with shirt in hand. “I have this—“ Kevin froze. His chin almost hit the floor. Tony stood beside the camera equipment near the window and peered through the binoculars. He’d forgotten about them. His stomached flipped, and he thought he might be sick. “Wow, these are fucking amazing! I can see pretty far with these things.” He turned toward Kevin, the smile on his face resembling that of a teenage boy gloating to his buddies about catching the hot girl next door disrobing. “You never mentioned that you’re a stargazer?” “I-I, uh,” he stammered. “Um, yes. I enjoy looking at the planets, too.” He swallowed the lump in his throat. “I bought the 35

Jon Michaelsen telephoto lens to snap pictures of the lunar eclipse a few weeks back.” He amazed himself at how easy the lie came to his lips, which was so unlike him. “Just haven’t put the equipment away.” Tony lowered the scopes and adjusted the focus wheel. “Hey, I can see my place!” He set the binoculars down and lowered his tone. “The lights are out. I guess he went out.” With a heavy sigh, he moved away from the window. Kevin watched the man’s naked torso as he strode forward, his pumped out chest leading the way like a prized matador. The lines of his abdomen contracted and released with each step, forcing the top of his jeans to ride further below his hips. A dusting of dark fur dipped in a straight line below the navel to the treasure below. Tony’s frown gave way to a wide grin that played across his lips in humble vein. “Here,” Kevin said, thrusting out over the shirt. He moved to the kitchen counter with Tony at his heels. “I think this spot remover will do the trick.” Facing the sink, he soaked the stain on Tony’s shirt with the liquid, and lifted the handle of the waterspout. He rubbed the fabric between his fists, like his mother taught him years ago. Tony’s hands slid slowly across his hips and slipped into his front pockets. Kevin caught his breath and tried to focus on the task of eliminating the stain, and not of his own hardness springing forth. He avoided speaking for fear the words wouldn’t make sense. He felt Tony move in closer, nudging, and placing his chin on his left 36

Voyeur shoulder. The smell of soap and musk blended in a most pleasing aroma that aroused his senses and awakened a desire he’d never experienced in all his years. The day-old stubble of Tony’s chin caressed the side of his cheek. Tendrils of electricity shot through his body. He closed his eyes and sucked in a deep breath as the man’s large hands sank further into his pockets, the tips of his fingers coming together to probe the shaft of his yearning cock. “Forget the shirt,” Tony whispered next to his ear.

37

Chapter 5

Kevin turned and

faced him, seizing his mouth before re-

membering his swollen, wounded lip. He tired to pull back to speak, but Tony grabbed his head between large palms and leaned in. Kevin received a hard kiss that ignited a dormant fire deep within him. He explored Tony’s mouth with his tongue, moving past lips and teeth, opening wider, desperate to taste every drop of saliva in the opening. He pressed into the solid body pinning him against the counter, noticing the rage between the man’s legs, the urge to devour. Overwhelming lust and passion moved him to unimaginable heights. Seizing the opportunity, he pushed forward and guided Tony toward the bedroom, need and desire spiking his confidence to move down the hall where few men trailed. Inside the room, Kevin broke free of the warm embrace and crossed to close the blinds. He never got the chance as Tony’s arms wrapped him from behind. Hot, moist air nipped the left side of

Voyeur his neck as the man’s mouth probed the skin below his ear. Hands worked their way up his torso and fingers unbuttoned his shirt as he stared through the blinds into the darkness. All thoughts that someone might see vanished from his mind. He concentrated on the fingers removing his shirt and sliding down to the snap of his slacks, lowering the zipper. His heart beat double-time, forcing blood through his body at a dizzying rate, surging into his cock. Tony’s left palm glided up to fondle his hairless chest, fingers finding and tweaking nipples, each hardening to the touch. The other hand slid around his right hip, fingertips probing the band of his shorts before dipping beneath his boxers. Kevin gasped and his back stiffened. Sweat dotted his forehead and chest, and his breath came in quick, rapid succession. The hunger inside him rose to a level far greater than he ever imaged. He held his breath and gazed out into the night as Tony’s hand moved further down, thick fingers encircling his cock. He almost exploded. Not now. Wait. Wait! A mixture of romantic, sultry—no, nasty thoughts filled his mind as desire and primal lust threatened to consume him. Tony’s other hand joined with the first and slipped beneath the elastic rim, burrowing deep within a mass of pubic hair, matted with moisture and sweat from the heat blazing between his legs. He began massaging the head of his dick, while the other palm moved slowly down to the base of his shaft, enkindling 39

Jon Michaelsen volcanic fire within his swollen balls. Kevin struggled to keep his balance as legs turned to jelly. He lost himself in the magic of his lover’s touch. He gave himself willingly to Tony, unconcerned who might see them from afar. The thought of someone watching heightened the intensity level, pushing his desires into depths never before achieved. Slacks and shorts slid over hips, butt and across his trembling thighs as his partner lowered himself, a wet tongue tracing his spine to the small of his back. Kevin moaned, pressing his body into the seductive contact, unable to contain the fervor growing inside, an unbearable ache that drove him wild with desire. “Oh, shit. I-I don’t think I can hold…” “Shhhh,” Tony whispered. “Not now. Concentrate.” Kevin wanted this man to take him into his arms and make love to him, to enter him with the force and fury of a lion impaling his mate. He turned at Tony’s urging, feeling the warm, wet tongue grazing over his cock. Groaning, he reached down and entwined fingers in the mass of silky curls, moving his hips in slow, reciprocal union. The thought crossed his mind to release, to give in to his lust and explode, but he fought back the urge and squeezed the muscles of his ass instead, abating the fury surging within. Tony stood, and not a moment too soon. He kissed him hard and rough, tasting his own salty precum and essence, the musky scent driving him over the edge. Urged along, he followed him to the mattress. Kevin ripped 40

Voyeur the comforter off, and watched as Tony stripped out of his jeans to reveal a glorious, swelling cock. What the boy lacked in length compared to him, he more than made up with in girth. Kevin gave a wide, wicked grin. They came together in fury and fell headlong atop the mattress, his mouth once again interlocking with those delicious, sumptuous lips. He tasted salt, sweat and a hint of blood from Tony’s wound as his arms and legs flailed, groped, interlocked, released and clung to him again. The naked, taut skin of the hard body pressed into his flesh, sending shards of pleasure shooting through his veins. Using his nose, mouth and tongue, he traced every line, each ripple and crevice of his partner’s bulk, breathing in the musky scent like precious oxygen. Their bodies tossed and turned like raging bulls, rolled atop one another, flipped upside down, head to toe, toe to head, exploring all corners of the mattress in a frenzy matched by swift, intense passion. Kevin wrapped his arms around the mass of muscle pinning him down and settled into place, spreading his legs wide to welcome him. His breath came in quick, ragged puffs as he sniffed, licked and kissed the skin of Tony’s face, ears and neck. Fingers found their way to Kevin’s hard nipples and squeezed, sending shockwaves to explode through his sternum. He gasped and yelled for more, throwing his head back into the pillows. He opened his legs wider, yearning, needing—begging Tony to shove that pulsating cock inside him…now! He paused the action long enough to fumble in the drawer of 41

Jon Michaelsen the side table for a small, silver package and tube of lube. Tony picked up where they left off as he fell back again, pushing deeper into the pillows, arching his body to the ceiling as groping hands traced the nubs on his chest with wet fingers. Hair fell to his stomach and trailed to his abdomen. In a sudden, electrifying move, Tony engorged his cock, sliding up and down the long, throbbing shaft. His body shuddered when the swollen head slammed to the back of his lover’s throat, feeling delicious, spine-tingling joy sweep throughout his entire body. Wet fingers moved over his balls and squeezed before sliding further below to his sphincter, massaging the surrounding muscle and playing at the entrance. He caught his breath and bit down hard on his lower lip, stifling a scream sure to wake the neighbors. Swells of warm, pulsating vibrations exploded through his loins. “Are you ready, baby?” Tony cooed, ripping the cellophane package between his teeth. “Oh, God, yes. Give it to me!” Kevin surprised himself as desire and lust overruled reason and logic. He wrapped his legs around Tony’s waist, scissoring his feet and grabbing on to flexed biceps. He felt lubricant at his opening with first one, then two fingers, slipping in and out, massaging the tight muscles of his gate in slow, deliberate movements. He moaned, welcoming the ingress of hardness, the jarring force that snatched his breath away. He heaved and sucked in a rapt of air, the muscles of his abdomen and stomach 42

Voyeur constricting upon the painful, yet pleasurable violation that caused him to beg for more. Soon, he took all that Tony offered, moving in synchronicity with his partner, ignoring the aching in his bowels, the tearing of his flower, concentrating instead on the thrilling, surging fervency of their coupling. He lost himself in a swirl of primal ecstasy and delirium. Time completely stood still, and he prayed for this moment to last forever. “Are you ready? “Wh-what?” He panted, slamming back to earth. Tony pounded into him, stimulating his prostrate. “Are you ready for me, baby?” Tony said, again. “Let’s come together.” “I-I’m…not even…touching…myself...” “You can go with me. Just feel me inside you. The joy, the pleasure of my dick ripping into you.” “God, yes!” Tony’s words heightened his resolve and their mouths locked. Kevin concentrated on the pounding in his ass, the hard tongue in his mouth, the bull plowing into him with great force, and the friction of hard abs against his throbbing cock providing the added prodding. “Now!” Their alliance proved far too stimulating. He wailed between snatches of air, his heart pounding in his ears, chest 43

Jon Michaelsen heaving, stomach contracting. He bucked like a mare receiving her stallion and erupted like a giant volcano, spraying hot fluid between them. He climaxed without touching himself, and drank in the warm, luscious sensations pulsating through his body. Tony collapsed on top of him, breathing hard, his skin covered is a layer of mist. Sheer exhaustion gave way to a deep, welcoming sleep.

44

Chapter 6

Kevin woke in the morning, the shrill of the telephone pulsating through his head. Covering his eyes from the glare of sunlight snaking through the blinds, he reached for the receiver next to the bed. “Uh, h-hello?” “Kevin! Where are you?” Alice’s voice blasted through the line, confusing him further. He tried to shake the fogginess in his head. “You were supposed to be here over an hour ago. The Stutman meeting is in twenty minutes!” He bolted upright and looked at the clock, rubbing sleep from his eyes. Memories of the late night slammed into consciousness. “Oh, fuck!” He glanced around the room, looking for Tony, but he was gone. Moving to the edge of the mattress, he draped his legs over the side. Sweat-stained sheets and dried cum roused his senses. “I-I overslept, I guess.” “What am I going to do?” Alice’s screech logged in the base of his neck, tightening his muscles. “You’re supposed walk them

Voyeur through the numbers today, remember? I cannot do that, Kevin Mitchell. You promised…” He barely heard the whining snippets as he pushed off the bed, holding the cordless phone away from his ear. He padded to the bathroom to pee. “I can’t talk about this right now, Alice. I’m not feeling well, up all night and half the time in the bathroom.” He lifted the toilet seat about the time a blast of urine surged forward, splashing the rim. “I’m going back to bed. I’ll call you later.” “No! Kevin, you have to come in,” her voice now pleaded, growing desperate. “I can’t do—“ He punched the disconnect button, finished and flushed the toilet. Looking into the mirror above the sink, he inspected the red, chaffed skin surrounding his mouth and chin, a raw reminder of last night’s reckless behavior. He grinned at his reflection, and straightened his shoulders, recalling the events that led to the best night of his life, despite the tightness of his muscles and the soreness in his ass. “Tony?” he called out from the bedroom, and again in the hallway. “Are you here?” He entered the living room. He didn’t find him. Doubling back, he checked the spare room and extra bath. No Tony. Did he return home? Retracing his steps to get a bathrobe from the closet in the bedroom, he noticed the used condom and foil wrapper were gone from the floor, as was the towel he’d used to clean up the blood. 46

Jon Michaelsen Tony tidied up before he left. Crestfallen, he returned to the kitchen to brew some coffee, checking the counter, the refrigerator, looking everywhere for a note. Finding none, he picked up the phone to check for messages. Nada. Turning to rinse his hands in the sink, Kevin noticed Tony’s shirt no longer rested where he’d dropped it last night. He crossed the room toward the windows, legs growing heavy with each stride. Peering out and finding closed blinds, he heaved a sigh reserved for the forlorn.

**** For two days, Kevin locked himself in his home, keeping vigil at the large windows overlooking the adjacent building, moving between each room with a view, waiting, watching, desperate to see Tony behind the giant glass of the penthouse or stepping out onto the terrace. He never showed. He long since realized he didn’t have a way to contact him. He didn’t even know the man’s last name. Chastising himself yet again for his foolishness, for falling for a man just too good to be true, he bowed his head and sobbed. Tony’s disappearing like that without waking him, even bothering to leave a note, angered him. Did he return to his partner? Why doesn’t he contact me? He grew anxious, more worried by the hour. By midnight, and 47

Voyeur having trouble keeping his eyes open any longer, Kevin slipped into bed with the same uneasy feeling shared by parents of a teenager late for curfew. A gut feeling, perhaps intuition, triggered Kevin’s instinct. He awoke terrified, a nightmare image of Tony’s body covered in blood etched into his brain. Drenched in sweat, he kicked at the tangled sheets and stared at the ceiling. A flash of light caught his eyes. He got out of bed and crossed to the window, peering through the blinds. What he saw made his heart stop and his tongue thicken in his throat. All the rooms of the penthouse were aglow in light. Men in dark uniforms moved about the space, coming in and out of view. He dashed for the binoculars sitting in the next room. Adjusting the focus, he saw his worst fear came true. Cops! Panicked, Kevin dressed and ran to the elevator, jabbing the first floor button several times. His heart sank and his mind raced with concern. Please don’t let Tony be hurt! He rushed out to the sidewalk and bolted across the street to the adjacent building. A crowd of people filled the lobby where many huddled in groups, their eyes wide with fear. Kevin spotted a policeman and rushed over to him. “What happened?” he asked. “Do you live here?” The cop looked him up and down, peering over spectacles. “No, but my friend lives upstairs.” He wondered what the 48

Jon Michaelsen officer must think, his charging in like this, a crazed man with desperation written all over his face. “I’ve not seen him in a couple days. I’m really worried.” “Wait here.” The cop moved out of earshot and spoke into the black two-way radio strapped on his left chest, snatching glances at him. He motioned Kevin to follow. They entered the elevator and rode to the top floor. Exiting, he saw several policemen milling outside in the hallway, leading to an apartment with an open door. He spotted a couple of women wearing dark zippered jackets with Coroner stamped across their backs. Anxious and short of breath, Kevin entered the penthouse at the urging of his escort. He didn’t notice most of the commotion going on around him because his eyes dropped to the sheeted body lying on the floor. “So, you know the victim?” A bald man in a gray suit asked, stepping beside him. “Huh?” Kevin stared in disbelief at the lifeless image crumpled on the floor. A pool of blood outlined the left side of the body, near the head. “Uh, yeah, T-Tony and I were friends.” He choked back tears, nausea churned in his gut. “Wh-what happened?” “I’m Detective Sizemore. And you are? Kevin blinked. “Huh? Oh, uh, Kevin. Kevin Mitchell.” “Right.” Sizemore cleared his throat. “Well, Mr. Mitchell, best we can tell, your friend, Anthony Conetti, got whacked over the head with that statue over there.” He followed the detective’s 49

Voyeur finger. “Crushed the man’s skull, dead at least a couple of days.” Kevin flinched at the sight of a familiar object lying a few feet from the body, its base smeared with dried blood. How… Recognizing the sculpture as the one he’d created in college, he stumbled back, his arm reaching for something to brace against, swallowing the bile rising in his throat. “When did you see your friend last?” The detective frowned, staring at him. “Mr. Mitchell? Are you okay?” “What?” He tried to focus. “I, um…yeah…I-I’m fine.” “Do you know if he had any enemies?” “No,” he snapped, perhaps too fast, judging from the raised eyebrows of the man before him. “I-I really don’t know.” He shot a glance toward the large, palladium window, the same one Tony stood behind that first day. The lights in his condominium glowed against the black sky. Before shifting his eyes to the man investigating the crime, he noticed a pair of binoculars sitting on the table near the window. Was Tony watching me, too? He wanted nothing more than to get out of there as soon as possible. The detective motioned an officer to join them. “Get this man’s information and escort him downstairs,” he ordered. He cracked a smile toward Kevin. “We might need to contact you later.” Back at home, Kevin rushed to the closest bathroom to puke. He wretched his guts until nothing remained inside. “Tony, oh, Tony!” He cried, tears streaming down his face, the stench of decaying flesh causing his stomach to lurch even 50

Jon Michaelsen more. He sat back against the wall, pulled his knees up under his chin and covered his face with his hands. He tried to figure out how, just how his artwork ended up in the penthouse as a murder weapon. “Did Tony take it?” he mumbled aloud. “Why?” He convinced himself his new love wanted something of his to keep for his own and nothing more. After all, Tony gushed about how much he liked the silly statue. Washing his face, he exited the bathroom and moved through each room, closing the blinds and turning out lights. He stopped in the living room and stared at the empty space where the sculpture once sat. Nothing made sense. He reasoned the possibilities, imagined what happened and tried to accept the fact that Tony was gone. He crossed to the kitchen and reached into the cabinet for a bottle of scotch. His nerves wrecked, he poured a glassful over ice and downed a large gulp. Peering over the rim of the glass, he spotted the camera and telephoto lens atop the tripod. His eyes jerked to the opposite side of the room, back to the spot reserved for the obelisk. Oh, no! Revelation rained down on him like the eye of a hurricane. Panic seized him. He scanned the living room, taking inventory, searching for other missing items. A horrible thought forged in his mind. What if Tony’s partner learned of their affair? What if he used the statue to frame me for murder? He took another sip of his drink and glanced back at 51

Voyeur the camera equipment. Enough evidence existed in his home to make such a theory plausible. He slugged the rest of his cocktail, and decided to rid his place of everything implicating. Even those cherished photos of Tony. He tore through his home like a madman, snatching up the camera equipment, the binoculars, the sheets used the night of their lovemaking from the hamper, even the tiny shoebox of photographs under his bed. He tossed all the items into a large cardboard box he sat near the front door. Satisfied he collected anything incriminating, he rode the elevator to the garage and tossed the stuff in the dumpster. On the way back through the underground parking lot, intuition got the best of him and he spun around. Was that a shadow? Did someone see me? Afraid of being caught, he ran to the doubleglass doors leading to the elevators. I’m imagining things. For the next few hours before dawn, he cleaned his condo from top to bottom, wiping down surfaces, dusting the furniture, scrubbing toilets and vacuuming. He washed every dish he owned, determined to erase all possible evidence of Tony inside his place. When the time came, he called his boss, claimed to be feeling better, but not well enough to return to work, perhaps on Monday. By noon, he got the nerve to open the blinds and peer out across the way, the realization of never seeing Tony’s face again tormenting him. A rapid knock startled him. Seconds later, a battering 52

Jon Michaelsen ram crashed through the front door, flanked by two policemen. His arms shot up in the air. Frisked and forced to sit on the sofa, his mouth open in shock, Kevin watched as a familiar, bald man entered the room and flashed a tri-folded piece of paper in his face along with his badge. “We have a warrant to search the premises. Do you understand?” Kevin nodded, transfixed, watching as several uniformed men and women entered his home. They opened and closed cabinets, looked in closets, under cushions and inside drawers. “I have nothing to hide,” he said, swallowing the lump in his throat. In a matter of minutes, the troop turned the place upside down. In walked a policeman with a plain box, the same container he tossed out hours earlier. “We found this in the trash bin,” the cop said to the bald man. They both looked at Kevin. The detective rummaged through the container. “This stuff belong to you?” “No.” Kevin lied, wringing his hands. He watched the man extract a familiar shoebox from the container. He sat slack-jawed as the detective rummaged through the photos. “So, you claimed to be Mr. Conetti’s friend.” A grin stretched across the man’s pudgy face. “Do you deny taking these?” He held several photos out for inspection. “Wh-what?” He sat dumbfounded, starting at the pictures. 53

Voyeur “I-I didn’t take those!” His heart sank. He stared at the box in disbelief, as if it held a coiled cobra. “Th-that’s not Tony,” he said, trying to catch his breath, on the verge of a heart attack. “Take him in for questioning,” the detective ordered. “I’ll finish in here.” A policeman guided him by the elbow out the front door. “Those photos aren’t mine. You have to believe me,” he called out.

**** After sitting alone in an interrogation room for several hours, Kevin raised his head from the table when the door opened and Detective Sizemore bounded into the room. “You have enough time to think about what you’ve done?” He stared at him, his eyes narrow and calculating.. “Ready to confess now?” “I didn’t kill anybody!” Kevin snapped. “Please, you have to listen to me. I know this sounds strange. I-I don’t understand it myself, but I don’t know the guy in those photos. It’s not Tony.” He stared at the detective through wet eyes. “I mean, not the man I know...” He drifted off, more confused than ever, grasping a tinge of hope that his love may still be alive. “Let me get this straight. You’re now denying ever knowing Anthony Conetti, the victim?” Kevin slammed his fists on the table. “Exactly! The guy I met introduced himself as Tony.” He felt his face flush. “I don’t know 54

Jon Michaelsen his last name.” He sighed. “It’s obvious to me now that he was lying.” The weight of the world descended upon him, and he hung his head and cried. He sounded ridiculous, even to himself. Detective Sizemore cleared his throat, sat on the edge of the table and faced him. “Why do you want to keep playing games? No one’s buying your story, all right? The box recovered from the dumpster of your building had your mailing address stamped on the side. Your initials are on the base of the murder weapon. Crime scene investigators found a glass with your prints in the victim’s home and traces of the guy’s blood in your kitchen sink.” Kevin jumped when he smacked his hand flat on the table. “A desk clerk in your building informed us that you have a bad temper. Claimed you hit a guy the other night.” He raised his head, confused, living his worst nightmare. “What?” His thoughts flashed to the night Tony came to him with a swollen mouth, lip bleeding, the night they made love. “Th-there was this guy. He called himself Tony. He lived in the penthouse with the man that was murdered. He came over to my place one night, brought champagne and glasses. Don’t you see? I was set up! He must have taken my statue.” Kevin stood, flailing his arms in frustration. “I’m telling the truth. Look, I admit owning the camera equipment, all right. I took some of those photos, but not the ones of the other guy, the one you call Anthony. I know it sounds crazy, but you have to believe me.” He began to cry. “I have no idea how those pictures 55

Voyeur got mixed in the same box.” “I want to believe you, Kevin,” the detective murmured. “I really do, but there’s evidence to the contrary.” He stood and set a pad of paper and pen before him. “Now, start from the beginning, write everything down.” “I didn’t kill anybody!” Kevin placed his hands on the table, and hung his head. “Call my office. Ask for Alice. She’ll vouch for me. I told her about Tony. She knows everything.” The cop walked to the door. “A couple of detectives stopped by your work,” Sizemore said. “She told them you’ve been acting weird lately. She corroborated your story, but said she never met the man.” Kevin looked up, stunned. “She also provided officers with motive, Mr. Mitchell. You were obsessed with this guy. You watched him every night from your window, even photographed him. You know what I think? You were stalking the man.” He opened the door. “He shunned, and you killed him.” “No!” Kevin jumped up and rushed to the door as it closed. He pounded his fists on the metal and screamed. “Please, listen to me. I didn’t kill him. I didn’t kill him!”

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Chapter 7

After six months in prison, Kevin received a surprise visit from Detective Sizemore, the cop instrumental in his conviction for the murder of Tony Conetti. The bald man sat opposite the bulletproof glass. Kevin picked up the telephone to speak. “What do you want?” he asked, fighting back a spike of hatred. “It happened again.” Sizemore pursed his lips. “What are you talking about?” He stared in surprise, disbelieving. “Did you find Tony?” “He’s dead, murdered by a jealous roommate. Apparently, the guy attempted to frame a neighbor similar to your case.” Kevin felt nauseous. “I-I tried to tell you, but nobody believed me.” He sighed. The detective cracked a smile. “I wanted to, but your story sounded crazy. The evidence against you proved staggering. The man you called Tony turned out to be a guy named Paul Rider. He set you up for Conetti’s murder before clearing out the man’s bank

Voyeur account. He made his way to Los Angeles and wrote a play about the experience. Appears the jealous boyfriend tried to pull off a similar scheme of his own, ensuring Rider was out of the way first. He devised the original plot that put you here. Poetic justice, eh?” “I-I don’t understand. What tipped you?” “The case generated a lot of publicity during your arrest and trial. When officials in California heard the identical story from one of their own suspects, they got suspicious. Detectives tracked Rider’s movement back here and connected the dots. Turns out, everything happened just the way you said.” The cop stood and offered a wide, apologetic grin. “Congratulations, buddy. Your case has grounds for acquittal. You’ll be out in a few weeks or so.”

**** A year after getting out of prison, Kevin sat in bed reading a book. His partner of a few months slipped from the sheets and walked over to the window. He glanced up. “What’s so fascinating?” He lowered his glasses. The man turned and smiled. “Oh…nothing, babe. Just looking at the stars. The view is spectacular from up here.” Kevin shuddered as his partner slipped back into bed beside him and turned out the light. You don’t know the half of it.

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ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Jon Michaelsen is an author of erotic romance and suspense/thriller novels where main characters happen to be gay. Being gay doesn’t define his characters, but it does provide interesting opportunities for challenging plots, often with a twist. His writing is influenced by such diverse authors as David Baldacci, John Grisham and Michael Crichton, to the groundbreaking, Patricia Nell Warren, Michael Nava and Felice Picano. A southern Georgia native, he lives in Atlanta with his lifelong partner and three monstrous terriers. He is currently at work on another novel of mystery and suspense titled Pretty Boy Dead.

www.myspace.com/jmichaelsen

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