My Voyeur. My Lover. My . . .

by Mandurah

©Copyright 2023 Mandurah

Chapter One

My boyfriend, well, my ex-boyfriend Morgan, dumped me after living together for eight years. My name is Tara, and now, at twenty-eight, I am by myself again.

We discussed getting married, buying a home together, and, if so, how big. Where should we live? How many children should we have? What if we had all boys or all girls? Should we try again? Then, one day, he stated, "We're over. I've met someone else, and you need to move out."

I was devastated and pleaded with him to let me stay. "Morgan, what's gone so wrong all of a sudden? We're almost married. Please don't kick me out. I'm sure we can work things out."

He was adamant and said, "No, I want you out by the end of the week."

I took the following week off work. I was a mess, crying most days as I searched for a place to live. I found a rundown dump within a fifteen-minute drive from where I worked, in an area I didn't care for, but it had cheap rent. The house was open at the front, and you could easily see into the lounge and main bedroom from the street if the curtains were open. At least when you looked out over the crappy garden, the view was nice, looking over a park. I had no option but to take it.

That was six months ago, and now, I have placed lace curtains over the front windows so no one can look in and brought the garden back to life. Although it is a rental, I wanted it to look nice.

It has taken me all this time to get Morgan out of my mind, but recently, I've been chatting online with a guy called Mike. He seems nice always pleasant with his chat, and we've flirted a little, but we haven't shared photos or met. We are both twenty-nine.

I told him that six months ago, I broke up with my long-term boyfriend. He sympathised and said maybe it was a good thing and suggested that he and I might get together. But he was elusive and mysterious when I asked about his relationships.

I get home from work around 6pm every day and turn on the computer to see if there's a message from Mike. There often is, but over the past week, he's not been there as much, and it's me messaging him to get our chat going.

Around 8pm, I see Mike is online.

"Hi, Mike. I've been missing our chats lately. Is everything okay?"

"Sure. I've had a lot on my mind at work. That's all."

"Oh, sorry to hear that. I thought, maybe you didn't want to chat with me any more?"

"No, not at all. In fact, I want to improve our relationship if you are ready to meet someone again?"

"Well, I'm not sure. I mean, we've only chatted online and not sent each other photos of ourselves."

"Get your phone and send me a selfie. I'll do the same for you."

"Ooooh, nooooo, I've only got my undies on."

"Put a top on if you're shy, and then send it to me, but I bet you look great as you are."

My phone pinged, and I went to take a look. There was a pic of a shirtless, well-muscled upper body of a hunky-looking guy with a hairy chest, a chiselled face and a modern blond mullet haircut. Oh, this guy looks fantastic, I thought.

"Hey. What do you think?"

I sent him two selfies.

"Wow, you're a hot-looking chick, and I like the second photo in your sexy panties and bra better than the first. Are you wearing those for me?"

"Ohhhhh, wow. You must work out with abs like that, and no, the undies are what I like to wear every day. I like the feel of them, and I never know if I'm going to meet some hot-looking stud that will appreciate me in them."

"Am I your hot-looking stud?"

"Don’t know… Maybe."

"Would you like to meet for coffee this Saturday arvo, at the Dome cafe in the Carousel shopping centre? Is 4pm okay for you? We can meet in a public place and see how we go from there. Now that I know what you look like, I’ll look for you.”

"Yeah, I would love that. I work at Carousel, so I can ask if I can finish an hour early and meet you at four."

"Great, it's a date."

I work in an upmarket department store in ladies' fashion. I have to wear a work uniform consisting of black shoes, black stay-ups or pantyhose, a black skirt worn knee length, and a white long-sleeved blouse. I hope Mike can recognise me.

I bought my coffee and sat at one of the few empty tables. I was constantly looking around to see if I could see Mike every time I looked up. Some creepy guy sitting two tables away was looking at me. He was staring at me, and he gave me the creeps.

I waited until four-thirty and no Mike. I let out an obscenity. "Fucking men." That caused a few patrons to look my way, causing me to blush. I quickly picked up my bag and left, scanning the cafe to see if I could see the blond adonis, or maybe he's some wimp, and he'd photoshopped the pic and made out it was him.

Men! I've been stood up just as I'm beginning to trust them, killing off my confidence and self-esteem again. I desperately want someone to hold onto and care for me.

I got home and threw my bag on the lounge, fuming. Should I send Mike a message and tell him to "Fuck off, and that he's a scum bag, and not to waste my time."

I took a bottle of wine, had a couple of glasses to console myself, and turned on my computer to see if the lousy bastard had sent me a message.

Chapter Two

Shit, what an arsehole, no message and no text. What a worthless piece of crap, I thought. I didn't hear from Mike all weekend.

When I went to take my washing off the clothesline the next day, all my panties were missing. I was already rattled by living alone in this neighbourhood, and someone had the nerve to come into my back garden and steal my underwear. My first thought was, was it Mike? I never had this problem before until I sent him a selfie of me in my bra and panties. But I never gave him my address. Has he followed me home from work one day without me knowing? Or was it just due to living in this undesirable suburb, and some teens stole them to jerk off into? It niggled me, but I tried to put it out of my mind and decided to dry my undies inside from now on.