I was walking up the back stairs to my flat when I saw him. He walked over to the communal lines with a basket of wet clothing. I watched as he looked around the back yard then looked back at the clothes line. He bent down to his basket, picked up a piece of wet laundry and went about hanging it. But I could see his eyes. He was staring at my underwear. It was one of the problems sharing a communal clothes line; everything was on display for all to see. He bent down again to his basket and picked up the next piece but his eyes did not sway. I found it quite disconcerting, at first.
Later, with my feet up, a cup of tea steaming in front of me and a copy of my favourite magazine, I started to think about him. He wasn’t anything fancy to look at, but he did look like he looked after himself. He was balding but in a nice way. If you don’t know what I mean, just think of those sad cases you see on the train or bus who have not accepted their hair loss and still comb over the ½ dozen strands they have left. This guy was not one of those guys. I’d seen him a couple of times before, usually at the communal letterboxes. He had hardly said two words to me but that was okay. He was shy. I like shy men. They’re a challenge and I’m always up for one.
I guess the whole thing of it was the way he was looking at my underwear. There was obvious lust in his eyes. I have no doubt about it. The set in question were my favourites; a matching magenta-coloured bra and panties set with delicate black lace trim. Like most of my good underwear, I had brought the set myself. I wouldn’t want to try choosing anyone else’s undergarments so I can’t expect them to choose lingerie for me. Anyway, the more I thought about the guy, the more I had thoughts about him. Lust is a funny thing as it can make the most unattractive people or situations turn into something altogether erotic.
A week or so later, I was putting out more washing. It was a rather bright day and I was wearing sunglasses that were particularly dark. I was standing in the shade, in that mindset one gets when doing menial tasks. In other words, I was away with the pixies, daydreaming. I bent down to my basket and as I straightened up, I noticed him standing at his kitchen window and stepping back into the shadows. I pretended I didn’t see him and he obviously didn’t think I had because he stepped forward again. I continued to hang out my laundry, all the while surreptitiously watching him watch me. I could see a look of disappointment on his face when I finished. At first I wondered why then I realised I had none of my ‘good’ lingerie on the line.
The following week, I deliberately washed a number of sets of lingerie I owned. I included the set he’d been eyeing off the first time I spotted him. I also included a matching teddy and panties set I’d worn only once. It was a sheer, baby blue and the teddy had faux-fur trim around the bottom. I’d brought it on a whim, wore it once for an ex-boyfriend (it stayed on all of ten minutes, once he saw me in it). The last item I hung out was a black set with red lace highlights. Again, I wore my dark sunglasses and again, I saw him at his kitchen window. As I hung out the first pieces of lingerie, I saw him lean forward for a better look. I think he then realised he could be plainly seen if I looked his way so he jumped back into the shadows beyond the window. I smiled a little to myself. His excitement was so obvious, it was almost visible.
For the next few weeks, I made a point of hanging out all the different pieces of lingerie. He was always at the window watching me, never realising I was watching him too. During this time, I saw him at the letterboxes a number of times and putting rubbish in the recycling bins once. I always put on my best smile and said hello, but most of the time he just grunted and went about his business. I thought he might actually break through his shyness and talk to me, but I was wrong. This man was really starting to intrigue me.
After a few more weeks of the same, I decided I would stop providing him with his kicks. The next time I put out laundry, I made absolutely certain none of my fancy stuff was in the wash. As per usual, he was at his kitchen window watching me hang out my clothes. I could his disappoint when I completed hanging it all out. There wasn’t as much as a piece of lace or chiffon amongst my clothing. The next week, I did the same. Again, I could see he was disappointed. The third time, he was actually in the back yard reading a newspaper and taking in some sun on one of the garden chairs when I came out of the communal laundry. I carried my basket across to the clothes line, barely glancing at him. As I put the basket down, I pretended to notice him and simply said “Oh, hi, how are you?”
He looked up at me. “I’m alright. How are you?” He put a fair bit of emphasis on the ‘you’. I tried not to look puzzled at his response.
“Me, I’m fine,” I replied. I smiled at him and, for the sake of conversation, said “What a beautiful day.” He was looking straight at me but as I attempted to look back, he turned his head to the newspaper.
“Yes, it is,” he muttered. I could see he was obviously struggling with his shyness. I decided to take decisive action. I went over to the garden bench and sat down beside him. He looked over his paper at me and I could see he was a little startled by my actions.
“I know, you know.” I left this hanging in the air between us.
“You know what?” he asked.
“I know you’ve been looking, but it’s alright.” I took my sunglasses off, smiled and looked him straight in the eyes.
“I’m sorry, but what are you talking about?” His body language and tone were very defensive.
“I’m talking about your habit of watching me hang out my laundry. I’ve seen you watching.” I leaned towards him and tapped him gently with my pointed finger as I said ‘you’. He fairly jumped out of his skin when I made contact.
“Er, well, ahhm, yes, you got me.” He leaned right back, as far away from me as the bench would allow. “You’re not going to do anything, are you? I mean, all I was doing was looking. I never touched any of it.” He sounded really nervous now. I wanted him to calm himself.
“Look, don’t worry, okay, I’m not going to say anything to anyone. It can be our little secret.” Again, when I said ‘our’ I reached out and touched him. This time he did jump back a little. I was somewhat disconcerted by his behaviour. “You don’t have to be scared of me. I know all about this sort of thing. There is nothing to be ashamed of.”
“I’m not ashamed, I’m just…” he said, then paused. I could feel the tension between us. He continued, “Damn it, I am ashamed. I’ve been feeling ashamed about this for some time. I just… It’s just… Oh, look, please don’t tell anyone, okay. Please…” I could see he was getting himself worked up to a right state. I grabbed his arm and squeezed a little, as reassurance.
“It’s okay. I’m not going to tell anyone. Why don’t you come upstairs to my flat and we can talk about this more in private.” I tried to keep my voice as soft and calm as I could. He looked somewhat relieved.
“Yeah, sure, I can do that. I’d like to do that.” He smiled at me for the first time. He was really quite nice looking when he smiled.
I finished hanging out my laundry. Then we went upstairs. I was hoping he didn’t notice how heavy I was breathing. I was so excited but didn’t want to scare him anymore than he already was. I was wondering how I could contain myself. I led the way down the hall to my front door, fumbling for the keys and glancing at him over my shoulder. I opened the door and waved him in first. He took in my rather minimalist furnishings and some of the art I had on my walls. He stood in the middle of the lounge room, looking distinctly uncomfortable.
“Ah, is your girlfriend still here?” he asked.
“Girlfriend… What makes you think I have a girlfriend?” I was now positively intrigued by him.
“Ah, well, ahhm, the lingerie, for one.”
I suddenly realised what he was on about and could do nothing but laugh. He stood before me, shifting from foot to foot and looking more and more uncomfortable and the more uncomfortable he looked, the more I couldn’t help but laugh. Finally, I let him in on the joke.
“The lingerie is not my girlfriends, it’s mine.” I waited while what I said sank in. He looked at me, and then looked again. He swallowed a number of times and then, to my surprise, went white as a sheet and crumpled to the floor in a dead faint.
After I revived him, he came to looking decidedly out-of-sorts. He sipped the water I had given him and kept shaking his head. Every so often he’d look at me and start to say something then think better of it and shake his head again. Eventually he asked why I had the lingerie. Again, I started to laugh but stopped as soon as I saw how serious he was.
“Isn’t it obvious…?” I explained to him why I had what I had and when I wore it. He finally seemed satisfied with my explanation. He asked if I’d keep everything that had transpired between us as a secret. I assured him it would go no further. I helped him up onto wobbly legs and saw him safely out the door. I gave him a little wave as he looked back at me. I think he actually picked up his pace. I closed the door and doubled over in laughter again.
I’ve always found my life and life style as a drag queen a lot of fun, but sometimes, the fun comes from the most unusual places. And I don’t know how long I can keep this secret.