Mellow Yellow Ch. 27

Ch. 27: Melinda Tran discovers that voyeurs are made, not born

Thanks to SlickTony for planting an idea that ultimately led to this story.

I'm a voyeur and so is my wife Melinda. We're an interracial couple; I'm second-generation Polish, quite white. Melinda is half-Vietnamese and half-Chinese, the perfect combination for an Asian woman. Shame on you if you think a white guy being in love with a beautiful Asian woman and vice versa makes us perverts. Similarly, neither Melinda nor I think that our voyeurism is any way bent. We believe that watching other people getting it on is a natural way of keeping an eye on the competition, ensuring that we aren't missing out on any new technology in the wonderful world of screwing.

I wasn't born a voyeur; at least I don't think I was. My first voyeuristic experience occurred when I was about two years old. In the middle of the night, I had to announce to my parents that I went "potty" all by myself. Unfortunately, Mom and Dad seemed more interested in what they were doing under the blankets than in my modest accomplishments in the can. Something secret was going on that caused the bedclothes to rise and fall so rhythmically. Mom was sighing and Dad was grunting in rhythm, so all this wasn't unconnected. Curious at these adult secrets, I had my first erection, a perfect little baby boner.

When I was twelve, my older sister was babysitting me while Mom and Dad were playing canasta with the neighbours. Sis assumed I was upstairs working on my science project, which I was. Unfortunately for her, my science project consisted of a periscope made from construction cardboard and two mirrors from K-Mart's cosmetic counter. I sneaked part way down the stairs and got a clear shot of the boyfriend boinking my sister on the living room couch. Up periscope and up pecker. Ever since then, I've been placing science in the service of my growing voyeurism. My fertile imagination made me shoot off in my pants, crouched there on the stairs. I pretended that it was my own twelve-year old pecker, not the boyfriend's thick dick thrusting deep into my sister's beaver. That's about as close as I ever got to incest.

I noticed that, when I was living in a less-than-soundproof university dorm, I got as horny listening to a couple in the next room getting it on as when I was fucking my own current squeeze. There's just something about squeaking bed noises accompanied by groans and sighs that appeals to me. As if I haven't confirmed by now that I'm a voyeur, here's the clincher. My favourite movie of all time is Hitchcock's "Rear Window", his exercise in voyeurism. Catch it sometime on the late movies and see if it doesn't appeal to you.

But enough about me. How does a shy Vietnamese woman, mother of four, registered nurse and pillar of the community, etc., who won't talk dirty to her own husband, start peeking along with her husband? Fortunately, the operative word here is "woman". A woman, even an Asian woman, will discuss endlessly with another woman sexual matters that she wouldn't think of bring up with her husband. Under the circumstances, it's best to let Melinda tell the story in her own words in an e-mail she sent to her best girlfriend. You see, I know all you voyeurs just love to peek at other peoples' mail.

To:hksexclinic@xxxxxxxxxxxx

From:zealousyellow@xxxxxxxxxxx

Dear Sui-Beng:

I deeply apologize for laying (if you'll pardon the expression) another one of my sexual problems at your feet. I realize that I shouldn't be bothering you with my feminine issues and asking you for psychiatric help for free. But I'm desperate for your advice on the feelings I'm having. Something happened to me that has changed again the way I view my sexuality.

Do you remember when I had a lesbian affair with our nanny, Vanessa? I was so shaken at the time to discover that I'm bisexual. It was such a cultural shock to discover that part of me might be homosexual. As you know, it's forbidden in Socialist Vietnam to even discuss the subject. Gay people only exist in the decadent west, we were told. I thought I became a pervert with just one taste of another woman's genitalia. Could I still love Paul and love Vanessa at the same time? I wonder why was it necessary to come to a foreign country to discover my true sexuality.

Have you ever tried a woman, Sui-Beng? Of course not. That's why I admire my friend so much. You've always been so certain of your sexual identity that you wouldn't consider becoming intimate with another woman. The closest you've ever come to a sexual crisis was when you feared being sacked for seducing one of your patients. Like a true Chinese, you turned this crisis into an opportunity and began a second career as an authority on sexual therapy applied to Caucasian males.

I've had another sexual crisis in my life. I'm sure that others would think that I'm becoming a complete deviant. This time I've dealt with it myself, without your help. If I tell you what happened, can you, at the very least, tell me if I'm coping with it adequately? Can you tell me if I'm correct that I'm not a pervert but a normal, respectable mother, wife and health care professional?

My previous e-mail related to you that Vanessa, my former nanny from the Philippines and with whom I had an affair, is staying at our house while she gets established in Canada. I also told you that my worst enemy, Mrs. Nguyen, showed up on our doorstep at the same time. I hate that woman. She's a shameless sexual predator, she is, that bitch. She even bedded my Paul before we met. Besides, I needed another houseguest like I needed a second anus while I was trying to reestablish my relationship with Vanessa.

The first night with our guests was a complete disaster. Not only did I not get to talk privately with Vanessa but I had to put up with one of Paul's sexual fantasies (the rape fantasy, if you must ask) when I really wasn't in the mood. The next day, I had to work but I didn't mind leaving Paul alone with Vanessa. I knew her real nature and that she wouldn't think of touching a man. Plus, she would keep an eye on Mrs. Nguyen so she wouldn't steal my man or anything else in the house that she could lay her hands on.

My day turned out to be a total disaster. There was an emergency in the operating room with a patient hemorrhaging so I had to leave my desk and fill in at a nursing station. I haven't worked with patients for over a year. I had forgotten how demanding they can be and how ingeniously they compete for the duty-nurse's attention. As you put it, you "work with white willies all day" and they have just one demand.

When I finally got home, late, my house was in total chaos. The children were running wild in the family room, aided and abetted by Paul. Vanessa and Mrs. Nguyen were deep in conversation in the living room, ignoring the tempest around them. Our new nanny, Fortunata was sitting sullenly in the kitchen surrounded by dirty dishes. She got up and stormed out of the house, waving her finger at me and saying that she was hired to take care of children, not to wash dishes in the psychiatric ward, or words to that effect.

I loaded up the dishwasher with as many dishes as I could and cleaned the kitchen messes. I got all the pots and dishes cleaned. After a shower, I changed into a pantsuit that would surely entice Vanessa. The finishing touch was the Givenchy perfume that Paul gets me every Christmas. Vanessa always adored that scent. I intended to get close to my lesbian lover but I also wanted her to help me make dinner. I remember when she was our live-in nanny, how she was so helpful while we were working, standing so close to me, breathing in the scent of perfume on my neck. I remember how her breath in return on my neck awoke my latent bisexuality. Well, her seduction was successful and now it was my turn to seduce her.

I walked into the family room in as alluring a manner as only an Asian woman can accomplish. In my most coquettish way, I asked Vanessa to give me a hand with dinner. Can you imagine she refused me? My Filipina lover, for whom I moved the immovable, Canadian immigration agents, refused to help me or provide company in the kitchen. She wanted to help Paul and Mrs. Nguyen with the children. I think it was at that moment when I realized that it was all over between Vanessa and me.

As for the kids, they were totally fascinated with "Auntie Hièp". Mrs. Nguyen was entertaining the children with Vietnamese folk tales, the kind that the peasants tell. I wouldn't have believed it but that old whore has a maternal instinct completely hidden beneath those layers of makeup.

I made supper without any enthusiasm at all. Silently, we ate the worst meal that I ever cooked. The rice was sticky, the vegetables were soggy, the chicken looked as if an axe-murderer or a psychopath chopped it up and the green papaya salad was chunky. I was ready to pounce on anyone who complained. My mood became even worse when I leaned over to pick up Cadeo's chopstick and I spotted Vanessa and Mrs. Nguyen playing footsie under the table. And here I though Mrs. Nguyen's smirk was due to my failure with the dinner.

As I loaded up the dishwasher for the last time, I was struck by how quiet the house became. I assumed that by now the children were in bed so that accounted for the lack of sound of Game Boys and giggles. What were the adults doing? I strained to hear Mrs. Nguyen's too-loud fractured English but there was nothing. And what was Paul up to? I went to the family room but it was empty. I turned out all the lights in the living room and hallway and spotted a flicker of light coming out of Paul's office that he keeps in the house. Was he messing around with Mrs. Nguyen in there?

Just in case there was something going on, I walked barefoot to his office. We Vietnamese are very skilled, almost catlike, in the dark, as the American soldiers found out. The well-oiled door opened without a sound. Sometimes all the work Paul does to keep the house in shape works out to his disadvantage. That door represented the portal to a new dimension in sexual experience for me. From that moment on, I became a new sexual creature, Mei-Ling the voyeur.

My eyes adjusted to the dark so I could see that the only light came from the screen of the security monitor. The flickering screen silhouetted Paul's head. Something was going on but I wasn't prepared for what I saw on the TV screen. It was Vanessa's face and she was talking to someone. Paul had rigged up a security camera in Vanessa's bedroom. The bastard; he was spying on Vanessa. My Paul has a perversion and its name is voyeurism.

I turned my attention to the TV screen that Paul found so fascinating. Vanessa's face became more animated. Paul touched a control and the camera panned back. Vanessa was talking to Mrs. Nguyen and they were both in the same bedroom! Vanessa pleaded with Mrs. Nguyen, trying to convince the older woman of something. Even though there was no sound to the picture, I could tell that Mrs. Nguyen faked a shy refusal, playing the virgin she wasn't. That was the only time I ever saw the old whore look shy.

Vanessa continued to plead her case. Finally, Mrs. Nguyen gave in. Vanessa was the aggressor, undressing Mrs. Nguyen until the emaciated little witch was stark naked. I have seen more naked white women than naked Asian women, thanks to those dirty magazines that Paul brings home occasionally. In fact, other than Vanessa, I don't think I've ever seen a naked Asian woman. As you know, Sui-Beng, universities in Asia aren't big on women's sports. I never had any locker room peeks at naked Vietnamese women. Even my own mother never undressed in front of me. So, I was surprised at how skinny Mrs. Nguyen looked in comparison to these voluptuous white women in Paul's magazines. Given her age, I was expecting that she had saggy breasts but she had nothing. Nada. Flat. Perhaps I'm not particularly busty but you'd never mistake me for a boy. I glanced down her bony body. Mrs. Nguyen had so little pubic hair that you could clearly see her tiny outer labia. It might have been a toddler's crotch except for its shiny wetness, obvious even on a TV screen.

Paul tilted his head and covered up the hideous sight of the old lady. Vanessa was undressing quickly, as if she thought Mrs. Nguyen would change her mind. What a silly girl! I knew in my heart that it was Mrs. Nguyen who was in charge, manipulating Vanessa with her shy little girl act. Vanessa was the prey entangled in the spider's web. The spider was ready to eat her next victim.

Vanessa grabbed Mrs. Nguyen's arm, pulling her onto the bed. Paul touched another control to keep the women in view. I was mortified that Vanessa applied the same caresses, the same techniques for sexual stimulation that she had applied on me. I must have been just another body to her. There was no sound, but I could easily imagine that Mrs. Nguyen was faking noises the same way she did for her male customers.

Vanessa put her hand on Mrs. Nguyen's genitals and spread her labia apart. It was like a cue for Mrs. Nguyen to run her crooked witch's fingers up and down Vanessa's tight labia minora. The two women played with each other for a few minutes, their mouths in open circles and their faces contorted by ecstasy. Vanessa mounted Mrs. Nguyen and they began the most intimate kind of woman-to-woman kiss.

The two women rolled around the bed, each black head planted firmly between the other's thighs. Jealousy welled up from within me. That should have been Vanessa's tongue parting my labia, stimulating my clitoris as only a woman knows how. As jealous as I was at Mrs. Nguyen trapping Vanessa, I was overcome with another emotion, raw horny lust. I wanted so much to play with myself but I didn't want to make any noise. That would have given away the game to Paul. Instead I rubbed my crotch through my pantsuit. My juices had soaked through. I knew that I would be making a trip to the dry cleaners the next day.

As the two women writhed in mutual cunnilingus, something remarkable happened. I saw Paul reach down into his lap. It appeared as if he was fumbling around in his lap for something. My initial thought was that Paul wasn't sticking to his diet and sneaked a sandwich into his office. I moved along the wall so I could get a better look at what he was up to. Sui-Beng, I was both shocked and fascinated by what I saw. Paul was tumescent! He had undone his pants and pulled out his huge, erect thing. He was playing with himself while he was watching the lesbian activity on the monitor.

Sui-Beng, have you ever seen a man masturbate? How silly of me to even ask. I'm sure that autoeroticism is one of the many tools your clinic uses to get white male parts into gear again. Well, I never have. I mean, I've played with Paul's penis and even done the odd handjob myself on him. It's just that he's much too shy to do THAT in front of me. The women making love already aroused me but, Sui-Beng, the forbidden fruit of watching the thing that men do in secret really did the trick for me. As I moved sideways, I felt my own liquids sticking my panties to my pubic hairs.

Paul stroked his penis so gently and sensually with his hand. It turned me on but it was educational as well. Sui-Beng, I've been doing the handjob wrong ever since Paul and I've been together. I now realize that I've been too rough with my hands. No wonder that Paul is in such a hurry to get to the blowjob. I guess that it's the same way with women. Trust me on this one, Sui-Beng. The best tongue that you can have sliding up your genitalia is another woman's tongue.

Paul's penis gleamed and beckoned to me to take it in my hand. I wanted so much to take his shaft in my hand, caress its length, run my fingers over the ridges of veins up to its ridge at the top. I wanted it in my mouth so that I could run my tongue up and over the circumcised tip. Sui-Beng, what can I say? I was more sexually aroused than I ever was since I married Paul and I craved oral sex. NOW!

Why didn't I yield to my impulse? I sensed that Paul was enjoying his pornographic show because the two women he was watching didn't know that they were being watched. Paul's video monitor was better than any "reality show" on television. I had discovered the secret of voyeurism. That was why I was seriously horny at that moment. Paul didn't know I was watching him play with himself while watching the two women. In turn, the two women didn't know that Paul and I were watching them have sex. My first voyeur show was two for the price of one.

Despite being overwhelmed by the doubled intensity of this sexual experience, I knew that I must not give in to my impulses and touch the object of my admiration. I couldn't let Paul know I was there. That would break the spell of the experience for both of us. It would not only disrupt Paul's pleasure but he would be so ashamed that I had caught him playing with himself. Yes, Sui-Beng, even white people hate to lose face.

So, I slowly left the room trying to be even more careful than when I entered to not make any sound. Yet, I was still horny from what I had seen. I needed his penis inside me more than ever as I stood by the door listening to what went on. I didn't hear any noises that would be evidence of masturbation emanating from Paul's office. If he was really seriously playing with himself, I would hear his elbow hitting the armrests, wouldn't I? I learned another one of the rules of a voyeur from Paul. Part of the fun in watching is to keep up the level of intensity without falling into orgasm. I reached into my panties and put my finger between my lips. I was flowing from my vagina as strongly as if I were menstruating.

Another thing I learned that night was that the imagination is the most important tool in voyeurism. Paul's breathing and the sound of movement of his swivel chair painted my mind with pictures of him stroking his own penis. My imagination took flight with mental pictures of the two women probably pleasuring each other with their tongues. How long since I had enjoyed Vanessa's embrace and her taste. How long since I had Paul's tongue sliding between my inner lips, raising me to the brink of orgasm but not quite. White guys are quite remarkable at how they take a woman to the edge and then, with a slight pause, they take you to an edge even higher up the cliff. What am I telling you? You have Charles, after all.

My finger was mimicking a tongue as best I could when my reverie was broken by the sound of Paul pushing back his chair. He was getting up! I knew that I mustn't be discovered standing at the door eavesdropping or worse. The clandestine TV show had ended. I ran upstairs as quietly as I could, thankful for the thick carpet on the stairs that I insisted on when we redecorated. I hurriedly undressed, trying to fold my clothes as best I could in the dark. I climbed into the bed, and arranged myself in the most sexy pose I could accomplish. If I lost Vanessa to Mrs. Nguyen, I was now going to retake Paul

When Paul entered the bedroom, he headed straight to the ensuite, adding to my frustration. Why wasn't my husband taking care of my needs right away? As if to answer my question, I heard the sound of loud flatulence behind the bathroom door, accompanied by Paul urinating as noisily as he could.

There was nothing I could do but continue playing with my genitals ever so gently to keep up my interest without proceeding completely to orgasm. Sui-Beng, I have never been so wet and aroused. Finally, Paul entered, carelessly tossing his clothes on the chair. He was about to put on pajamas when I called out: "No Paul. I need you right now. I want you naked and I want you to take care of me."

Even in the dark, I could tell that he had a grin a km. wide. Before Paul could pull the covers over himself, I was all over him. He must have thought I had gone wild, the way I was aggressively taking charge. I must have kissed every square centimeter of his tall, hairy body. If Paul gets me cold, after a day of work and cooking supper, he has to extend the amount of foreplay, working up my interest with his kisses and caresses, stimulating my breasts. Not tonight. My "peeking" experience at had put me far down the road to orgasm and the other kind of "peaking".