He took her, solidly, into his arms, and his lips sought for and found hers, and it was her moist, pink lips that came surging onto his mouth, searchingly, as his hands began to explore the soft contours of her body. Cupping the resilient mount of a small sculptured breast through the soft material of her dress, he kneaded it softly, and the natural and normal reactions began to materialize.
The male subject slid his hand down across her flat stomach, then out along the smooth, whiteness of a finely tapered thigh, then he went under the short length of her dress, allowing his hand to massage and caress the curling fleeciness of her pubic hair. . . . The voyeur could see the erotic spasms of her body, and the tiny undulations of her loins up against his taunting fingers. He removed her mini-sheath to reveal the curves of her soft, small, womanly body. Her legs were splayed, obscenely, to the delight of the observing Voyeur. . . . Quickly, the male subject shed his clothing, leaving only his shorts to cover him, partially. Inside his shorts, his massive erection was stirring. . . . Frantically, the male subject flexed his pelvis in between her thighs, and he removed his penis from the leg of his shorts, and in one powerful smooth thrust, he rammed his penis deep into her clasping vagina. . . .
Several strokes later, the male subject’s orgasm came to him. With a groan, he slumped on top of her . . . She did not reach orgasm and was definitely unhappy about the disturbing situation. He rolled away from her to his side, and quickly scrambled off the bed on one leg. He said, “I hope you remember when I had two good legs.” . . .
The Voyeur observed this couple periodically from time to time during the next five days, and they did not reconcile or adapt to the male subject’s losing his leg. It was hampering their relationship, and I believe his wife will never accept his disability, and this would eventually lead to divorce.
A few years later, another wounded veteran—this one a paraplegic—checked in to the Manor House with his wife. Foos watched as the wife tried to help her husband out of his wheelchair and onto the bed.
But he said sharply, “I can handle it. I don’t want any help or assistance.” He took off his shoes and trousers and said, “here you can empty my bag.” He apparently had no bladder control and had to be catheterized. She unhooked the tube connected to his penis and emptied the bag in the toilet. She then reattached the bag.
She undressed and . . . held her breasts up in front of his face for observation, and he responded by gently kissing and sucking them. She said, “I have to take a shower.” During her shower, he remained motionless and watched TV. When she finished with her shower, she reclined on the bed beside him and laid real close, hugging and kissing him.
He said, “Why do you continue to love me when I’m in this condition?” She said, “because you are still the person I married, and I remember our vows, in sickness and health.”
He kissed her deeply, saying, “if it wasn’t for you, I don’t think I could survive.”
The wife proceeded to unhook his catheter and masturbate him to erection.
She rested her head on his abdomen, and began to carefully lick and suck his penis taking the entire shaft into her mouth. She did this for the better part of an hour and he definitely seemed to be able to have some perception of feeling, because he was getting the sexual pleasure facial expression and sticking his tongue out and licking his lips. She mounted him in the female superior position, and reached her own orgasm simultaneous with his. . . .
Conclusion: Because of the close proximity of Fitzsimons Army Hospital to the motel, I have had the opportunity to observe many of the deplorable and regrettable tragedies of the Vietnam War. This subject was lucky. He has a loving and understanding wife.
He will probably survive, but what becomes of the other hundreds of individuals who have no one? Observation of these sorrowful and disastrous subjects is a very difficult and unpleasant task, and consequently, all that remains is regret and pity. There is nothing more disturbing than hearing a subject disclose that he has been betrayed by his country.
EIGHT
THE VICTORIAN gentleman’s intent in My Secret Life was to write, as he himself explained, “without any regard for what the world calls decency,” and, while researching his memoir, he had what Professor Marcus called “a Leopold Bloomish experience—he spends some time spying on women defecating and urinating.”
After I had read the first three or four sections of Foos’s The Voyeur’s Journal—he continued to send installments of the journal through the winter and spring of 1980—it seemed that, like the Victorian gentleman, Foos had great interest in trespassing and reporting on what occurs within the most private domain of daily activity: the bathroom.
Donna checked in this attractive young lady from Lemon, Colorado, who said her husband was attending an Army Reserve gathering in town and they would be needing accommodations for the evening. She was assigned to Room 6.