Equally offensive were the heavy smokers, sending their toxins up through the vents for him to inhale; and there were also those guests bringing fast food into the rooms and then wiping off their greasy hands on the bed linen. Only once while posted in the attic, from which he witnessed the private behavior of close to three hundred guests per year, did he lose his concentration as a silent observer and actually speak through a vent to a person below.
The Voyeur passed No.6 vent and noticed this fastidious subject was eating Kentucky Fried Chicken while sitting on the bed. He had checked in earlier in the day and apparently was between appointments. The male subject was clean, seemingly of average intelligence, but clearly had messy and untidy eating habits. He had received napkins at the fast-food restaurant because they were positioned on the bed, but he made no use of them. Instead, he rubbed his hands on the bedspread, which was going to be difficult to clean.
The Voyeur continued his ocular inspection of this male subject expressing absolute disregard for the property of the motel, and the latter also began wiping his beard and mouth on the bedspread!
At this point, the Voyeur was in a state of frenzy, and in momentarily forgetting the precariousness of his position over the platform vent, he angrily shouted:
“You Son-Of-A-Bitch!”
The Voyeur immediately thought:
“Oh, God, did he hear me?”
The subject stopped eating and looked around the room, and then went to the window and looked outside. Apparently he knew someone had shouted S.O.B., but couldn’t determine from which direction the insult came. He went to the window and looked out for the second time and pondered the situation for a few minutes, and then continued with his animalistic eating habits.
The Voyeur was relieved, and promised himself to maintain better control over his emotions in the future.
TEN
BUT FOOS would again lose control, and though he was aggravated once more by his guests’ eating habits, the source of his provocation this time would be a frustration of his voyeuristic desire.
Donna checked into No. 4 this couple who were here on a cattle—buying trip. They were from Roundup, Montana, and the wife was a lovely and slender blonde of about twenty-five, while the husband was a little older, ruggedly handsome, and about 6 feet and 185 lbs. They checked in at approximately 5:30 p.m. and it was getting dark as I ascended to my observation laboratory to watch.
They had picked up hamburgers at McDonald’s and began eating as soon as they entered. I immediately noticed that she was very beautiful, and had a fantastic figure. She was wearing boots, jeans, and a tight Western shirt, and it was well established that she was in the D-cup category.
But as I watch this young couple eat, it is obvious they had no manners. They just eat as fast as possible, dropping bits and pieces in their laps, and then brush it off onto the floor. Young people don’t use napkins, at least the majority—just wipe their hands on their blue jeans or the bed sheets.
Oh, well, maybe I’ll get to see some sex anyway.
They were both very non-communicative and he laid on the bed fully dressed and watched TV for the majority of the evening. She wrote a letter and departed to the bathroom and closed the door and remained for the better part of an hour.
When she came out, he crudely replied: “You stayed in there so long I’ll bet you have a ring around your butt.” This is the first thing he said all evening, typical cowboy talk. She was definitely embarrassed by this statement from this vulgar primitive idiot.
He continued watching a re-run of Gunsmoke and she went to the bathroom again. When she returned, she was wearing a nightgown with a robe over the top.
God, I’m never going to get to observe those magnificent breasts! These are the times it is difficult being a Voyeur, when your desire to observe is not being fulfilled. She sits on the chair and he smokes and watches TV, and not any word of communication results between them. What I am observing here is exactly what occurs in the relationship of about 90 percent of all couples.
Much later, he undressed and they go to bed. He is now feeling like sex, but she isn’t, especially since he had insulted her earlier. When he removed his boots, I detected a smell that approached the vent that wasn’t pleasant. He should have taken a shower if he wanted to approach her, but he didn’t. After fondling her through the nightgown and robe, he was making headway toward getting her aroused.
By this time, I think maybe I’ll get to observe those breasts yet, but no, he immediately gets out of bed and turns off the lights and the television!
Now I’m thoroughly mad and disgusted with the S.O.B. I feel like killing him. He now returns to the bed and begins his lovemaking in an atmosphere he is comfortable with: namely, darkness.
I won’t stand for this at all. I return to the ground level and get in my car, and then drive it and park it directly in front of the #4 unit, parking it and leaving it there with the bright lights beaming on their window.