This first real assignment might determine if I could be an effective PI. It could also possibly prove if I could keep my personal life out of my chosen part-time business. It would definitely prove what sort of friend I am. That is not completely accurate. What should be stated here is that it would definitely sort out what sort of friendship I had developed with Count.
Taking on my first job has me thinking about my first opportunity to get laid, and how I missed it. I am not sure if this is a representation of a failure or of a fear. Perhaps it was both. I just knew I did not want to fuck it up. I was the star drummer as a high school sophomore, and after a band concert, I was helping clean up and put away equipment.
Ms. Williams offered me a ride home. I had no idea what she really wanted, I just thought she was being nice. We were both dressed to kill. I got into her car, and watched her walk around to the driver’s side. She entered in such a way that I thought I caught a glimpse of inner thigh, up by the panties, only I am not sure there were any. Her skirt slid way up, because she sort of sat against the back of the seat and slid down. She did not even adjust it; she just let it ride up on her. Her legs were so tanned and smooth.
I wanted to lay my head in her lap, and I had no idea that she would have allowed it. I still had no idea that she was trying to get me heated up for her purposes. She asked if it were okay to stop by her apartment for a second. She wanted to run in and get something real quick. It was on the way. Who was I to tell her no, she was giving me a ride home. As she started walking up the sidewalk, she turned and called to me, “Why don’t you come on up. We’ll be a few minutes.” Thinking nothing was up; I got out and followed her up the stairs. I was watching her, and she was making me horny, but I still did not know that she was trying to do so. Her apartment was small and cluttered. In fact, it looked like somebody threw up Christmas.
Ms. Williams apologized for the mess, and said she would be right out. She hollered out, “I’m going to slip into something more comfortable.” I noticed that she did not shut the door to her bedroom as she was changing. I secretly wanted to peek in, and she secretly wanted me to come in. She emerged from the bedroom wearing a thin white tank that did not hide her hard nipples, and really short pink cotton shorts. They used to be sweats I think.
The bottoms were loose and frayed, and the top was rolled down. They covered very little. She was smoking hot, and I suspected that she was not wearing panties underneath. Ms. Williams faced away from me, bent over really far, and acted like she was clearing a spot for her to sit on the couch. I must have been really stupid to not realize what she was doing. The pink cotton shorts rode up on her, and my previous suspicions regarding her lack of panties were confirmed. My erection was impossible to hide. She finally turned and sat down on the front edge of the couch, leaned back, and clearly exposed a cleanly shaved beaver. I could have sat there and stared at it forever. It was beautiful. It was as plain as the nose on your face.
Ms. Williams wanted to fuck, and she wanted to fuck now. “Do you want to hang out here awhile…or will your parents be worried?”
Had she not planted that seed, she would have gotten what she wanted. I was 16, and I would not have told anybody. Had she seduced me correctly, she would have fulfilled my fantasy. If she had not said, “…or will your parents be worried?” I would not have said,
“They might, you had better take me home.”
As you know, my collection of experience regarding surveillance is limited to video-taping suspected insurance fraud and disability claims. All I had to do then was drive my vehicle to a neighborhood, stick my camera out the window and catch people in the act. It was a lot simpler than you might think. Sometimes I would wait for hours, but I had the advantage in that the suspects did not know me, or my purpose. If you are a fraud and making out like a bandit with insurance or disability claims, your lack of ambition in life generally translates into a lack of intelligence. You would not spend your entire life hiding your lies from your neighbors, either because they do not know or they do not care. And why would you suspect a stranger in a strange car to be performing surveillance to prove that you are a fraud?
Following Count would be different. I could not afford a different car that Count would not recognize. There were no bells and whistles, but my red Wrangler still stood out like a turd in a punch bowl. I had to be completely stealth. Fortunately for me, Count did not suspect that he was being followed, and the few times he spotted familiar cars, he dismissed it as multiple co-workers coming and going to work at the same time.
Count talked about bowling night: That is not entirely accurate. Count bragged about bowling night. In fact, he bragged about events occurring on bowling night that did not always involve bowling. All I really had to do was listen, and Count would give away his plans. Eventual location was not always clear, but things always started in west Lincoln at The Sun Valley Lanes shortly after the bowling was complete.
On a cold Friday during the Christmas season, Count seemed particularly excited about getting out of the NSP parking lot. He had mentioned previously during the day that he was meeting an ex-girlfriend for a drink and a hug before she left town. My concern was getting there fast enough to set up my video. I became practiced at having a fully charged battery and collecting video on very short notice.
Count left the exit driveway from the Penitentiary and went straight across Pioneers Boulevard toward the Jet Wash. Ninety-nine percent of the traffic turns right, onto Pioneers, with access to Highway 2 just across the railroad tracks. Nobody goes to the left, but that is seasonal, due to the bridge repair. The one percent that goes straight across goes to the car wash. No employee of the state that I am aware of lives in the residential area to the northwest of the car wash.
I followed Count west of the Jet Wash. He parked in a vacant lot prior to entering the residential area. As I sat in my vehicle in the car-wash parking lot across from the exit driveway, I could see things developing through my lens. Count parked his vehicle next to another and upon exiting his vehicle, climbed into the passenger side of the one adjacent to his. Immediately, my recording session picked-up the two silhouettes leaning together for an extremely passionate kiss. There was some squirming in the passenger seat. I can only imagine that Count was trying to get something out of his pants. Shortly after, the passenger seat reclined, and the driver bent her head over into the area that appeared to be Count’s lap.
My video did not produce the actual blow-job, but the circumstantial events made it very clear what was going on. Windows were fogging up, but the bobbing curls could still be seen. A minute of video shot, great evidence collected. Not a bad start. I already feel like a snitch, and I have not even turned anything over yet. Count is not half a mile from work, and he is in broad daylight. Shit, maybe he wants to get caught. Bowling night might turn out to be Count’s downfall. He gets so excited he can not contain himself. You can tell just by looking at him that he has plans to get a nut. I am beginning to think I can almost limit my surveillance of Count to bowling nights.
“Why do high school girls have such a hard time forgiving their friends? They hold grudges forever.”
“Maybe it’s related to the quest for a good man.” “Could it be that simple?”
Taking on my first job has me thinking about my first opportunity to get laid, and how I missed it. I am not sure if this is a representation of a failure or of a fear. Perhaps it was both. I just knew I did not want to fuck it up. I was the star drummer as a high school sophomore, and after a band concert, I was helping clean up and put away equipment.
Ms. Williams offered me a ride home. I had no idea what she really wanted, I just thought she was being nice. We were both dressed to kill. I got into her car, and watched her walk around to the driver’s side. She entered in such a way that I thought I caught a glimpse of inner thigh, up by the panties, only I am not sure there were any. Her skirt slid way up, because she sort of sat against the back of the seat and slid down. She did not even adjust it; she just let it ride up on her. Her legs were so tanned and smooth.
I wanted to lay my head in her lap, and I had no idea that she would have allowed it. I still had no idea that she was trying to get me heated up for her purposes. She asked if it were okay to stop by her apartment for a second. She wanted to run in and get something real quick. It was on the way. Who was I to tell her no, she was giving me a ride home. As she started walking up the sidewalk, she turned and called to me, “Why don’t you come on up. We’ll be a few minutes.” Thinking nothing was up; I got out and followed her up the stairs. I was watching her, and she was making me horny, but I still did not know that she was trying to do so. Her apartment was small and cluttered. In fact, it looked like somebody threw up Christmas.
Ms. Williams apologized for the mess, and said she would be right out. She hollered out, “I’m going to slip into something more comfortable.” I noticed that she did not shut the door to her bedroom as she was changing. I secretly wanted to peek in, and she secretly wanted me to come in. She emerged from the bedroom wearing a thin white tank that did not hide her hard nipples, and really short pink cotton shorts. They used to be sweats I think.
The bottoms were loose and frayed, and the top was rolled down. They covered very little. She was smoking hot, and I suspected that she was not wearing panties underneath. Ms. Williams faced away from me, bent over really far, and acted like she was clearing a spot for her to sit on the couch. I must have been really stupid to not realize what she was doing. The pink cotton shorts rode up on her, and my previous suspicions regarding her lack of panties were confirmed. My erection was impossible to hide. She finally turned and sat down on the front edge of the couch, leaned back, and clearly exposed a cleanly shaved beaver. I could have sat there and stared at it forever. It was beautiful. It was as plain as the nose on your face.
Ms. Williams wanted to fuck, and she wanted to fuck now. “Do you want to hang out here awhile…or will your parents be worried?”
Had she not planted that seed, she would have gotten what she wanted. I was 16, and I would not have told anybody. Had she seduced me correctly, she would have fulfilled my fantasy. If she had not said, “…or will your parents be worried?” I would not have said,
“They might, you had better take me home.”
As you know, my collection of experience regarding surveillance is limited to video-taping suspected insurance fraud and disability claims. All I had to do then was drive my vehicle to a neighborhood, stick my camera out the window and catch people in the act. It was a lot simpler than you might think. Sometimes I would wait for hours, but I had the advantage in that the suspects did not know me, or my purpose. If you are a fraud and making out like a bandit with insurance or disability claims, your lack of ambition in life generally translates into a lack of intelligence. You would not spend your entire life hiding your lies from your neighbors, either because they do not know or they do not care. And why would you suspect a stranger in a strange car to be performing surveillance to prove that you are a fraud?
Following Count would be different. I could not afford a different car that Count would not recognize. There were no bells and whistles, but my red Wrangler still stood out like a turd in a punch bowl. I had to be completely stealth. Fortunately for me, Count did not suspect that he was being followed, and the few times he spotted familiar cars, he dismissed it as multiple co-workers coming and going to work at the same time.
Count talked about bowling night: That is not entirely accurate. Count bragged about bowling night. In fact, he bragged about events occurring on bowling night that did not always involve bowling. All I really had to do was listen, and Count would give away his plans. Eventual location was not always clear, but things always started in west Lincoln at The Sun Valley Lanes shortly after the bowling was complete.
On a cold Friday during the Christmas season, Count seemed particularly excited about getting out of the NSP parking lot. He had mentioned previously during the day that he was meeting an ex-girlfriend for a drink and a hug before she left town. My concern was getting there fast enough to set up my video. I became practiced at having a fully charged battery and collecting video on very short notice.
Count left the exit driveway from the Penitentiary and went straight across Pioneers Boulevard toward the Jet Wash. Ninety-nine percent of the traffic turns right, onto Pioneers, with access to Highway 2 just across the railroad tracks. Nobody goes to the left, but that is seasonal, due to the bridge repair. The one percent that goes straight across goes to the car wash. No employee of the state that I am aware of lives in the residential area to the northwest of the car wash.
I followed Count west of the Jet Wash. He parked in a vacant lot prior to entering the residential area. As I sat in my vehicle in the car-wash parking lot across from the exit driveway, I could see things developing through my lens. Count parked his vehicle next to another and upon exiting his vehicle, climbed into the passenger side of the one adjacent to his. Immediately, my recording session picked-up the two silhouettes leaning together for an extremely passionate kiss. There was some squirming in the passenger seat. I can only imagine that Count was trying to get something out of his pants. Shortly after, the passenger seat reclined, and the driver bent her head over into the area that appeared to be Count’s lap.
My video did not produce the actual blow-job, but the circumstantial events made it very clear what was going on. Windows were fogging up, but the bobbing curls could still be seen. A minute of video shot, great evidence collected. Not a bad start. I already feel like a snitch, and I have not even turned anything over yet. Count is not half a mile from work, and he is in broad daylight. Shit, maybe he wants to get caught. Bowling night might turn out to be Count’s downfall. He gets so excited he can not contain himself. You can tell just by looking at him that he has plans to get a nut. I am beginning to think I can almost limit my surveillance of Count to bowling nights.
“Why do high school girls have such a hard time forgiving their friends? They hold grudges forever.”
“Maybe it’s related to the quest for a good man.” “Could it be that simple?”
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