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If anyone had so much as vaguely hinted to me a year ago that I might be bisexual, they’d have quickly lost a friend and would have been informed of the fact very loudly. It was therefore as disconcerting as it was exhilarating when Janine, my very closest and dearest friend, and I stumbled onto that truth about ourselves. Although you’ll see some of the particulars about this in what follows, there won’t be a lot of details. This narrative is not about our new-found sexual dimension; it’s about the events and consequences that it spawned. And there were plenty of both.
Janine and I had gotten into the habit of meeting nearly every day for coffee and chat, ever since I chose to bail out of the rat race and try on the role of stay-at-home wife and mother. It’s been about eight years since then, and Jannie and I have grown very close in that time. She and her husband, Sammy, are our next-door neighbors and our closest friends. Fred, my own hubby, is as close to Sammy as I am to Jannie—well, not quite; they are both absolutely straight—but they have plenty of mutual interests and they and their other friends get together often for their recreation, male-bonding and all that, and yet are practically never too tired or too busy to bond with us, in many different senses of the word.
I honestly don’t remember how the subject of bisexual women came up, other than that there are very few subjects that don’t turn up in our conversations at one time or another. That discussion had started out in the abstract, but then, somehow, it very slowly turned personal. Haltingly, we edged our way closer and closer to the then-radical idea of curiosity, thence to wondering what might happen if we just tried it once, and ultimately, to fruition.
Our first lesbian meeting had left me frightened, suddenly questioning every aspect of my own sexuality. Jannie, I learned, went through the same thing. Nonetheless, there was a second time, and a third, and eventually they became a regular part of our lives. As time went on we both discovered, to our immense relief, that nothing much had changed in our physical relationships with our husbands, in particular, our own feelings and desires about them. This was something new, something added to our sexual lives, not displacing what already existed.
Janine and I would get physical about half of the time we met. We jokingly spoke of our “coffee days” and “sex days,” and how we seemed to just know when a particular time was right for one or the other.
It wasn’t hard to keep our liaisons secret. Nobody would take any notice of our meetings; we’d been doing that for years. We sometimes speculated on how our husbands might take it if they got wise to our fun, but neither of us wanted to find out the hard way.
So it was for six or seven months or so. Then the day came where I made that startling and disturbing discovery. I immediately called Jannie and asked her to come over.
“Jannie,” I said, “you’d better look at these.”
I placed a photograph onto the table and studied her reaction. It was printed from a computer image, and with high quality; it looked almost like a photographic print. Jannie glanced at it and I saw her eyes widen. Fear and worry wrote themselves all over her features.
“Where did you get these?”
“Fred needed something out of his briefcase last night. The briefcase was in the bedroom, so he asked me to get it for him. As I was looking for it, I ran across these.”
I picked up the photograph and placed three more on the table. They were pictures of two women in the throes of Sapphic passion, pictures of us. Someone had been spying on our meetings and photographing them.
“Oh, boy. oh boy, oh boy…” Janine replied, her voice trailing, drawing in a very deep breath and exhaling slowly. “So much for our dirty little non-secret.”
“There are about twenty of them,” I told her. “When they first tumbled out and I saw they were pictures of naked women getting horny I was annoyed. Then I looked closer.”
The pictures had been taken on our guest bedroom, which is where Janine and I were accustomed to going when we wanted to get into the hot and heavy at this house.
“You can imagine how I felt,” I continued. “Our secret was out, I could see, and I was terrified to think what that might mean. I had all kinds of mental pictures of nasty divorces and court battles over custody where someone hauls in pictures like this to make the other out to be some kind of pervert that shouldn’t come near the kids. That kind of thing.”
“You say you were terrified. Past tense. You feel differently now, I take it.” Jannie asked.
“I’m not really sure how I feel, and I’ll tell you why,” I replied, spreading out the assortment of pictures on the table. “The more I think this over, the more confused I get. I mean, here they are, pictures of us in flagrante, in my husband’s possession. Yet, no matter how hard I try to be hard-nosed and objective about it, I cannot see one hint that he’s upset about latina fuck tour porno it.”
“Maybe he’s just found out about them,” Jannie suggested, idly playing with the handle of her now-cold coffee cup, playing Devil’s Advocate.
“That’s what I thought at first. But now, look at these two.” I pointed out two of the pictures. “That one is only a week old. That’s when I first wore that red lace bra. But this one…” I pointed to the other of the pair, “…goes back at least a good five months. I can tell because it was printed on our old printer; you can tell by the look of it and those streaks over here. That’s one reason we replaced it. If he’s been keeping these for that long and has something nasty in mind to do with them, I’d be able to tell. He couldn’t keep that hidden from me for all that time. Yet, if anything, things are even better. He’s just as warm and wonderful as always, and our sex life has been great.”
“Well, then, I can see only one explanation, Lin,” Jannie said. “He likes them. Don’t be so surprised. By now he knows that it doesn’t reflect on him or your marriage and you’re still the hot lover you’ve always been…”
“I am…?” I quipped back, surprised at my own levity.
“…so they get him hot. What else could it be?” she continued with a little grin. “Look, either he’s OK with this, or he isn’t. You’ve pointed out that he’s known about this for a long time, and that there’s no sign of trouble with him. What other explanation could there be?”
“Thank you, Jannie,” I replied, earnestly. “In fact, that’s what I decided too, after thinking it over. What I had a problem with was believing my own reasoning. I made myself realize that people can make themselves believe things, and ignore and deny other things, when they are upset or frightened. I was afraid that believing in this conclusion about Fred and these pictures might amount to just that, and that the truth might be something altogether different, something my mind wasn’t ready to face, and would come back and destroy me later.”
“Lin, I can’t see anything else whatsoever it could be,” she replied. Her words were comforting, and the earnest and loving way she spoke them was even more so. “Even in that one-in-a-billion chance there’s something else, it can’t be all that bad if Fred is still the way you say he is. And hey there, girl, think about this: if Fred’s going to be getting some jollies looking at pictures of naked women, isn’t it nice that he chooses pictures of his own dear wife?”
Tears glistened in my eyes. I opened my arms toward her, and she rose and embraced me warmly.
“Bless, you Jannie,” I whispered, my tears saturating her collar. “This would be terrible to face alone.”
I felt fear and tension steadily draining away during our long, warm and yet chaste embrace.. After a long time, Jannie returned to her seat and I went for more coffee with a sprightly step and lighter heart.
“Now I’m wondering if my Sammy is in on this,” she said in a most refreshingly casual tone. “Those two don’t keep too many secrets from each other. What’s sure is that he’s been just the same old sweet Sammy he’s always been, though I do get the feeling, now that I think of it, that our sex life has been a bit hotter lately. I wonder…”
“Maybe you need to do a little detective work,” I replied. “After all, if they can spy on us with their camera, we can do some spying of our own.”
“Precisely, my dear Watson,” she replied. “This female Sherlock is about to grab her deerstalker cap and lens and snoop around. I’ll report back when there’s something to report.”
It didn’t take long. The next day was another coffee day, and Sherlock had her report ready.
“It was easy,” she said. “Sammy didn’t do anything at all to hide the files away on our computer, other than putting them in a somewhat unusual place. A little bit of very weak security-through-obscurity. I even wonder if he wanted me to find them. I can’t be sure.
“Anyway, the short answer is, yes; he’s got them. A lot of them. I don’t know how many of them you found printed out on paper, but Sammy’s got a good two-hundred-plus of them stashed away, all the ones you showed me yesterday, and plenty more.”
“No big surprise, then,” I said. “Now we know that both our husbands know about this, and it looks like they think it’s just fine. How do you feel about that? I have to admit something: for me it’s actually kind of exciting. Do you know what I mean? It’s like we’ve been having our own good time, and unwittingly been putting on a show for our own private audience, and it’s even paying off in our own marriage beds.”
“So it appears, Linda,” Jannie replied. “At first I felt kind of violated, as if it were some freak peeping through the window blinds, like I’m sure you did. But let’s face it: you can’t very well say what they’re doing is wrong and not admit that what we’re doing is on pretty shaky moral ground too. As I see it, if we’re making ourselves lezbiyen porno happy, and making them happy too, and it’s not harming anything else, then what’s so wrong about it?”
“Agreed,” I said, smiling and downing the last of my coffee.
So more weeks went by. Knowing we had an appreciative audience, Jannie and I found ourselves automatically playing to the camera a bit, cautiously, so as to avoid tipping the guys off that we knew about it. I found myself choosing outfits I knew Fred liked me to wear, and Jannie did her own version of the same thing. Comparing notes, we soon discovered that it was unmistakable that our men were heating up; sex with Fred was getting hotter and wilder, and he was starting to throw some very interesting fantasies into the mix, things I suspected he’d thought for a long time but been reluctant to share.
Of course, we did make a careful reconnaissance of the camera site. It was easy to determine where it was by looking at the pictures, and we made sure that our investigations would not themselves be photographed.
It was actually quite impressive. It was installed into a cabinet that included a number of beveled glass windows. In one of them, several of the beveled edges had been craftily worked into into a system of lenses. A false side had been added to the interior, and we manged to loosen that just enough to see what was inside. There we found a very sophisticated optical setup, ending up with a space at the very back for the camera, which was not there at the time. They could have made do with something much simpler, but they clearly wanted quality. As we were yet to find out, though, there were more reasons than that for such an elaborate system.
“I’m impressed,” Jannie said, sipping at her coffee on our back patio. “Also kind of flattered. I mean, to think that they’d go to this much trouble just to get pictures of us. They must really like what they’re seeing.”
“No doubt about it,” I replied.
She dropped her voice to a confidential whisper. “I can just see my Sammy at home or traveling, with his eyes glued to one of our pictures and his hand…well, you know. Tell, me, have you thought about this at all? I assure you, and I promise it’s no problem for me, that a lot of what gets his tallywhacker aimed at the sky is his getting a good look at that hot bod of yours!”
It was obvious, of course, that our husbands were seeing as much of each others’ wives as their own in these pictures, but her mentioning it out loud made me suddenly shy and self-conscious. Just a few moments later, though, that turned to excitement, especially now knowing that there was no need to hide that fact from my friend.
“Jannie, Fred’s admitted for years that he thinks you’re one major hottie,” I replied. “It must a have been the answer to a prayer for them to get their hands on nude photos of us, much more seeing us getting all hot and heavy. No, it doesn’t bother me at all, either.”
Possibilities were starting to appear in my imagination. I liked them.
There was one question, however, that remained unaddressed in all of this, one that we both had unconsciously chosen to suppress. As it goes with such things, however, it didn’t remain suppressed for long.
I was seated at Jannie’s back-patio picnic table, toying with my coffee cup, lost in thought, eyes locked meaninglessly on the hummingbird feeder suspended from the awning rail.
“Jannie,” I began, my voice serious, but unemotional. “Have you given any thought to the question of just who is taking these pictures?”
Jannie’s face told me that I had forced her to confront something already in her mind, but which she had preferred to ignore.
“Well, if it isn’t the guys, who could it be?” she ventured.
“I don’t know, but more and more, I’m not so sure they’re behind it. First, think of the pictures we’ve found them with lately. They’re getting pics of us nearly every time we get together, and lots of them. No way in hell either of them could be sneaking away from work all that time to come here and take them. And yet, they just don’t look like they could be on a timer or some other automatic thing like that.”
“I’m afraid I’ve had that same impression, Lin, and I just didn’t want to mention it, to you, or to myself. Now I think it’s time.” Jannie thought for a moment and then rose, extending her hand to ask me to go inside with her. “Let’s see if we can do a little more Holmesian deduction and find an answer.”
She led me by the hand to the room where she and Sammy had their home office. She powered up the computer they both used. The screen glowed; the mouse clicked, and soon we saw the thumbnails for a folder full of pictures.
“He keeps them on the computer you share. Wouldn’t he keep them on his personal laptop if he didn’t want you to know about them?” It was mostly a rhetorical question.
“Exactly,” she noted. “Now, check this out. Think about when these must have been taken.”
It liseli porno was easy. I clearly remembered when it was that we struck some of the poses in the set.
“Last Thursday night,” I said softly, recalling one of the few times we met sometime other than in the afternoon.
“Yeah, Thursday. And where were the guys last Thursday?”
Fred had been in Atlanta, giving a keynote address at a conference. Sammy had been doing some kind of technical work somewhere in New England. There was no conceivable way that either of them could have been here to operate the camera, nor was there any possible way they could have faked their being away.
“Now look at the pictures and the file names. The software that downloads the pics from the camera to the computer names the files in a particular way, with numbers in the file names to show the sequence. There are no breaks in the series. Yet, it’s obvious, isn’t it, that these weren’t taken at some kind of fixed interval.”
I nodded.
“So, unless somebody went to a pretty fair amount of trouble to fudge file names to throw us off, it’s safe to say that we’re looking at all of the pictures that were taken over that interval. There aren’t any that were deleted or rearranged.
“Now, do these look like they could have been taken by a camera set to snap pictures at some fixed interval?”
“Not a chance,” I whispered in reply.
“Look at the way they get more frequent as we get hotter. He also seems to like our choice of lingerie.”
I gulped.
“Lin, let’s face it. Somebody, a real flesh-and-blood somebody, is watching and shooting those pictures, and neither of our husbands is that somebody.”
I took a considerably long time to absorb this and mull over the implications.
“Right,” I replied hollowly. “But it must be somebody they trust, if they’re getting the pictures from him. They must trust him one hell of a lot to let him go on, almost day after day, photographing their own wives getting naked and nasty.”
I was suddenly very angry. I had no problem knowing Fred was getting hot over pictures that showed Janine as well as me, and Jannie felt the same about Sammy from her side. As long as we had sustained the self-deception that only the two of them were behind this photo-voyeurism, we’d learned to enjoy it.
Now we knew there was a third party, an as-yet-unidentified third party, running the show, clearly with our mates’ approval, if not eager encouragement. For some stupid reason I got visions of some kind of private investigator. It was a replay of that fortunately short-lived worry about nasty divorces that I mentioned earlier. No, that had nothing to do with it. It was even more ridiculous to imagine that the guys had hired some cloak-and-dagger expert to set up the system just to get the pics for their kicks.
Yet the single, inescapable fact was, there was, indeed, somebody.
I silently nodded to Jannie to follow me over to our house. I had found the answer, and I did not like it.
I led her to the now-disused bedroom adjacent to our guest room where we had had the trysts which had been photographed, and where we had discovered the photographic apparatus that did it. The room had become cluttered with the usual household stuff that tends to accumulate in places that are used for storage. Wordlessly, I directed her attention to the point on the wall that would be directly opposite the cabinet with the optical equipment in it.
Even though I try to keep the house neat and clean, this room tended to get rather the short end of my attention. While there weren’t exactly layers of dust on everything, there was just enough on things that should not have been moved in a long while to disclose where something had been disturbed.
A few odd boxes of odds and ends lay on the table, just as you might expect such boxes to lay upon such a table. Those boxes had been there for quite a long time. The thin layer of dust beside them, however, gave away the secret. These boxes had been moved about, and often. Still in silence, we dragged them to one side.
There, neatly embedded in the wall, was an eyepiece, much like the peephole devices in front doors used to check who might be on the other side. Peeking through, we saw just what was expected, the exact view of the room we knew from the photographs.
This shouldn’t have been such an astounding revelation. If we’d given any thought to the matter, we’d have seen long ago that the pictures weren’t taken blind. In our reconnaissance of the machinery we had seen where the camera was placed. How could we have overlooked the obvious fact that it was impossible to look through the camera’s viewfinder from that position?
OK, then. Anybody who could get to the camera could also watch us cavorting in real time. Slowly, trying to avoid drawing Janine’s attention to the fact, I studied the area around the wall and below it. There I saw what I was looking for. In several places, something, some fluid, had fallen on the wall and some effort then put into cleaning it up. The signs were subtle; I only noticed because I had been looking for it. They were the evidence of a man’s ejaculate, a man who had been masturbating while watching us, and whose cleanup of the evidence was too haphazard to avoid detection.
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