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The Voyeur Mafioso, Part 1
To be honest, I’m not sure what led me into this unconventional career. As I’ve gotten older, I’ve realized that much of our forbidden thoughts and fantasies are fueled in large part by the basics of voyeurism, my trade. Particularly, our private glee and secret arousal is a result of observing something supposedly off-limits and verboten. We desperately want to see something we know we shouldn’t.
With time, those fantasies grow more refined, layered, and amplified due of our own advanced personal tastes. These are enhanced by an increase in life experiences. I know when mine began. They started in middle school gym class, seeing if I could look up the shorts of girls. I rarely succeeded, but when on the odd chance I did, it felt as though I’d had something akin to a religious experience.
When I began to give it some thought in my teens, voyeurism in any form appeared to skirt a line somewhere between acceptable and unacceptable conduct. If not against the law, it was, at best, invasion of privacy. But, as I learned years later, it paid. A black market existed for it.
This is why I made the decision I did. I had to buy my own equipment at first, though I was eventually reimbursed for it within the first month or two. Digital video cameras are a fraction of the size they used to be, as are the lenses, and I learned many ways to disguise what I was doing along the way. Concealment was my stock in trade and I coupled that with enough raw nerve and boldness to achieve every target goal.
Every morning, even Saturday and Sunday, I received a fresh e-mail from my boss. They were usually curt and to the point, typed in all caps. DRESSING ROOMS IN HECKART, 10:30 AM-12:00 PM, COLLEGE STUDENT RUSH.
I mused to myself that one wouldn’t want to hang around that location for too long, as that would attract attention.
Technology makes much possible that was once impossible, or at least consigned to the realm of speculative fantasy. Photographs are much easier, because they take only a fraction of a second or two, but the customers clamor for videos. Don’t worry about trying to find our website. You won’t come close unless you’re an expert in navigating parts of the web beyond the reach of Google or have a few hours to spend linking from site to site.
Most of our business is spread by word of mouth, though at times a few persistent and lucky people have encountered our site on a whim and subscribed. It’s safer that way. Everyone knows the risk involved.
Every assignment has its own challenges and unknown variables. One day at a department store I spied only middle aged women, which is fine for some tastes, but we tend to get more requests for the younger set. I’ll let our customers provide the color commentary. For me, this is just a job. My foremost responsibility is not getting caught. I’ll concede there is a degree of taboo fun present for me sporadically, but that’s mostly faded into the background. In a terrible sort of way, I’ve become a professional, a label that always eluded me beforehand in every other occupation I tried.
How I do it is a trade secret I would largely prefer to keep hidden. I have to retain some secrets. Suffice it to say that it wasn’t learned overnight. In the beginning, I silently observed whomever entered a stall. I then balanced uneasily on a chair or by whatever elevation was possible for me. My focus was on an immediately adjacent room. Half-standing, half-crouching, peeking just over the partition, I recorded a few moments or so before noiselessly ducking back down for protection. Before I perfected my technique, I almost got caught on more than one occasion. My first few attempts were unusable because I couldn’t hold my hand steady. I was too nervous.
I don’t know the identities of anyone else who works this same basic job. This is a condition of employment. We can’t be seen at the same place too frequently or be somehow linked together due to guilt by association. Some men are assigned very different tasks from my own. Those who are skilled with hidden cameras have a basic understanding of concealing their equipment in an inconspicuous way, inside walls, bricks, bathrooms, and showers.
To be honest, I’m not sure what led me into this unconventional career. As I’ve gotten older, I’ve realized that much of our forbidden thoughts and fantasies are fueled in large part by the basics of voyeurism, my trade. Particularly, our private glee and secret arousal is a result of observing something supposedly off-limits and verboten. We desperately want to see something we know we shouldn’t.
With time, those fantasies grow more refined, layered, and amplified due of our own advanced personal tastes. These are enhanced by an increase in life experiences. I know when mine began. They started in middle school gym class, seeing if I could look up the shorts of girls. I rarely succeeded, but when on the odd chance I did, it felt as though I’d had something akin to a religious experience.
When I began to give it some thought in my teens, voyeurism in any form appeared to skirt a line somewhere between acceptable and unacceptable conduct. If not against the law, it was, at best, invasion of privacy. But, as I learned years later, it paid. A black market existed for it.
This is why I made the decision I did. I had to buy my own equipment at first, though I was eventually reimbursed for it within the first month or two. Digital video cameras are a fraction of the size they used to be, as are the lenses, and I learned many ways to disguise what I was doing along the way. Concealment was my stock in trade and I coupled that with enough raw nerve and boldness to achieve every target goal.
Every morning, even Saturday and Sunday, I received a fresh e-mail from my boss. They were usually curt and to the point, typed in all caps. DRESSING ROOMS IN HECKART, 10:30 AM-12:00 PM, COLLEGE STUDENT RUSH.
I mused to myself that one wouldn’t want to hang around that location for too long, as that would attract attention.
Technology makes much possible that was once impossible, or at least consigned to the realm of speculative fantasy. Photographs are much easier, because they take only a fraction of a second or two, but the customers clamor for videos. Don’t worry about trying to find our website. You won’t come close unless you’re an expert in navigating parts of the web beyond the reach of Google or have a few hours to spend linking from site to site.
Most of our business is spread by word of mouth, though at times a few persistent and lucky people have encountered our site on a whim and subscribed. It’s safer that way. Everyone knows the risk involved.
Every assignment has its own challenges and unknown variables. One day at a department store I spied only middle aged women, which is fine for some tastes, but we tend to get more requests for the younger set. I’ll let our customers provide the color commentary. For me, this is just a job. My foremost responsibility is not getting caught. I’ll concede there is a degree of taboo fun present for me sporadically, but that’s mostly faded into the background. In a terrible sort of way, I’ve become a professional, a label that always eluded me beforehand in every other occupation I tried.
How I do it is a trade secret I would largely prefer to keep hidden. I have to retain some secrets. Suffice it to say that it wasn’t learned overnight. In the beginning, I silently observed whomever entered a stall. I then balanced uneasily on a chair or by whatever elevation was possible for me. My focus was on an immediately adjacent room. Half-standing, half-crouching, peeking just over the partition, I recorded a few moments or so before noiselessly ducking back down for protection. Before I perfected my technique, I almost got caught on more than one occasion. My first few attempts were unusable because I couldn’t hold my hand steady. I was too nervous.
I don’t know the identities of anyone else who works this same basic job. This is a condition of employment. We can’t be seen at the same place too frequently or be somehow linked together due to guilt by association. Some men are assigned very different tasks from my own. Those who are skilled with hidden cameras have a basic understanding of concealing their equipment in an inconspicuous way, inside walls, bricks, bathrooms, and showers.
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