This is the first in a line of stories about my adventures with perverts and freaks. I have an impressive track record.
“Freak Magnet” is one term I’ve always used to describe myelf. I just wish there was some way to demagnetise…
This fellow was up there with the freakiest of them all:
When I was a teenager, my mother and I lived alone together in a townhouse near my highschool. It was a relatively small block of 10, with a small private courtyard, backing onto a laneway that stretched the length of the suburb.
We lived there for 5 years and over time, it became apparent that we were running out of underwear.
We both noticed it.
“Where are my undies? I’ve only got a few pairs left.”
“I don’t know, but I’m sure I have more than this, too…”
“When did you last do the washing?”
“You know when. It was last Wednesday.”
“Well, that’s wierd. I should have more than this.”
“Lemme check mine…….. No. This isn’t right. I should have more than this, too.”
“I think someone’s stealing our underwear.”
“Noooo…. Surely not. Look at the size of our courtyard! It’s tiny and the clothesline is right under my bedroom window. Why would anyone do that?”
“I don’t know, but we are definitely missing underwear… I’m sure of it.”
“No. God, do you think? How? No…”
“I don’t even want to think about it. How do we find out?”
“Call the cops.”
“Do you think? Would they care?”
“No harm in trying… Call them.”
“Let’s just give it another week or so and see what happens on the next washing day.”
“Okay, but I seriously need some new underwear…”
“Yahh…Me too.”
We waited.
Next washing day came around and we hung out our smalls as usual, along with the rest of the load. Sheets, clothes… We let everything dry overnight. We both knew something wasn’t right and we were worried, but we had to test our theory before calling the cops and potentially wasting their time.
The next day after school, I took the basket outside, to bring in the laundry.
I saw immediately that there were gaps where our panties had once hung.
We were now down to about two pairs each.
It was pretty clear we were being targeted by a snowdropper. We bought some emergency underwear.
The very next afternoon, I took a walk to the shop up the road to buy some bread. Whilst I was wandering along, I heard a bird chirping in a tree. I looked up, and saw a pair of undies hanging from one of the lower branches.
Sorry, what?
I looked closer. I recognised them. They were my mother’s underpants. They were low enough for me to reach. I grabbed them and put them in my pocket.
I quietly started freaking out, but kept walking and looking up.
There was another pair, a couple of trees up.
I couldn’t reach them.
I arrived at the shop and bought my goods. On the way home, I took a different route and walked down the laneway behind the block that lead to our house.
I tend to live in my own little “Vanessa” world when I’m on the street. I look around and drink in my surroundings. Many things catch my eye.
Like, the beauty in a bloom.
Or..
A pair of knickers.
As I was looking down, trying not to think about what I had in my pocket, I saw a piece of cloth on the ground. I looked closer.
My breath went a little bit funny and I started to feel a bit panicky, but not in a very serious way. Just a little bit. Honestly.
I scooped them up and kept walking, keeping an eye out on the way.
A few metres down the lane later, more undies on the ground. My hand went over my mouth.
Mine.
Then, more again… Mum’s.
Okay.
I started to look up.
There were tree’s above me and as far as I could see, there were three pairs of panties hanging from high branches. Higher than I could reach.
I grabbed what I could reach and ran the rest of the way home.
“Muuummm!!!”
“What? What?”
I spilled all the item’s I’d gathered on the dining room table.
“I.. I found these… IwaswalkingupthelanewayandIsawtheseonthegroundandinthetreeandwhen Iwascoming backthey wereintheSTREET!!!!!”
“WHAAAAAT?”
“I’m not joking. They were hanging in the trees… and strewn everywhere…” I started crying.
“That’s it. I’m calling the police.”
The police came to our house. They took us seriously. So seriously, they organised for surveillance to be set up in our tiny, little courtyard.
They cut a hole in a box of laundry detergent and put it in the laundry window, which overlooked the washing line. Poking through the hole was a camera lens. The laundry window had no covering and if you were in the courtyard, by the back door, you could see right into the loungeroom. This had Mum and I really worried. Had someone been watching us? If so, for how long?
On the ground, after we put out the next load of washing, we were instructed to drape a bed sheet on the ground, under the washing line, to look as though it had fallen off the line. Under the sheet was a mat. To step on the mat, would set off the camera in the window.
We were freaked out.
We were two women alone (I was 14).
Somebody was watching us and now the police had set up this trap. We were pretty sure we were going to catch whoever it was who was doing this.
We did a load of bogus washing, hung it out and waited until the next morning.
I don’t think either of us slept well that night.
The next morning, I was first to leave the house on my way to school.
I opened the door.
A smell hit me.
It wasn’t pleasant.
I looked down and saw something on the doorstep.
It was brown. A brown lump.
It was shit.
Someone had done a shit on our doorstep. A big, fat shit. In our little gated courtyard.
He (assuming it was a “he”), had entered our space yet again, stepped around the trap, pulled down his pants and left an enormous, smelly shit on our doorstep.
I put my hand over my face to block the pungent odour and looked around.
It was then I saw that our friend had taken a two pairs of my underpants off the line, wiped his arse and had left the soiled garments under the clothesline, in the middle of the courtyard. In fact, he’d left them on top of the sheet, under which was the mat that was supposed to set off the hidden camera.
He was onto our trap. How much was he watching??
“MUUUMMM!!!!”
“What??”
“COME HERE AND LOOK AT THIS!!!”
As she made her way downstairs, I ventured further. I looked at my bike, which was in its usual spot against the only tree in the small area.
I nearly choked.
It was covered in shit.
I rode my bike to school nearly every day.
My bike had shit smeared all over it.
There was shit, everywhere.
We were speechless (except for this):
“MY BIKE!!!”
Neither of us knew what to do. The trap hadn’t worked. Obviously we needed to call the police again…
They didn’t quite know what to do either.
They told us they’d work on it.
A close school friend of mine Justine, lived in the next suburb, but not too far away from me.
A week or so later, Justine’s mother was in her backyard hanging out her own washing, when she heard a strange sound coming from the yard nextdoor.
Really, quite a strange sound.
She ventured over to the fence and peeked over to her neighbour’s garden.
There, she saw a young blond man over the fence, who was naked apart from a pair of women’s panties’ on his head, standing under the washing line, masturbating in full glory.
She tried not to disturb him/puke and snuck back inside to call the police.
The police arrived quickly and caught him.
Meanwhile, at our end, we cleaned up the shit and replenished our supply of underwear. We also lived in fear that our pervert was going to return. Leaving the house was a trial on a daily basis.
A couple of weeks passed…
We never found out for sure who the phantom knicker nicker/shitter was, but after Justine’s mum caught that man, we were never bothered again…
MORE PERVERT STORIES TO COME
Song Of The Day – Elbow – Any Day Now
