The Pervert

When one is alone, sitting in the warm glow of candle light by the computer keyboard with fingers tapping idly on the desk while eyes are gazing into the distance, the mind wanders for ideas or things to blather on about in one's blog. Often, it is easier just to type and talk about real things, events if you will, of the lives of real people. For now, my dear reader, I shall deliver to you with these almighty words, a story about Jasper, a man driven by his own desires and perversions...

Jasper worked as a telephone salesman. He dressed smart, not too casual yet not too overbearingly formal. His cheap polyester suit sagged squarely at the shoulders and ankles, the sleeves crinkled the way cardboard does when you fold it. The man loved his job, he loved to talk to people; but, there was one deeply guarded secret that nobody would know about Jasper, not by looking at him, nor by talking to him, that this was a man who loved ladies' panties.

On the morning of January the thirteenth, a loud scream could be heard from the thirty-third floor of an appartment building on fifty-third street. The words that were obscurred by the cloak of that bloodcurdling yell, heard only by the occupants of that building and not by those who went wearily about their daily business on the street, were 'LADIES PANTIES!'. You see, Jasper, a freak by nature, a man driven by lust to the point where his own mind and body was contorted by his very own desires had developed a form of Tourettes syndrome related to his perverted illness.

On the same day, later in the afternoon, Jasper was seen limping around the office building where he worked. His eyes flitting wildly, unblinking, savage in the true sense. Oh! Those lips, how he would lick them all day long, drooling, dribbling, slurring his words when the thoughts of ladies panties rose like a dirty piece of driftwood in the murky river of his mind. He stood outside the mens washroom, and when the coast was clear, he snuck himself stealthily through the door like a fox into a hen house. At precisely five minutes past two o'clock in the afternoon, loud moans and the words 'LADIES PANTIES!' could be heard like gunfire noise radiating from the mens toilets into the office corridors.

Ladies, I warn you, you do not want to invite Jasper to the sanctuary that you call home. This man will lie, beg, steal for your panties. He will be seen rifling through your dirty laundry basket and with quivering hands, pry your precious undergarment from your unwashed clothes and press them against his face, inhaling with his eyes closed and fluttering in ectasy.

We are now here in Jasper's appartment. He cannot see us. We observe him come through the door after a day's 'work' at the office. He goes to the bedroom, tears off his clothes, while muttering the word 'panties' softly to himself. In an old reused shopping bag, he draws a pair of discarded ladies panties, no doubt found from searching through a dumpster. He stands before the mirror with the panties. Eyes wide, and jaw dropped, saliva glistening at the corners of his mouth. He places the garment like some bizarre breathing apparatus over his mouth and nose. He breathes deeply and you can see the man get excited.

Jasper, unlike most men, who will happily discard the panties of a beautiful woman, will discard the woman for her beautiful panties. 'OOOOOHHH PANTIES!' he will cry, his eyes furrowed in longing.

At about six minutes past five, the same day, Jasper was seen with his work colleagues in a bar not far from his work. He admitted his love of women's panties, and told them how he would place the item of clothing over his nether regions and begin to furiously stimulate himself with the said item. Ten minutes later, two of his female colleagues were seen hastily leaving the bar, seemingly distressed.