Abandoned Building Homeless Voyeur

Note - This is a slightly different story from my usual ones. Narrates in the third person but from individual perspectives. And low on wham-bam action.

HIM

He groaned at the pain in his arms as he gingerly climbed over the barbed wire fence, careful to avoid getting pricked again. The last time he tried to climb it, one of the spikes had cut his thigh and made him bleed. The wound was still not completely healed. Of course, the last time, he had been drunk. This time he was sober, but was planning to get drunk.

He managed to cross the barbed wire fence and looked around, making sure there was no one around. Once a passing police constable had seen him trying to jump over the fence, and collared him. He had tried to reason with the cop. The building, if it could be called that, was abandoned anyway. It had no walls, just beams and columns. No one cared if anyone came or went there now. Except for piles of broken bricks, construction sand, and gravel, there was nothing of note in the building.

He wasn't sure why the building was a skeleton. It was in a relatively upscale neighborhood in Wadala, not too far from the IMAX theater. There were posh looking buildings all around it inhabited by the upper middle class. If this building had been completed, its apartments would have brought in tens of millions of rupees. But it was abandoned. Maybe some property dispute. Maybe a government order. He didn't care and he didn't know. All he knew was that it was completely empty. So what was the problem with him sleeping there?

But that hadn't stopped the cop from thrashing him and dragging him to the police station. Cops in Bombay didn't show people like him any mercy or respect. He was just one of the many faceless daily wage workers who kept the city's wheels turning. He didn't have a fixed job. He'd wander around everyday until he found some work. He had worked on buildings like these before, breaking stones, carrying loads of bricks up the stairs, digging holes, or doing anything else the construction. He had worked for road construction teams. He had worked in filthy buffalo stables and fish markets. Whatever work he could get. All he cared about was a few currency notes that got him the next meal. And the next "pauvva", a small bottle of country liquor.

In his younger days when he came to Bombay from Bihar, things had been slightly better. He had a stable job and was able to afford sharing a tiny shack in the Kurla slums with three other guys. It was incredibly tiny, just enough for the four men to sleep at night. But it was home. As he grew older and weaker, work had been harder to come by. Hordes of young and able-bodied men still flooded the city looking for work and they were stronger and faster than him. They got the stable jobs. He tried to remember the last stable job he had. It was a complex of high rises in Worli. And the year....what was the year? He remembered it was just a few months before Rajiv Gandhi had been assassinated. After that, it had been a very difficult existence. He had been unable to afford even the meager rent of that shack and had found himself sleeping on streets, railway platforms, highway underpasses, and occasionally if he got lucky, an abandoned building like this one.

"Saala bhenchod Bihari thief." the cop had kicked him in the shin and dragged him along in full view of passersby. He averted their gaze in shame. Living the life he had lived, there's not much that embarrassed him any more. But being dragged like a dog while being slapped around was still too much.

He had cried, pleaded, and begged for forgiveness. He had insisted he was only looking for a place to sleep. He even committed the mistake of saying he had been sleeping in the building for a couple of months now. That got the cop even more angry. A couple of blocks from the police station, he felt his pockets being searched by the cop. He saw 35 rupees, his earnings for the day, disappear into the cop's pockets. Then he felt another kick sending him crashing to the ground, and the cop left muttering stern warnings about not to trespass ever again.

But tonight he was lucky. He didn't cut himself on the barbed wire, and there were no cops around. There was no one around. Wadala got unusually quiet for a Bombay suburb at night. He made his was past the pile of bricks and climbed the concrete steps. He could have just slept on the first floor. His knees ached with every step he took. But he absolutely had to go all the way to the fourth floor. It was worth the pain in his joints.

By the time he reached the fourth floor, he was severely out of breath and his knees were throbbing. With a great deal of effort, he made his way towards the edge. There it was, the pile of sand that had been his bed in recent days. He untied his lungi and spread it on the sand. Then he sighed and lay down on it, wearing only his ragged dirty shirt and his stinking boxer shorts. Slowly he felt the partially healed wound caused by the barbed wire. It was still raw. It seemed to have some pus. When he was a regular worker, if he ever cut himself on the job, the supervisor would give him some money and send him to a nearby doctor for an injection. He wondered if he should save some money and get that injection himself. Tet-something it was called, if he remembered correctly.

He took out his pauvva, lovingly admired its rich color, opened it and took a long swig. The orange flavored moonshine scorched his throat like always. But he looked forward to it numbing the pain he felt in his arms and thighs after a day spent breaking stones. The nightly pauvva was his only friend, his only companion, the only one who gave him any lease.

No that was not true. There was another friend he had, if the word "friend" fit the bill. The reason he willed his weak knees to climb all the way up to the fourth floor. He took another long swig from his first friend and then looked at the windows of the fourth floor apartment in the building across the narrow two-lane street to see if his second friend was around.

Dark! Completely dark, he noted with disappointment. Where was she? It was close to midnight but she didn't sleep this early. Usually he saw her sitting in front of the television with a laptop until 2 am or so. He estimated. Not that he could afford a watch. Often she'd be on her cellphone at the same time. He thought she looked especially cute when she held the cellphone between her ear and shoulder as she typed something on the laptop.

A couple of years ago, he'd found a cellphone on the street. He'd seen people use those wonderful little things and had always wished he could afford one. He felt its smooth gray display screen. Pressed the numbers. But he had no idea how to make a call. He played with it as much as he could for the next couple of days, enjoying the beeping sound the keys made when he pressed them. On the third day, it stopped working. He didn't know enough about cellphones to surmise that it had run out of charge. Now it was just a dead device to him. He had kept it in his pocket for a month. And then during a police raid clearing out those sleeping on the railway station, a cop had found it on him and taken it away. He almost felt like someone had snatched his baby away from him. He winced at the memory, then wanly looked at the dark windows again.

Maybe she was out with friends. He had noticed a flurry of activity in her apartment for the last few days. Lots of friends dropping by. Many of them male, he noted with a stab of misplaced jealousy. But they all left without spending the night. In the two or so months that he had been watching her, he had never seen a guy spend the night. In fact he'd never seen a guy so much as touch her, except for friendly hello and goodbye hugs. She was a virtuous young woman, he told himself. Not one of these modern sluts flouting the conventions of our culture. She was a perfect angel. Suddenly he felt guilty spying on her like this. But he wasn't doing anything immoral or illegal. Was he, he asked himself the same question as every night.

He stretched his arms and took another swig. Soon the bottle would be empty. He checked his pockets. Only ten rupees. Should he go get another bottle? He knew a late night country liquor shack nearby. But then what would he eat tomorrow before work? He'd just have to savor the remaining booze. As it is, he had spent his dinner money on this bottle. He needed at least some food if he had to do heavy work again.

That's when the window lit up. Ah, she was back, he noted with delight. He sat up, made sure he was hidden behind the half completed wall, and squinted his eyes to see better.

Through the window, he saw her walk in, carrying what seemed like several sheets of cardboard. She was wearing a snug black top. It was one of his favorites because it made her boobs stand out. She didn't seem to have really big boobs as far as he could tell. They were maybe slightly bigger than his late wife's. He felt a stab of pain in his heart at the memory of his dead wife. He tried to push those thoughts out of his head and focused on the current woman in his life.

Her hair wasn't tied up in a ponytail like it usually was, he noticed as she put the cardboard down and walked into the kitchen. Oh how he loathed the kitchen! Whenever she went in there, he couldn't see her. The kitchen window facing him was a tiny one and it was an older wooden one with just two tiny dirty panes of glass. She always kept it closed. Only once had she opened the window, when cooking something, which she rarely did.

Ah, he smiled as she walked back into the living room. That was his favorite room because it had wide glass windows, and she usually kept the curtains open. The couch was also in a great position so he could watch her to his heart's content. She walked to the couch, and he noticed that she was wearing a red skirt beneath her black top. He feasted his eyes on her milky white calves that peaked out from under the skirt. And admired the outline of her perfect little behind. Yes, the amazing shape of her butt was more discernible when she wore trousers or jeans. But he liked the skirt more.

She sat down on the couch, and turned the TV on. He could never see the screen of the TV. Not that he wanted to. He had eyes only for her. She folded one leg over the other, sat back, and watched the TV. But even from this distance, he could see that she didn't look as cheerful as usual. She looked tense. The radiant smile was missing. Then she got up and went back to the kitchen, but re-emerged right away. She had a bottle full of brown liquid in her hand and a glass. She put those on the coffee table, went back to the kitchen and re-emerged with a tray of ice.

Odd, he thought to himself as she poured the ice and a generous helping of the drink in the glass. She swirled it around, and took a sip. Then a grimace, indicating she didn't like the taste. But with a look of determination she took a couple of more swigs until the glass was empty. Really odd.

He'd seen her drink before. That wasn't the surprise. But she only drank when she had company. And then too, she nursed her drinks for a long time. Why was she drinking all alone? Was something wrong? If only he could reach out and comfort her, hold her exquisite body in his arms, kiss those full red lips...... he felt an erection forming. She did that to him a lot. In fact, since he had stopped being able to afford prostitutes or even cheap smutty magazines, she had been his only source of arousal in the last few years. Oh, and those two magical nights! He closed his eyes, replayed the scenes in his head and reached into his underwear.

The first magical night was about three weeks ago. She had come home late from work and sat watching TV in her work clothes, a formal shirt and trousers. He was almost asleep when she got up and headed to the bedroom. The bedroom window was also glass. The bedroom is where she changed. And she always closed the curtains before she changed. That first magical night, she didn't close the curtains. He saw her head to the closet and take our a loose t-shirt and sweatpants, her standard sleep attire. His cock had come alive when she started unbuttoning her shirt, although facing away from him. She slipped the shirt off. He got a glimpse of her milky white back, covered only with the bottom strap of her bra.

Then she seemed to notice the open curtain. She frowned, took a couple of quick strides to the window and closed the curtains. He was sure she hadn't seen him. The abandoned building was completely dark and he took pains to keep himself concealed. So she wasn't closing the curtains to deny him a look. It was natural modesty. But even in those quick couple of seconds, he got a glimpse of her shapely boobs, covered by her bra. The image had been enough for him to masturbate to several times.

The second magical night had occurred the previous week. She had gone into the bedroom to change. And she had closed the curtains. Since that first magical night, every night he had prayed that she'd keep it open. And every night, she had closed it. It was the same that night. But what made it magical was what happened next. His gaze was focused on the bedroom curtains, when suddenly he saw a movement through the open living room window. His mouth opened wide and his cock sprang to instant attention at the sight he saw.

There she was, sprinting into the living room. Clad only in her bra and panties. She ran to the couch, picked up her cellphone, and put it to her ear. Then she sprinted back into the bedroom while smiling into the cellphone. The whole scene lasted barely 3 seconds. But his mind had frozen and framed every instant. The way her boobs jiggled when she ran. How perfect her thighs were. And of course, the exquisite sculpture that was her ass. A few seconds later, she opened the bedroom curtains. She was fully clothed. And then she turned the lights of and went to bed. He had been unable to sleep that night. He jerked off a record 7 times, replaying that scene in his mind.

He reminisced about those two magical nights and stroked his cock as he watched her chug down a second drink. This was very unusual. Then she got up, picked up the bottle and the ice and returned it to the kitchen. She walked back to the couch and stared at the TV. But her mind seemed to be somewhere else. He stared at her for fifteen more minutes. Then she got up. Went back to the kitchen. Came out a minute later and headed to the bedroom.

The bedroom light came on. The curtain was open. He wondered if she was sleeping early tonight. But she didn't head for the bed or for the closet. She just stood in the bedroom, sideways from his angle, looking in the mirror. She stared at herself for a couple of minutes. Then her hands went to her waist and she turned to the right, facing away from him.

And then he sat bolt upright as he saw her slowly slip her skirt down.

HER

She came home a little after midnight, lugging the folded cardboard box sheets the building managers had left at her door at her request. The movers would be here in the morning to pack everything else, but she wanted to personally pack some shoes and books that she intended to gift to her friends. Continental had a strict 44 pound limit, her fiance had warned her. And he knew her obsession for shoes and books. He had convinced her to leave her collections of those two items behind. He promised to take her shoe shopping on day 1 when she joined him in San Francisco. And he already had a brand new Kindle waiting for her, loaded with all the books from the list she had sent him. So her shoes would go to Shehnaz, who wore the same size. And the books would go to Dheeraj whose apartment was half filled with books but he always wanted more.

Putting the cardboard boxes down, she went through her mental checklist. All the bills were paid. She had filled out the paperwork to vacate the apartment and given them her parents' address to send the deposit check. Tonight, she had finished meeting the friends she hadn't been able to meet before. It had been a hectic few days socially, with her office friends, school friends, building friends, college friends, and book club friends all throwing her separate farewell parties. The movers would come the next day to pack her furniture and send it to her retired parents in Surat who had recently bought a bigger house. She had paid the cleaning service to clean the apartment after the movers got done.

Yep, everything was done. She was ready to leave Bombay and move to America forever. The six months without the love of her life - her college boyfriend, now her fiance, and soon to be husband, had been very difficult. Thanks to Skype and cheap calling cards, she had been able to talk to him every night for several hours. But she still missed his touch, his smell, even his snoring. When they had started dating in college, her traditional parents had flipped their lid. He was not from the same caste, not even the same community! Yes, he was a very nice guy, and his family was well respected, and yes, he had everything you could ask for in a guy. So yes, be friends with him, they said. But a relationship and an eventual marriage? No, she absolutely must end it, they said. Plus, she should focus on her studies. They were paying through their nose for her college education.

His parents had reacted similarly. But they rode it out. Eventually, they both graduated with flying colors. They both got great jobs in Bombay in the same multinational software company. And finally both sets of parents had come around. Now her parents spent more time talking to him than to her. And his mom was more like a friend to her than a mother-in-law to be. The parents were eventually so cool with the relationship, that one year into their jobs when they decided to move in together, it hadn't caused the slightest flutter, In fact her hardcore Surati dad saw the economic benefit in it - "why pay two rents in Bombay when as it is, I am sure you two spend every night together anyway." The only suggestion his parents made was, get engaged before living together. And they had no problems agreeing to it.

They had found this lovely apartment in Wadala. It was far from any local train station, but as non-native Bombayites, they hated the crowded trains anyway. They drove to work together. Everything was going well. They had both done well at their jobs and were on the list to be sent onsite to the US. Although they had never explicitly said this to their parents, they both wanted to move to the US. And a senior manager had found a project for both of them in San Francisco. He had even promised to sponsor their green cards within a year. At the last minute however, there was a hitch. Some budgetary reallocation meant that only one of them could go right away. The other would have to follow six months later. They tossed a coin and decided he would go first, and she would follow.

And now the day was almost here. Tomorrow night, she'd be flying to join him in the Bay Area. She couldn't wait! And everything on her to-do list was done.

Everything?

No, there was that one thing she had promised herself. Gah! Why had she even come up with the idea? Maybe she should just drop the whole thing. And maybe, he wasn't even there! Maybe he'd gone somewhere else to sleep.

She went to the kitchen and walked to the closed window. That was one spot from where she could see him but he couldn't see her. She got up on her tiptoes, and looked through the small glass square in the wooden window. Yes, there he was. As usual, he was behind the broken wall, but she could see his feet and the top of his head. The Watcher was in attendance.

She couldn't remember exactly when she gave him the name Watcher. But it had been several weeks.