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Cougar and her Five Virginal Cubs Ch. 03

Chapter Three - Flashing Us Her Panties Again

It was a small Boston, Roman Catholic neighborhood, where I grew up, where everyone knew you, where everyone gossiped about everyone, and no one could hide anything from anyone, that is, except for Kathleen. She lived alone at the end of a dead end street that many of the locals didn't even know or forgot existed. She had this little dog, a Beagle named Barky, aptly named because he barked a lot before he'd start howling. That dog made me hate Beagles and because of Barky, the perfect name for that dog, I never warmed to Charlie Brown's Snoopy. The dog barked at everything and everybody, and could bark and howl non-stop for an hour it seemed, before he'd stop from exhaustion. Actually, if it wasn't for her little dog, no one would ever have known she lived there.

With a view of the USS Constitution and the Bunker Hill Monument from her back kitchen window, her house ran perpendicular to the Old North Church on the front side and Atlantic Commercial Street out the back. Only three streets over from Paul Revere's House, she was situated in the most historic section of Boston. She lived across from a historic cemetery, Copp's Hill cemetery, in the North End, the Italian section of Boston, the gate to which was always closed and padlocked.

The local kids. who had too much time on their hands and no respect for anything or anyone alive or dead vandalized the graves of the revolutionary soldiers, both British and American. Back in the '50's, Copp's Hill was the same cemetery, where the robbers of the infamous Brink's Robbery hid their guns and temporarily stashed their cash to retrieve later. There were old tunnels beneath some of the graves that led all over that part of the city. Beginning from someone's cellar, the tunnels were used, when the early American revolutionists of Boston wanted to conduct secret meetings without the British soldiers knowing. Back then, under a strict curfew, it was illegal to walk the streets at night and/or gather outside a house or meet together, even at the Old North Church, especially at the Old North Church.

Her innocuous apartment, unless someone went out of their way to peer in her windows, was discreetly private. Situated across from the cemetery, she abutted a windowless building to the right of her, the park was beside her to her left, and the Boston Harbor waterfront was behind her. Consequently, her shades were always open. I guess she figured, unless all those dead bodies buried in the cemetery could still see and unless someone in Boston Harbor knew where to look with binoculars, no one could see her walking around naked, which is what she routinely did, we all soon discovered.

The city opened the cemetery gates during tourist season from May to September. Every day, around the same time, three times a day, Kathleen lifted up her dog and her leg to climb over the waist high, black, rod iron fence that prohibited her from walking her dog in the cemetery. Even though she had access to the open gate part of the year, she still climbed the fence because the gate was a block distance away from her house and a block distance back. So much more convenient, where she climbed the fence was just across the street from where she lived.

Back then, women didn't wear pants or jeans like they do today. Much in the way that everyone, who boarded an airplane appropriately dressed, most women wore skirts or dresses. Obviously, because that was her uniform of choice, Kathleen enjoyed wearing miniskirts, perhaps because miniskirts were the latest fashion and she had gorgeous legs enough to wear a miniskirt. Yet, every single time she stepped over that fence, she'd flash us her panties. The first time I saw her lift her leg to climb the fence and saw a flash of her panties, I thought I was imagining her sexy in between her leg flash.

Once we all realized that there was a free show at the same three times every day, we all made sure we were there for show time. Having only three network stations, CBS, NBC, ABC, and two UHF stations, channel 38 and 56, it didn't take much to entertain us, especially, when it came to sex. We all loved and looked forward to seeing Kathleen's bright, white and pastel colored panties. She did have nice, long, shapely legs for an old broad and we all got off on routinely seeing her panties without the fear of any repercussions.

Since none of us had a steady girlfriend yet, seeing her panties, especially on a regular basis, was a special sight for us to see. If nothing else, definitely, the flash of her panty gave us more to masturbate over, later, in the privacy of our bathrooms and bedrooms. Albeit just a quick flash, the vision of her panties would keep us entertained for hours and give us something to talk about and joke over later, while playing Whist in the park that night, smoking cigarettes, and drinking beer.

Moreover, fortunately for us, she didn't wear pantyhose. With all of us in agreement that the gay fashion designer, who invented pantyhose should be hung by the neck with a pair of his own pantyhose, we hated pantyhose. The only lingerie better than panties were nylons and garter belts. Every Sunday, she gave us a special treat, when she wore her garter belt and stockings under her miniskirt, her Sunday attire for church. We couldn't believe, when she climbed the fence, while wearing that sexy outfit, too.

"Hey, guys. There's that lady with the dog," said Joey.

We'd all stop playing cards to huddle behind the stone wall waiting for her to walk by with her dog and with each one of us vying to get the best spot for a better view to see more of her panties, while she slowly and carefully climbed over the fence. Barky knew we were there hiding, no doubt, while waiting for her to walk past us, cross the street, and climb over the fence with her miniskirt hiked up practically to her waist. Now that I think of it, she was left-handed, but she turned to face us and lifted her right leg to climb the fence. Being right handed, I always climb with my right leg first. I guess I can say that I'm right legged, too.

Now, that I remember her climbing that fence and flashing all of us her panties, I wonder if she knew we were all there looking. I wonder if she knew she was inadvertently flashing her panties. I wonder if she was flashing us her panties on purpose. Now that I know the sexual woman she was, without doubt, she purposely flashed us her panties. She knew we were there looking.

Nonetheless, the horny fools that we were, we stood there waiting, until Barky finished his business and for her to raise her short skirt nearly up to her waist again to climb over the fence and flash us her panties again on her way out of the cemetery to go home. Three times and six flashes a day, mornings, afternoons, and evenings, as if her flashes were a looping movie, she'd hike up her short skirt and lift her right leg to climb over that waist high fence. The only thing different with her flashes was the color of her panties. A different color each day, Kathleen was our sexy bitch to ogle.

Still, if she was concerned about us seeing her panties, we'd think she'd turn and face the other way, away from the park and away from our leering eyes. Maybe, she didn't care. Maybe, she didn't know we were there watching her lift her leg to expose her panty clad pussy. Maybe, as I suspect now, obviously, she flashed us on purpose. Nonetheless, now that I remember her panty flashes, giving her my benefit of doubt, I still wonder if she knew we were there watching her.

Yet, now, that I remember her public slow and careful flashing panty show, she must have known we were all bunched behind that chest high stone wall looking. How could she not know? With all the giggling, talking, and jousting for position we did, we were anything but quiet about what we were doing and what we were seeing. We peeked up our heads to watch her step up on the short wall, before hiking up her mini skirt and lifting her right leg high enough to clear the fence and plenty high and wide enough to give us all a good look of her crotch. Multiple times a day, rain or shine, we had daily between her legs views of her bright white, panty clad pussy or pastel panty clad crotch.

"Did you see her panties?" Anthony looked at her, as if seeing her panties for the first time.

"Yeah, she's wearing white ones today. I like the blue ones," said Joey.

"I like the yellow ones. Those panties are practically see through, they're so sheer. You can see her pussy," said Ralph wide-eyed. "She's got red pubes."

"Yeah, well, I like the white ones because with the contrast you can see her red pubic hairs sticking out the sides," said Stephen. "Definitely, she has a huge red bush."

"I hate the black ones," I said, "because I can't see anything."

"Yeah," we all said agreeing to that.

"The black ones bite," said Stephen.

Too dark to see anything, black panties were our least favorite. We were all such perverts and we'd talk about her panties, until it was time again for her to walk her dog and climb the fence again in the afternoon. No doubt, just as I did, we'd be home later that evening masturbating over seeing her panties again.

She lived in the neighborhood for a nearly year, before she ventured out to talk to any of us. Longtime residents were always standoffish, suspicious, and distrustful of strangers, which would explain why she was shy about approaching anyone in the neighborhood, especially us, a bunch of rowdy, male teenagers. Obvious by her red hair, being that she was Irish and living in an Italian neighborhood, she kept to herself. To be accepted, in our closed North End neighborhood, she'd have to either be born there or live there thirty years, before she'd be deemed one of the locals. Even then, treating her, as the pilgrims treated a redheaded witch, the residents would never trust her with any of their secrets and being that this was a Mafia protected neighborhood, we all kept plenty of secrets.

Because our houses were so small, huddled three and four story apartments that afforded us little or no privacy, we were always hanging out in the park across from the cemetery watching her, waiting for her to appear to flash us her panties, staring at her when she did, and trying to see in her windows at night. Before cable, satellite television, sports channels, VCR's, DVD's, and the Internet, there wasn't much else to do than to peep on the neighborhood's older woman, especially one who flashed us her panties multiple times every day. Besides, none of us owned a car or had any money. Relegated to date the girl next door or someone's sister, we couldn't even go for a drive and pick up chicks. Instead we hung out in the park playing cards, smoking cigarettes, and drinking beer with the money we got from our parents, winning at pool, or breaking open parking meters for the dimes.

Bored, horny, and always looking to see what we could see, she always had her shades up, even at night with her lights on, and we were always hiding behind trees in the park, while trying to sneak a peak in her windows. Because her windows were angled away from the park, to have a decent vantage point, we had to climb over a fence and out onto a small triangular ledge to peer out behind another fence to see her and to not be seen by her. I tried climbing out on the ledge a couple of times, but gave up when I couldn't see anything. Besides, I felt really perverted trying to spy on her like that. Yet, that's what all normal teenage boys did, spy, stare, leer, and ogle. Perversely perverted, always looking to see, we were all voyeurs trying to get a glimpse of a bra, a panty, or a naked breast, ass, and pussy. A couple of the guys said that they saw her changing for bed a few times. I suspect they imagined more than they saw. While imagining the things we hoped to see, we were always exaggerating the things we thought we saw but never saw.

"I saw her walking by the window naked," said Anthony.

"Who? Who'd you see walking by the window naked," said Joey.

"The woman who lives over there, you know, the one with that barking dog, who flashes us her panties every day."

"Fuck you. No way! Get the fuck outta here. You saw her naked? You're lying," said Stephen.

"Yeah, I did. I saw her naked. I swear. I was out in the park after dinner because my parents were fightin' again. I didn't want to hear that shit again," said Anthony. "It's that same friggin' fight mornin', noon, and night. So I went out for a walk and climbed out on the ledge to be alone with my thoughts."

"Alone with your thoughts? Fuck you and your thoughts," said Ralph. "Idiots like you don't have any thoughts. You climbed out on the ledge to peep on that woman. You were peeping at her, weren't you, you fuckin' pervert."

"No, seriously, I was depressed and just wanted to be alone. When I looked up, she was just standing there with her light on and her shades up, while walking back and forth and undressing."

As the revelation of the excited, albeit unknown reason why she suddenly stripped of her clothes took control of his face, he paused to look at all of us.

"C'mon, be honest. Did you really see her?" No doubt, wanting to believe that Anthony saw Kathleen naked, Stephen looked at Anthony with hopeful excitement.

"Or did you just imagine you saw her?" Ralph looked at Anthony with cynicism.

"Now that I think about it, now that I remember her glancing out the window, as she paraded back and forth naked, she must have known I was there watching her. How could she not see me? I wasn't hiding behind the fence. I was just sitting there out in the open on the ledge, while thinking."

"You think she undressed in front of you on purpose? You think she's just as perverted as you are?" Stephen shook his head at Anthony. "You're crazy. Women aren't sex fiends in the way that guys are. We're the perverted ones, not them."

"So, tell us," said Joey ignoring Stephen's disbelief, "what'd you see?"

"I saw everything, her ass, her tits, and her pussy. I couldn't believe my eyes. She has a nice body for an old broad," said Anthony with excitement.

"I bet your jerked off over all that you imagined you saw," said Ralph.

Truth be told, we all did that night. Vicariously living through one another, we all relived that day through what Anthony saw or imagined he saw by having him regale us with his story over and again. Whenever we tired of hearing that story, which was unusual, we'd have Stephen tell us about the time he saw his older sister stepping out of the shower naked, and then we'd have Joey tell us about the woman's tits he saw, when she was leaning over the dairy case, while braless.

To be continued...

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