Next door’s pervert

Next door’s pervert

After another seven months abroad she returns home, home to a country to where her heart belongs wholeheartedly. Sometimes it’s not always the case with her mind. But right now her heart has more pull, is stronger than her mind.

 

Unable to live in her apartment straightaway, having let it out for an extra month, she stays with her parents. It feels good to spend quality time with her family again, reunite and enjoy each other’s company before she moves away again. Albeit it only forty kilometres afar, it’s still not as close.

 

After a two and a half week holiday in Cape Town, enjoying everything the Western Cape province has to offer – hikes up Table Mountain and Lion’s Head, part of the Garden Route, The Klein Karroo, a Big Five game reserve – she moves back into her apartment. An apartment that overlooks the expansive Indian Ocean, enveloped by a quiet coastal town until the bristling holiday seasons are unleashed.

 

She relishes living close to the sea: running along the beach sand during sunrise, strolls along the beach at dusk, witnessing the moon rising, swimming in the tidal pool when the surf is too wild, surfing the glassy waves and falling asleep to the sound of the crunching sea with the doors to her balcony wide open, allowing the breeze to disperse the heat, heat that’s not always welcome in the dead of night.

 

Feeling free, she immediately peels off her clothes from her body as soon as she steps indoors and wanders around naked. Why wear clothes when it’s only her, in the privacy of her own home?

 

The next day she heads towards her balcony, enjoying the sea breeze frolicking over her nakedness. Forced to retreat, she covers her body with a sarong. A man peers over the balcony to the left of her apartment staring into her private space. There is no need for him to do this. The apartments are staggered to enable a person privacy while making use of their balcony.

 

Greetings, Mr Pervert! After the fifth time of her almost being caught out by the pervert, she ceases walking around naked and draws most of the curtains over the windows to the balcony. Now a permanent fixture, the curtains become a barricade – blocking the sight of her.

 

She contemplates saying something to him, “Will you respect my privacy and remove your beady eyes from my space, my nakedness?!” No, she does not want to engage with this man, this man invading her with his filthy gaze. Does she speak to the complex’s office manager? Present her case, ask for advice? Or does she slip a note under his door?

 

On occasion, when she sits on her balcony, fully clothed, he peers over and greets her. Sometimes he comments on the monkeys, the opportunists, trying to slip into the apartments, eyeing out bananas in fruit bowls. Returning his greeting ever so brief, she retreats back inside, not wanting to have anything to do with him. Only hours later does he move away. But is always back in the blink of an eye, his dirty eye fully open.

 

Deciding on the route of the note, she mentally prepares what to write. As soon as he violates her with his stare again she will slip it under his door. Take that!

 

The following incident surprises her. This time she sits on her balcony in her bikini, the day sweltering hot, beads of sweat cascading down her back. Sipping iced coffee, made from her Nespresso machine, she watches over the ocean, seeking out dolphins. A woman peers over from the pervert’s balcony, spots her, embarrassingly mutters a greeting and disappears quicker than she appeared, as though flustered.

 

A week and a half passes and not once has the pervert been seen again. Did his wife realise what he had been up to and put an instant stop to it? Caught red-handed! Has she been saved by the woman he lives with?

Whatever the reason, she is grateful. Holding thumbs, she hopes he is never seen to perve again!

 

Good riddance, Mr Pervert!

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