Free Voyeur by Lacey Alexander Page A

sense of revulsion upon waking the next morning. She stil couldn't believe she'd done it. She'd used the purple penis. In front of him.

    Arousal was like drunkenness, she thought. The moment you got sober you couldn't make sense of what you'd done under the influence. And this,
    now, was the hangover.

    As she lay in his bed staring up at the gently whirring ceiling fan, back in her safe-feeling snowflake pj's, a truly horrific thought struck her. What if . . .
    what if he hadn't been alone? Last night, or the night before, or both. What if he'd watched her with friends! What if he'd somehow made tapes of her? What if he was showing them al over the Internet this very moment, even as she lay here trying to rest? Thank God those brutal little musings
    hadn't hit last night or she wouldn't have slept at al .
    As it was, they propel ed her up and out of bed in a flash, down to the computer. It was just after eight, near the same time they'd chatted the first morning, so hopeful y he would be there. She pul ed up an IM box as fast as her fingers could click and type.

    RILEY: Swear to me this is private.

    A moment later, his answer arrived. FLYBOY1: What are you talking about, honey?
    She took a deep breath and lectured herself. Try to sound at least a little bit rational. Don’t act like a total nutcase.
    RILEY: Okay, I just woke up with a terrifying thought. That you're the sort of creep who might ... do something really awful to me.

    Yeah, that sounded real y rational. She let out a sigh, her heart stil beating too fast.

    FLYBOY1: I still don't know what you're getting at, but before we go on, I have to tell you that you were beautiful and hot and incredible last night, and I hate that you felt badly afterward.

    Laura sighed. Okay, hopeful y this meant he wasn't out sel ing sex tapes of mystery novelist Laura Watkins. It provided enough reassurance to help
    her explain her hideous fears. RILEY: I just had this horrible picture in my head—you sitting and watching me . . . with a roomful of friends.

    FLYB0Y1: Are you crazy? I would never do that to you. Why would you even think that?

    RILEY: Perhaps this would be an appropriate time for me to remind you that I don't know you. At all.

    FLYB0Y1: Aw, come on, snowflake, I think it's safe to say you know me at least a little now. And you can trust me, I swear. This is just between you and me—completely private. I wish I could be there with you, so you could look in my eyes, and then you'd know I'm telling the
    truth. I also wished I could be there last night when you seemed upset at the end.

    A true sense of relief rushed through Laura’s body. It was hardly proof, but somehow she felt his earnest tone and believed in it.

    RILEY: Okay, I feel better now. About it being private, I mean. The other part, though, not so much.

    FLYB0Y1 : Why?

    Laura sighed in exasperation. She thought this was pretty simple, but he never seemed to grasp it. RILEY: Let me make this as plain as I can. I
    have done things in front of you that I've never done in front of anyone. Extremely INTIMATE things. And I don't know you. A little maybe, but
    not much. This is not the kind of person I am.

    FLYB0Y1: Don't tell me we're gonna go through that again. Honey, there's nothing wrong with letting your sexual side show a little.

    A little? He thought she'd let it show a little! She nearly let out a mad cackle, but stopped, remembering that he was probably watching her right now. Instead of replying in some crazed, raving way—tempting since she currently felt pretty crazed and raving—she decided it would be smarter to
    go straight to the heart of the matter.

    RILEY: I'm appalled at what I did last night, and I want you to leave me alone for the rest of my time here.

    His answer took longer than normal, but when it came, was typical of him.
    FLYB0Y1: You didn't seem appalled while you were doing it.

    She let out a sigh of disgust and didn't care if he heard her this time. RILEY: