Registered: An Addictive Desires story

“So, you’re a registered sex offender.”

I freeze and stare at my date. The coffee cup trembles in my hand, but I keep it from sloshing as I lower it to the table. No one else in the cacophonous restaurant seems to have heard, as no one makes the slightest nod in our direction.

“Care to tell me about it?” Diana continues.

My mouth gums up, so much that it feels like chewing to speak. “How’d you find out?”

“Your ex emailed me,” she says with a shrug. “Said you were a pervert and I should keep you away from my kids.”

“How did she get your email address?”

“My blog. She found out we were dating through Twitter.”

With a sigh, I rub my face and eyes. I didn’t know Stephanie followed my tweets and last week’s flirtation with Diana had been too spontaneous and too much fun to take private. She’d slept over the night before and we were both still a little giddy in the emotional afterglow.

“She was actually quite polite,” Diana says. She leans back in her chair. “She also sent me a link so I could see for myself. She said you were the only William Gradowski in the registry, so you should be easy to find.”

“That’s Stephanie,” I say through gritted teeth. “Always so helpful.”

“So are you going to tell me about it?”

I take a deep breath and try to will the red out of my face. Meanwhile, the recent meal turns to lava in my gut and starts to sink toward China. I can’t say I care as long as it takes all my shattered hopes with it. Thing were going so well….

“Not here,” I say.

She nods. With an uncomfortable silence, I pay the check.

We wander out of the restaurant into the warm spring evening. A light breeze tussles Diana’s lustrous brown hair, and under the street lamps she looks like a goddess. Minerva, perhaps, or Vesta. The matrons who shine with assurance.

And now I’ve blown it.

Diana catches me looking and just raises an eyebrow. I shrug her off.

As we stroll down the walk, my mind races. What do I say? What do I tell her? I know the truth is best, but there are so many colors to truth. The last woman I told ran away, even with all my sugar coating and spin. The woman before that… well, perhaps I told her too soon.

I don’t want Diana to bolt. So what do I say?

We meander into the small park at the end of the block. It’s more of a gardened lot, but there’s a bench and the roar of cars is distant enough for conversation. The tulips have bloomed but the grass remains uncut and unkempt. Diana slows her pace, and I can tell she’s waiting for me.

What do I say?

I think about my sponsor’s comment. Start with the facts. It gets you in the habit of telling the truth.

Once we’re seated, a bit apart and turned so we can face each other, I take a deep breath.

“It was five years ago,” I say. “Well, five years ago that I got put on the registry.”

Her eyebrows go up. I steel myself and continue.

“It was my second arrest,” I say. “For indecent exposure. The first was fifteen years ago, but that didn’t matter, you know? The judge saw two indecent exposure arrests and threw me on the list.”

“What did you do?”

I snort. “Got caught masturbating in a park.”

“Really? That doesn’t seem like you.”

The note of surprise in her voice unsettles me, but then her words register and momentary relief sets in. So she didn’t expect me to be a pervert…

She pauses, searching for words. “So, why…?”

“I’d gone for a late night stroll,” I say. “There was an apartment building next to the park, and there was a naked woman walking around one of the apartments on the fourth floor. I don’t think she realized anyone could see her.”

“So, you….”

“I was in the shadows. I didn’t think anyone could see me, either. I didn’t expect there to be cops out looking for some teenagers who’d vandalized a school.”

“Ah,” she says. A statement of understanding, nothing more.

Her brow furrows, and she unconsciously tugs at her necklace. My hands are almost trembling with nerves. Her silence just increases my fear.

“My first arrest was pretty much the same thing,” I say in a rush of tumbling words. “Outside a sorority house in College. There was a couple going at it with the curtains open. Some frat guys caught me. Not that they didn’t watch, too, before they saw me. But, they, um, didn’t let me leave before the cops showed up.”

Four on one, and the cops weren’t sympathetic to my bloody nose. I still should’ve pressed charges.

“So…,” she says, “um…”

I sense where she’s going. Please don’t ask it, please don’t ask it.

“Are those the only two times you’ve done it?”

She asked it. I close my eyes, then rub them with my hands.

She fidgets while I take a deep breath.

Moment of truth, I think. How do I answer? Jeanine’s reaction comes to mind. As does Stephanie’s. But at least Jeanine just walked away. Stephanie…

I shudder. There’s really only one choice.

I give Diana a weak smile and try to read her expression. It’s as blank as my counselor’s had been. Waiting. Just waiting.

“Do you want to hear about it?” I ask.

“If you want to tell me.”

Want has nothing to do with it.

I let out a deep long breath. “Yeah. Might as well.”

“So,” I say, “one of my chores when I was growing up was to walk our dog. As I got older, I started doing that right before bedtime. Our house was in the cul-de-sac, but there was this path that cut to the park behind us, so I’d go around the block and come back through the park. One night when I was doing that, I saw Mrs. MacGregor through her window.”

“Who’s she?”

“One of our neighbors. She was, oh, probably in her mid-thirties at the time. Anyway, they had this bathroom in the back of the house with a window that faced the park. That night the window was open, and I walked by just as she got out of the shower. She was the fourth woman I ever saw naked.


“After my mom and sisters. But I didn’t have to feel guilty about looking at Mrs. MacGregor because, you know, she wasn’t related.”

Diana visibly relaxes at that statement.

“Anyway,” I say, “I, um, took care of myself, you know? I went by her window every night after that, and sometimes I got a show, sometimes I didn’t. I don’t think she ever knew.”

I shake my head in black humored amusement. Mrs. MacGregor may not have known, but I doubt she would’ve cared. She knew the neighborhood boys made excuses to play near her back fence when she was out sunbathing in her bikini. She still lay out.

“Anything else?”

“That was pretty much it. I did see her and her husband start to fool around once. They’d taken a shower together, you see. But he pulled her into the bedroom just as it started to get good.”

“So no other….?”

I sigh. “No. I mean, other than the two arrests, not really. Well, once I did get a quick glimpse of a woman in her underwear in an apartment, but otherwise my late night walks were just exercise.”

The corners of her mouth turn up slightly.

“Look,” I say, “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you earlier. It’s just a hard thing to bring up, you know? Especially early on, when you’re falling in love with someone.”

Her eyebrows shoot up. I mentally kick myself. We haven’t used the L word yet, and this is not the time.

“Yeah,” I say. “Probably not the right time to say that.”

She nods, but stares into space for a bit. I wait nervously.

“So…,” she asks, “have you… gone on these late night walks since we got together?”

“Walks, yes. Taking care of things during? No.”

She nods. “Do you think you’re going to, in the future?”

I let out a long sigh. “I’d like to say no, but that’s what I told Stephanie. I obviously didn’t manage it.”

“Why not?”

“Because… well, have you ever done something just because it made you feel better, even though you shouldn’t? You know, bite your finger nails? Eat the entire carton of ice cream?”

She snorts and then slowly nods.

“Stephanie and I were fighting,” I say, “all the time. We weren’t having sex, either. I started the walks to get out of the house, mostly.”

“And one thing led to another.”

I nod. “One thing led to another.”

“She wasn’t very understanding.”

“She never understood,” I say with a shake of my head. “I told her all the time that I liked looking, that I liked watching. She… well, I shouldn’t talk bad about my ex.”

Diana nods. She gets along with her ex-husband and told me early on that they’d agreed to never tear each other down in front of the kids. It seems to be working. I’m just grateful Stephanie and I never had children.

We fall quiet, with the roar of a Harley on the nearby road punctuating the stillness. Diana’s thinking. She gives me a half-warm smile, which causes my chest to flutter, but then she avoids my eyes.

I’ve blown it. I’ve blown it. I’ve blown it.

I force myself to push my monkey mind aside. I focus on my breath. I note the way the breeze comes and goes. I watch the way Diana’s fingers and thumb rub against each other as she stares into the distance.

“Well,” she finally says, “this is a lot to think about.”

“I know. And I hope it doesn’t end things between us, but I’ll understand if it does.”

She snorts softly, but her eyes are warm.

“I really am crazy about you,” I say. “You’re the best thing in my life, by far. If I could make promises…”

“We’re too old to make promises we know we’re not going to keep,” she says. Then she nods firmly. “We should probably call it a night.”


We stroll back to the car and I drive her home. It’s surprisingly companionable, as if Diana has forgotten the gulf between us. But she remembers at the goodnight kiss, which is quick and perfunctory. She says she’ll call me when she’s ready to talk.

I stay up to midnight, slowly drinking scotch and staring out the window. I don’t go for a walk.

I manage to get through the next two days by falling back on routine. Work, errands, chores. Repeat. I start a home repair project just to keep myself busy. The new shelves will now support the weight of whatever elephants decide to sit on them.

I toss and turn when I do go to bed. I don’t go for a walk.

On the third day, Diana calls. She gets straight to the point.

“Are you seeing a counselor?” she asks. “Anyone to help with this?”

“I was,” I say. “I can start again, if you want.”

“Don’t go for me.”

She wants me to go for myself. “I’ll call and make an appointment tomorrow. I’ll also start going to the twelve step group again.”

“Twelve step?”

“Sex Addicts Anonymous.”


“My counselor’s recommendation. I don’t think it was doing me much good, but I can go again.”

“Okay. Well, let me know how it goes.”

“Sure.” The weight on my chest eases. I want to say, I love you and thank you, but I know it’ll sound stupid. I’m also scared that this glimmer of hope could disappear. Maybe she’ll forgive me for being a pervert.

Instead, we just say goodbye. Five minutes after we hang up, I’m on the phone with my former sponsor. He’s glad to hear from me, and we have a long encouraging talk catching up.

The next day, Diana and I trade phone messages. I tell her about my new counselor appointment and the conversation with my sponsor. She leaves me a message later saying she’s proud of me.

The spring in my step returns. I don’t go for a walk. I find a late night gym and do an hour on the exercise bike.

We talk briefly the next night—she’s getting her kids ready for a visit with their father on the Coast and doesn’t have much time. But it’s pleasant. She likes hearing about my twelve step meeting, even though I can’t tell her much. Confidentiality and all. We’re talking, though, and that’s what matters.

It’s after a much longer conversation the following night, mostly about little things and about her kids, that she mentions she’d like to see me again. I’m so nervously excited, I almost drop the phone. She invites me over Saturday evening, after she’s taken her kids to the airport. I manage to stammer out my appreciation without gushing too much.

But after I hang up, I collapse on the couch and take several deep breaths. She likes me, I think. She really likes me.

Saturday, I bounce up her steps and try not to drop the rose I picked up at the supermarket. I’d dithered about bringing her one, but in the end I thought she’d like it. As I go to ring her bell, I see the note on her door.


I’m grateful for your honesty, and at the steps you’ve taken these past few days. I’d like to show my appreciation. Please ring the doorbell and then go around back.



I let out a deep, long breath of relief.

My legs still feel like they’re about to collapse, as the tension of the week slides out through my feet. But the renewed beating of my heart enables me to make my way around the side of the house and through the gate.

In Diana’s back yard, my eyes adjust to the darkness. There’s only one light on—coming through a window and falling on a patch of grass. I can hear water running through pipes.

I try the back door anyway. Locked. Then I see something on the ground near the illuminated patch.

A blanket. With a box of Kleenex on it.

I approach, and realize there’s also a small bottle of lotion. I turn toward the house. The light is coming from Diane’s bathroom. The room is brightly lit and the shower’s running.

My chin drops. My eyes move from the window to the blanket to the window and back to the blanket. It can’t be… she wouldn’t…

I spot a note resting against the Kleenex box. I kneel and pick it up, turning it so that I can read it.

Enjoy. We’ll talk after.


A little dazed, I settle onto the blanket and turn to face the window.

The water stops. A moment later, the shower curtain parts and Diane steps out. She’s gloriously nude.

I let out a deep sigh of appreciation.

She’s pinned her hair up, keeping it dry, and her eyes dart briefly toward the window before she reaches for the towel. Then a small smile appears on her lips.

She slowly, carefully, meticulously dries herself. Somehow she never covers her breasts or ass as she goes. The towel slides across her shoulders, then up one arm, then down. Then up the other, then down. Then across her stomach with only the briefest brush against her full breasts.

Her nipples stand out, and my mouth waters as I remember them under my tongue.

She turns and dries her back. Again, she moves slowly over her shoulders, pulling the towel left and right, before lowering it, left and right again, lowering it further, and left and right one more time.

I’m entranced. I’m also hard as rock.

Facing the window, Diana raises one leg and plants her foot on the toilet lid. Her dark pubic hair is matted with wetness. She bends and dries her foot. Her breasts block the view of her more intimate treasures, but they jiggle nicely as she rubs the towel over her skin.

She works her way up her leg. As she unfurls her body, maddeningly slow, I crane my neck hoping for better views. I laugh when I realize I’m trying to ‘peek.’

Just enjoy, I tell myself.

When she reaches her pussy, she looks up and grins. She slowly rubs the towel in small circles.

“Mmmm,” she says loudly enough for me to hear her through the open window, “feels good.”

My chin drops. A moment later, so does my zipper.

Diana starts to dry her other leg, but there’s nowhere to prop her foot without turning around. She seems to realize this and shakes her head while chuckling. When she quickly swipes the towel over her remaining undried skin, I wriggle out of my pants and underwear.

She stands and drops the towel. “Now,” she says, “where were we?”

She smiles. “Oh, yes.”

She puts her foot on the toilet lid, and one hand rests on the inside of her thigh. It slides over to her pussy, and her fingers move. She sighs, happy.

I begin stroking myself.

She closes her eyes and hangs her head. Her hand continues to dance. As does mine. Her chest rises and falls with her breathing. She jerks a little as the pleasure flows.

I do too, but it barely registers. I’m transfixed. I’m in awe. This is a woman I’ve known biblically, but now am seeing intimately, for perhaps the first time.

I struggle to tear my eyes from the back of her hand and the way her knuckles move and shift as her fingers slide in and out and around. But the tremble of her shoulder is so alluring. As is the way her nipples move.

She builds toward her release slowly at first, but then with increased quickness. I speed up my own strokes to keep pace. When she cries out and jerks forward, I’m only a moment behind. Despite the tissues at hand, I soak my shirt. We both sag and catch our breath.

When she’s recovered, she looks straight at the window. “Bill?”


“Meet me at the back door.”

“Will do!”

I gather the blanket, my clothes, and the other paraphernalia while she puts on a robe. At the door, we share a kiss and a big, deep full body hug.

“Wow,” I murmur in her ear. “That was amazing.”

She squeezes me.

“But… why?”

She pulls back. “I figured it might be a good way for you to get your ice cream.”


She smiles, and then lets out a long sigh. “You’re… You’re not the only one who’s done twelve step work. Ten years. Overeater’s Anonymous.”

The fear and worry in her eyes changes to relief when she sees me smile.

“So…,” she continues, “I have a friend—my ‘ice cream buddy.’ When I start really craving it, we go out together and she helps make sure I limit myself to just one cone.”

“Instead of the whole carton.”

She nods.

I laugh. “So when I—”

“We get the blanket out.”

I can’t help it. I kiss her, and I kiss her hard, holding her as tight as I can. We’re both breathless when we part.

“If I wasn’t madly in love with you already, I would be now,” I say with a laugh.

She grins. “And I love you.”

I kiss her again, and it grows heated. She pulls back.

“Let’s go inside so we can make love properly,” she says.

I can’t help grinning. I may be a pervert, but I’m her kind of pervert.

We only make it to the hall before Round Two.

© 2014 Big Ed Magusson. All rights reserved. Content may not be copied or used in whole or part without written permission from the author.

Bio: Big Ed started writing erotica after several years of strange and varied explorations of the sexual and emotional kind. These days, he drifts between erotic romance, character heavy sex stories, and literary erotica. More of his work can be found at and

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