To that Awkward Man Who Used to Jerk Off In The Window Opposite From Mine

My bedroom in a beautiful and mountainous New York suburb where I grew up faced the house right behind ours.

And I would frequently observe a middle-aged man looking outward, absolutely naked, at the window of that house, on the right side of the second level. And he was doing  something with his hands close to his crotch.

I didn't see what he was performing in all its terrible detail since I never gazed too long. I didn't want to find out.

But his objectives were clear: he was nude, having a good time, and he wanted to be seen.

Even in the dead of night, he had all of his brightest lights turned on, and he was probably standing on something so that more of his torso was visible within the window frame.

I worried whether I'd done something to irritate him.

Throughout my puberty and adolescence, I saw him there on a regular basis, sometimes in the morning, sometimes at night.

It gave me the creeps.

When I saw him or imagined he saw me, I felt as if I'd just been a part of something nasty. I felt involved, even a little guilty.

I worried whether I'd done something to irritate him. Had I accidentally sent him the incorrect message?

Did I spend too much time nude in front of my window with the curtains open?

Did I give him any reason to believe I enjoyed it?

Later, I discovered that this same individual was occasionally observed in our backyard.

He would crawl under the bushes that divided our two houses to see my mother, who works out on the bottom level every morning.

My mother referred to him as a "Peeping Tom," which sounded more innocent than it felt.

"Isn't there something we can do about it?" I inquired of her one day.

She'd also noticed him in the window at this point.

"With them," she explained. "It is preferable not to cause any complications. We have no idea what he will do in retaliation."

So there you have it.

For our own protection, we would stay quiet about it. This was simply something I had to accept.

So every morning when I got up, I'd draw my shades apart just enough to see whether he was there. Otherwise, I'd open them. When I went up to my room at night, I always made sure the blinds were completely closed, scrutinising each slat to ensure there was no space between them I switched on the lights first.

Even if he wasn't doing it in the window, he could be spying on me at any point.

I had to keep him from seeing me day after day, night after night, and I had to avoid looking outside at all costs. That's exactly how it had to be.

But now that I think about it, I wish I hadn't just accepted it. I wished we had said or done anything.

I could understand my parents' fear about causing issues with the neighbours. We'd seen enough "Law and Order" and Lifetime movies to know that there are a lot of weirdos out there who do things to damage people in more harmful ways.

And this individual suited the profile of the majority of criminals. He is in his forties, single, and lives with his mother. (He did live with his mother, but she never showed up in the window.)

I wished we had said or done anything.

But I'm prepared to wager that the vast majority of males who jerk off in windows aren't physically aggressive. There is a significant difference between this and physically harming someone else.

We should not have let him off the hook, but we did. We gave him complete control. Until recently, I hadn't told many people about it. I was embarrassed as a girl. I was embarrassed of him, and I was ashamed that if I informed anybody, I may be held accountable.

I was concerned that people would link myself and my sexual orientation with that individual. And this is a common sensation for everyone who has been the victim of sexual misbehaviour, molestation, or rape.

We don't want to be affiliated with you. We don't want to make things worse. We remain silent because we believe it is better for everyone.

What about justice, though?

What about discouraging these individuals from doing it again? What about educating others the consequences of their behaviour on the rest of us? What about assisting those who are going through something similar to not feel ashamed?

I went back home for a visit some years after I'd moved out, and I was sitting with my mother on the deck that faces the house behind us. His residence.

"Can you guess?" she said. Our other neighbour had filled her in on the details. "The man who lives there." She made a gesture. "He's left."

"What occurred?"

"He appears to have died from a drug overdose. Heroin.”

“Wow.”

We both sat in silence for a few seconds while I took it all in. It was a shame for him. But not for us; I was relieved to see him depart.

I believe we both felt more serene than anything else.

Finally, we didn't have to be concerned about his pestering us. Finally, we knew he wouldn't bother us any more. However, we shouldn't have had to wait so long.

We shouldn't have had to wait for him to die before feeling comfortable in our own house.

No, we will speak out sooner the next time. For us, for him, and simply because it is the only proper way. That is the only way to come closer to a future in which we may all open our windows and enjoy the scenery outside in peace.