Roger Westinghouse studied his grandfather’s binoculars from World War II. He removed the covers of the eye lenses, put the binoculars to his eyes but saw complete darkness.
His dad, Lewis Westinghouse, nudged him. “Take off the lens cover. It helps.”
Roger looked at the large end of the lenses. “Makes sense.”
Roger pulled off the covers of the larger lenses and again held up the binoculars.
At first, the view was blurry except for two black lines set at a right angle. Each line was marked by small dashes and numbers. He twisted the eye lenses until the room became less blurry but still not focused. He turned, looking through the binoculars. When he aligned with the window, he noticed how far he could see. A robin with its orange breast chirped on a crooked branch in the oak tree in the front yard.
He asked his dad, “What are the lines for?”
“It’s the Rangefinder Reticle Scale,” his dad answered, not looking but continuing to unload boxes. “You can use the numbers on those lines to calculate the distance between you and the object you’re observing or the height of the object or even the angle that the object is set at. Just got to know how to calculate it. Pretty useful. Or I mean, it can be.”
“What’s the equation?”
His dad’s finger briefly scribbled an invisible math problem in the air. “Ah, that’s it,” he said to himself and turned to Roger. “Target size in yards multiplied by 1,000 and divided by the measurement in Mils.”
Roger stared, confused.
“So, if a six-foot-tall target, for example, measures 3 Mils—those notches on the lines—the formula would be 2 multiplied by 1,000, divided by 3 equals 667 yards.”
“You know that off the top of your head?”
“Some things you never forget.”
“Were you a sniper?”
He laughed. “Not exactly, no.”
“A bird watcher?”
“Not in the formal sense, although I watched a robin years ago.”
“Only one?”
“Huh?” Lewis acted like he didn’t hear him.
“Robins are everywhere around here,” Roger said. “I think they’re boring birds.”
“Look at the robins’ breasts. They’re gorgeous.”
Roger eyed his dad. But that answer was as weird as knowing the Rangefinder equation by heart. “You’re strange, Dad.”
His dad smiled. “Dads always are weird at some point in their kids’ lives. Today’s my day.”
And Lewis kept grinning as he unboxed. He wasn’t smiling because of his son or today being his day to be a strange dad. Instead, he was thinking of Robin. She lived a backyard away when he was younger, and she was the first girl he watched with this very pair of World War II-era binoculars.
Robin was a red-head and had a set of tits that made Lewis salivate and more, even years later. Lewis didn’t realize all this about Robin until he first put his eyes against the binoculars. His initial interest was birds. There were plenty in his yard. He sat, legs crossed, in front of the sliding glass doors that led to the back patio and observed cardinals, blue jays, and the ever-present robin.
Lewis would make a list of birds and then would pick up his dad’s heavy bird guide published by the National Audubon Society. He researched which birds were in the area and compared them to his list of birds.
One day though, he noticed a split-second movement in the second-story room of the neighbor’s house. He refocused the binoculars for a longer view than the branches by the patio. There was no movement for a while, so he chalked it up to a bird flying by too close to be in focus.
However, from then on, a nudge kept him attentive to that window. He had to force himself to watch the birds. The binoculars would drift upward to that square window. The what-if and maybe were too great.
He was birdwatching through the glass doors one day and saw curtains in that window swish. Then a light turned on! He refocused the binoculars. Robin appeared in the window.
Lewis saw that she was brushing her long, red hair. Her shoulders were bare. Her neck was lean. Then she disappeared from the window. A moment later though, she came into view with her hair in a whoosh. Lewis felt his body react. Then both concern and craving set in.
What am I doing in the open, staring? His response was action. He was not about to be caught.
He squirreled away to find another window.
He rushed upstairs to his bedroom and hunkered down at the base of the window. He sat low and back arched, so only his head would be visible. He convinced himself that his head might look like an indistinguishable object—a globe, maybe—set on the windowsill. Even if it was completely absurd, a horny boy would not give it much more thought.
For all that scrambling to his bedroom, Robin was gone. The light was on, still leaving a glimmer of hope. Now, Lewis was in a waiting game—one that any horny guy could suffer through.
Lewis sat there, binoculars in hand. He saw two cardinals and a wren. Of course, several orange-breasted robins. But no Robin.
His horny hopes deflated.
Sunset came. The visibility into the room became clearer. Dark outside and light inside, Lewis saw shadows on her wall. And the shadows grew darker and then became lighter on the walls. The shadow began to move quickly, this way and that way, right and left, up and down.
Lewis could only imagine what was happening. Dancing? A fit of rage? A workout? Wild sex? He pulled the binoculars tighter to his eyes when sex came to mind. The possibility—and the probably—of the idea was low and unlikely.
Suddenly, Robin came into view. That hope revived.
She looked like she was singing into a hairbrush. His mind swirled by simply imagining the what-could-bes. The brush handle was in front of her mouth, and she was acting wild. Seeing what he could, she had thin straps over shoulders. Maybe a tiny night shirt. Maybe only bra.
He kept watching.
She sang and danced until she sang and danced out of sight. Still her shadow was moving. Lewis kept staring through the binoculars, amazed. Hope for seeing something had arisen fully. However, she never came into sight again that night, and the shadow dimmed. Soon it disappeared for the night. He gave up his post an hour afterward. Hope was gone. It turned out to be a unique experience—for a while. Too long for him.
He had given up when, one afternoon, he saw Robin sunning in her backyard. He was shocked into giddiness.
He ran upstairs to his post in front of the window.
Robin’s bikini top struggled to hold her young breasts. The globes of flesh lazed languidly, held back by the light blue top. Her stomach was bare, and a low-rise bikini bottom covered only a little bit of her. She had a headband to keep her hair back.
Lewis’s body reacted as typical. This was titillating. It was mind-warping. He gulped and adjusted how he sat. The binocular lenses pressed hard around his eyes. However, no uncomfortability was worth the possibility of missing Robin sunbathing. And it may not last long, especially when red-heads’ fair skin doesn’t react well to a lot of sun.
Robin sat up. She fumbled with her hair, corralling it into a ponytail. Her breasts bounced as she shifted, struggling against the bit of fabric holding them.
Then she rolled over to her stomach. She reached back and unclasped the top, exposing her entire bare back to the sun.
Lewis glided his view down her back to her cute ass that was covered by the matching blue bottoms. Each hump of her butt was mouthwatering.
Watching her, Lewis pulled out his dick. It sprang up when he released it from his pants.
His slippery strokes brought to mind his imagined sight of the girl fully naked. His hands squeezing her breasts. His tongue dragging against her peachy areolas. His teeth nibbling her nipples. His mouth kissing down her belly until finding a clean-shaven pussy of a pale shade. His tongue lapping her outer labia and then teasing her blushing inner folds.
He couldn’t hold the binoculars and jerk off because of the wobbling. He was ready to set down the binoculars to finish with a huge explosion of white gooey cum, but he stopped. The porch door slid open, and another girl appeared in a bikini.
She was lean and much thinner than the red-head, but she emanated a power as she walked. It was a spunk that few girls had.
She sat on a chair next to Robin. And the two began to talk as they soaked up the sun.
Lewis was suddenly in a conundrum. He wanted to get off so badly, and his palm was already slick. If by setting aside the binoculars he missed something unexpected, he would be angry at himself. His dick won. He stroked himself and shot his warm cum. He exhaled. He leaned back to regain his mind and body. He felt relieved. The intense feelings had dissipated.
When he put the binoculars to his eyes, Robin and her friend weren’t there. They had packed up.
He only saw her in the upstairs window once more. But she didn’t dance or sing or put anything in front of her mouth. A few times, he saw a steady, faint gray light in the room. He dreamed of her watching TV with the sound up, so she could moan and fiddle daintily with her lovely pussy. It was only a mirage, like an oasis of water on the horizon in the Saraha Desert. And that’s all it would ever be. Robin moved away that winter. An old couple moved in. Lewis never forgot Robin.
“Some things will make a man strange. How strange, that becomes the question,” Lewis said.
“Getting tired, Dad?” Roger asked.
“Why?”
“You stopped moving.”
“Ah, only thinking.”
“You are strange. And binoculars made you strange,” Roger teased. “Who would want to watch birds? Well, I think all birdwatchers are weird, if you ask me.”
“Some birds are gorgeous,” Lewis said. “And, by the way, who did ask you?”