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Neighbors

Sterling Warner

    My neighborhood watch began as a joke—an expensive jest, to be sure—but nonetheless, a joke. Jason McBride and I were the first two people who bought and regularly used a micro aerial vehicle—a drone—to spy on our neighbors. Thanks to Wal-Mart, aerial photography had become affordable, accessible, and our favorite hobby. We’d email photos of each other’s spouses, Elaine and Lisa, in the buff.
    One day Jason suggested that we expand our viewing options. “Let’s program our drones to map out the entire neighborhood, Peter—and get some good footage from the Red, White and Blue, a private nude beach in Santa Cruz.”
    “I’m down for the count,” I replied, and true to our plans, in the forthcoming weeks, we expanded our drone recordings throughout the county—and beyond. Initially, neighbors who noticed the drone merely shook their heads, muttering “damn technology!” On the other hand, those at the beach merely pointed our drone out to others and waived. Thus, after a while, the thrill of watching either unsuspecting or well aware people au naturel became a bit monotonous, so Jason and I raised the bar on drone activity by focusing our attention and filming neighborhood couples engaged in sexual activity.
    One afternoon—quite by accident—I came across recordings of my wife and best friend, Jason, making love. Of all the nerve! Now, I hate drones and despise their users; I guess I hated a part of myself as well.
    Indeed, these days, while back-floating in my swimming pool, I often shoot down hovering drones with my Professional Hunting Slingshot. Passing months did little to change such target practice (my personal success over technology)—until this morning. “Elaine, what are you doing with my drone?” I asked my modestly dressed wife as she walked onto our patio with my former pride and joy.
    “The same thing you and Jason once did—I’m using the drone’s movie camera to spy on our neighbors, looking to share hot footage with Lisa.”
    Folding my arms, I queried, “Thought the two of you weren’t speaking to each other since your affair with Jason!”
    “For Christ’s sake Peter, get over the fact that Jason and I had his drone film a show for you—we got it on for the sake of your own entertainment. You must admit, you’ve a perverse streak in you. Otherwise, you wouldn’t have been filming me naked and sending the shots to Jason. Likewise, he would not have emailed you similar nude films of Lisa to feed your own fantasies.”
    “Perhaps I can give you some tips, Elaine. First send the drone to the Jameson house around 5:30 pm. They and occasionally their friends tend to skinny-dip around that time, followed by a barbecue.”
    “Interesting,” Elaine noted.
    “Though they don’t have a pool, the Messingers have a huge glass window in their bedroom, and they never draw the drapes when making love. You can get some good shots of them in the evening. Sometimes, I think they intentionally put a show on for the neighborhood.”
    “Speaking of shows, Peter, Lisa told me you and Jason, would maneuver your drones in her back yard completely nude. What’s with that?”
    “Well, we figured....er, I don’t know. It seemed as natural as casing out our neighbor’s houses, filming private moments never intended for other’s eyes....”
    “Bullshit, Peter.”
    “Okay—you got me, Elaine. It became too easy—too safe—using drones to shoot movies of naked neighbors, occasionally having sex. I wanted a sense of vulnerability, so I suggested we strip before activating our drones and sending them to seek-out—and record—selected targets.”
    “You’re such a juvenile perv,” Elaine muttered as a loud knock on the door interrupted her chain of thought. “It’s about time they got here,” she said, opening the door where two policemen stood. “Come on in.”
    Stepping past Elaine, one of the officers stated, “Peter Tadd?”
    “Yes. How can I help you officer?” I replied.
    “You and your friend, Jason, must come down to the station to answer some charges recently filed against you both.”
    Lisa drove up in a SUV as the police cuffed and shoved me in the squad car where Jason waited exasperated and confused. “That should shake them both up a little bit,” she laughed as Elaine approached her with open arms. Fully clothed, the two women began to kiss while our own drones followed and filmed us. Bewildered, Jason and I cowered in the back seat of the police car—arrested for indecent exposure, voyeurism, neighborhood espionage, invasion of public privacy, and assorted sex crimes.
    “Do you think they’ll realize they’ve been punked?” Elaine asked.
    “Not a chance,” Lisa replied. “Officer Manual, my cousin, won’t let on anything until he releases the two perverts a couple blocks from the police station.”

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