The House with a Hidden Room II

I pissed very often at night. This was affecting my sleep and I went to a walk-in clinic to see a doctor last week. He was an old white man. I told him that I needed to go to bathroom very often at night; that I pissed very little sometimes; and that I could not shoot a very straight line. “Is there something wrong with my prostate?” I asked him. I had done some research on the Internet, and knew that people with prostate problems seemed to have issues with pissing. He said, “No. You are only 38 years old. Prostate problems occur in older men.” He just advised me not to drink anything after 7 pm, neither water, nor tea nor coffee nor beer, and see how it went. I said, “Can you also check my neck? There are some small bumps on the skin.” I had been worried about those bumps, and I thought this might be an opportunity to ask the doctor about it. He took a quick look at my neck, and said there was nothing wrong. I could sense that he was impatient, and wanted to get rid of me, and seemed to be annoyed with my additional question. I said, “There are many small bumps on my neck. Can’t you see them? The skin feels different from other parts of my body.” He said, “ You are just worried too much.”

My pissing problem was not solved. I woke up at night and needed to pee. It was very dark and I could hear the noise outside my bedroom window made by all those little bugs. I looked at the clock on the nightstand. It was 2am. I walked to the bathroom and peed. The blinds of my bathroom were not tightly closed and I could see outside. It was very quiet except the bugs singing. Everything was bathing in the moonlight and was bluish. I could tell the shapes of trees, cars, and mailboxes. I noticed two persons standing in the lawn before Mr. Pershing’s house. The guy was tall and lean. He was kissing the girl who was in a short skirt. His hands were going below her skirt and were grabbing and caressing her ass. She walked away to a car parked on the street. Her high heels were making a rhythmic noise with her ass bouncing. She was very tall and had very nice curve. The car started, the headlight suddenly shooting through the darkness. She got into the back seat of the car and left. And I realized she had a chauffeur.

The street was quiet and dark again. Mr. Pershing suddenly turned his head and was looking at my house. Or so I thought. I swooped down crouching beside my toilet bowl. It did not smell good because I just peed and I had not flushed it yet. I heard some steps outside my house, and a shadow was cast on the blinds of my bathroom. Under the moonlight I felt very intense and very unreal. I scurried back to bedroom after the shadow disappeared.

I tried to get more sleep but couldn’t. When the alarm sounded at 6am I felt a headache. This was the time for me to take shower, have my breakfast, get dressed and take the train to Manhattan to work. But that day I just didn’t think I could trudge through the day. I called my boss and left him a message, asking him for a sick day. My voice was quivering and I sounded genuinely sick in the phone.

About noontime I decided to go shopping for some food and water. When I backed my car out of the driveway I saw Mr. Pershing was standing behind the big window of his living room and he was giving me a hard look. I felt very uncomfortable, but I waved my hand at him. He waved back at me, a bit grudgingly. Did he see me last night? I didn’t know. I looked at the window of my bathroom, trying to tell if one could see inside at night.