Over sixties dating

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When he was a child, his mother’s married sister, Katheryn, lived in the farmhouse next door.

At the age of nine, he said, he started watching her. She often walked around nude in her bedroom at night with the shutters open, and he would peer in from below the windowsill—“a moth drawn to her flame”—for an hour or so every evening.

As Foos drove us to the motel, he took the opportunity to sketch out the story of his life for me.

He explained that he had met Donna in high school in a farming town called Ault, about sixty-five miles outside of Denver, and that the two had been married since 1960.

Then he covered the openings with louvred aluminum screens that looked like ventilation grilles but were actually observation vents that allowed him, while he knelt in the attic, to see his guests in the rooms below. I did this purely out of my unlimited curiosity about people and not as just a deranged voyeur. As a nonfiction writer who insists on using real names in articles and books, I knew that I could not accept his condition of anonymity.

When he returned from the service, he started dating—and soon married—Donna, who was a nurse at a hospital in Aurora. He was miserably employed, sitting in a cubicle all day, keeping records of the inventory levels of oil tanks.He left a message on my answering machine a few days later, saying that he would meet me at the airport baggage claim.Two weeks later, when I approached the luggage carrousel, I spotted a man holding out his hand and smiling.He wore a tan jacket and an open-collared dress shirt that seemed a size small for his heavily muscled neck.He had neatly trimmed dark hair, and, behind horn-rimmed glasses, he projected a friendly expression befitting an innkeeper.

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