Dating for over sixties
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.
He watched them for decades, while keeping an exhaustive written record of what he saw and heard. I first became aware of this man after receiving a handwritten special-delivery letter, without a signature, dated January 7, 1980, at my house in New York. Talese: Since learning of your long awaited study of coast-to-coast sex in America, which will be included in your soon to be published book, “Thy Neighbor’s Wife,” I feel I have important information that I could contribute to its contents or to contents of a future book. and compiled interesting statistics on each, i.e., what was done; what was said; their individual characteristics; age & body type; part of the country from where they came; and their sexual behavior. The businessman who takes his secretary to a motel during the noon hour, which is generally classified as “hot sheet” trade in the motel business. And I was deeply unsettled by the way he had violated his customers’ trust and invaded their privacy. Still, as I reread the letter, I reflected that his “research” methods and motives bore some similarity to my own in “Thy Neighbor’s Wife.” I had, for example, kept notes while managing massage parlors in New York and while mingling with swingers at the Sandstone nudist commune in Southern California (one key difference: the people I observed and reported on had given me their consent).
He watched her for five or six years and never got caught.
His aunt Katheryn liked to sit at her dressing table with no clothes on, arranging her miniature porcelain dolls or her collection of “valuable thimbles.” “Sometimes her husband was there, my uncle Charlie, usually deep in sleep,” Foos said. Once, I did see them having sex, and it made me upset. She was mine, I thought.” I listened without comment, although I was surprised by Gerald Foos’s candor.
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He said, “And so, being very curious about sex even as an early adolescent—with all those farm animals around, how could you avoid thinking of sex?
—I looked beyond my home to learn what I could about people’s private lives.” He did not have to look far, he said, steering the car toward the suburb of Aurora, where his motel was situated.
He had neatly trimmed dark hair, and, behind horn-rimmed glasses, he projected a friendly expression befitting an innkeeper.In the days before the Internet, many single people who wanted to find a relationship might have posted a personal ad in a local newspaper or perhaps gave telephone dating a whirl.While these types of dating were great for their time, they have mostly been replaced with Internet dating, which works in a similar way but is much more effective and easier to do.“It’ll allow me to be completely frank with you, and I’ll have no problem showing you around the motel.” It was a typed document stating that I would not identify him by name, or publicly associate his motel with whatever information he shared with me, until he had granted me a waiver. I had already decided that I would not write about Gerald Foos under these restrictions.I had come to Denver merely to meet this man and to satisfy my curiosity about him.