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The reason for purchasing this motel was to satisfy my voyeuristic tendencies and compelling interest in all phases of how people conduct their lives, both socially and sexually. Married couples traveling from state to state, either on business or vacation. Also, the opening line of my 1969 book about the , “The Kingdom and the Power,” was: “Most journalists are restless voyeurs who see the warts on the world, the imperfections in people and places.” As to whether my correspondent in Colorado was, in his own words, “a deranged voyeur”—a version of Hitchcock’s Norman Bates, or the murderous filmmaker in Michael Powell’s “Peeping Tom”—or instead a harmless, if odd, man of “unlimited curiosity,” or even a simple fabulist, I could know only if I accepted his invitation. Homosexuality, of which I had little interest, but still watched to determine motivation and procedure. Sexually, I have witnessed, observed and studied the best first hand, unrehearsed, non-laboratory sex between couples, and most other conceivable sex deviations during these past 15 years.He added that, later on, he would take me up to the special attic viewing platform, but only after his mother-in-law, Viola, who helped out in the motel office, had gone to bed.“My wife, Donna, and I have been careful never to let her in on our secret, and the same thing goes, of course, for our children,” he said.But he also kept fantasizing about his Aunt Katheryn.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 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.
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.
I know a married man and father of two who bought a twenty-one-room motel near Denver many years ago in order to become its resident voyeur. The Seventies, later part, brought another sexual deviation forward, namely, group sex, which I took great interest in watching . My main objective in wanting to provide you with this confidential information is the belief that it could be valuable to people in general and sex researchers in particular.
With the assistance of his wife, he cut rectangular holes measuring six by fourteen inches in the ceilings of more than a dozen rooms. He went on to say that although he had been wanting to tell his story, he was “not talented enough” as a writer and had “fears of being discovered.” He then invited me to correspond with him in care of a post-office box and suggested that I come to Colorado to inspect his motel operation: After reading this letter, I put it aside for a few days, undecided on whether to respond.
To escape this tedium, he said, he began to undertake what he called “voyeuristic excursions” around Aurora after dark.
Often on foot, although sometimes in a car, he would cruise through neighborhoods and spy on people who were casual about lowering their window shades. “Even before our marriage I told her that this gave me a feeling of power,” he said. “Donna and most nurses are very open-minded,” he said.
His parents, hardworking German-Americans, had had a farm.