The Mansion

Obsessive Love Disorder

Afterwards I hated myself for masturbating to the photos of a total stranger. But in my defence, I couldn't help it. I had issues and it was those issues that made me do it!

  My issues were that I suffered from a rare disorder, named Obsessive Love Disorder. I would form overwhelming attractions to one person and become
obsessed with them. Becoming extreme jealousy over their interactions with others and finding myself feeling the need to protect them. My disorder was the reason I didn't date.

People with O.L.D. didn't take rejection well.

My disorder also explained my obsession with the mansion. When I loved something, it was an obsessive, all encompassing love. And the reason why most of the people I'd dated in my life, were now terrified of me. I didn't blame them, when I was in obsession mode, I was a maniac. If I was honest with myself, most days, I even terrified of myself...

Since moving to Melbourne twelve months earlier, I found it far less messy to just obsess about the house and pictures of random hot strangers. People I would never meet in real life. Just like Ashton B. James.

  I lay my head on the side of the bath and continued to look at his photos. Wondering how much his life had changed since he lost the use of his legs. I wondered how such a virile looking man, a fearless soldier, was adjusting to life as a civilian and in a wheelchair.

Guessing by the lack of photos in Stacey's social media, Ashton and Stacey were no longer married. I wondered if he was still able to make love. Then I pictured myself sitting on his lap...

I came even quicker the second time.

Later that night in bed, my mind went to the mansion again. My heart ached at the fact that there
was new tenants moving in, which proved what a debilitating condition O.L.D. was. I kissed the photo of the Beauchamp grandson on my phone and fell asleep imagining him being in my bed to comfort me.

The following morning, I rounded the corner of Crest Street and walked past the mansion very slowly. Blatantly looking inside all her windows, trying to catch a glimpse of the undeserving new tenants. Listening out for any noise coming from inside. There was nothing.

While I waited at the bay windows for the pedestrian lights to change, I could have sworn I was
being watched. My suspicions were confirmed when I saw the curtain sheets move in my peripheral vision. I looked over my shoulder and the curtain sheets closed.

I frowned, angry at being stalkee instead of stalker for a change and quickly walked across the road towards the post office. I wondered who was watching me, and why. The idea of being watched had done something I thought was impossible, peaked my curiosity.

  I kept my eyes peeled for any movement at the mansion the rest of the day. Unfortunately, there was nothing. At lunchtime, I sat on my seat, looking towards the curtain sheets. Again, no sign of life. I sighed, disappointed. Obviously I'd imagined being watched that morning.

When I finished my salad, I stood and placed the container in my work bag and turned towards the post office. The bag slipped off my shoulder and fell to the ground. I bent down to pick it up and that's when I saw the curtain move again in the bay windows. I knew it! Someone was watching me! And to my delight, I liked it.

  I turned to face the windows and smiled. In my imagination, this little stalking game would end in me receiving an invitation inside the mansion and for that, I was willing to play the stalking victim.

After work, I walked past the house slowly again. This time, I pretended I wasn't interested in what or who was inside. Even though it was killing me to not look at the love of my life. The lights were on inside her again, and I was certain I was being watched again when the antique drapes moved from room to room as I made my way past the house. I rounded the corner to my apartment smiling.

As soon as I walked into my apartment, my hand went to the throbbing between my legs. I lifted my dress and couldn't get my panties off fast enough. Reaching for the vibrator located in my bedside cabinet. I came in record time.

That night, my appetite for my frozen dinner returned. I sat ignoring the show on the TV, laughing at my overactive imagination. Knowing my luck, the new tenants were an elderly pair of serial killers, I thought, then shrugged. I was still keen to make friends even if they were serial killers, I'd give anything to get inside the old mansion. Even my life.

  That was the power of Obsessive Love Disorder.

The next morning, I walked briskly past the house, then ran across the busy Main Street. No I wasn't playing hard to get with my mysterious stalker. I was running because I slept in. I blamed the cute, crippled Beauchamp grandson, for being an amazing lover. In my dreams.

By mid morning, I was anxious for lunch. I looked at my watch. Groaning when I realised lunch was two hours away. It was quiet day at the post office, Tuesdays always were. So I decided to use my free time to try and get some information about the new mansion tenants from the town gossip. AKA my boss AJ.

"AJ, I saw a removalist truck across the road. Do you know who's moving in?" I asked, feigning disinterest.

"I saw the van too!" AJ exclaimed. "I have no idea, no one in town knows. It's a mystery." It was clear AJ was almost as excited as I was at the prospect of meeting the new tenants. I smiled at her, hiding the fact that I wanting to strangle her for not having any information.

I was saved from further small talk by the entrance of our local mailman. I went to the back room to get his mail bag while AJ flirted with him. I don't know what made me look inside the bag, but I did. I quickly flicked through to the mansion's address and hit the jackpot. There was a letter. Addressed to Mr F.B.B. James.
"Mr F.B.B. James?" I read aloud. I looked out towards AJ, she was mid hair flick while the postie smiled predatorily. I slipped the letter down my blouse. I spent the next two hours wondering who the mysterious Mr F.B.B. James was. He was obviously related to Genevieve Beauchamp James and the Beauchamp grandsons. I didn't know what I wanted to do with the letter, but I was suddenly in love with the postman for distracting AJ long enough for me to swipe the letter.

At lunchtime, I sat on my bench seat. Watching for any signs of life from across the street. I was desperate to look at the letter again, but decided not to touch it again until I got home that evening. I ate my sandwich, staring directly at the crack in the sheet curtains. Sure enough, they moved slightly. A half smile curled on my lips.