Mr. Collins is a research biochemist. His wife, Nancy, is the chief of securities for a major credit card company. His son, Tyler, recently graduated from MIT and is currently working as an urban development planner for the city of Baltimore. Mr. Collins’ teenage daughter, Sarah, recently left home to attend California State University at Long Beach on a modern dance scholarship.

Mr. Collins is a tremendously intelligent, dedicated, and successful scientist – having been published in more than a dozen journals and trade publications over the last 15 years. Mr. Collins is a loving, supportive husband, and caring, attentive father. From the throneroom study of his three-story classic, but contemporary townhome estate in Rye, New York, Mr. Collins serves as the head of a powerful, affluent, and well-respected American family. He serves as chair on three local arts councils, as well as a Breast Cancer Awareness charity he established after the passing of his mother three years ago.

By all accounts, Mr. Collins is a fine, upstanding man – a veritable pillar of his community. Mr. Collins is also a peeping tom.

His habit began shortly after the brief mid-life crisis he experienced in his early forties when he traded in the family’s Mercedes sedan for a fully restored vintage Alfa-Romeo. As punishment for his ‘illogical, emotionally-driven purchase’, Nancy dictated that Mr. Collins would assume walking duties for the Shar Pei puppy she and Sarah had run out and adopted the day after he drove home in the Alfa Romeo. Mr. Collins knew that his wife had wanted one of the puggly little animals all her life, but his adamant opposition to owning a pet had always discouraged her fulfilling this dream. The sports car sort of trumped that opposition.

Mr. Collins had taken to escorting Sergeant Snuggles, the puppy, around the neighborhood every evening at dusk, after the family dinner. At first he found the practice reprehensive, but in time he came to care for the canine with an intensity matched not even by his wife Nancy.

During the first of their many strolls along the cobbled sidewalks of the Collins’ posh little neighborhood, Mr. Collins and Sergeant Snuggles had happened upon a stirring scene outside of 1338 Hunterbaugh Street. Standing at the edge of the sidewalk, allowing the Sergeant to relieve himself on the adjacent hydrant, Mr. Collins had unintentionally glanced through the opened window at the front of the home in front of which he now stood, and caught without leave of removal, the startling image of two nude men engaged in active intercourse.

Long after the Sergeant had finished relieving his bladder, Mr. Collins remained, staring unblinkingly at the image stretched out before him, behind the unobstructed glass panes of a curtainless bay window. He knew the men now writhing together on the moss green suede sofa at the center of the living room. They had moved into the neighborhood a couple months prior, and there had been some stir at that month’s neighborhood watch meeting concerning the young couple’s orientation. Mr. Collins’ own wife, Nancy, had spoken in defense of the two.

Mr. Collins continued to stand openly on the sidewalk in front of the home at 8 o’clock in the evening, watching one young, strong, lean man drive his cock in and out of the warm, supple ass of another, portlier man beneath him. He watched, expressionless, without moving until the muscular, brown-haired man had removed his turgid member from the gaping ass of the chubby red-haired man