I would judge where I live as an upwardly mobile neighborhood, one whose homes attract the professionals of our community. And so, over the past forty years of my residency, it had proven itself to be just as I had always thought it was -- that is until the occurrences of a few incidents over the last year that have left me breathless with a sense of being morally invaded.

Aside from having to clean up the droppings of dogs, which, instead of children, now populate my neighborhood, and aside from having to wash dishes at a sink that is set under a large, beautiful bay window, which faces my neighbors equally large, beautiful kitchen bay window, and unavoidable seeing the occupants French kissing while washing their own dishes and finally climaxing into tearing at each other until they disappeared out of sight (I assume to finish their ------- on the kitchen floor). As I sat at my desk, which butts up against the sill of a huge French window, which faces the huge French window of the house across the street from me, a flashing light caught my attention.

"What in the name of Star Wars was that?" I exclaimed to myself.

From my chair, I reached forward and pushed back the sheer curtain and there it was again -- another flash of light! After the flash finished burning my eyes, I saw a scantily clad female form, her back to the window and centered within the frame of the bare, huge French window of the house across the street. Floodlights focused on her and swathed her in a warm honey glow. How scantily clad was she? Only a g-string covered, (Covered?) the separation of her buttocks and a thin, black strap across her back assured me that her breasts might at least be partially enveloped (Enveloped?). And was that sheer, lacey stockings covering her legs, their tops hugging her upper thighs just below her -----?

In quick succession she struck seductive poses; stretching with arms overhead, legs straddled in an inviting stance; bent from the waist with her derrière taunting the window in back of her; swiveling her hips which cried for someone to come and stop her locomotion. In one split second I thought she had snapped open her bra and bared her breasts!

(By now, on the street walking and doing a double take, was a man and a boy -- the man pushed the boy forward rushing him from the scene!)

"My goodness," I muttered disbelievingly, "should I call my husband?"

Yes, I did -- by intercom. He rushed into my office and I pointed him to the window. Were his eyes gleaming as he gazed out the window in the direction I pointed out to him?

"Oh!" was all he said.

"Why are they taking those kinds of posed pictures?"

"My guess is that they are photo shooting for the Internet or stills for sale."

"Well," I retorted excitedly, "shall I call the police?"

"And what would you expect they could do about this?"

"At least -- at least make them stop that!" I said breathless.

"Ha! By the time they get here I'm sure they will have finished and that will be the end of that!"

I was sure that I detected a slight sound of resignation in his voice as he turned to leave the room. But why did he stop to return and look out the window at least twice more before getting back to what he was doing before I called him?

(By now at least a half a dozen more people made slow passes past the spectacle in the window).

Distracting me only sporadically from my own work, the girlie show continued on for at least another half an hour. Of course, in my mind, during that time, I played around with calling the police only to come to the same conclusion my husband had.

But still I wondered about my rights as an annoyed citizen. That question bothered me all through the rest of the evening and on into a sleepless night. Early the next morning I did call my neighborhood police desk sergeant for his advice should this same event occur again.

"Well," said the sergeant, "we could send a car out there and have an officer tell them to draw their curtains so as their neighbors would not be disturbed by what they are doing."

Later that morning while pounding away at my computer keyboard once again, I slyly gazed out my window towards the house across the street. From my vantage point, I could see that there were no curtains that could be drawn across the huge French window!