I knew it was wrong to watch him. But while alone in my room at night, I found myself sitting in the darkness and gazing at his house.
He kept the windows wide open, as if inviting my stare, and I had a perfect view of his illuminated bedroom. My new neighbor was around forty, and though he lived alone, a woman frequently visited him in the evenings. She had long brown hair, the same shade as my own, and he seemed to enjoy taking it down before they made love. While watching them, I patted my own wavy hair, absently wondering if I should grow it out.
Over the course of several weeks, I'd grown curious about his lady visitor. She wasn't a girlfriend, I decided, for she stayed only long enough for a drink and a fuck. Sometimes, she was still lingering over a glass of wine when my neighbor dropped to his knees and buried his face between her thighs.
During the day, he dressed in office attire, his work hours similar to mine. I knew I'd been a horrible neighbor, neglecting to introduce myself when he first moved in. But the act of making small talk was almost painful to me, and I avoided it whenever possible. My bookkeeping job offered me a lot of time to myself; long ago, I'd decided it was the perfect career. At thirty-seven, I still lived with my father in the house where I'd grown up. It was the house my mother chose to leave when I was a teenager. She'd fallen in love with an old friend, and the two of them decided to make a new life together far away from this town. I hadn't seen her since.
I wondered if my neighbor was like the man who'd stolen my mother away from me. That thought made me resentful, but not resentful enough to keep from watching him. He was sandy-haired and broad-shouldered. I liked his clean-shaven, everyday-man look. Beneath his clothes, which he was always quick to shed, his body was strong but softening a little at his midsection. When he strode naked around his bedroom, I could vaguely make out the shape and length of his cock. It seemed perfectly average, yet he wielded it like a tool for pleasure.
He and his lover were noisy during sex. In my chair by the window, I watched as she knelt on the bed, spreading herself wide for him. He eased into her, so gently at first, but they would soon fuck like wild creatures. I was a silent witness to their lust, growing wet enough to saturate my panties. My faint moans were drowned out by the woman's cries as he held fast to her hips and drove himself deep inside her again and again. Her breasts, larger than mine, bounced with each thrust. Even when their fierce coupling appeared almost painful, the woman's voice would carry through the night: "Harder!" He claimed her pussy like a man possessed, but she was the one in control, demanding more until he was covered in sweat, trying to satisfy her.
After she finally came with a wail, collapsing on the bed, he would turn her over and settle between her thighs once more, his cock relentless. She lay in a kind of blissful stupor as he continued rutting away. My God, the man could last!
And if I pressed my thighs tightly together and rocked back and forth in my chair, I could bring about my own orgasm. Sometimes, I slipped a hand into my nightgown to tease a nipple while imagining it was my neighbor touching me. I wasn't a virgin, but many years had passed since I'd made love, and it had never been with such intensity.
My neighbor's lover would shamelessly beg for his cum, extending her tongue while he pumped away at his dick. He seemed to love marking her in such a primal way. I often managed to reach my climax just as he did; it thrilled me to know our bodies were simultaneously shuddering, both of us in the grip of ecstasy.
The woman loved his semen, readily swallowing what landed on her tongue. With her fingers, she would gather his seed from her breasts and then lick them clean. She seemed utterly filthy then, and my face grew hot from watching her. Yet I wondered how he tasted.
Afterward, he would hold her in his arms for a while. I sometimes heard their soft laughter as they talked.
Did he love her? It was hard to say. He clearly loved the sex they had. And though he was almost brutal in fucking her, his mouth was inevitably tender as he gave her a deep kiss.
It was no wonder she kept coming back. I figured she was probably married, available to him only for sex, and during their time together, he made her feel more desired than she ever had before.
I looked forward to their passionate evenings. While my father sat in the living room with the television blaring, I retreated to my bedroom to watch the lovers next door. Even after the woman was gone and my neighbor had turned off the lights, their lovemaking remained vivid in my mind. And I thought I was safe, hidden away in the darkness. Because of my shyness, my sexual experience was limited to just one partner whom I'd briefly dated in my early twenties. What was the harm in engaging in a bit of voyeuristic pleasure now? No one would ever know.
That's what I told myself until an evening in late spring, when the temperature was unseasonably cool. Too cool to keep my window open, but I was so eager to hear my neighbor and his lover that I sat bundled up in a blanket. My gaze was riveted to his bedroom window, which was also open.
He finally came on the woman's tits, and I shuddered silently from my own orgasm. My fingers worked between my spread thighs, furiously rubbing my clit through my panties. Even as the chill deepened in my room, I felt hot with arousal.
I was still languidly touching myself when I saw my neighbor rise from the bed and stroll toward the window. My brow furrowed in confusion; he'd never done this before. While his lover relaxed, wearing a lazy smile, he stood at the window and stretched. Allowing my gaze to roam over the man's naked body, I noticed his cock was slow to soften.
It was then that he leaned forward and looked directly at me, flashing a grin.
Gasping, I ducked down in my chair in a pitiful attempt to hide. With a hand cupped over my mouth, I could hear my heartbeat pounding in my ears, filling the sudden quiet. He couldn't possibly know I'd been watching, I tried to assure myself.
But his expression had been so... knowing! I felt like I'd been spotted; he'd called me out with that grin, though he'd never said a word. Had I grown careless while spying on him? Was I too loud at some point? Had I coughed or sneezed, or even moaned too passionately while climaxing? Maybe I had lingered too long in my chair after he'd turned off his light and shut the window. Perhaps he'd caught a glimpse of my nightgown, its white sleeve signaling him like a flag.
I swore I would never watch him again. I'd keep the window shut and the blinds closed from now on. Though I would miss these evenings, it was far too risky to continue. After all, I had to live next to this man for the foreseeable future.
I slept poorly that night, waking at the slightest sound. The following day, I was tired but on edge. As the hours dragged by at my job, I looked forward to going home and climbing into bed. Right after dinner, I promised myself.
My plans were dashed when I pulled into my driveway after work. Looking over at my neighbor's house, my eyes widened as I saw him striding toward me, still wearing a suit and tie. My face burned, and my mouth grew dry from a rush of anxiety. Yet I calmly got out of the car, clutching my purse before me like a shield.
The man called out a friendly greeting, and I relaxed the slightest bit. While he closed the distance between us, I even managed a polite smile.
"I don't believe we've met," he said, standing just a couple of feet away from me. "I'm Lance." His eyes, a lighter shade of brown than my own, were filled with warmth.
I took his offered hand and gave it a brief shake. "I'm Violet. I'm so sorry I haven't come over to welcome you to the neighborhood. It's just that I've been..." I had no excuse for my behavior except for chronic shyness, and I figured he could discern that much about me right away.
"No need to apologize," he said. "It's a pleasure to meet you now." He maintained that easy smile. My own widened, for I was sure he hadn't noticed me at my window last night, or on any other night. I'd read too much into his grin the evening before.