What I Did in Front of the Open Window That Afternoon

It was one of those Sundays that never seem to end. I’d spent the whole weekend alone in the apartment, with no plans and no desire to make any, and I’d already exhausted every possible distraction. I spent the morning between series I barely watched and songs I put on without listening to, and after lunch I let myself sink back into the sofa, covered with a thin blanket, letting the hours slip away meaninglessly.

By mid-afternoon, the screen was still on, but I wasn’t seeing anything anymore. My mind had gone somewhere else. It started the way everything usually starts: a stray image, an idea that appears without asking permission. And the more I tried to push it away, the more it stuck, the more concrete it became, the more insistent.

The idea was simple and, at the same time, something I had never dared to do.

I had never exactly been a fan of exhibitionism. It made me nervous just thinking about it. But that afternoon, alone, with no one who could find out, with the street quiet and the Sunday silence tucked into every corner of the apartment, the mere possibility of doing it filled my stomach with a tingling sensation unlike anything else. I thought about it once, twice, three times. The fourth time, I was already standing up.

I started by preparing the scene. I went to the living room window, drew the curtain all the way back, and opened the window wide. Fresh air came in, smelling of afternoon and hot rooftops. Across from me, on the other side of the narrow street, stood the neighboring building, with its balconies and windows, almost all of them with the blinds half lowered. I told myself there was no one there. That it was Sunday. That everyone would be out or napping.

I placed a chair right in front of the glass and went to my bedroom to get what I needed. I came back with my clitoral suction toy and a handful of clothespins, those wooden ones I kept in the kitchen and that had ended up serving a very different purpose.

Before sitting down, I took off my clothes. Slowly, as if someone were counting each garment as it fell to the floor. I took off my T-shirt, my shorts, my underwear, until I was completely naked in the middle of the living room, with the afternoon light pouring full onto my skin. I didn’t want to leave anything to the imagination. I wanted to be truly exposed.

I sat on the chair and, during the first few minutes, my courage completely deserted me. I kept looking out at the street, alert to any movement, with my hands ready to cover myself if anyone appeared. My heart was beating fast, not from pleasure yet, but from pure nerves. What are you doing?, I asked myself. And the answer was that I didn’t know, but I wasn’t going to stop.

I took two clothespins and clipped one onto each nipple. The pinch was sharp, a brief, clean pain that made me close my eyes. And then something curious happened: that same pain, far from stopping me, pushed me forward. I felt myself soaking between my legs, my body responding before my mind had finished deciding.

Little by little, without realizing it, the street stopped mattering. I still kept glancing sideways, yes, but no longer with fear, almost with the hope that someone would appear. I leaned my back against the chair, lifted my feet to the edge of the window, and spread my legs as far as I could. If someone looked at that moment, they would see absolutely everything.

I took two more clothespins and clipped them onto my lips, one on each side. The tug made me gasp. The wetness kept increasing, sliding, and I did nothing to hold it back. I pulled a little on the nipple clips, looking for that exact pressure that turns pain into something else, into a hot current running straight down to the pit of my stomach.

I saved the third clothespin for my clit. When I closed it there, my whole body tensed at once. I let out the breath through my teeth. By then I was so wet that I could feel the dampness under my thighs, on the chair’s wood, and the street had completely vanished from my head.

I brought two fingers to my mouth and wet them thoroughly with my tongue. Then I lowered them slowly, very slowly, and pushed them into myself, feeling each centimeter enter a body that already wanted more. I started moving them carefully, mainly so I wouldn’t tug at the clothespins and truly hurt myself. But the caution didn’t last long.

Pleasure kept gaining ground and my fingers moved faster and faster, deeper, more desperately. I was so focused that the clit clip suddenly popped off and I let out a cry I couldn’t swallow in time. The sound bounced around the living room and snapped me back to the world. I looked out at the street, frightened.

No one was there. The sidewalk empty, the lampposts still unlit, not a single car. I breathed out, almost relieved, and shame gave way to desire again.

Taking advantage of the fact that the clit clip had come loose, and without taking my fingers out, I grabbed the suction toy with my other hand. I brought it closer slowly and turned it on at the lowest speed. The first touch made my back arch. I couldn’t hold back the moan, no matter how hard I tried to bite my lip so it wouldn’t be so loud.

As the intensity increased, holding back became impossible. My fingers went in and out, the suction toy worked on my clit, and the moans started coming out on their own, unfettered, filling the living room. The idea of being like that, completely naked, legs spread in front of a curtainless window, turned me on more than anything I had ever done alone in the dark.

I wanted to make it last. I pulled my fingers out and brought them to my mouth to slow myself down a little, so the end wouldn’t come so fast. I can’t describe the taste, only that I loved it, that I licked each finger without haste while I regained some control. I turned off the suction toy for a moment and brought my hands to my breasts. I removed the nipple clips one by one, slowly, and the surge of blood returning to my skin left me trembling. I stroked my breasts for a good while, glancing at the street from the corner of my eye, wishing someone were out there.

Then I picked up the suction toy again with one hand while I kept caressing myself with the other. I placed it back on my clit and started increasing the intensity without pause, moaning harder and harder, no longer holding back for anything. The possibility that unknown eyes might be fixed on me from somewhere was now the engine of everything.

I held on like that for as long as I could, with the device pressed against me and my whole body vibrating, until there was no way to hold it in anymore. I came with a force that surprised even me, my legs trembling against the window, a long moan escaping me without permission. It was one of the most intense orgasms I remember. When I could breathe again, I noticed I had soaked the chair too, and I didn’t care in the slightest.

It took me a while to get my breath back. Little by little, the street returned to my eyes, the sidewalk, the lampposts, the sky beginning to turn orange. And then, almost by chance, I looked toward a place I hadn’t paid attention to at any moment: the building across from me.

***

There was someone there.

In one of the windows of the apartment opposite, a man was watching me. He wasn’t hiding, wasn’t looking away, wasn’t pretending to be doing something else. He was there, still, and from his expression it was obvious he had been enjoying the show I had been putting on without realizing it.

I died of embarrassment the exact second my eyes met his. Heat rushed to my face in an instant, my ears burning, my heart racing again. For a moment I wanted to stand up, cover myself, draw the curtain, and disappear.

But I didn’t.

Instead, something stirred inside me. If he had seen everything, there was nothing left to hide. And the idea that he had been watching me the whole time, in silence, without my knowing it, lit me up again in a different way, a more shameless way.

My legs were still open. Without taking my eyes off his, I slowly removed the clips that were still on my lips. The tug made my mouth part slightly, and I didn’t look away for a single second. Then I lowered my hand and stroked myself with two fingers, slowly, letting him see exactly what I was doing. When I finished, I brought my fingers to my mouth and licked them clean, never breaking eye contact.

The man didn’t move. Neither did I look away.

I got up from the chair. I turned my back to him and bent over slowly, pushing my ass out toward the window so he would have the best possible view, and I licked clean the fluids I had left on the wood. I did it unhurriedly, aware of every second, knowing he was still there.

When I straightened up, I looked at him one last time. I smiled at him, a slow smile that said everything, and I lifted my hand to wave goodbye, as if I were leaving after a performance. He lifted his too, almost unable to believe it.

Then, still naked and with my skin burning, I closed the window and drew the curtain shut. I stood there for a moment in the middle of the living room, alone again, my heart pounding and a smile that wouldn’t leave my face.

The most boring Sunday of the year had turned, without my fully planning it, into the most exciting afternoon I could remember. And while I gathered the clothespins from the floor, I was already thinking about the next time I would leave the curtain open.