What I Gave the Construction Workers from the Balcony

My name is Camila, I’m twenty-three years old, and that afternoon the heat was driving me crazy. I live on a third floor with a wide balcony that looks out onto the street, and when everyone leaves and the house falls silent, that balcony is my favorite place on the planet. I’m a little over five foot three, I have curves I like to admire in the mirror, and a body that, I’ll admit, I love to show off even if it’s only to the wall.

I was alone. My flatmate had gone away for the whole weekend, and I had nothing to do but melt. I stretched out on the long balcony lounger, staring at the sky, trying to guess whether it was going to rain. The clouds drifted by, thick and gray, but never quite made up their minds. Just like me.

The air was still, sticky. My T-shirt clung to my back and sweat ran between my breasts. I started taking off clothes almost without thinking: first my sandals, then my shorts, until I was left in my underwear sprawled in the sun like a cat. Even so, I was still hot.

Right across from me, on the other side of the street, there’s a half-built construction site. They’ve been at it for months: scaffolding, plastic sheeting fluttering, a yellow crane, and a handful of big men climbing up and down all day with their torsos shining with sweat. Sometimes I watch them from the kitchen out of the corner of my eye. That afternoon, half asleep and very bored, I thought something I shouldn’t have thought.

I wish one of them would cross over, come up, and make me his right here.

The idea hit me like a match. It wasn’t the first time I’d imagined things like that, but it was so hot and I was so alone that suddenly the fantasy felt clearer than usual.

I closed my eyes. I let my mind run wild.

***

I get turned on by thinking someone might see how shameless I am when nobody’s looking. I imagined one of those men, the tallest one, the broad-shouldered one, standing at the edge of the balcony, watching me without saying a word. Just looking at me. With that idea in my head, I brought my hands to my breasts over my bra.

My nipples hardened almost instantly. I stroked myself slowly, in circles, feeling the rough fabric rub against them, and I noticed my panties starting to get wet. The bra was getting in my way between the excitement and the need, so I took it off and let it drop to the balcony floor.

I massaged my breasts with both hands for a good while. No hurry. Letting desire build layer by layer, the way you turn the volume up little by little until suddenly you realize it’s very loud. It felt incredible.

I sucked on my fingers for a few seconds, feeling them hot against my tongue, and opened my legs centimeter by centimeter. My naughty hand slid down to my panties and, when I brushed the soaked fabric, I let out a sigh I couldn’t stop. I was much more aroused than I’d thought.

I ran two fingers over the fabric, up and down, while with my other hand I tugged at my left nipple. The man in my imagination was still there, watching me, and I spoke to him softly as if he could really hear me.

—Do you like what you see, sir? —I murmured.

He nodded slowly in my head and, in a deep voice that ran down my spine, asked me to show him more. I did as he said. I slid my hand under my panties and started tracing slow circles over my clit, opening my legs even wider, offering myself to an audience that only existed behind my eyelids.

—You touch yourself so beautifully —that invented voice told me.

—It’s easy for me to think about you —I answered, biting my lip.

—Stay still. Take that off and open yourself up for me —he ordered.

I got rid of the red panties with a clumsy movement and, with two fingers, opened myself so that that imaginary stranger could look at me all over. Look. See everything. The mere idea of being so exposed, of being watched without shame, had me trembling.

—Do you like it, sir? —I asked again.

There was no answer in my head, but I didn’t care. I rubbed my fingers against my clit again, imagining that it was his wet, hot tongue giving me that slow, steady pleasure. I squeezed my eyes shut. A moan escaped my mouth when my fingers started moving faster.

—Slowly, let’s not finish too soon —the voice whispered, and I obeyed, easing off right at the edge.

In my fantasy, the man leaned over me and caught my nipples in his mouth. He sucked them hard, nibbled them lightly, tugged on them until they were hard and slick with saliva. I arched my back against the lounger, feeling the sun on my skin and an electric tingle rising up inside me.

—Put your fingers in —he ordered. —I want to see.

I did as I was told. I was so wet it was effortless. First one, then two, and finally three fingers sliding in slowly. I felt full, open, and let out a long moan.

—It feels too good —I panted.

—Imagine they’re my cock and ride it. Hard. Very hard.

My fingers started pumping in and out quickly, imagining that it was something much bigger filling me. I got down on my knees on the lounger, bent forward, and fucked myself harder, more desperately, losing all sense of where I was.

—God, that feels so good —I moaned into the cushion—. Harder, please, your little bitch wants more.

***

And then I heard it.

A whistle. Long, sharp, unmistakable. Then another. And a man’s laugh.

My heart lurched. For a second I thought it was part of the fantasy, another detail my mind had invented to turn me on even more. But the whistles kept coming, and they were too real, too clear against the distant hum of traffic.

I sat up slowly, still breathless, and looked toward the construction site opposite.

There they were. All of them. Four, five, I didn’t count properly. Leaning on the scaffolding on the second floor, hard hats pushed back and sweat gleaming on their arms. Watching me. They had stopped working to watch me.

One of them had his hand down his pants, not even trying to hide it. Another nodded at me, as if inviting me to keep going. They’re watching me. They’ve been watching me for a while.

I should have covered myself. I should have grabbed my clothes, run inside, and slammed the balcony door shut, dying of shame. That’s what any sensible girl would do.

I didn’t.

What I felt was something else, something that rose up through my chest and left my throat dry: the desire for them to look more. To give them exactly what they were waiting for. My fantasy had climbed out of the balcony in my head and turned flesh and blood, and I didn’t want it to end.

I stood up from the lounger, completely naked, and walked to the railing. No hurry. I let them see me all at once, standing against the gray sky, and I rested my hands on the cold rail so they could get a better look at my breasts. Another whistle. A word I didn’t understand, shouted between laughs.

This is the hottest thing I’ve ever done in my life.

I felt my juices running down the inside of my thigh, my whole body begging me not to stop. I sat back down on the lounger, this time facing them, and spread my legs shamelessly so the whole site had the best view of the afternoon.

I got back to work. I shoved in three fingers in one go and moaned so loudly I’m sure they heard me over the street. I started out gently, like before, but the real audience was turning me on in a way the imaginary one never had. Every second I pushed my fingers faster, deeper, looking them in the eye while I did it.

They weren’t even pretending to be discreet. Two of them had pulled out their cocks and were masturbating without taking their eyes off me, matching their pace to mine. Knowing I was provoking that, that my body had them all hypnotized, brought me to the brink faster than I expected.

—I want to come for you —I said out loud, not caring about anything—. Look at me.

My fingers went in and out making a wet, obscene sound that got me even hotter. With my other hand I went back to my clit, rubbing in fast circles, feeling my whole body tighten like a rope about to snap.

It hit me all at once. A long moan slipped from my lips and everything shook at once: my legs, my belly, even my toes. I came hard, soaking the lounger, trembling under the gaze of all those men who stopped masturbating just to applaud me, laughing and whistling, as if I had just finished the best performance of their lives.

I stayed like that for a while, collapsed, catching my breath, feeling my heart pounding and my skin tingling. The sky still hadn’t made up its mind to rain.

When I finally gathered my strength, I blew them a kiss, picked up my clothes from the floor, and went inside with a smile that stayed with me all night. The next day, before leaving the house, I stepped out onto the balcony almost without meaning to. One of them looked up from the scaffolding, recognized me, and smiled.

I smiled back. Maybe tomorrow it’ll be too hot again.