What I Saw from My Window on the First Day of Classes

I was nineteen when I started my first year of chemical engineering at a university about ninety kilometers from my hometown. It was the first time I had been away from home for months, and that mixture of nerves and excitement stayed with me throughout the entire bus ride.

The problem came as soon as I set foot in the housing office. The clerk, a middle-aged woman with thick-rimmed glasses and the look of someone who had delivered the same news too many times, explained that all the places in the university residence had been occupied since July.

—You should have applied earlier —she said, without much sympathy—. Now you have two options: look on the bulletin board in case some student is looking for a roommate, or consider families who house university students in exchange for companionship.

I called my parents from the hallway. It took my mother about three seconds to tell me to try the families. “If they’re good people and you like the place, it’s better than sharing an apartment with total strangers,” she said. My father agreed. I took their advice.

I went back to the desk and asked the clerk to see if there was anything available. She searched her computer unhurriedly, typed a couple of things, and looked up.

—I have a childless married couple here who offer a room and meals in exchange for companionship. They’re trustworthy; they’ve been in the program for years. Would you like me to call them?

—Yes, please.

She dialed the number. Their names were Rodrigo and Elena. They were walking through a park near the faculty and offered to come pick me up in ten minutes. And so they did. A silver car stopped in front of the office, and a man of about fifty-five got out of the driver’s seat, tall, broad-shouldered, and wearing an easy smile. His wife, Elena, was slender, with dark hair touched by a few elegant gray streaks, and she moved with the ease that only people who have been comfortable in their own skin for many years possess.

—You must be Marcos —she said, offering her hand first and then giving me two kisses, as if she had known me all her life.

—That’s me —I replied, somewhat awkwardly.

Rodrigo opened the car’s back door with a sweeping gesture.

—Will you come with us to see the house? We can eat there, and then you can decide at your leisure. If it doesn’t convince you, we’ll take you to the station, no problem.

It sounded good to me. I got into the car.

***

The drive took about twenty-five minutes. We left the urban area by a secondary road lined with pine trees and entered a quiet development on the outskirts of town. Rodrigo and Elena’s house was the last one on the street: spacious, two stories, with a well-kept front garden and a tall hedge that blocked the view from the street.

Inside, it was larger than it looked from outside. A living room with an open-plan kitchen, high ceilings, natural light in every room. At the end of the hallway were two bedrooms. The one that would be mine had a double bed, a dark-wood desk, a built-in wardrobe, and a private bathroom. Through the bedroom window, I could see straight into the backyard.

And the pool.

—The bus leaves from the entrance to the development every fifteen minutes —Elena said, leaning against the doorframe—. From seven in the morning until midnight. You’ll get to the faculty in twenty minutes.

Rodrigo cooked a paella while the three of us talked in the kitchen. Elena set the table and opened wine, and I watched them move around the stove as if they had spent their whole lives doing exactly that. There was something comfortable about them. Nothing forced, nothing that put me on my guard.

They asked me about my degree, my parents, whether I had any siblings. I answered them and listened to them and thought that this wasn’t what I had imagined when I heard about “foster families.” I called my parents from the table. My father spoke to Rodrigo for a few minutes, and when he handed the phone back to me, he said they seemed “trustworthy.” That was enough for me.

The only thing they asked of me, before I left that afternoon, was discretion.

—We don’t want our private life to become a subject of conversation outside this house —Rodrigo said, calmly but clearly—. What happens in this house stays in this house. We trust you.

I nodded. At the time, I didn’t think much more about it.

***

I came back in mid-September with two suitcases and a backpack. They were waiting for me at the door. The three of us carried my things into the room, and Elena told me to take as much time as I needed to get organized.

—We’re going to take a dip in the pool in the meantime —she added casually—. If you’d like to join us, you’re welcome. If you’d rather stay here, that’s fine too.

—I’ll put my things away first —I replied—. Then I’ll see.

I began arranging my books on the desk and my clothes in the wardrobe. It was still a hot September afternoon, without a cloud in the sky, and the smell of damp grass and chlorine drifted in through the open window. I heard the back door close. Then, a moment later, the sound of water.

I didn’t think about it. I went over to the window.

***

They were both in the pool, completely naked.

I stood motionless.

Elena had a body that didn’t match what I would have expected from a woman her age. Large, full tits, with dark nipples standing hard in the coolness of the water; a defined waist, a round, firm ass, and between her legs a completely shaved cunt, her pink lips peeking out between her thighs. Her skin was evenly tanned, without swimsuit marks. Rodrigo was muscular, broad-backed, with wet hair stuck to the nape of his neck, and a thick, long cock hung between his legs, half-erect, swaying with every movement in the water.

They were kissing with their tongues, making no attempt to hide it. Elena slipped her hand beneath the water, and I could see her arm moving in a slow, steady rhythm that left no doubt about what she was doing. Rodrigo’s eyes were half-closed and his mouth was open against her neck, gently biting it.

—You’ve already got it so hard, darling —I heard her whisper, in a low, husky laugh that reached me clearly through the open window.

—It’s what you do to me —he replied, and squeezed one of her tits with his free hand, pinching the nipple between his thumb and forefinger until she let out a short moan.

I moved a few centimeters away from the glass. My heart was racing, my mouth was dry, and my cock was beginning to strain against my pants.

I should go back to the wardrobe.

I didn’t go back to the wardrobe.

I stayed where I was, without moving, watching. Elena climbed out of the water by the ladder and sat on the edge of the pool with her legs spread, resting her feet on a submerged step. Rodrigo positioned himself between her thighs, still in the water, and placed one hand on each of her knees to open her wider. He ran his tongue along the inside of her thigh, slowly working his way up, and when he reached her cunt, she threw her head back and let out a gasp that caught in her throat.

He ate her out without hurrying. I could see the back of his neck moving in small circles, his tongue working between her lips, while Elena gripped the tiled edge with both hands, her mouth open, her breasts rising and falling with her breathing. I saw him slide two fingers inside her while continuing to suck her clitoris at the same time. Elena began moving her hips against his face, and the words coming out of her mouth stopped having any complete shape.

—That’s it, that’s it, don’t stop, fuck, don’t stop…

When she came, she squeezed her thighs around Rodrigo’s head and arched her back. I saw the tremor running through her legs from the garden. I also saw him pull away with his chin shining and a slow smile on his face, then wipe the back of his hand across his mouth without taking his eyes off her.

Elena let herself fall into the water, wrapped her arms around his neck, and kissed him with her whole tongue. Then she ran her hands down Rodrigo’s chest, kept going lower, and grabbed his cock firmly beneath the water. His expression changed in an instant.

—Get out —she told him, biting his lower lip—. I want to suck you properly.

Rodrigo climbed onto the edge and sat on the tiles, his legs hanging into the water. His cock rose hard between his thighs, wet and thick, his balls drawn tight beneath it. Elena swam closer, propped herself on her elbows between his legs, and took him into her mouth all at once, down to the root, until I saw her swallow the entire base with a movement of her throat that was visible from the window.

She sucked him hungrily. She stuck out her tongue to lick his balls, then swallowed him again, pulled him all the way out with a wet smack, and ran the tip over her lips, coating her mouth with saliva and pre-cum. Rodrigo had one hand on the back of her neck, not forcing her, merely setting a gentle rhythm. The grunts he let out went straight to my stomach.

—You suck cock so well, my love. So well.

My cock was hard as a rock inside my pants. I put my hand over the fabric and squeezed myself without taking it out, still trying to maintain my composure, still telling myself that any moment I would step away from the window. I didn’t step away.

The afternoon settled over them in that thick, golden September light, and the two of them seemed completely oblivious to anything but each other. Elena released his cock and rose from the water, dripping all over, then whispered something in his ear that I couldn’t hear. Rodrigo laughed from deep in his throat and let himself fall onto the wooden lounger beside the pool, his cock pointing toward the sky. She climbed on top of him astride, settled herself, found the position with her hand, and eased him inside her, inch by inch, until she had taken all of him.

I heard her moan when she felt him inside her perfectly.

She began riding him with her thighs spread, raising and lowering her ass while bracing herself against his chest. Her breasts bounced with every thrust, and Rodrigo grabbed them with both hands, squeezing them and sucking them one after the other whenever she leaned close enough. I could see his cock entering and leaving her cunt every time she rose, shiny and thick, then disappearing inside her again when she lowered herself.

—That’s it, fuck me like that, give me more, give it to me harder —she pleaded between gasps.

Rodrigo grabbed her ass with both hands and began thrusting up into her, really fucking her, with sharp strokes that made the lounger creak. Elena’s mouth was open as she bit his shoulder and dug her nails into his back. The scene was completely animalistic.

When I finally moved away from the window, I realized what my body had known for several minutes already. I lay down on the bed, turned on the ceiling fan, and stared at the blades as they spun, while Elena’s moans and the wet sound of two bodies thrusting tirelessly against each other continued to drift in from the garden.

There was no point resisting.

I slowly took off my pants and underwear. My cock sprang out swollen, the tip already wet. I gripped it with my right hand and began masturbating unhurriedly, letting the tension build on its own while listening to what was happening in the garden. Elena was screaming now, without restraint, and I imagined the look on her face, her soaked cunt swallowing Rodrigo’s cock all the way to the base. I spit into my hand for more slip and began pumping faster, squeezing beneath the glans and twisting my wrist on the upstroke the way I liked to.

The heat of the afternoon and the quiet of the room made everything more intense than usual. I focused on the sensation, the rhythm, the voices that kept coming from outside. I didn’t feel guilty. I was simply present, more present than I had been all day. When I heard Elena’s long, broken cry as she came for the second time, and Rodrigo’s guttural grunt as he emptied himself inside her, I couldn’t hold back any longer. I came in jets across my stomach, three or four thick spurts reaching as far as my chest, my teeth clenched so I wouldn’t make a sound and my hips lifting off the bed on their own.

I stayed still for a few seconds, breathing hard, my muscles relaxed, as if a weight had been lifted from me. I had semen cooling in my navel and my heart was still pounding in my throat. I gathered my clothes from the floor, went to the bathroom, and showered with hot water until the steam completely covered the mirror, scrubbing my belly and my still-sensitive cock thoroughly.

I left the room twenty minutes later, my hair wet and wearing a clean shirt.

***

Rodrigo was in the kitchen wearing shorts and a linen shirt that was still mostly unbuttoned. Elena wore a thin beach dress, her skin still glistening with water, her nipples outlined against the fabric with nothing underneath. Neither of them seemed uncomfortable. They asked if I wanted something to drink, and I asked for water. The three of us sat on the terrace as the afternoon slowly cooled around us.

The conversation was easy at first: the faculty, the bus, whether I had ever tried the rice pudding Elena made. But at some point, between one comment and the next, Rodrigo set his glass down on the table and looked at me calmly.

—Did you see us in the pool earlier?

It wasn’t an accusation. He asked it with the same naturalness he might have used to ask if I wanted more bread.

I didn’t answer immediately. Rodrigo continued without waiting.

—We’re nudists, and we fuck wherever we want inside our own home —he said without lowering his voice—. We’ve been like this for years, the two of us. No one can see this back part of the house from outside: the hedges are tall, and we’re the last lot in the development. But obviously, the view is different from inside the house. —He paused briefly—. We ask you to respect that, just as we’ll respect your space. If you ever want to join us, you have every right to. If you’d rather not, that’s fine too. No pressure either way.

Elena watched me without saying anything, with that calm expression that, I would soon learn, was her default attitude toward almost everything. But her eyes were bright, and I could have sworn the faintest smile appeared when she heard Rodrigo say the word “fuck.”

—I saw you —I admitted after a moment—. I didn’t mean to stand there watching, but I did. I saw all of you.

—And? —she said.

I searched for the right word.

—It seemed very natural to me. I don’t know how to explain it better than that.

—Did you get hard? —Elena asked without changing her tone, as if she were asking me the time.

The color rose all the way to my ears. She gave a quiet laugh, and Rodrigo did too.

—Yes —I answered, looking her in the eyes because I had no other choice—. I got hard.

—Good —Rodrigo said, filling the three wineglasses that were half-full on the table—. It doesn’t have to be a problem. That’s what happens when you’re young and see something like that. We understand. Whatever you do afterward, in your room, is your business. There’s nothing to forgive.

The three of us raised our glasses at the same time, without anyone saying anything else. The sun finished sinking behind the pines, and the garden began to grow dark. There was no need to add anything.

***

The following weeks found their own rhythm. I had breakfast with them before catching the bus. I ate with them when I got back. Sometimes I studied on the terrace while they read or went about their business. Sometimes, from my desk, I saw them in the backyard without it seeming unusual anymore: Elena sunbathing facedown with her ass bare, Rodrigo reading on the lounger with his cock resting against his thigh, and the two of them fucking on almost any Saturday afternoon in the grass or in the water, without lowering their voices or turning off the lights.

Elena taught me how to make a tomato sauce that took two hours but was worth it. Rodrigo lent me books that had nothing to do with chemistry and that I read anyway. I got used to their habits and they got used to mine, and there was something strangely simple about that balance.

I never joined them in the pool. They never suggested it again. But every time I heard them from my room—their moans, his grunts, the splashing water or the creaking lounger—I would pull down my pants, grab my cock, and give myself a long, silent wank until I came across my stomach, listening to what they were doing on the other side of the glass as if it were my own private soundtrack.

The tension of that first day—that mixture of surprise and desire and something more difficult to name, which was neither exactly voyeurism nor exactly something else—remained as a background hum, present without being unpleasant, like the September heat that took so long to leave.

I never told anyone anything. Not at the faculty, not at home, not to the friends I made over time.

Some secrets are better kept. And there are years one remembers with a clarity that cannot quite be explained, because something small happened during them that, without your realizing it, changed something inside you.

That first year of college was one of them.