At Forty, My Neighbor Couldn’t Stop Watching Me

I don’t pretend to be an example of anything. Not the perfect wife, nor the woman who does everything right. At forty-two, all I aspire to is to keep being myself, with my virtues and my flaws, and for life to remind me every now and then that I’m still alive.

Television makes me sleepy, so I read a lot. I’m brunette, not too tall, and although I crossed forty a while ago, I still consider myself an attractive woman. I’m not saying that out of vanity. Just this week, while I was having breakfast on the terrace of my usual café, a man I had already seen before came up politely and asked if he could sit at my table. I showed him my ring by way of answer, but instead of giving up, he smiled and showed me his.

I had fun. For fifteen minutes I forgot about my two teenage sons and about the fact that, despite my best friend’s advice, I’m still married to a man the years have slowly extinguished.

How did I end up being so predictable?

That July afternoon there was nothing urgent to do. Hugo, my husband, was at the office, and the boys were out all day with their friends. The heat was thick, the kind that clings to your skin. I took a long sip of cold lemonade and, an instant later, I was already feeling stifled again.

—I’m going out for a bit to get some sun,

I said out loud, as if there were anyone there to hear me.

I went up to the room, opened the third drawer, and looked for my red bikini, the one that leaves the least mark. I looked at myself in the full-length mirror and, with a mix of pride and vertigo, confirmed that the fabric barely managed to contain what it promised. I saw a woman with shoulder-length brown hair streaked with a few grays, fair skin, wide hips, and a body that was still firm. The little red triangles barely covered my nipples, which pressed stubbornly against the fabric, and the bottoms were so narrow they slipped between the lips of my cunt as soon as I took a step. I put my hands on my hips and held my own gaze. Not so bad, after all.

Our back garden is discreet, enclosed by a tall, dense hedge. It was my insistence when I inherited my parents’ house, because I never got along with the neighbor. The only way anyone could spy on me would be from the second-floor window next door, or from his balcony. But at that hour, I told myself, the man had to be working like everyone else.

I lay back on the lounger, earbuds in, with a playlist of soft songs. The sun revived my body and, without realizing it, I fell asleep.

***

I woke up feeling brand new, rested in a way I hadn’t felt in months. I turned to reach for the water bottle and then, out of the corner of my eye, I saw him: someone leaning out over the balcony of the neighboring house. I played it cool. With my sunglasses on, there was no way he could tell I had spotted him, so I finished drinking with feigned calm while my heart started racing.

It was Damián, the neighbor. Not the shy boy I remembered from years ago, but a grown man, in his forties and then some, broad-shouldered, with that salt-and-pepper beard some men know how to wear. Leaning against the railing, he wasn’t even pretending to hide it. He was watching me.

How long has he been there?

My first reaction was irritation. It’s not right to spy on an almost naked neighbor in her own garden. But alongside the outrage rose something else, a warm current that went straight down to my cunt, a tingle I hadn’t felt in far too long. I realized, with some astonishment, that I liked it. I liked being looked at like that, hungrily, without apology. I liked imagining that from that distance his cock was getting hard for me.

Well then, Damián. You’re going to get your show.

I got up as if nothing had happened and pushed the lounger a little, to angle it better toward the sun. And toward him. Not looking up even once, I lay back on my stomach and spread my legs just enough for the bikini bottoms to sink even deeper between my ass cheeks and show him everything he wanted to see. My pulse was pounding in places where it hadn’t for ages: in my throat, in my nipples pressed against the canvas, and above all between my legs, where I already felt the fabric wet and stuck to my sex. I felt shameless, and I loved it. At my age, that was a luxury.

Several minutes passed. When I could no longer stand the curiosity, I rolled over as naturally as I could, pretended to check my phone, and at last looked out of the corner of my eye. He was still there, in the same position, his eyes fixed on me. And now that I was on my back, with my tits almost spilling out of the red triangle, he wasn’t taking his eyes off them.

What a shameless bastard. And how good it does me.

I took a deep breath. My body wasn’t relaxing; on the contrary, each second made me more nervous, more needy. I could feel my cunt swollen, throbbing, soaking the fabric. For weeks nothing had happened with Hugo, and before that not much either. At most once a month, and almost always as a chore I tried to get over with as quickly as possible: him on top, two minutes of mechanical thrusting, a short grunt, and sleep. I hadn’t come with him in years. Years. Was it so terrible to want someone to really look at me, to want someone to fuck me like on that night in the woods?

I decided to take the bull by the horns. I studied him more closely and it seemed to me his right arm was moving with a discreet rhythm, partly hidden by the balustrade. A slow, steady motion, unmistakable. I smiled to myself. So that’s what this is. The filthy bastard’s jerking off while watching me. Instead of being scandalized, a long sigh escaped me. I was still a woman capable of turning a man on to the point where he’d pull out his cock on his own balcony, in broad daylight, just to come while looking at me.

My hand slid slowly over my stomach, down to the edge of the bikini, and lingered there, undecided. This is insane. But it was too late for sanity. I caressed myself over the fabric, first gently, just the tip of my finger tracing the bulge of my clit through the soaked bikini. The fabric was so wet it had gone sheer. I increased the pressure and circled my finger slowly, and a low moan came out of my throat, surprising me. I bit my lip.

Without thinking too much about it, I moved the bikini bottoms aside. Let him see it. Let him see his forty-two-year-old neighbor’s cunt, swollen and shining under the sun, lips parted, clit puffed up, all of it soaked by him. I slid two fingers in, slowly, and pulled them out glistening. I pushed them back in. I curved them, searching for that spot no one had touched in so long. With my other hand I squeezed a breast over the bikini, pinched my nipple until it hurt, and that small stab of pain shot straight to the back of my neck.

I knew he was watching me, and that multiplied everything, made it electric, forbidden, mine. I imagined his cock, the one I had felt inside me twenty years ago in the woods, what it would be like now in his fist, red and glossy at the head, the foreskin pumping up and down, smeared with saliva and pre-cum, swollen because of me. I sped up. My fingers went in and out with a wet little sound that embarrassed me and turned me on even more. I pressed my thumb against my clit and arched on the lounger, biting the inside of my cheek so I wouldn’t scream.

I didn’t come all the way — I didn’t want to, not there, not that fast — but I got very close, so close my legs started trembling on their own and I had to pull my fingers out in a rush, leaving myself floating in that shaky emptiness that comes before orgasm. I brought my fingers to my mouth without thinking, sucking them slowly, knowing he was watching me, tasting my own cunt while I stuck out my tongue at him. I showed him everything. Let him learn what he was missing.

When I looked up again, Damián was still there, and for an instant our eyes truly met. I saw his arm stop. I saw his jaw tighten. He was coming. The fucking bastard was coming while looking at me, and I was watching him do it. He tipped his head slightly, like a conspiratorial salute, and disappeared inside with his hand still over the bulge in his pants.

I was left alone, pulse racing, thighs shining with wetness, and a stupid smile on my face. I needed a cold shower. Or maybe quite the opposite.

***

I went up to the room, locked myself in the bathroom, and let the lukewarm water run down my back. But my mind wouldn’t stay still. That feeling, of being wanted without permission, of feeling dangerous and young again, dragged me inexorably toward a memory I had kept under lock and key for twenty years.

“You’re a lovely woman.” His words were still buzzing in my ear, proof that it hadn’t been a dream.

I was twenty-four that summer. I had spent more than a month waiting for festival day, the first one I ever went to in my life. It was outdoors, in the middle of nature, with stages scattered through the woods, thousands of people, and music until dawn. I went with my best friend, Lorena, and two other girls. I chose my outfit carefully: a short skirt and fishnet stockings that made me feel invincible, and underneath, tiny black panties that barely covered anything.

Five hours later I was dancing in the middle of the venue, surrounded by my friends and a happy crowd. Lorena pointed toward the bar and we all nodded.

—Another gin and tonic? —she asked.

—Yes, please —I replied, cheerful and a little tipsy.

When she handed me the glass, she looked me up and down.

—You look gorgeous tonight. Everyone’s going to be watching you.

—You’re not exactly lagging behind either —I replied, and we melted into one of those hugs only lifelong friends give each other.

Halfway to the main stage, the alcohol and the excitement caught up with me: I needed the bathroom urgently. The line for the chemical toilets was endless.

—What if we go into the trees? —Lorena suggested. —Those toilets must be disgusting.

—That’s the spirit. I’m not waiting.

We headed into the edge of the woods, where other girls had had the same idea. That made it less embarrassing. Lorena picked a big tree surrounded by bushes. She squatted on one side and I a few meters away, carefully pulling down my stockings so I wouldn’t stain my shoes, staring at the ground.

When I looked up, I froze. On the other side of the trunk there was a man standing there, watching me with disconcerting calm. I dropped my head at once, my heart hammering. I had never felt so exposed. When I was done and stood up where he couldn’t see me, I whispered to Lorena what had happened.

—Let’s get out of here —she answered, alarmed.

—No. Wait a moment.

The alcohol had brought out my bolder side. This wasn’t right and someone had to tell him. Before Lorena could stop me, I went around the tree.

—What the hell do you think you’re doing? —I snapped, breathless.

—Hello, Marisa —he said, with a mocking smile.

It was Damián. My neighbor. The same man who twenty years later would be watching me from a balcony. Back then he was in his late thirties and I had known him since I was a child: he had been my platonic crush, the unattainable adult from the house next door. His confidence drove me crazy as much as it attracted me. And at that moment, with his fly open and his cock out, still half-hard in his hand, he didn’t even bother to cover himself.

—What are you doing here? —I insisted, not knowing whether it was anger or nerves, unable to take my eyes off that thick cock he was slowly stroking with no shame at all. —Clearly, you’re not wasting any time.

Lorena tugged at my arm, but I explained through clenched teeth that I knew him, that he was my neighbor, that it would be fine. She knew how stubborn I got when I drank, so reluctantly she moved away, leaving me alone with him.

—You shouldn’t go around frightening people —I reproached him in my firmest voice, though it was trembling.

—Am I bothering you? —he asked with exasperating calm, not moving, not putting his cock away, not even stopping stroking it. —Or does it bother you that I saw you?

The cheeky bastard thought he was very clever. And the worst part was that he was right. I tried to sort out my thoughts, but his presence ruined them all. And that cock in his fist, growing more swollen, the tip glossier by the second, had me hypnotized.

—That’s not it —I murmured.

—Of course it is. —He took a step toward me, his hard cock moving on its own with every step. —I’ve known you for years, Marisa. You always used to look at me. It’s fine.

His audacity left me speechless. And for some reason I still don’t fully understand, instead of leaving, I stayed. His confidence had something intoxicating about it, a current impossible to resist. When he took my hand and placed it directly on his hard cock, closing my fingers around the hot shaft, my body obeyed before my mind did. It was throbbing. Rock-hard and pulsing in my hand. Everything inside me trembled.

—Come on —he said. —Somewhere no one will bother us.

He didn’t drag me. He walked with purpose, taking me deeper toward a clearing, and I followed him as if in a dream, my pulse pounding in my throat and my skirt brushing my thighs, feeling my panties grow wetter with every step.

When he stopped, I held my breath. He cradled my face in both hands and kissed me slowly, as if we had the whole night, and then not so slowly. His tongue pried open my mouth hungrily, seeking me, invading me, and I sucked it back like my life depended on it. I felt his fingers climb my legs, find the edge of my stockings, linger there, and then go higher, yank my soaked panties aside, and go straight into my cunt. Two thick fingers, to the hilt. A broken moan escaped against his mouth.

—You’re so wet, Marisa —he whispered against my neck, curling his fingers inside me. —You’re dripping. This is all for me, isn’t it?

—Yes… —I answered in a thread of a voice, no longer strong enough to pretend to be proud.

He pushed me back slowly until my back hit the trunk of a tree. He ripped my stockings off in one pull, hiked my skirt to my waist, and knelt in front of me. I, who had come intending to lecture him, found myself with my legs open, pressed against the bark, with Damián’s face buried between my thighs. He spread the lips of my cunt with his fingers and ran his whole tongue from bottom to top, long and greedy, until he sealed it over my clit. I let out a muffled cry and covered my mouth with my hand. The distant music throbbed like a giant heart among the trees, and he ate my cunt as if he had been waiting for this moment for years, sucking my clit, pushing his tongue deep inside me, moaning himself against my flesh.

—Wait, wait —I gasped. —I’m going to fall…

He stood up, turned me around against the tree, and shoved my back so I would lean forward. I felt the rough bark under my palms, the cool forest air on my bare ass, and then the heat of his cock, hard and thick, rubbing between my soaked lips. He pushed it in slowly, just the tip, so I could feel it properly. I pushed my ass back, searching for it.

—Put it in already, please —I whispered with a voice I didn’t recognize as my own.

Damián drove his cock all the way inside me with a single thrust and I screamed against the forearm he had braced against the trunk. It was thick, long, filling me completely. He pulled almost all the way out and slammed back in to the root, again and again, gripping my hips with both hands, fucking me against the tree with a brutal, relentless rhythm that made his balls slap against my clit with every thrust.

—That’s how you like it, isn’t it, little neighbor? —he panted in my ear, never stopping. —Like this, fucked against a tree like a slut…

—Yes… yes… like this… —I answered, beyond all shame, pushing my ass back to take him all in.

He tugged my hair, turned my face to kiss me while still pumping his cock into me, and slid his free hand down front to find my clit. He started rubbing it with two fingers in time with his thrusts and within seconds everything inside me contracted. I came smothering a cry against his mouth, trembling from head to toe, clamping my cunt down on his cock until I made him moan too. What came after that I remember in flashes: his hands turning me toward him, laying me on the dry leaves, my skirt bunched up at my waist, his teeth on my nipples over my bra, his weight over mine, and him pushing his cock back into me and fucking me now face-to-face, my legs up on his shoulders, biting my neck while he whispered filthy things in my ear.

I came a second time, even harder, with him hitting me deep, and I felt his ass tighten beneath my feet, saw him clench his jaw.

—Out —I panted. —Not inside…

He pulled his cock out at the last second and came over my stomach and tits in long, thick streams, groaning my name turned into something dark and possessive. One jet reached my neck. He stayed there, kneeling between my legs, breathing hard, his cock still hard and dripping over my open cunt. He kissed me until I was breathless and then held me when I was already trembling and could barely keep my eyes open, wiping me clean with a handkerchief he pulled from his pocket.

—You’re too much for one night —he told me in my ear, almost tenderly, while he brushed a leaf from my hair.

And for some absurd reason, it mattered to me that he meant it.

When we each went our separate ways, with my stockings torn to shreds in my bag and my panties tucked into his, Lorena was waiting at the edge of the woods with a face split between fear and envy.

—They can’t prove anything —he joked before leaving, kissing my temple. —There’s no evidence left.

We both laughed, and that laugh was the last thing I took away from that night.

***

The shower water had gone cold without me noticing. I turned off the tap and stood for a while in front of the fogged mirror, tracing with my finger the outline of the woman I was now, twenty years later. My nipples were still hard, my cheeks flushed, and between my legs I could still feel the stubborn throb of a cunt that today had asked for too much and too little at the same time.

Damián still lived in the house next door. He was no longer the arrogant thirty-something from the festival, nor was I the girl in fishnets. We were two adults tired of pretending, separated by little more than a hedge and a few meters of hot air.

I wrapped myself in the towel and glanced out the bedroom window for an instant. His balcony was empty, but on the railing, folded neatly, there was a white towel that hadn’t been there before. A wordless sign. A half-open door.

I smiled. I still didn’t know what I was going to do with all of it, or whether I would dare cross the boundary that had remained untouched for twenty years. But for the first time in a long time, the afternoon didn’t seem boring. For the first time in a long time, I felt that something in my life was about to begin again.