My Neighbor Watched Us from Her Window That Night

It had been six months since I signed the divorce papers, and there were still Fridays when my head burned if I stayed alone in the apartment. So when my colleagues from the firm suggested going out, I almost always said yes, even if it wasn’t exactly the kind of plan I’d defend in front of a therapist.

That Friday we ended up in a bar downtown, one of those places with a small orchestra that plays a bit of everything and women seated at the tables in the back. They call them “hostesses,” but we all know what they do. They dance, keep you company, let you pay for outrageously expensive drinks, and, if the night takes, they go home with you.

—That brunette at the fourth table has been looking this way for a while —Andrés, my coworker, told me, elbowing me.

—I’m not interested.

—Liar —he laughed—. You’re not interested because she reminds you of Lorena.

He was right. The woman at the fourth table had the same long black hair, the same way of crossing her leg as if she were sizing up whoever was looking at her. My ex had made that gesture thousands of times, in thousands of bars, and in the last years of our marriage she’d done it for men who weren’t me.

When the woman came over to the counter to ask for a light, I took the chance to invite her over with a gesture. She came without hurrying, swaying her hips, and sat down in front of me without saying hello.

—What’s your name? —I asked.

—Around here they call me Mireya.

—And outside?

—That depends on how far you and I get.

I smiled. I handed her a drink, she handed me hers. I knew perfectly well what the trick was: the girls get mineral water with a splash of something, while they charge the customer as if he were drinking imported whiskey. Ten minutes later we’d swapped glasses. An hour later I was still sober and she had flushed cheeks and a loose tongue.

—You’re not the typical guy who comes here —she murmured while she let me slide my hand under her dress—. The typical ones don’t listen.

—Neither are you the typical girl who’s here.

—You say that because I learned your tricks.

—I say that because you’ve got ink on your finger.

She looked at her index finger as if she’d discovered a birthmark. It was a thin blue line, right on the side. The mark of someone who fills out forms by hand.

—I work in an office on Mondays —she said, lowering her voice—. It’s nothing glamorous.

—I’m not asking you to tell me anything you don’t want to.

—Better. Either way, I already like you, and that’s rare.

When they announced the bar was closing, there was no doubt left about where the night was going to end. My colleagues said goodbye with exaggerated pats on the back and the usual warning to be careful, that sometimes they slip something into your glass and you wake up without your wallet. I hugged Andrés, told him he was being dramatic, and went to get the car.

Mireya was waiting at the bar’s door with a long coat over her dress. When she got in the car she pulled down her skirt with a modest gesture that threw me off. It was a small detail, but it made me think of Lorena again.

***

My apartment is on a quiet corner, ground floor, with the bedroom window at sidewalk level. For months I’ve known that the woman upstairs watches me. It’s not a suspicion: one night I looked up in the middle of a slow wank, with my cock hard and dripping in my hand, and saw her face outlined against the half-open curtain. Another night I was fucking the girl who comes to clean —I drove it into her from behind against the desk, her ass bare facing the window—and the curtain moved again at just the right moment, when I came inside her and she moaned like a bitch. Since then I leave the warm lamp on and the blind raised whenever I sense there’s going to be a show. She watches; I let myself be watched. It’s a kind of silent pact we never agreed on out loud.

That night, as I crossed the building’s entrance with Mireya, I looked up. The curtain on the first floor moved a couple of inches. She’d been warned.

Inside, I took her coat and hung it on the rack. Mireya stood in the middle of the living room, looking at the back wall. The back wall is a three-meter-high bookshelf that runs from end to end. Technical manuals, novels, essays, poetry. It’s the only thing I took whole from the marriage.

—You’re a reader —she said, almost reproachfully.

—Yes.

She walked over to the literature shelf without asking permission. She ran a finger over the spines as if she were counting them. She crouched, pulled out an Onetti book, opened it at random, closed it, and put it back exactly where it had been. When she straightened up, I was surprised to realize I didn’t care that she was touching the books.

—I studied literature for two years —she said without looking at me—. Then I got tangled up with some guy and dropped out. Never went back.

—What would you like to drink?

—A brandy, if you have it. Straight.

She sat in the armchair with her back very straight, as if she were still in an exam. I brought her the glass and sat down at the other end. For a while we didn’t talk. She stretched her legs out and rested her bare feet on my thigh. I stroked them without saying anything, because I was starting to realize I didn’t want to rush.

—The neighbor is watching you —she said suddenly, without lifting her eyes from the brandy.

I jumped.

—How do you know?

—I saw the curtain when we came in. And I saw how you lifted your head. You’re not that subtle.

—It’s not the first time she’s watched.

—Does it bother you?

—No.

—Does it turn you on?

I took a second to answer. The truth was yes, that the idea of knowing she was posted up on the other side of the glass, with her hand between her legs and her fingers slick with her own wetness, had had my body on alert since before I crossed the street. I was getting hard right there in the armchair just imagining her wet and waiting for the show.

—Yes.

Mireya let out a low laugh, almost to herself.

—Perfect —she said—. It’s been a long time since I worked for an audience. I’m going to make her run the vibrator battery dead before sunrise.

***

I took her to the bedroom without turning on the ceiling light. Just the bedside lamp, that yellow light that filters out to the window. The blind was already raised.

—How close is she? —she asked, sitting on the edge of the bed.

—Ten meters away, on the floor above. There’s a little park in between.

—Then she can see us clearly.

—Clearly.

She stood up and walked until she was between the bed and the window, right at the angle where she knew the light lit her best. She did it with the natural ease of someone who knows where the camera is. Then, without any theatrics, she pulled her dress off over her head. Underneath she had nothing but a pair of thigh-high stockings and the thin chain I’d seen under her neckline all night. She had the body of someone who didn’t professionally take care of her body: soft in some places, marked in others, with heavy tits and dark nipples and the horizontal scar of a cesarean that never made it to term just above the mound, which was only a narrow black strip of hair, leaving her lips bare and already shining with moisture.

—Your turn —she said.

I stripped without breaking eye contact. My cock popped out of my briefs, hard, pointing upward, with the swollen head and a transparent drop hanging from the tip. Mireya slowly licked her lips, without hiding it. Behind the glass of the other building, the curtain had opened a few more inches. I could make out a silhouette, the outline of the neighbor’s shoulder pressed against the blind, her arm moving below with an unmistakable rhythm. Mireya noticed where I was looking and turned her head slowly, deliberately, so the neighbor would know she was being seen too. She ran a hand over her tits, pinched one nipple between her index finger and thumb until it hardened, held the stare for a couple of seconds, and then turned back to me.

—I want to give her something good —she murmured—. I want her to come while watching me suck your cock.

She pushed me back onto the bed and knelt between my legs. She started with my thighs, using her tongue, slowly, as if she were in no hurry at all. She licked my groin, bit me, went up over my pubic hair, and ran her tongue over my balls, one by one, sucking them into her open mouth, leaving strings of saliva hanging. My cock was throbbing against my belly, begging. She ignored it on purpose, went up the side with her tongue flat, then came back down. When she reached the head she gave it a long lick from base to tip, collecting the drop that had escaped me, and swallowed it while looking into my eyes.

—What a delicious cock you’ve got —she said softly—. Nice and hard, nice and hot.

And there she changed the rhythm: she closed her lips, squeezed the base with her hand, and went all the way down in one motion. I felt the head hit the back of her throat and stay there, while she breathed through her nose, not pulling away. I closed my eyes by reflex and opened them again immediately. I couldn’t miss the whole scene. I could see my own hand on the back of her neck, her black hair spilling over my leg, her ass lifted in the air moving only slightly with the rhythm of her hips, and, in the background, a shadow behind a curtain that now wasn’t even pretending. She started going up and down, lips tight, letting saliva dribble down the shaft to my balls. Every time she got to the bottom she made a guttural sound, a wet slurping that made the nape of my neck prickle.

—She’s touching herself too —Mireya said, pulling back for a second to catch her breath. Her chin was shiny with saliva and her mascara had run—. I can see her arm. Do you know her?

—I don’t even know her name.

—Better. Let her come without even knowing what your name is.

She went back down, and this time I held her head with both hands. I guided her to where I wanted and she let herself be guided, moaning softly when I tugged a little on her hair. I fucked her mouth slowly at first and then harder, pushing the head against her palate, feeling her throat contract every time I drove it all the way in. Saliva spilled from the corners of her mouth, her hair tangled in my fingers, and she let it all happen, eyes closed and one hand buried between her own legs. I had to stop her before it was too late. I could feel my cum gathering in my balls and I didn’t want to blow too soon. I lifted her by the shoulders, turned her, and laid her on her back in the center of the bed, right in the cone of the lamp light.

—Stay like that —I told her—. Open.

I spread her legs wide and went down. Her pussy was soaked, the lips swollen and shiny, the clit peeking out like a little pearl between the trimmed hair. I did everything I could to delay her. I licked her patiently, with a flat tongue, from bottom to top, circling the clit slowly and insistently. I slid two fingers inside her and searched for that spot deep in her, the one that swells, and stayed there, pressing while I kept sucking her clit. She started arching, lifting her hips, squeezing my head with her thighs.

—Ah, you son of a bitch, like that, like that —she panted, her voice breaking—. Don’t stop, don’t stop…

I held her hips when she started pushing, pulled her hand away when she tried to speed me up. I sucked her clit hard, bit it just a little with my lips, until I felt her whole belly tense. When I thought she was one breath away from coming, I stopped, pulled my fingers out with a wet sound, sat up, and looked at her.

—Son of a bitch —she whispered, laughing with a broken voice—. You’ve got me on the edge, bastard.

Her face was flushed, her lower lip bitten, her eyes glassy, and her pussy open, contracting in the air as if searching for something to fill it. She reminded me of Lorena in the few moments when she managed to lose control, before everything broke apart.

—Come here —she said, lifting her arms—. Put it in already. I can’t take it anymore.

***

I climbed on top of her and set the head at her entrance. She grabbed my cock herself and ran it over her lips, up and down, soaking it, until I drove it in with one thrust. She moaned loudly, threw her head back, her back arching. She was hot inside, tight, and her cunt made a wet sound every time I pulled out and slid back in. I started slowly, in and all the way out, watching my dick come out shiny and sink back in whole.

—Like that, like that, so good —she panted—. Break me, break everything.

We did it slowly, then fast, then slowly again. After a while she asked to be on top. I lay back and she straddled my cock, buried it in one hard shove to my balls, and started bouncing. Her tits rose and fell in front of my face, nipples hard, mouth open. She kept turning toward the window every so often, looking over my shoulder, making sure the neighbor didn’t miss a thing. She rode me hard, bracing her hands on my chest, moving her hips in circles, squeezing me inside with her cunt until my vision went blurry.

—She’s putting it in herself —she whispered in my ear, biting it—. I can see her. She’s got the vibrator. She’s sticking it in.

I grabbed her ass with both hands and held her while she came riding me. A shudder ran through her from the inside, her whole cunt tightened around my cock in quick waves, and she collapsed against my chest with a hoarse cry, soaking my thighs.

The second time it was me: I turned her over, put her on her side so her profile would be clear against the curtain in the background. I lifted one leg, rested it on my shoulder, and fucked her again, now from the side, watching my cock go in and out bright between her swollen lips. I drove my cock all the way in and stayed there a second, barely moving my hips, pressing against bone. She moaned with her cheek pressed into the pillow, her hand between her legs rubbing her clit to the rhythm of my thrusts.

—Get on all fours —I told her in her ear—. Let her get a good look at your ass.

She got on all fours without protesting, offering her ass upward, arching her back so it would lift higher. I spread her cheeks with my thumbs. Her asshole was pink and tight, and below it her cunt was open and shining, still dripping. I spat there, a long gob of spit that slid from her ass to her pussy, and drove my cock back in with a shove. I rammed her hard, gripping her hips, pulling her into me each time. The mattress creaked. She moaned with her mouth against the sheet, pushing her ass back.

—Harder, harder, give it to me harder —she begged—. Let her see all of me.

The neighbor no longer bothered to hide. I could see the pale blur of her face pressed against the screen, her arm moving between her legs, her shoulders tense, her mouth open. I slid a wet thumb into her ass while I kept fucking her and she let out a low howl, her whole body trembling.

Mireya dug her nails into my forearm when she came a second time, squeezing my cock from the inside as if she wanted to milk it. I held on a little longer, my balls already aching, and came inside her, without a condom —she had said that with me she could make an exception, and for once in my life I believed her—. I filled her deep inside, shot after shot, my hips pressed to her ass, feeling everything around me clamp down one last time. We stayed like that for a long while, her on her knees, me pressed against her back, still inside. When I finally pulled my cock out, the cum started running down her thighs, white and thick, onto the sheet.

After that we lay still, listening to the murmur of the street and each other’s breathing. When I turned my head, the curtain on the first floor was still open, but the neighbor was no longer there.

***

We slept pressed together, the way lovers do who’ve been together for years. The next morning, after coffee and another delayed encounter under the shower —where she sucked me on her knees until she made me cum in her mouth, swallowing everything with her eyes closed and a smile—, we dressed unhurriedly. When we left the building, Mireya looked up toward the first floor. The neighbor was there, sitting on the balcony with a cup, and for the first time she didn’t pretend not to see us. Mireya gave her a little wave, a small, almost shy goodbye. The neighbor smiled and waved back.

—She’s a nice person —Mireya said as we got in the car.

—How do you know?

—A woman who watches like that isn’t bad. And one who comes while watching, even less so.

I dropped her off at her building, a narrow place with plants on every balcony. Before getting out, she gave me her phone number.

—For when you want to go for a walk, eat something, listen to music. No paying anything. And for the other thing too, if I feel like it.

—The other thing with whom?

—I’m giving it to you —she said, and leaned out the window to give me a long kiss, biting my lip at the end—. But I’m not going to stop working. I want to finish my degree. And for that I need my own money, not a man fixing my life for me.

—Seems fair to me.

—Do you really think it’s fair, or are you saying that to score points?

—I really think it’s fair.

She got out. I watched her go into the building. When I drove off, I saw the street beginning to wake up: someone raising the shutter of a kiosk, a dog tugging at its leash, a woman with supermarket bags on the other side. I went home the long way, and when I got there I looked up once more at the first floor. The curtain was drawn, but I knew there was someone on the other side waiting for some ordinary night to come and watch again.

Sometimes I call Mireya. Not always to sleep with her. Sometimes to have coffee. When I call her for the other thing, I do it on the nights when Lorena doesn’t answer the phone and I’m left with my head full of images that won’t let me sleep, with my cock hard against my briefs, thinking about mouths that aren’t hers. Mireya never says no. She doesn’t charge me either. She comes, undresses in front of the window, lets herself be fucked slow and hard, and makes me come inside her while watching the curtain across the way move. Every time she comes, before entering the building, she looks up at the first floor. And always, without fail, the curtain moves.