My Neighbors Watch Me, and I Let Them
It had been a long time since I’d sat down to write, and the truth is, it was because I hadn’t had the time: work had eaten up entire months. But one Saturday I woke up with everything going my way, my body loose and my head light, and I felt such an urge to tell the story that it still hasn’t gone away.
I woke up very late. The night before, I’d gone to bed in the early hours, first because I was watching some random thing on TV and then because of something considerably less innocent. I ended up with two fingers buried deep inside my pussy, my other hand squeezing one of my tits, and my eyes closed as I imagined Damián penetrating me while Mariela sucked my nipples. I came twice, biting the pillow so I wouldn’t scream, and fell asleep with my hand still smeared between my thighs. When I looked out the window, the neighbors on the balcony opposite had already returned from the beach. They’d invited me to go with them, but I couldn’t because of work, and that still hurt a little.
Their names are Mariela and Damián, although to me they were always «the ones across the way.» Our relationship began by chance, one night when they left the curtains open and I couldn’t tear my eyes away. I watched her kneel on the floor and calmly pull his cock out, like an expert, watched her take the whole thing into her mouth while looking up at him, watched him grab her hair and start fucking her face without a shred of care. What came after wasn’t planned: we simply discovered that we liked watching each other, that the distance between our two balconies was exactly enough to make us feel safe and, at the same time, terribly exposed.
We’d agreed on a silly but effective signal. When they were about to start, they’d give me a missed call on my cell phone. I’d stop whatever I was doing, turn off the bedroom light, and go out onto the balcony as if I were stepping out for some air. From there I could see them, and they could see me. I’d put my hand inside my pants, or pull my panties down to my ankles and sit on the floor with my legs spread against the railing, touching my clitoris while Mariela rode Damián with her back arched, or he bent her against the windowpane and drove his cock into her from behind while she left trails of saliva on the glass.
And no one, ever, said a word.
That was always the unspoken rule: no talking, no crossing over. Just watching and letting ourselves be watched. There were nights when I stayed out late, leaning against the railing, the heat clinging to my skin, barely hearing their murmurs from the other side of the street. I loved the moment when Damián looked up for me, checking that I was still there, and, without taking his eyes off me, pulled his cock out of his pants to masturbate slowly, pointing the tip at me as if he were fucking me from a distance. I liked it even more when Mariela slowly turned toward me, two fingers glistening with wetness, and brought them to her mouth, sucking them one by one as if she were letting me taste what I couldn’t touch.
Once, even the neighbor from the floor above leaned out and discovered me, not them. I stayed still, my hand still inside my panties and my nipples outlined beneath my shirt, not knowing whether to cover myself or smile. I ended up smiling. That’s another story, and I’ll save it for another day.
***
That Saturday, fresh from a long bath, my cell phone rang. It wasn’t a missed call; it was a message. «We left something at your door.» I looked out into the hallway and, sure enough, there was an envelope propped against the doormat. Inside was a folded sheet of paper in Mariela’s cramped handwriting.
It said they’d seen me from their balcony the night before, that they’d loved watching me sink my fingers inside myself and writhe against the railing, and that they wanted something in return. They wanted a video. They wanted to see me alone, with the camera close, doing what I normally did at a distance: opening my pussy with my fingers, putting something inside me, showing them every inch. I confess I would have preferred them to ring the bell, to finally shorten those meters between us, for Damián to spread my legs against the door and push his cock all the way inside me while Mariela sucked my nipples. But the game had its own timing, and I wasn’t the one to rush it.
I sent them the video. I lay on the bed with my legs spread in front of the mirror, propped the phone on a cushion, and recorded myself. I started by pinching my nipples until they were hard as rocks, then lowered my hand and spread my pussy lips with two fingers so my swollen clitoris and the wetness shining all the way to my asshole could be seen clearly. I thrust three fingers inside at once, palm up, searching for that spot that makes me clench my teeth. With my other hand I rubbed my clitoris in quick circles, never looking away from the camera, moaning both their names. I came with my mouth open, soaking my fingers, and, still trembling, pulled my hand out and showed it to the lens, my juices hanging between my knuckles. When I finished, Mariela’s reply arrived: two words and an emoji. Enough to leave my skin burning for the rest of the day and my panties a complete mess.
I lay there on the bed for a while, my phone on my chest, thinking about how strange all of this was. We didn’t really know each other. I didn’t know what they did for a living, how many years they’d been together, or how they laughed when they were alone. I knew other things: the exact gesture he made before looking for my balcony, the way she bit her lip when she noticed I was still there, the exact size of his cock when he gripped it to masturbate in full view, the color of her nipples when she opened her robe so I could see them. I knew how they desired me from a distance, and, absurd as it might sound, that seemed more intimate to me than any conversation.
***
I had to go out to buy groceries. The store was six blocks away, so I decided to walk. It was unbearably hot, the kind of heat that glues clothes to your body, and I put on a white tank top with thin straps, no bra, because I liked feeling the fabric brush against me with every step, and I knew that the sweat would make my nipples show as if I were naked. On the bottom, I wore light-colored leggings that clung like a second skin, so thin that the outline of my pussy showed if someone looked with the right kind of interest. I went out into the street knowing perfectly well what effect I had, and enjoying it.
I love walking around like that. I love the exact second when someone turns their head, the one who pretends to be distracted, the one who deliberately stumbles so he can brush against my arm as he passes. I’m not looking for anyone to do anything; I’m looking for them to watch. That attention, knowing I’m the center of someone else’s gaze, carries me through the entire day.
On the way back, I noticed that a shop that had been closed for months had reopened. It was a tiny clothing store, with a new display window and some hanging garments that caught my eye. I went in without thinking too much about it.
The place smelled of new clothes and fresh paint. The racks were only half arranged, still carrying that nervous neatness of the first few days. There was no one else inside. Only the owner, a petite blonde girl with very light eyes, who smiled at me as soon as I crossed the threshold. From the very beginning, she followed me with her eyes, fixed on my tits, on the way my nipples showed beneath the sweat-soaked tank top. I met her gaze, and she immediately lowered hers, pretending to straighten a hanger, but the smile didn’t leave her face. She was barely over five feet tall, slim, with a pretty body and blue jeans that emphasized curves it was a pleasure to look at. She wore a bra, unlike me, and that made me feel even more exposed and even more in control of the situation.
I decided to play a little. I picked up a blouse I genuinely liked and went straight to the counter.
—Did you try it on? —she asked.
—Not yet.
—The fitting room’s in the back, if you want.
She accompanied me to the curtain. I left my bag on a stool, and when I turned around, she was gently pulling the curtain closed. But she didn’t shut it all the way. In the mirror, I saw her stay there, peeking through the gap, thinking she was invisible.
If she only knew who she’d gotten involved with.
I yanked the curtain open.
—Wait —I said—. I need your opinion.
I took off my tank top before she could answer. My nipples were rock hard from the thrill of the whole situation, from the entire morning that had built up, so swollen they hurt. She went silent, her eyes glued to my tits, not knowing where to put her hands. I took my time. I ran my palms over my breasts slowly, as if I were adjusting myself, and pinched one nipple between my thumb and forefinger while staring straight at her. I saw her swallow. I tried on the new blouse slowly, letting her look at everything she wanted, then opened it again to «adjust it,» letting it fall to my waist.
—How does it look on me? —I asked, as if nothing were happening.
—It looks… delicious on you —she said, immediately turning red—. I mean, gorgeous. Perfect.
I pretended I hadn’t heard her. I turned toward the mirror and watched her in the reflection: she was still staring at me, unable to look away, her thighs pressed together and one hand barely brushing the crotch of her jeans. I turned back toward her, took off the blouse again, and stood in front of that stranger without a hint of modesty, in leggings and barefoot, my tits bare and my nipples pointing at her face. I lowered my hand and touched myself through the light fabric, where a dark patch of wetness was already showing, running my middle finger up and down along the cleft, biting my lip without taking my eyes off her.
—I’ll take it —I said.
Her right hand moved slightly, an impulse toward me, as if she were going to touch one of my tits. Then it stopped. She restrained herself, with an effort visible on her face, her chest rising and falling incredibly fast. I was so turned on by everything from the night before, by the video, by the entire morning with my pussy soaked, that if she’d touched me I would have thrown myself on her without thinking twice: I would have shoved her against the mirror, yanked open her jeans, and buried my tongue in her pussy until she came against my mouth. But she didn’t, and maybe it was better that way: the tension of what didn’t happen weighed more than anything else.
—I’ll ring you up while you get dressed —she murmured, and disappeared toward the counter almost at a run, her legs pressed together.
***
I got dressed, my pulse still racing and my pussy throbbing inside my leggings, and an idea occurred to me. I folded a little piece of paper with my number on it and slipped it between the bills. When I paid her, I pointed it out.
—In case new merchandise comes in —I said—. Let me know.
Her face lit up. She smiled again, this time without trying to hide it, and handed the bill back to me.
—The blouse is on the house —she said—. It looked too good on you.
I thanked her, kissed her on the cheek for a second longer than necessary, almost brushing the corner of her mouth, and went out into the street with the feeling that I’d left something burning behind me.
I hadn’t even reached the corner near my home when my cell phone vibrated. It was her.
«Thanks for letting me watch. You have beautiful tits; I won’t be able to get them out of my head. We should have coffee sometime.»
I replied that it was a shame she hadn’t dared to touch me, that I would have let her suck them until she got tired and then I would have eaten her pussy on top of the counter, and that she should write when she was free. I put my phone away with a stupid grin on my face and my nipples still hard beneath my tank top.
Then it vibrated again. This time it was the ones across the way.
«Let us know when you get home. We want you to come upstairs this time.»
I stood on the sidewalk, the shopping bags in one hand and the phone in the other, reading those five words over and over. After months of watching from a distance, of half-open curtains and missed calls, of coming alone while thinking about his cock and her mouth, at last the only rule we’d set ourselves was breaking. At last we were going to be in the same room, and this time there would be no glass between us to hold me back.
I looked up toward the two balconies, theirs and mine, separated by that narrow street that had been our stage for so many nights. Mariela was leaning out, waiting, her robe barely closed, one nipple peeking through the opening as if she were serving me an appetizer. She smiled at me and slowly ran her tongue over her lips. I smiled back and yanked my tank top into place, letting my nipples show plainly so she could see them.
What happened when I went upstairs, and what I ended up doing with the girl from the shop, I’ll tell you soon. For now, I’ll leave you with this, which was already hard enough to tell without getting lost along the way. I hope you’ll share your comments. And above all, I hope you understand that some gazes never stay on the other side of the glass.
