She Knew I Was Watching Her and She Enjoyed It

I met her two years ago, one of those nights that begin with no promise and end up changing the way you see the world. Marcos introduced her to me with that smile of his, the kind of smile that already knows it’s going to win: “This is Natalia.” She shook my hand, held my gaze a second longer than necessary, and went right back to her conversation as if nothing had happened.

That was all. And it was enough.

Natalia is not the kind of woman who needs to do anything in particular to get attention. She has that sort of presence that rearranges the space around her without her even trying. She’s brunette, with wide hips and rounded shoulders, the kind of body that moves as if it knows exactly what it provokes. Always dressed in skirts above the knee or blouses that hinted at more than they promised. It was never carelessness. I understood that later.

For months I limited myself to watching her at friends’ get-togethers. It was the only thing I could do without crossing a line I had no right to cross. Marcos had been my best friend since we were twenty, and I’m not the kind of man who betrays that. But looking costs nothing, and she knew it.

I knew it the third or fourth time we saw each other, at a barbecue at Ramiro’s place. I was leaning against the back wall with a cold beer in my hand, following her with my eyes while she talked to the girls. At one point, without anyone saying anything to her, she turned her head toward me. She held my gaze for exactly three seconds. Then she gave a slight sideways smile and went back to her conversation as if nothing at all had happened.

That was the most erotic thing that had happened to me in months.

From then on the game was established between the two of us without a single word being spoken. I watched her. She knew it. And every so often she confirmed it with a calculated gesture that could have gone unnoticed by anyone else: a slow crossing of the legs, a posture that pulled the fabric of her blouse tight in just the right places, once she even leaned toward the coffee table just when I was looking in that direction. She did it with a naturalness that excited me more than anything obvious ever could.

I was a voyeur of the worst kind: addicted to details. I’d jerked off so many times in the shower imagining the weight of those tits in my mouth, the taste of her cunt, how she’d sound moaning with my cock inside her, that by then I already knew her naked without ever having seen her that way.

Her legs were what obsessed me most. Sculpted, with that skin texture that in summer turned slightly golden. When she sat with her knees crossed and her skirt rode up a couple of inches, I lost the thread of whatever conversation I was involved in. One night Marcos asked if something was wrong because I was staring off into space. I didn’t tell him the truth. I said I was tired from work and changed the subject. The truth was I was imagining the face she’d make if I buried myself all the way inside her.

As time went on I started noticing other details. The way she tied her hair up when it was hot, with that quick gesture that left her neck exposed. The way she always chose a seat with light, without seeming to plan it. The way when she laughed for real two lines appeared beside her mouth, making her face completely different. I had learned her way of existing in social spaces the way someone studies a map with no intention of ever taking the trip.

But maps are an invitation disguised as information.

In the last week of January there was a party in an apartment downtown, something a friend of Natalia’s organized to celebrate some postponed birthday or other. There were about twenty of us, the music was at medium volume, the red wine was cheap, and there was that particular atmosphere of winter nights when the cold outside makes everything indoors compact and warm up.

Natalia arrived in a black dress. Short, fitted at the hips, with a neckline that wasn’t exactly daring but didn’t leave anything to the imagination either. She kissed me on the cheek as always, but this time her hand rested for a second on my arm before letting go. A second is very little time. It’s enough for everything.

I spent the first hour watching her from different angles of the room. It’s something I do almost without effort: positioning myself to have the best possible view without making it obvious. That night I stood near the sideboard, from where I could follow her as she talked, laughed, moved among the people. There was something hypnotic about the way she existed in social spaces. Confident, present, with no need to seek approval anywhere.

Marcos drank more than he should have. By eleven he was already sitting on the sofa with half-closed eyes, buried in some endless conversation about something I wasn’t interested in. Natalia, on the other hand, kept moving. She danced a little when the music called for it, talked to everyone, filled other people’s glasses. I wondered if she always did that or if there was something different about the way she moved that night.

I ran into her in the kitchen when I went for more ice.

“Need anything?” she asked, though I was the one who had walked into her territory.

“Ice,” I said.

“It’s in the second drawer of the freezer.”

I didn’t move. Neither did she.

“Do you always stand there watching from the corner?” she asked. There was no accusation in her voice. Just curiosity, and maybe something else I’d rather not name yet.

“Only when it’s worth it,” I replied.

She opened the freezer, took out the ice, and put it in my glass without asking. Her fingers brushed mine for an instant, and neither of us pointed it out.

“Marcos is going to fall asleep,” she said, looking at some neutral point in the kitchen. “He always does that when he drinks too much.”

I didn’t know what to answer. I stayed quiet, which is sometimes the most honest answer one can give. She went back to the living room. I stayed there a moment, with the cold glass in my hand and my cock already starting to swell inside my pants.

***

At midnight, Marcos was asleep on the sofa. Someone had draped a blanket over him with careless tenderness, one of those gestures that only happen among people who have known each other a long time. The party had lost intensity: there were eight or ten people left, the music softer, the conversations slower, the glasses nearly empty.

Natalia disappeared at some point. I noticed because I’ve spent two years noticing every single thing she does.

I stepped out into the hallway without thinking too much, glass in hand as an excuse to go nowhere in particular. She was leaning against the corridor wall, arms crossed over her chest and eyes closed, as if she were recovering something the living room had taken from her.

“Are you okay?” I asked.

“Yeah. I just needed a minute without noise.”

I leaned against the wall opposite her. The hallway was narrow and the murmur from the living room came muted through the other side of the door. We were two people standing a meter apart in a dim corridor, and we both knew it wasn’t by accident.

“How long have you been doing it?” she asked without opening her eyes.

“Doing what?”

Then she opened her eyes. She looked straight at me, without detours, with that calm of hers that had always been more unsettling to me than anything obvious.

“Watching me.”

I could have denied it. I could have said something funny to ease the tension. Instead I told the truth:

“Since the first night.”

She nodded slowly, as if it were the confirmation of something she had already known for a long time.

“I know,” she said. “And I also know when you get hard looking at me. It shows, you know?”

I felt my face get hot and my cock even hotter. I don’t know which of the two moved first. I do know that suddenly the distance between us was much smaller than before, and the hallway had become a very small, very private place. Her back was still against the wall. I had one hand on the wall beside her head, not touching her yet, holding the space between us as if it were something fragile that shouldn’t be rushed.

“I shouldn’t,” I said. And I meant it.

“No,” she agreed. But she didn’t move a single inch.

I brushed her cheek with my knuckles first. She didn’t pull away. I slowly ran my thumb over her lower lip and she still didn’t. She slipped it into her mouth without breaking eye contact, sucked it once, slowly, and let it go with a wet sound that made me clench my teeth. When I finally kissed her, it was with the clarity of someone who knows exactly what he’s doing and has decided to do it anyway, accepting what it will cost.

She kissed me back. Without hesitation. She thrust her tongue deep into my mouth, with an eagerness that confirmed she had been holding herself back as long as I had. I grabbed the back of her neck with one hand and with the other squeezed one of her tits over the dress. Her nipple was rock hard. I pinched it through the fabric and she bit my lip with a low moan that made my cock tremble.

“Shut up,” I whispered against her mouth. “They’re next door.”

“Then shut me up,” she answered, and grabbed me by the belt to press me against her body.

She felt my hard cock against her stomach and smiled with narrowed eyes. She brought one hand down, grabbed it over my pants, and squeezed it slowly, measuring it. I had to bite her neck not to let out a groan. I licked from her collarbone to her ear while lifting her dress with my free hand. The skin of her thigh was exactly how I had imagined it for two years: firm, warm, with that softness of a woman who knows how to take care of herself. I went higher and found her panties soaked through.

“Look at you,” I murmured.

“You too.”

I pushed the fabric aside and ran two fingers through her open cunt. She was dripping wet. A little stream was already running down the inner side of her thigh. I slid in one finger and she arched her back against the wall, mouth open and breathless. I covered her mouth with my other hand and started fingering her, in and out, searching for her inner spot with my fingertips while my thumb worked her clit in slow circles.

“Mmm...” she moaned against my hand. “More...”

I pushed in two fingers. Then three. Her cunt was so tight, sucking my fingers as if it didn’t want to let them go. I pulled them out shining and pushed them back in to the knuckles, listening to the wet sound against my palm. She dug her nails into my shoulder and rocked her hips against my hand, wanting more.

“Suck me,” I said in her ear, almost voiceless. “I want to see you.”

She sank down the wall until she was kneeling without saying a word. She undid my belt, pulled my zipper down, and took my hard, veined cock out with both hands. She stared at it for a second with her mouth a centimeter away, breathing on it. Then she stuck out her tongue and licked me from the balls to the tip, slowly, dragging the saliva along. She took the head into her mouth and sucked it like it was candy, cheeks hollowing, while looking up at me with those dark eyes.

“Fuck...” I muttered, grabbing the wall.

She took it all in, patiently, with no gagging. I felt myself hit the back of her throat and she kept swallowing until her nose touched my pubis. She stayed there for a few seconds, with my cock buried in her, swallowing saliva around the head. Then she came off, took a breath, and sank it back down to the base. Saliva ran down her chin and dripped onto her tits, which had slipped out of the neckline without me noticing when. She grabbed them and squeezed them while she kept sucking me.

I grabbed her head and started moving, fucking her mouth slowly but deeply. She let me, hands braced on my thighs and eyes wet, swallowing every thrust. I could feel her moan around my cock, and the vibration shot up through it to the nape of my neck.

“Stop,” I told her, grabbing her under the arms to lift her up. “If you keep going like that I’m going to come right now.”

I put her against the wall, lifted her dress to the waist, and pulled her panties down her legs. I slipped them off one foot and left them hanging from the other ankle. I grabbed one leg below the knee and hooked it over my hip. Her cunt was shining, swollen, open. I took hold of myself and ran the tip over her lips, up and down, wetting myself with what she was already giving off.

“Put it in,” she begged, her voice hoarse. “Put it in now.”

I shoved it in at once, all the way to the hilt. She bit her shoulder to keep from crying out. She was so tight, so wet, so hot inside, that I had to stay still for three seconds not to blow right then. After that I started moving, first slowly, almost coming all the way out and plunging back in, then faster. The wall knocked against her back with every thrust. She clung to me with her leg, pressing herself against my body, and searched for my mouth to smother her moans in my tongue.

“Like that... like that... harder...” she whispered between kisses.

I grabbed her ass with both hands, lifted her against the wall, and hooked both legs around my waist. In that position she opened wider and I went deeper. Her tits shook against my chest, and short gasps kept escaping her. I covered her mouth again with one hand and with the other kept supporting her weight while I fucked her against the plaster.

“Everyone’s on the other side...” I told her in her ear, biting it. “If they hear you, we’re screwed, understand?”

She nodded with her eyes closed, but it was all slipping out of her. I felt her cunt start to clamp down on me in spasms, sucking my cock inward. She went rigid in my arms, trembled, sank her teeth into my neck to keep from screaming, and came apart with her whole body convulsing against me. I felt her come on my cock, soaking my balls, wetting my pubic bone.

I lowered her to the floor before I came. I turned her against the wall, spread her legs with my knee, grabbed her hips, and shoved it in from behind again. In that position her ass pressed against my balls with each thrust. I grabbed her hair and yanked her head back. I bit her neck. I squeezed one tit with my other hand, twisting her nipple between my fingers, while I fucked her at full speed, completely out of control now, the sound of flesh slapping flesh filling the hallway.

“I’m going to come,” I warned her through clenched teeth.

“Not inside,” she gasped. “In my mouth. Give it to me in my mouth.”

She pulled out, turned around, knelt again, and grabbed me with both hands. She started jerking me fast with the head between her lips, her tongue working the frenum. I came in three seconds. The first jet filled her mouth, and she swallowed without taking me out; the second spilled from the corner of her mouth; the third ran down her chin and dripped into her neckline. She swallowed as much as she could, sucking the tip to get every last drop out of me, and then looked up at me with shining lips and a slutty smile I had never seen on her before.

She wiped herself with the back of her hand. She stood. Pulled her panties back up. Adjusted her dress and her tits in the neckline. Ran her fingers through her hair. Looked at me for a second.

“I have to go back,” she said, her voice still rough.

“Yeah,” I said, barely putting myself away and pulling up my zipper with trembling hands.

“The next time you watch me at a party,” she said in a low but perfectly clear voice, “you’ll already know what my cunt tastes like.”

And she went back to the living room without hurrying.

I stayed in the hallway a little longer, leaning against the wall with my heart still racing and the strange certainty that the voyeur I had been for two years had just become something a lot more complicated. I could still taste her in my mouth and smell her cunt on my fingers. I don’t know if that’s good or bad. I know I couldn’t sleep that night, and that when I finally did, the dreams were anything but innocent.

When I went back into the living room, Marcos was still asleep under his blanket, his mouth slightly open. Natalia was seated on the other side of the room, talking to someone, a full glass in her hand and her back straight. Not once did she look at me.

But I looked at her. And this time it was me who smiled to one side.