The Butcher Across the Street Spied on Me from the Balcony

What I’m going to tell happened almost by inertia, without me looking for it, and I still have trouble believing how far something that started with two facing balconies and a heat wave that gave no respite ended up going.

I live in an old neighborhood in a big town in the north, one of those places where you still walk into the butcher shop saying “good morning” and the owner calls you by name. My street is narrow and the parallel one is barely fifteen meters away. I’m on the second floor; she’s on the fourth. It seems like little enough, but in summer, with the windows open, that distance disappears.

The neighborhood butcher shop is run by two cousins, both of them around their mid-forties. Pilar is the one who talks the most, a friendly woman who doesn’t do much for me. Marisol is another story. Dark-haired, tall, with that way of moving behind the counter that makes men linger an extra second when they ask for the bill. And, as life would have it, she lives right in the balcony across from mine.

One afternoon I went in to buy something and found her talking to a customer about one of my neighbors. The woman was complaining about how unpleasant that lady was, and as soon as she saw me come through the door, Marisol changed the subject and turned to me.

“Look, this is one of the building’s tenants. What’s that woman like in the block, Andrés?”

“Same as on the street,” I answered.

I didn’t want to drag out the conversation. My rule had always been not to get mixed up in neighborhood drama; whatever you say to one person, the whole street knows by the next day. When the customer said goodbye, Marisol lowered her voice and, glancing sideways at me, said as if it were nothing that that woman and her husband were always naked around the apartment, and that she saw them from the kitchen when she went out to hang up laundry.

“Then she must have seen me too,” I said. “At home I go around just as God brought me into the world.”

She didn’t answer. She only curved her mouth for an instant, just enough for me to know that this wasn’t the first time she’d heard it and, maybe, not the first time she’d seen it either.

***

A few days later the heat wave arrived. One of those weeks when the air stands still and the night is worse than the day. I couldn’t sleep. I tossed and turned, turned on the tap, wetted the back of my neck, and nothing. The second night I remembered a customer’s comment in the shop: that she took her mattress out to the balcony to cope with it. I tried it. I dragged mine up to the terrace door, left it half in and half out, and finally slept like a log.

When I half-opened my eyes, still in the soft light of six-thirty, she was on her balcony. Smoking, leaning on the railing, looking toward my flat without the slightest attempt at hiding it. I didn’t move. No need. The sheet had slipped down over my hip during the night and I wasn’t wearing anything underneath. My cock, half-hard in the morning, rested off to one side on my thigh, fully exposed to the air and to her eyes. I saw her drop her gaze down there and keep it fixed for a good while, sucking on her cigarette with her lips pressed tight, not hiding anything anymore. Inside, I felt it harden against my leg, and I even let out a drop that slid toward my pubic hair. I didn’t cover myself. I closed my eyes as if I were still asleep and let her look all she wanted.

The third night I repeated the operation, almost just to see. And there she was again at six-thirty, punctual as an alarm clock, wearing a thin nightgown and with her eyes fixed on my door. I learned her schedule without meaning to: she always came out before the first coffee, even before her husband got up.

The heat started to ease, but I kept going down to the butcher shop every afternoon. Out of curiosity. Out of lust. To see whether she would dare to say something in front of the customers. It took days, but in the end she found the opening.

“Thank God it’s not pressing so hard anymore, huh?” I said one afternoon.

“Not really,” a woman replied. “Last week you could barely breathe.”

“From my balcony, I saw someone sleeping near the glass every dawn,” Marisol said, without lifting her eyes from the knife. “Now I don’t.”

I felt the heat in my face before anywhere else. My blood rushed straight to the same place.

“You spy on the neighbors, Marisol?”

“Of course not. I just like seeing other meat that isn’t my husband’s.”

I didn’t answer. I paid, went upstairs two steps at a time, and got into the bathroom before I even closed the apartment door. I yanked my pants down, braced my back against the cold tiles, and grabbed my already rigid cock, leaking from the tip. I started working it fast, my hand tight-fisted, spitting into my palm so it would slide better. In my head, her voice saying “other meat” kept circling like a scratched record. I imagined her mouth opening, that red-painted mouth at the counter, to swallow my cock whole. I imagined shoving it to the back of her throat and her tongue hanging out asking for more. I came in spurts against the bathroom wall, three, four thick ropes of cum that ran down the tiles, and I stood there panting with my cock still in my hand and my legs trembling.

***

The next morning I set the alarm for six. I had a plan and I needed to prepare it. I placed the mattress against the balcony, opened the curtain just enough, and on the floor, at a discreet angle, I propped up the hallway mirror. From my position I could see her without her knowing that I was seeing her through the glass. I lay down and waited.

The waiting left me hard long before she came out. My cock rose on its own, tugging at the skin, sending little stabs into my balls. When I saw the light in her kitchen go on, I turned slowly so that the first thing to hit her when she appeared would be my whole body. And there she came. White strapped nightgown, hair tousled, bare legs. The first thing she did was rest her elbows on the railing, as if she intended to stay awhile.

I slid one hand up my thigh, slowly, and took hold of myself without hurry. I was so swollen I barely fit in my fist. I started moving at a slow, almost lazy pace, letting the skin slide up and down, exposing the shiny glans, already wet with my own fluid. In the mirror I saw her cross and uncross her legs, slide a hand under the nightgown up to her breast. One strap fell off her shoulder and showed me a whole tit, pale, with the nipple already stiff from the cold morning or from whatever was happening between the two balconies. She pinched it, stretched it, squeezed it between two fingers, and I saw her part her lips without making a sound.

The other hand went under the nightgown, lower. The fabric lifted in front and I saw the movement of her wrist, her elbow moving slowly, her body giving little jolts against the railing. She was touching her cunt, in front of me, in broad morning light, without knowing I was watching her through the mirror. I sped up my hand. I spat into my palm and grabbed myself again, this time with my wrist twisting over the tip, that kind of pressure that makes me tremble. She sped up too. I could see her arm shaking under the fabric, her mouth open, her nipples showing hard against the nightgown. She bit her lip and arched her back against the railing. I clenched my teeth, gave myself two more strokes, and came. A long spurt that rose to my chest, another to my navel, another that landed warm on my balls. My whole stomach was smeared, and I was gasping in silence, eyes half-lidded so I wouldn’t lose sight of her trembling across from me.

I stayed still for a full minute, eyes closed, listening to the sparrows in the courtyard, feeling the semen cooling on my skin. When I got up, she was still there. She looked straight at me, without hiding, and lowered her eyes to my cock hanging soft and wet between my legs, the last drops still beading at the tip. She raised a hand to wish me good morning. I returned the greeting with a smile I didn’t even try to hide.

***

That same afternoon I went down to the butcher shop and, for the first time in weeks, there was nobody else there.

“It’s hot again today,” she told me, not lifting her eyes from the counter.

“I don’t feel it,” I answered.

“Well, I must be the one feeling it. Since this morning I’ve been burning up, like there’s fire inside me.”

“Try taking a shower, Marisol. Sometimes that helps.”

“This won’t be fixed with a shower, Andrés. I need something stronger.”

“Like what?” I asked softly, leaning on the counter.

“Like a good cock inside me,” she blurted, staring right at me, not lowering her voice. “The kind that leaves your mouth open and your throat dry.”

The air caught in my chest. I paid. When I took the change, our fingers brushed and I heard her exhale through her nose, slowly. She didn’t say anything else.

***

A few days passed and August began. I assumed things would cool off with the holidays, but one afternoon, when I was passing by the street, I saw the butcher shop shutter half open. Marisol was alone, arranging trays.

“Didn’t you take vacation?”

“No, honey. My mother-in-law was admitted and my husband spends the whole day at the hospital. It’s nothing serious, but that’s how we are. I’d rather stay open than sit at home chewing on the walls.”

“How are you handling those hot spells you had?” I said, already brazen.

“Better, until today. But I’m afraid this afternoon it’s going to hit again.”

I didn’t answer. I left there with a dry mouth.

***

The next day I took the dog out first thing. When I got back, I left him with water, stripped naked in the entryway, and made myself a plate of something cold. I ate at the living room table with the balcony open. A sharp sound made me lift my head. On the balcony across from mine, Marisol was eating alone, seated with her legs apart, in a one-piece swimsuit, the straps slipped off her shoulders. She saw me looking and slowly spread her knees until the swimsuit fabric shifted just enough to reveal part of her sex. I saw the thick, dark lip peeking out, and a patch of trimmed black hair, and below that a pink, wet slit shining in the sunlight.

I had the bathroom towel around my waist. I lowered my hand under the table and started touching myself without taking my eyes off her face. My cock swelled in seconds, hard as a stone against my palm. I started stroking slowly, squeezing the foreskin, letting the tip peek out and drip. She noticed immediately. Her hand slid under her swimsuit and one finger disappeared inside her while, with the other, she brought a piece of fruit to her mouth, very slowly, without blinking. I could see her wrist moving inside, the fabric bulging and shifting with the rhythm, and from time to time she pulled out a finger shining with juices and brought it to her mouth to suck it as if it were part of the fruit.

I was getting too close too fast. I got up early. I didn’t want to finish before she did. I went to the kitchen, my cock thumping against my belly with every step, opened the fridge, took out some strawberries, and started eating them by the balcony, biting them slowly, letting the juice run down my chin, my neck, my chest. I lowered my hand and smeared my whole cock with the red juice, gripping it at the base so she’d see exactly what I had. I heard her breathing hard from the other side of the street. She opened the swimsuit all the way, pulled it down to her hips, pinched both nipples at once and shoved two fingers inside herself. I could see her hand going in and out, her thumb rubbing the clit above, her mouth open, her half-lidded eyes locked on my cock.

“Fuck me, Marisol,” I whispered, though she couldn’t hear me. “Suck it, for fuck’s sake.”

Her fingers sped up. She pushed three in at once and started pumping them fast, legs spread wide open, without a shred of modesty. She went still all at once, trembling all over, and collapsed forward with her forehead on the table. I gave myself two more hard strokes and came in jets against the balcony glass, long threads of semen that slid down the inside leaving white streaks. We looked at each other without saying anything, both empty, both satisfied.

***

The following Sunday I woke up after lunch, with a hangover dragging me by the feet. I stepped out onto the balcony with the towel loose around my waist and saw Marisol’s whole family eating on their terrace: her, her husband, the son, and the daughter-in-law. I stepped back, showered, and dragged a recliner out into the living room area, determined to let the day pass.

Every now and then I looked up. On one of those occasions I saw the son and the husband say goodbye with a kiss, probably on their way to the hospital. Marisol and her daughter-in-law were left alone. They cleared the table, pushed it to one side, and brought out two folding chairs to the edge of the balcony to sunbathe. The daughter-in-law wore a pink bikini and looked no older than twenty-five.

Marisol kept looking at me every little while. Whenever I felt her gaze, I let the towel slide down another inch. She took the swimsuit straps off and pulled it down to her navel. Her daughter-in-law didn’t bat an eye. They talked among themselves, laughed, but Marisol’s eyes kept crossing the street.

I stood up as if by accident and, as I did, let the towel fall completely. I picked it up from the floor, went to the fridge, and came back with a tub of cream. That part I calculated. I set the tub on the little table, lifted the towel for a moment, and smeared the cream over myself, cold, thick. I spread it all over my cock, my balls, my lower belly, until I was shining white. When she looked again, I moved the cloth aside so she could see what I’d done, and I put my finger to my mouth with a little cream on it, licking it with my tongue out, staring straight at her.

Marisol stood up. She moved her arms, gesturing something to her daughter-in-law with a contrived expression, and as if by accident the swimsuit fell all the way down, leaving both breasts bare. She was a real woman, with skin that had sagged a little over the years, but with tits that filled the hands, thick, with dark nipples as big as coins. She made no move to pull it back up. She sat there like that, as if the sun and I were the same thing.

Then she turned toward her daughter-in-law, said something in her ear, and unclasped the bikini top. The girl laughed, looked toward my balcony, and went topless too. She had small, pointed breasts, with pink nipples hard from the breeze. The cream was melting over me, sliding down my balls, dripping between my thighs.

Marisol leaned in and licked her daughter-in-law’s nipple, without taking her eyes off me. She sucked the whole thing, nibbled it, and the girl leaned back, closing her eyes. Then she ran her tongue over the other one. The daughter-in-law grabbed Marisol by the nape and pressed her against her breasts, letting herself be handled, and Marisol raised one hand and started tugging her bikini bottoms down, very slowly, always looking at me to make sure I didn’t miss a thing. The girl lifted her ass off the chair and let Marisol pull the bottoms all the way off. She was left naked, legs apart, and I could see her cunt from my balcony, clean-shaven, with a thin pink slit.

There was no room left to play decent. I uncovered myself completely, spread my legs, and started moving in front of the two of them. I grabbed my cock, covered in cream, and started stroking it slowly, my hand slipping all the way up and down, making a wet sound that could be heard from the balcony. The cream dripped down my testicles and fell in thick drops to the floor. Marisol sat on the chair, spread her legs, and shoved two fingers into her cunt while, with the other hand, she took her daughter-in-law’s hand and brought it between her own. The girl started fucking her with her fingers, three at a time, and with her thumb she rubbed the hard clit. Marisol threw her head back, writhed, pinched her nipples, and all the while kept her eyes locked on my cock.

The daughter-in-law, without stopping the finger-fucking, bent down and started licking one of Marisol’s tits. I could see her pink tongue moving around the nipple, her mouth closing fully over the areola, and Marisol arching, yelling something that never reached me but moved her throat. I sped up. I squeezed my balls with my other hand, gave myself two sharp taps on the tip with my thumb, and felt the orgasm rising from deep inside. Marisol came before I did. She writhed all over the chair, trembling, with the daughter-in-law’s fingers still inside her, and grabbed her wrist to stop her hand because she couldn’t take it anymore. The girl laughed and pulled her shining fingers out and stuck them in her mouth to suck them, watching as I gave myself the last few strokes.

I came so hard it splattered even onto my face. Thick, white, long jets that landed on my chest, my neck, my chin, my lips. I swallowed part of it by accident and was left with the salty taste inside. I heard them laughing from the other side, a clean laugh, as if they had just won a bet. I stayed stretched out on the recliner, face wet with semen and cream, and my heart pounding at two hundred.

***

Several days passed before I went back to the butcher shop. Marisol was just finishing with a customer. When the woman left, we were alone again.

“How are you handling those hot spells, Mrs. Marisol?”

“Worse, honey. Worse every time. I get such flushes now I don’t know what to do with myself.”

“We’ll have to find a solution to that problem.”

“I know. But sometimes the remedy worries me more than the illness.”

“Why?”

“What if I like it? What do I do after that?”

“You’re going to like it, all right,” I said, holding her gaze. “After that, we’ll see. Everything can be fixed.”

I paid. When my fingers brushed hers, just like the other time, she let out her breath. But this time she also wet her lips with the tip of her tongue.

At the end of September there are neighborhood festivities. There’s a fair, there’s wine, and there are dances where people press up against each other without asking permission. What happened that night, on a street full of colored bulbs and a dark doorway just a few steps away, I’ll leave for another day. Or for your imagination, which is surely not far from mine.