The Neighbor Who Discovered Me from Her Window

That summer we rented an apartment in a coastal town, three couples and me, tagging along. My friend Diego had found the place for me so I wouldn't be left alone in the city, and at first it seemed like a good idea: the beach in the morning, a beach bar at noon, walks around the harbor as evening fell. What I didn't tell anyone was how horny I'd been throughout the trip from the very first day.

The two girls in the group, Marina and Patricia, were the sort who took twenty-four hours to lose their shyness and another twenty-four to lose it completely. On the second day they announced, very primly, that they intended to go topless, since that was what the beach was for and we were all comfortable with one another. And they did. I'd never seen them like that before, and I had to pretend I'd suddenly suffered heatstroke and get into the water to hide the hard-on bulging beneath my trunks.

The sun, my friends' bare tits swaying every time they turned around, Marina's dark nipples hardened by the salt, the dozens of strangers sunbathing just as scantily dressed, some with their pussies barely covered by a triangle of fabric... by noon my balls were swollen and my cock was throbbing every two steps. While the others stayed behind having drinks at the beach bar, I said I was going ahead to take a shower and went up to the apartment.

I went into my room, closed the door out of habit, took off my wet trunks, and sat on the edge of the bed with my half-hard cock already pointing at the ceiling. Nothing more was needed. I closed my eyes, let my mind return to the morning's images—Patricia's tits gleaming with oil, the line of Marina's ass when she bent down to pick up her towel—and began masturbating slowly, squeezing the base with my thumb and forefinger, moving slowly up to the head, taking my time, drawing out every stroke as if saving myself for a long-awaited prize. I spat into my palm, rubbed it well, and started again, this time with a loose grip, letting the skin slide on its own, feeling my balls swell against my thigh.

The window was wide open because of the heat. I paid no attention to it: the apartment opposite, across the narrow lightwell, had been empty all week. At some point I thought I heard a noise out there, the dragging of things, but I was too wrapped up in what I was doing, my cock dripping pre-cum and a tingle climbing up my spine, to pay it any mind.

Then a man's voice broke the silence.

—Nuria, where have you got to?

And the answer came from much closer than my mind could accept, almost beside me, directly opposite, barely ten feet away.

—I'm hanging up the beach towels,—a woman said.

I opened my eyes wide, my cock still in my hand. The neighbor had appeared at the opposite window to hang up the beach clothes, and she'd caught me full-on, my hard cock pointing directly at her. She was a woman of about forty-five, with wavy shoulder-length hair, a loose cotton T-shirt, and skin already browned by several days in the sun. She stood there with clothespins in her hand, staring fixedly at my cock.

I was sitting directly facing the wall mirror, so without meaning to I had a perfect angle: I could see her reaction reflected without her knowing I was watching. I saw her expression change. Surprise first, her eyebrows raised, her mouth slightly open. Then something different, harder to name, a slow bite of her lip as her eyes drifted on their own toward my crotch, toward the hand I hadn't even fully pulled away.

Don't scream. Don't call your husband. Please.

But she didn't scream. Half a smile escaped her, she lowered her gaze for an instant to my cock wet with saliva, and continued hanging up the clothes as if nothing were happening, pretending to be calm while the sidelong glances toward my window contradicted her every second. I saw her nipples pressing against the white T-shirt, hardened, and understood that she was enjoying it as much as I was.

I should have covered myself, shut the window, died of embarrassment. I did exactly the opposite. When she turned to get another towel, I settled myself more comfortably on the bed, spread my legs, gripped my cock at the base, and lifted it so she could see it properly—thick, shining, with a large drop trembling at the tip. She leaned out again, threw me another quick glance, and this time lingered for a second too long. Long enough to understand what was happening, and to decide it didn't bother her. I began stroking myself slowly in front of her, my hand moving up and down the whole length, letting the wet sound of saliva carry across to the other side of the lightwell.

The woman dropped the clothespin she was holding. I saw her cover her mouth to hide a laugh, squeeze her thighs together for a moment, and breathe deeply, her chest rising high. She picked up her basin and went inside without hurrying, giving me one last look over her shoulder that struck me straight in the balls. I closed the window with my free hand, my cock still in the other and my heart racing.

I remained sitting in the half-light, not knowing whether what had just happened was a catastrophe or the most exciting thing in my life. Probably both at once. I finished what I'd started with four quick, furious strokes, biting my lip so I wouldn't moan, and came with a gasp of pleasure, shooting thick jets of cum over my stomach and thighs, Nuria's face stuck to my retinas. Until that day I'd believed the apartment was empty. Most likely the couple had arrived that very morning and gone straight to the beach.

***

That afternoon the seven of us went out for a walk, had a few beers, and picked at some food on a terrace along the seafront. Everything proceeded with apparent normality, amid Diego's laughter and Patricia's plans for excursions, but I wasn't entirely there. I couldn't get the neighbor leaning out of the window out of my head, that gesture of hers, biting her lip as she stared at me jerking off. I got hard again every couple of minutes and had to cross my legs beneath the table. It gave me a bizarre mixture of arousal and panic. What if she told her husband? What if the guy showed up to demand an explanation in front of everyone?

We returned to the apartments around midnight. She was in the lobby waiting for the elevator. My neighbor. With her husband, a big, good-natured man, and another couple who seemed to be friends of theirs. Like us, they were cheerful, buoyed by the silly happiness of a few drinks after dinner.

—Damn, I left my cigarettes upstairs,—her husband said, patting his pockets.—Will you come with me to the tobacconist on the corner for a moment?

He meant his friend, not me, and the two men went back out into the street. The neighbor and the other woman stayed behind waiting for the elevator with our group.

The car arrived. It was tiny, one of those old ones meant for exactly four people, and it quickly became clear that we couldn't all fit. My neighbor's friend looked at it irritably.

—Wow, it's so small. There's no way we'll all fit.

—It is small,—my neighbor replied, holding back a laugh,—but you'll see how quickly it goes up. And nice and upright. It rises beautifully.

They both burst out laughing. I turned as red as a tomato because I understood perfectly what they were laughing about, while my friends carried on as usual, catching none of it. It was obvious she'd told her friend about the window, every last detail, including the size of my cock and the way I'd been jerking it right in front of her.

—Are you coming up with us, neighbor?—she asked, letting her gaze drop for a second to my crotch with a boldness that left me speechless.—Come on, get in. You've already seen that I like things that rise.

—Sorry... yes,—I stammered.

I got into the elevator between them, mortified, my pulse racing and my cock beginning to wake up again. The space was so narrow that I could smell my neighbor's perfume, a mixture of sunscreen and something sweet, and feel the warmth of her hip pressed against mine. When the elevator jolted, I felt the back of her hand deliberately brush the bulge in my trousers. I nearly lost it.

—It's hot in here, isn't it?—her friend said, fanning herself with her hand.—I have all the windows in the apartment open. There's no way anyone can sleep.

—Yes, very hot,—the neighbor replied, covering a little giggle with her fingers.—I have them all open too. Wide open. And with a very good view, as well.

She said it while looking at me from the corner of her eye, and my mouth went dry. The elevator reached the floor. The three of us got out with the rest of the group.

—The first thing I'm going to do when I get inside is take all these clothes off,—she added while searching for her keys,—they're stuck to my body. Good night, Carmen. Good night, neighbor. Sleep well. Or don't sleep—it's up to you.

—Good night,—I managed to say, my throat dry.

Her friend Carmen walked off toward the end of the hall. The door to my apartment was right next to hers. We each went into our own, and it took me three attempts to get my key into the lock because my hand was shaking so badly, my cock already hard and pushing against the fabric.

***

I didn't think twice. I left my friends dividing up the bedrooms and went straight to mine. I closed the door, stripped in one tug, and sat on the bed in the same position as that morning, facing the window, my cock already in a full state of war, hard and throbbing. My body was responding on its own now, anticipating whatever might happen. I was feeling that strange mixture of modesty and desire that had accompanied me all day.

The opposite window was half-open, with a thin curtain covering the interior. I waited in the half-light, not really sure what I was waiting for, occasionally squeezing the head of my cock with the tip of my thumb to calm my urge. Then a lamp came on on the other side. A hand appeared between the fabric and drew the curtain aside. It was her.

She looked toward my room for three or four seconds, until she found me in the darkness, sitting on the edge of the bed with my legs spread and my hard cock pointing at her. She lit a cigarette, rested her elbow on the frame, and settled in to watch, calmly, like someone getting comfortable to watch a movie. I'd never experienced anything like it, that sensation of being deliberately watched, of turning someone on by doing precisely what I wasn't supposed to do.

Up close, with the lamplight falling across her face, she was a very beautiful woman. Mature, self-assured, with the serene beauty of someone who no longer has anything to prove. I began jerking off slowly while she took long drags without taking her eyes off me. My hand moved slowly up and down, gripping hard at the base and loosening near the top, all the while looking at her face so she could see how much it turned me on to have her there, quietly watching me.

I saw her bite her lip. She blew smoke into the lightwell and, with her free hand, undid the buttons of her blouse one by one, without hurrying. She wasn't wearing anything underneath, but the fabric remained closed just enough that I could only imagine what was behind it. It was a delicious torture. I quickened my pace a little, my hand already making that wet sound of skin against wet skin. She took another drag and, with two fingers, pulled the blouse aside barely a handspan, enough to show me the entire curve of a perfect breast, round and firm, with a large dark nipple, hardened and pointing toward me. She pinched it between her fingers, tugged it a little, and slowly rolled it. I had to let go of my cock and grab it at the base, squeezing hard so I wouldn't come right then and there.

I was about to finish when, all at once, the main living-room light came on on the other side. Her husband was back. She hurriedly covered herself with the blouse, turned around, and drew the curtain, though she left a narrow, deliberate gap so I could keep watching.

I remained frozen, afraid to move, my swollen cock throbbing in my hand. I watched her greet her husband, who gave her a perfunctory, unenthusiastic kiss, then dropped onto the sofa facing the television. She sat beside him with her blouse still open. Several minutes passed like that, him watching the screen, her glancing toward my window.

Then she did something I hadn't expected. She began stroking her husband's thigh, sliding her hand inside his trousers, searching for his cock and offering herself to him shamelessly. She pulled her tits out of her blouse, put them in the guy's face, and sat sideways on his lap. The man barely reacted; he pushed her away with two dismissive pats on the thigh, leaving her there with her tits exposed and one hand on his package. She persisted, leaned toward him, and whispered something in his ear, probably offering to suck him right there. The man shrugged and looked at the clock. After a couple of minutes he got up from the sofa, said something I couldn't hear, and went into the bathroom, leaving her alone with her tits out and her cheeks flushed.

I watched her sit motionless on the sofa, staring blankly ahead, her frustration so obvious I could feel it from my side of the lightwell. As if she'd known all along that the night would end this way, dry, without getting fucked, with desire ricocheting inside her. She turned her head toward the window, toward me, for one incredibly long moment. Then she got up and disappeared toward the back of the apartment too.

Several minutes passed, feeling endless. I thought she wouldn't come back, that this was where it ended. I began getting dressed, half resigned and half relieved, my cock still hard and protesting inside my trousers. And just then she appeared at the window again.

She was wrapped in a towel, her wet hair stuck to her face, fresh from the shower. She came to the frame, lit another cigarette, and stood looking out into the lightwell with a melancholy air. Her blouse had been forgotten somewhere, and she had the whole night ahead of her.

I turned on my bedside lamp so she'd know I was still there. She looked up, found me sitting there again, naked and expectant, and a slow smile transformed her face. That smile was enough to make my cock turn hard as stone instantly, without my even touching it, springing upward on its own. She noticed, her eyes widened, and she bit her lip in pure satisfaction, as if my reaction were exactly what she needed after her husband's rejection.

With a mischievous gesture, she let the towel fall.

She appeared in full before me, shameless, outlined against the warm light of the lamp. She had a magnificent body, a fully mature woman's body, with curves soft and firm at once: large, heavy tits hanging barely a finger's breadth, their dark nipples hard and erect; a soft belly with a slight roundness; wide hips; a pussy with a thin strip of neatly trimmed dark hair barely covering her swollen lips. She caressed one breast with her free hand, slowly, never taking her eyes off me, pinching it, squeezing the whole thing. I began stroking myself at the same rhythm, the two of us three meters and a lightwell apart, joined by nothing but our looks and our pent-up desire.

I watched her lower her hand over her belly, slip two fingers between her thighs, spread the lips of her pussy with two fingers, and push her middle finger all the way in. She began masturbating with a slow, deep rhythm, moving her hips back and forth over her own hand, her open mouth releasing cigarette smoke in silent gasps. I jerked off in time with her, my hand well-wet with saliva, squeezing hard, pulling the skin down to the base, moving slowly up to the head, imagining that the wet pussy she had her fingers in was mine, and that I was the one filling it. She brought her shining fingers to her mouth and slowly sucked them while looking at me, then lowered them back to her pussy. With her other hand she squeezed one tit and lifted it to suck her nipple, her pink tongue darting between her teeth.

I didn't last long. I felt my balls tighten against my body, the tingling rise from the base of my spine, and the orgasm caught me a few seconds later, intense and impossible to stop. I shot thick streams of cum that splattered onto the floor between my feet and ran over my fingers, while I clenched my teeth so I wouldn't moan aloud. A brief laugh escaped her, which she quickly covered with her hand, amused and complicit, and she kept touching herself, her mouth twisting in pleasure, until her whole body shuddered against the window frame, her thighs squeezing around her hand, her narrowed eyes fixed on me. I watched her come silently, biting the knuckle of her thumb. When she regained her composure, she brought her soaked fingers to her nose, smelled them slowly, smiled, took one last drag from her cigarette, blew me a kiss with the fingers wet from her orgasm, and went inside, drawing the curtain all the way closed.

***

For the next two days the group went on an excursion we'd planned before the trip. I spent the hours in the mountains thinking about one thing only: whether my window muse would still be there when we returned, whether there would be a third night, whether I'd dare to do more than watch, whether this time I'd be able to cross the lightwell somehow, sneak into her bed, and finally fuck her the way she deserved after that useless husband of hers.

We reached the apartment at dusk. I put my things down, went into the bedroom, and looked across, holding my breath.

The window was closed, the towels were no longer hanging from the line, and the curtain had been drawn back to reveal an empty room. They were gone. I stood there for a long while staring at the dark opening, with an absurd sense of loss for a woman whose name I knew only because her husband had said it aloud one summer afternoon.

I never saw her again. But whenever I spend a summer near the sea and feel the sweltering heat coming through an open window, I think of Nuria again—her cigarette, her tits pressed against the frame, her fingers buried in her pussy, her laughter covered by her hand, and that night when two strangers fucked each other from a distance without ever touching.