The Neighbor Who Spied on Me from His Window

A few months ago we left the apartment downtown and moved to a house on the outskirts, in a quiet town where the air smells like wet earth and nobody honks their horn. We were looking for exactly that: silence, space, a yard where the dog could run. People are friendly, the neighbors a little nosy, but in return you can breathe. After years of horns and thin walls, the change felt like opening a window that had been shut too long.

The days went by without incident. Until a young couple opened a little grocery store right next to my house. He must have been about twenty-three, she a couple of years younger, and they had a baby who could barely walk. The convenience was a blessing: all you had to do was cross the gate to get whatever you needed. One morning I realized I had nothing for breakfast, so I went out just as I was, in tight shorts, a top, and sandals, because in that place the heat hits early.

As I made my way through the tiny shelves, I noticed the guy watching me. At first I chalked it up to the natural distrust toward the newcomer. But when I got to the counter I understood it wasn’t distrust. It was something else. And I decided to play a little, just to break the ice.

—Hi, I’ll take some toast and a couple of apples —I told him, looking him straight in the eyes until he looked away, nervous.

—Anything else I can get you? —he asked, pretending to focus on the register.

—Not for now. If I forgot anything, I’ll come back. I live next door —and I smiled at him.

—I’d already seen you. You moved in recently, right? —he said, gaining a little courage.

—Yes. And don’t call me “ma’am,” I’m not that old. I’m Renata.

Here I’ll pause to introduce myself to you, my readers. I’m thirty-six years old and I take care of myself, half for health, half for vanity. I’m not going to pretend false modesty: as long as I can remember, people have told me I’m pretty. I’m five foot five, my breasts are medium, nothing special, and my waist costs me sweat and discipline because I have a good appetite. The best thing about me is from the waist down: my legs and the ass that had been stealing glances since high school. End of introduction.

—Nice to meet you, Renata. We’re here for whatever you need —the guy said, regaining some composure.

—Whatever I need? I’ll keep that in mind. See you around.

I left the store swaying my hips, just to confirm I had his full attention. I did.

***

A couple of afternoons later, I was on the bedroom terrace, sitting with my phone, lost in the gossip of social media. Suddenly I felt that strange pressure at the back of my neck, the certainty that I wasn’t alone. Without moving much, I started scanning with my eyes until I found him: the guy, peeking out from a window in his house, watching me. When he realized he’d been caught, he pulled back immediately. That time I didn’t pay it any mind.

But the following days the pattern repeated itself. Every time I went out to the garden or the terrace, there was that furtive little gaze, hidden behind the curtain, peeking through the crack of a door. It wasn’t once. It was always.

At dinner I told my husband about it.

—Wow, you’ve got a secret admirer —he said, amused—. Doesn’t surprise me, love, you’re smoking hot. Does it bother you?

—No. Apparently he does it out of horniness, not with bad intentions.

—If it doesn’t bother you, then it’s fine. Give him a little eye candy, but make it worth his while. Maybe he’ll get us a discount on beer —he laughed.

—If you don’t have a problem with it, then I’ll put on a show for him.

—Just don’t corrupt him too much, poor kid —he joked.

—I don’t think I’d be showing him anything new. You know how these younger generations are, much more uninhibited.

—I see the girl too when I go out running and she’s out buying bread. She’s got something.

—Oh, I get it. You like her? —I teased him.

—She’s not pretty, but there’s something about her that catches your eye.

—Her tits, maybe? —I said with my best innocent face.

—Hahaha, love, you know me too well. They’re big for her size, but that’s from breastfeeding. A shame, one day they’ll go down.

—Ask her husband and then tell me —I shot back.

—Alright, alright. Maybe I’ll play a little with the guy, if it doesn’t bother you.

—Of course it doesn’t bother me. Then you can tell me in detail how the game goes. Give him a good show.

And that was that. Every time I went to the store, the young man took the opportunity to scan me from head to toe, and I didn’t mind at all. I felt desired, and that fed something in me that had been asleep for far too long.

***

With the days, I got shameless. I already knew his schedule, knew what time he opened, what time he swept the entrance, what time he was left alone behind the counter. I even picked my outfits according to the setting: a thong and tiny top for the terrace, light little dresses with low necklines for the garden. Every outing was choreography, and he was my only audience.

One morning I went to the store with every intention of provoking him. I made myself up a bit: hair tied back, a touch of lipstick, a little mascara. I put on strappy sandals, leggings that left nothing to the imagination, and a blouse with no bra. I walked through the place pretending to look for things, turning, bending down, swaying my hips, all so he wouldn’t lose sight of a single inch of my body. I had him hypnotized. I walked up to the counter.

—Do you have fresh milk? Give me one —and I ran my eyes over his body, with no attempt to hide it at all.

He didn’t know what to say. The moment broke when his wife came in carrying the baby. The guy, red to the ears, handed me the carton of milk. I didn’t miss the chance to throw her a naughty look too.

—Thanks. Have a lovely afternoon —I said, and left smiling.

***

That same afternoon I was in the garden, tidying things in the shed at the back. From the other side of the wall that separates our house from theirs I heard noises: cautious footsteps, the rustle of someone getting comfortable. I pretended not to notice, because that was exactly what I wanted. I took out my phone and texted my husband, who was inside the house.

—Love, my admirer is in the garden. Come here.

The smart bastard didn’t waste a second. Before I could finish thinking about what we were going to do, he wrapped his arms around me from behind, slid his hands under my dress, and started kissing my neck slowly, as if we had all the time in the world. He turned me around and we kissed hungrily, tongues and all, with that urgency we so rarely allowed ourselves in the middle of the afternoon.

He hiked my dress up and pulled my thong down without rushing. He freed my breasts and lingered on them, licking and nibbling my nipples until my whole skin prickled. Then he turned me around, knelt behind me, and started kissing my ass. I looked for the neighbor, and there he was, motionless, watching everything from his window. I closed my eyes to feel his gaze on my body. Knowing I was being watched turned me on in a way I couldn’t explain.

My husband spread my ass cheeks and started going over me with his tongue. Feeling that there, slow and wet, I couldn’t hold back a long moan, deliberately loud. I wanted the boy to hear it, not to miss a thing.

—Just like that, exactly like that —I gasped.

His fingers played between my legs while his mouth stayed back there, and I moaned louder and louder, shamelessly, giving sound to my only spectator. Then my husband suddenly straightened up, shoved his pants down, grabbed my hips, and drove into me in one hard thrust.

—Harder, don’t stop —I begged between gasps.

He pounded into me without mercy, biting my shoulder, holding my waist with one arm while with the other hand he squeezed one nipple. I opened my eyes and looked for the young man again. I wanted him to know that I knew he was there, that all of it was for him. I wasn’t sure whether our gazes met, but he stayed at the window, not moving, and that was enough for me.

My husband noticed how soaked I was and knew how to read the moment. He gently held my neck with one hand and with the other gave me a slap on the ass that echoed across the yard.

—You say you’re mine? —he murmured against my ear.

—Yes, I’m all yours —I answered breathlessly.

—Then I’m going to treat you the way you deserve.

He slapped my ass again, harder, and I answered with a moan that was half protest, half plea. He grabbed my tied-up hair and guided me down onto my knees in front of him. He brought his cock to my lips.

—Clean it —he ordered, in that deep voice he only uses when we lose control.

And I obeyed. I took him all the way into my mouth, pulled him out, ran my tongue from the base to the tip, and swallowed him back down to the hilt. With one hand I stroked the rest of him while looking up at him, knowing that on the other side of the wall there was someone out of breath.

—You little bitch, you want more? —he said, lifting me by the hair.

He set me on my feet again, took my breasts in both hands, and laid me down on the towel that had been left spread out on the grass. He lifted my right leg, rubbed his open hand against my sex, and entered me again, thrusting in and out at a rhythm that made me lose my mind. Then he turned me over and put me on all fours, and that was when he really pushed in, spanking me, pulling out all the way and driving back in again.

—I’m coming, don’t stop —I could barely say between moans.

The orgasm shook me long and deep, just as I felt him finish inside me, hot. We lay there on the grass for a moment, catching our breath. He kissed me and whispered in my ear:

—I’ll leave you like this for a while, so your admirer doesn’t miss a single detail.

He kissed me again and spread my legs, leaving me exposed to the afternoon sun and the window across the way. I stayed like that for a few minutes, stroking myself slowly, not knowing if the boy was still there. When I got up, the dress was a wrinkled mess around my waist, so I simply took it off. And then I found him again: a shadow settling back behind the curtain, still watching.

I walked naked through the garden, unhurried, feeling the warm air on my skin and someone else’s gaze running over my entire body. I had never felt so powerful. When I finally got tired of the game, I went into the house swaying my hips one last time, closing the show like the actress who decides when the curtain falls.

That night, while my husband held me in bed, we both laughed about the poor neighbor and the face he must have made. But the truth is that ever since then, every time I go out into the garden, I can’t help glancing sideways at that window. And sometimes, just sometimes, I find myself wishing he’s there again.