The Neighbor Who Watched Me from Her Terrace

I had been living in Buenos Aires for three months. The company had sent me there to coordinate a project that, according to the original schedule, would last between six and eight months. The apartment was small but functional: an open kitchen, a bathroom with just enough room for the shower, and a large window in the living room that looked directly onto the building across the street. At first that detail meant nothing. Then it changed everything.

January afternoons in Buenos Aires are brutal. Forty degrees, humidity, the air standing still as if it refused to move. After eight hours at the office, I would get back to the apartment and the first thing I did was take off my clothes. I stayed in my boxer briefs, turned on the fan, and sat down in front of the computer. I checked work email, looked at my bank account activity, read the news.

And sometimes, on afternoons when the workday had been long or the heat made everything feel heavier, I would go onto an erotic fiction site and read. I’ve been doing it for years. It’s not something I need to justify: it’s a habit I picked up in college and it seems as normal to me as any other form of solitary entertainment. On the occasional afternoon, with enough arousal building, I would pull my cock out of my boxer briefs and jack off in front of the screen, unhurried, with nothing to interrupt me, until I came across my stomach.

What I had not counted on was that the building across the street had a terrace with a direct view into my living room.

***

The first time I saw her, it was without looking for her.

I had gotten up to get water and passed too close to the window. I saw her in that instant: a woman on the terrace of the building opposite, stretched out in a fabric hammock chair, her head turned toward my window. She wasn’t asleep. She was looking at me.

I froze for a second. Then I jerked back, as if I had been burned.

I stood there against the kitchen wall, a glass of water in my hand, my heart racing. It was a ridiculous reaction: I was in my own apartment, in my underwear, having done nothing unusual. And yet I had blushed.

I waited a couple of minutes and then leaned out carefully from the side of the curtain. She was still there. Not with binoculars or anything dramatic: just lying there, phone in hand, face angled toward my building. It was impossible to know for sure whether she was looking at me or simply looking straight ahead.

I decided to draw the curtain. But I left it slightly open. Out of curiosity, I told myself. Just to see.

That afternoon I sat down at the computer with the curtain like that, leaving a narrow slit. I was reading when I started to feel the sense that someone might be watching me. It wasn’t discomfort, exactly. It was something different: an awareness of my body, a kind of attention I normally didn’t have for myself. I could feel my cock hardening against the fabric of my boxer briefs without even touching it, just from the idea of that woman on the other side of the gap between the buildings.

I glanced sideways toward the terrace. She was still there.

I kept reading. The arousal I felt was no longer just from what I was reading on the screen. It was the mix, the combination of both stimuli. I lowered my hand and pulled my dick out of my boxer briefs, gripping it in a closed fist, feeling it throb, hard and hot, against my palm. When I looked back toward the terrace, from the side, I could see that her hand had slipped between her legs.

I went still.

There was no doubt about what I was seeing. Her hand was moving slowly, barely perceptibly, but it was moving. Her fingers went in and out of the edge of her bikini bottom, and her wrist set a small, steady rhythm. Her posture had changed: her legs slightly farther apart, her pelvis pushed forward, her body more relaxed in the hammock. She was touching her cunt while looking at me, and she knew that I knew.

Something detonated in me. I started to move my hand faster, the tip already wet with precum, staring at her without blinking, imagining what her fingers were doing under that green fabric. My orgasm climbed inside me without warning and I finished in less than two minutes, shooting thick ropes across my stomach and onto the bottom of the computer, more violently than I expected. I stayed motionless for a few seconds staring at the ceiling, my cock still pulsing in my hand, the fan humming and the heat still stuck to my skin.

When I went out onto the balcony to smoke a while later, the terrace was empty.

***

Days passed without her appearing. A week, maybe more. I kept looking toward the building across the street every afternoon before sitting down, but the terrace was always empty. My head had started convincing itself that it had been a coincidence, my own interpretation of something mundane.

Until one Tuesday, at half past six in the evening, I saw her again.

She was wearing a dark green bikini and round sunglasses. She was lying there with a closed book on her chest and her legs crossed at the ankles. Tanned skin, brown hair tied up in a casual bun. From a distance she looked calm, unconcerned. Discreet.

This time it was me who deliberately positioned myself behind the curtain with the intention of making sure she saw me. I pulled my boxer briefs down to my knees and stood there, my cock already half hard in my hand, waiting for her to lift her gaze.

It took her a while to look up from the book. When she did, she went still for a moment. Then she looked down, lifted her eyes back to my window, and didn’t move them again.

I started jacking off very slowly, without breaking eye contact with her, letting her see the whole movement of my fist up and down. I was aware she probably couldn’t see me clearly at that distance, but the possibility that she could was enough. More than enough. I worked my shaft with an open hand, squeezing hard on every downward stroke, feeling my dick get harder every time her eyes fixed on my silhouette.

Several minutes passed. She gradually let the tension go. First she unclipped the top of her bikini and let it fall to the side of the hammock, letting the sun fall over her without covering her breasts. They were round, medium-sized, with dark nipples already bristling from the heat and from what was happening. Her hands began to move slowly, traveling over her tits, grabbing them, pinching her nipples between her fingers. Her lips parted. I sped up the rhythm of my wrist, spat into my palm and kept jerking myself faster, my cock gleaming with saliva and precum.

At one point, without any warning, she pulled the bottom of her bikini aside with a quick, direct motion. No shame, no hesitation. From my window I could see the dark patch of hair, the wet shine of her cunt opening in the sun. Her fingers began moving up and down in a steady cadence that gradually accelerated. She spread her lips with two fingers and with the index finger of her other hand she rubbed her clit in quick circles. Every so often she pushed two fingers inside and pulled them out, shiny, to keep massaging herself. I could see how her body responded: her legs tensing, her feet planting against the hammock, her head thrown back, her mouth open.

I stared at her, my fist pounding my cock, imagining it was my tongue between her fingers, imagining the taste that soaking cunt would have under the Buenos Aires sun. The shiver rose from my balls and I couldn’t hold back any longer.

We came almost at the same time. I shot my load against the curtain, four thick jets that slid down the fabric, clenching my teeth to keep from moaning. She stayed still for a few seconds, her arms relaxed at the sides of the hammock, her hand still resting between her legs, breathing through her mouth. Then she lifted her head toward my window and blew me a kiss.

I laughed alone in my apartment, unable to help myself, my cock still hard and dripping in my hand. It was the most absurd and most arousing situation I had found myself in for years.

***

I waited too long before acting. Nearly two more weeks watching her when she appeared on the terrace, playing the same game from afar, without taking the step. Every afternoon I told myself I would do it and every afternoon I didn’t. In that time I came—I don’t know how many times—watching her spread her legs on the other side of the street, watching her put her fingers inside herself, watching her pinch her nipples so I would see her.

Until one Thursday, when I came home from work at seven in the evening, I saw her in the entrance of her building with grocery bags. I quickened my pace.

“Hi,” I said when I caught up to her by the mailboxes.

She turned around without flinching. She was younger than I had estimated from a distance. Twenty-four or twenty-five. Dark eyes, lush mouth, an expression that mixed a little surprise with something that wasn’t entirely surprise.

“I’m your neighbor across the street,” I added.

“I know,” she replied.

There was a brief silence that neither of us tried to break.

“Do you feel like having coffee?” I asked.

She tilted her head slightly. The smile that appeared was anything but innocent.

“We’re in my building,” she said. “I’ll make it for you.”

***

Her apartment was smaller than mine, with the walls full of plants and a narrow kitchen with a table for two. Her name was Valentina. She told me while she put the coffee on, without my asking, as if she wanted to establish something before the conversation went in another direction.

“Valentina,” I repeated.

“And you’re the one from the window,” she said, her back to me as she stirred the coffee.

It wasn’t a question.

I sat in the chair opposite hers and waited. When she turned and set the cups on the table, our gazes met in a way that had nothing to do with windows or distance anymore.

“How long have you been watching my apartment?” I asked.

“Since the first day you arrived,” she answered, not lowering her eyes. “You’re the first person who’s lived there in months. I couldn’t help it.”

“And when you saw me...?”

“Yes,” she said before I could finish the sentence. “I saw you. I saw you jacking off while looking at me. And I didn’t look away. I put two fingers in and came thinking about your cock.”

The honesty with which she said it threw me off for a moment. There was no discomfort in her, no embarrassment. Just a statement of facts.

“It turns me on to be watched,” she explained, wrapping both hands around her cup. “Not by just anyone. But with you something different started happening. Every afternoon I’d wait for you to get home and pull your cock out for me.”

“I was waiting for you to show up on the terrace too,” I admitted. “I was getting hard just by opening the curtain.”

Valentina smiled. This time it was a different smile from all the others.

***

I don’t remember which of us moved first. It was probably simultaneous.

I stood up and moved beside her. I took her chin in one hand, lifting her face toward mine, and kissed her slowly. Valentina opened her mouth without resistance, tangled her fingers in the nape of my neck, and drew her body against mine with a natural ease that surprised me. She tasted like coffee and something sweeter I couldn’t identify. She shoved her tongue deep into my mouth and bit my lower lip while searching for the bulge over my pants with an open palm.

I kissed her calmly at first. Then calm stopped being possible.

“You get hard fast,” she murmured against my mouth, squeezing my cock through the fabric. “You’re rock hard.”

“I’ve been like this for weeks because of you,” I told her.

We moved into the living room without breaking the kiss. She fell back onto the sofa with a looseness that told me she wasn’t afraid of anything or anyone. I pulled her blouse off over her head and paused a moment to look at her: medium breasts, dark nipples already erect, warm tanned skin. Up close she was completely different from what I had seen from the window. Up close she was real, and she was better.

“Now I’m the one looking at you,” I said.

She opened her arms out to the sides of her body in a gesture that was the clearest answer she could give me.

I ran my mouth over her neck, her collarbone, her chest. I caught one nipple between my lips and sucked hard, first one and then the other, feeling them tense against my teeth every time I passed my tongue over them. She moaned softly, arching her back, pushing my head against her tits. I lowered her pants zipper slowly, watching her face as I did it. Her eyes were half-closed, her breathing altered, her lips parted. When I stripped the garment off in one tug along with her panties, she was left completely naked on the sofa, her legs still together and an obvious glisten of moisture between her thighs.

“Open them,” I asked.

Valentina slowly parted her knees, never taking her eyes off me, until she had her cunt open in front of my face. She was almost completely shaved, her pink lips swollen with arousal and the opening already shining, soaked. I could smell the taste of hot woman, summer afternoon sweat, and desire held back for weeks.

I ran my whole tongue from bottom to top, flat, pressing from the perineum to the clit. Valentina let out a guttural moan and gripped the sofa cushions. I did it again, slower, tasting her, sinking the tip of my tongue between her open lips. I sucked her clit between my lips and played with the tip of my tongue against it in little circles. She started moving her hips against my face, pushing herself toward my mouth.

“Like that, like that, don’t stop,” she panted. “Eat my pussy like that.”

I slid two fingers inside her while I kept working her clit with my tongue. I curled my fingers upward, searching for her inner spot, and found the roughest area. I rubbed it with my fingertips slowly and then faster, while my mouth never let go of her clit. Her cunt clamped around my fingers, making wet sounds every time I pulled them out and pushed them back in.

Valentina came in silence. Not with screams or drama, but with her whole body: her legs tightening around my head, her fingers twined in my hair, her back arching upward until all the tension released at once and her body went limp, weightless. I felt her cunt contracting around my fingers in waves, and a small hot gush soaked the palm of my hand.

I liked that. I liked it more than anything else that afternoon.

When she was done, she looked up at me from below with tousled hair and shining eyes.

“Your turn,” she said.

She sat up on the sofa and motioned for me to stand in front of her. She unbuttoned my pants without hurry, with both hands, and pulled them down along with my boxer briefs in one motion. My cock sprang hard against my stomach, already dripping. She stared at it for a second with a small smile.

“That’s how you were gripping it for me from the window,” she said.

“Like this.”

“Now show me in your mouth.”

She took me at the base with one hand and took me into her mouth without transition. The hot, wet sensation made my knees bend. Valentina sucked my cock hungrily, all the way down, pressing her lips around the shaft every time she drew her head back. She looked me in the eyes while she did it, and that look was killing me more than her mouth. She went down to suck my balls, licked me from bottom to top along the entire length of my cock, ran her tongue over the tip collecting the precum, and took me all the way in again. She choked for a second, her eyes filling with tears, and kept going as if nothing had happened.

“Come here,” I told her, my voice rough. “I want to fuck you.”

I pushed her against the back of the sofa and spread her legs again. I took hold of my cock with one hand and rubbed it against her wet lips, sliding up and down, wetting my tip with her moisture. Then I pushed in and entered slowly, in one long motion, all the way to the hilt. Valentina let all her air out at once and grabbed my shoulders.

“God, I’m so full,” she gasped. “Fuck me hard, come on.”

I started moving with long thrusts, pulling almost all the way out and driving back in completely. I could feel her cunt squeezing me on every entry, opening to take me and closing as I withdrew. I grabbed her under the knees and lifted her legs onto my shoulders, folding her on the sofa, and from that angle my cock went even deeper. She was crying out softly, mouth open, biting her lip.

“Harder, harder,” she begged. “Don’t stop, like that.”

I changed her position. I put her face down with her knees on the sofa and her ass raised toward me. I grabbed her hips with both hands and drove into her again in one thrust. From behind the sensation was different, tighter, and I could see my dick going in and out, shiny with her juices, the way her ass shook with every удар. I slapped one ass cheek and she moaned louder. I slapped the other. I pulled her hair, wrapping it around my fist, and tipped her head back while I fucked her faster and faster.

“I’m going to come again,” she warned, clenching her jaw. “Don’t stop, don’t stop.”

I reached around in front of her and found her clit with two fingers while I kept driving into her from behind. It only took a few seconds: she came gripping my cock in spasms, moaning long against the cushion, her legs trembling.

I held out a little longer. I pulled out, turned her onto her back again, and got on top of her. I slid back inside her while looking into her eyes, resting on my forearms, my face close to hers. I found her mouth and kissed her while I kept fucking her with short, deep thrusts.

“Come inside me,” she whispered in my ear. “I want to feel it.”

That finished me. A couple more thrusts and I released inside her, in long spurts, clenching my teeth, my whole body tight from top to bottom. I finished with my head thrown back and a sound I had not planned to make, a low growl, while I kept moving inside her until the last contraction.

I stayed on top of her, my cock still inside, feeling it throb and slowly lose tension inside that soaked cunt. Valentina stroked my back with the tips of her fingers, in slow circles.

We lay still for a few minutes. The ceiling fan turned slowly. Through the kitchen window, something like a breeze came in.

“Three months watching you,” I said at last.

“Three months letting you watch,” she corrected, without moving.

***

What started that afternoon lasted for the rest of my stay in Buenos Aires. Four more months, until the project ended and I went back.

We never tried to put a name on what it was. It wasn’t a relationship, exactly. Nor was it just sex, even though sex was the easiest part to define. It was something in between: that thing that exists between two people who have seen each other from far away for weeks and then see each other up close and discover that they liked the distance, but that they like this more.

Valentina never lost that trait of hers: the pleasure of being watched, of knowing someone was paying attention. She carried it inside her as a constant, not as a performance. Some afternoons she would ask me to stay seated in the chair opposite the sofa, cock in hand, and just watch while she spread her legs and made herself come with her fingers, staring at me until she finished. Other times it was the other way around: I would jerk off in front of her and come over her tits or inside her open mouth, while she touched herself at the same time. Other times we would go back to our separate apartments and jack off and make ourselves come from the windows, like at the beginning, only now knowing exactly what the taste and the weight of what was on the other side felt like. It was a game we had both learned to play well.

There was something honest about it. Something unfiltered, without pretenses.

When the day came for me to leave, there was no scene. A coffee, a hug longer than usual, and a “take care” said with enough weight to mean more than the words themselves.

Sometimes, on boring afternoons back in my city, I think about that first afternoon. About the curtain left slightly open, the green bikini, the kiss blown from a terrace twenty meters away. About how something as small as two people looking at each other from different windows can become something that stays etched into you for years.

Valentina never hid what she wanted. In the end, that was the most erotic thing of all.