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 barely enough room for the shower, and a large window in the living room that looked directly onto the building opposite. At first, that detail meant nothing. Later, it changed everything.

January afternoons in Buenos Aires are brutal. Forty degrees, humidity, air so still it seems to refuse to circulate. 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 would stay in my boxer briefs, switch on the fan, and sit in front of the computer. I checked my work email, looked over 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 to some erotic-story site and read. I had been doing it for years. It wasn't something I needed to justify: it was a habit I'd had since college, and it seemed as normal to me as any other form of solitary entertainment. Some afternoons, when I was aroused enough, I would pull my cock out of my boxers and jerk off in front of the screen, unhurried, with nothing to interrupt me, until I came across my stomach.

What I hadn't counted on was that the building opposite had a terrace with a direct view into my living room.

***

The first time I saw her, I wasn't looking for her.

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

I stopped for a second. Then I jerked backward as if I'd been burned.

I leaned against the kitchen wall, glass of water in hand, heart racing. It was an absurd reaction: I was in my own apartment, in my underwear, without having done anything out of the ordinary. And yet I had blushed.

I waited a couple of minutes and carefully peeked out from the side of the curtain. She was still there. No binoculars or anything dramatic: she was simply lying there, phone in hand, her face turned toward my building. There was no way to know for certain whether she was looking at me or simply staring straight ahead.

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

That afternoon I sat in front of the computer with the curtain that way, leaving a narrow gap. I was reading when I began to notice the feeling that someone might be able to see me. It wasn't exactly discomfort. It was something different: an awareness of my body, an attention I normally didn't pay myself. I could feel my cock hardening against the fabric of my boxers without even touching it, just from the thought of that woman on the other side of the void between the buildings.

I glanced toward the terrace. She was still there.

I kept reading. The arousal I felt was no longer just because of what I was reading on the screen. It was the mixture, the combination of both stimuli. I lowered my hand and pulled my dick out of my boxers, gripping it with my closed fist, feeling it throb, hard and hot, against my palm. When I looked toward the terrace again, in profile, I could see that her hand had slipped between her legs.

I froze.

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 bottoms, her wrist setting a small, steady rhythm. Her posture had changed: her legs were slightly farther apart, her pelvis pushed forward, her body more relaxed in the hammock. She was touching her pussy while watching me, and she knew that I knew it.

Something went off inside me. I started moving my hand quickly, the tip already wet with precum, watching her without blinking, imagining what her fingers were doing beneath that green fabric. My orgasm rose inside me without warning, and I came in less than two minutes, shooting thick spurts across my stomach and the lower part of the computer, more violently than I expected. I stayed motionless for a few seconds, staring at the ceiling, my cock still throbbing in my hand, the fan humming and the heat still clinging to my skin.

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

***

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

Until one Tuesday, at six-thirty in the evening, I saw her again.

She was wearing a dark green bikini and round sunglasses. She was lying down 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 I deliberately positioned myself behind the curtain so she would see me. I pulled my boxers down to my knees and stood there, my cock already half-hard in my hand, waiting for her to look up.

It took her a while to raise her eyes from the book. When she did, she went still for a moment. Then she glanced down, looked back up at my window, and didn't move her eyes again.

I began jerking off very slowly, without taking my eyes off her, letting her see the full movement of my fist from top to bottom. I knew she probably couldn't see me clearly from that distance, but the possibility that she could was enough. More than enough. I stroked myself with my hand open, squeezing hard on every downward stroke, feeling my dick grow stiffer each time her eyes fixed on my silhouette.

Several minutes passed. She gradually let go of her restraint. First she undid the top of her bikini and let it fall beside the hammock, allowing the sun to fall on her without covering her breasts. They were round and medium-sized, with dark nipples stiffened by the heat and by what was happening. Her hands began to move slowly, running over her breasts, grabbing them, pinching her nipples between her fingers. Her lips were parted. I sped up my wrist, spat into my palm, and kept stroking myself faster, my cock shining with saliva and precum.

At a certain point, without any warning, she pushed the bottom of her bikini aside with a quick, direct gesture. Without modesty, without hesitation. From my window I could see the dark patch of hair, the wet gleam of her pussy spread open in the sun. Her fingers began moving up and down in a steady rhythm that gradually accelerated. She opened her lips with two fingers and rubbed her clitoris in quick circles with the index finger of her other hand. Every so often she pushed two fingers inside herself and pulled them out, glistening, before continuing to massage herself. I could see her body responding: her legs tensing, her feet braced against the hammock, her head thrown back, her mouth open.

I stared at her, my fist hammering my cock, imagining that it was my tongue between her fingers, imagining what that soaked pussy would taste like beneath the Buenos Aires sun. I felt the tingling rise from my balls and couldn't hold out any longer.

We came almost at the same time. I shot my load against the curtain, four thick spurts sliding down the fabric, clenching my teeth so I wouldn't moan. She remained still for a few seconds, her arms relaxed at her sides in the hammock, one hand still resting between her legs, breathing through her mouth. Then she raised her head toward my window and blew me a kiss.

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

***

I waited too long before acting. Nearly two more weeks of watching her whenever she appeared on the terrace, playing the same distant game, without taking the next step. Every afternoon I told myself I would do it, and every afternoon I didn't. During 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 could see.

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

—Hi —I said when I caught up with her beside the mailboxes.

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

—I'm your neighbor from across the way —I added.

—I know —she replied.

There was a brief silence that neither of us did anything to interrupt.

—Would you like a coffee? —I asked.

She tilted her head slightly. The smile that appeared wasn't innocent.

—We're in my building —she said—. I'll make it for you.

***

Her apartment was smaller than mine, with walls covered in plants and a narrow kitchen with a table for two. Her name was Valentina. She told me while lighting the burner for the coffee, without my asking, as if she wanted to establish something before the conversation took a different direction.

—Valentina —I repeated.

—And you're the one from the window —she said, her back to me, stirring the coffee.

It wasn't a question.

I sat in the chair across from hers and waited. When she turned around and put the cups on the table, our eyes met in a way that no longer had anything to do with windows or distance.

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

—Since the first day you arrived —she replied without 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 finished—. I saw you. I saw you jerking off while looking at me. And I didn't look away. I put two fingers inside myself and came thinking about your cock.

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

—I get turned on when people watch me —she explained, wrapping both hands around the cup—. Not just anyone. But something different started happening with you. Every afternoon I waited for you to come home and pull your dick out for me.

—I waited for you to appear on the terrace too —I admitted—. I was already getting hard just from opening the curtain.

Valentina smiled. This time it was different from all the smiles before it.

***

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

I stood up and went to her side. I took her chin in one hand, lifting her face toward mine, and kissed her slowly. Valentina opened her mouth without resistance, threaded her fingers into the nape of my neck, and brought her body against mine with a naturalness that surprised me. She tasted of coffee and something sweeter I couldn't identify. She pushed her tongue deep into my mouth and bit my lower lip while searching for my bulge over my pants with her 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 answered.

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

—Now I'm the one watching you —I said.

She opened her arms out to either side of her body, a gesture that was the clearest answer she could have given me.

I ran my mouth over her neck, her collarbone, her chest. I caught one nipple between my lips and sucked it hard, then the other, feeling them tense between my teeth whenever I ran my tongue over them. She moaned softly, arching her back and pushing my head against her tits. I slowly lowered the zipper of her pants, watching her face as I did it. Her eyes were half-closed, her breathing ragged, her lips parted. When I yanked the garment down along with her panties, she was completely naked on the sofa, her legs still together, a noticeable sheen of moisture already showing between her thighs.

—Open them —I told her.

Valentina slowly spread her knees, never taking her eyes off me, until she left her pussy open in front of my face. She was almost completely shaved, her pink lips swollen with arousal and her opening already gleaming, soaked. I could smell the flavor of a hot female, the sweat of a summer afternoon, and desire held in for weeks.

I ran my entire tongue from bottom to top, flat, pressing from her perineum to her clitoris. Valentina let out a guttural moan and gripped the cushions of the sofa. I did it again, more slowly, savoring her, sinking the tip of my tongue between her open lips. I sucked her clitoris, trapping it between my lips and playing the tip of my tongue against it in small circles. She began moving her hips against my face, pushing herself into my mouth.

—Yes, yes, don't stop —she panted—. Eat my pussy like that.

I slid two fingers inside her while continuing to work her clitoris with my tongue. I curled my fingers upward, searching for her inner spot, and found the roughest area. I rubbed it slowly with my fingertips and then faster, while my mouth never let go of her clitoris. Her pussy tightened around my fingers, making wet sounds each time I pulled them out and pushed them back in.

Valentina came silently. Not with screams or theatrics, but with her entire body: her legs squeezing around my head, her fingers tangled in my hair, her back arching upward until all the tension released at once and her body went limp, weightless. I felt her pussy contract 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 finished, she looked at me from below, her hair tousled and her eyes shining.

—Your turn —she said.

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

—That's how you held it for me from the window —she said.

—That's how.

—Now show me in your mouth.

She gripped me at the base with one hand and put me in her mouth without transition. The hot, wet sensation made my knees buckle. Valentina sucked me hungrily, taking me deep, pressing her lips around my shaft each time she pulled 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 underneath all the way up my cock, ran her tongue over the tip, collecting the precum, and took me fully into her mouth again. She gagged for a second, her eyes watering, and continued as if nothing had happened.

—Come here —I said hoarsely—. I want to fuck you.

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

—God, I'm so full —she panted—. Fuck me hard, come on.

I began moving with long thrusts, pulling almost all the way out and then sinking completely back inside. I felt her pussy squeezing me with every entry, opening to receive me and closing around me when I pulled out. I grabbed her beneath the knees and lifted her legs onto my shoulders, folding her against the sofa, and from that angle my cock went even deeper. She cried out softly, mouth open, biting her lip.

—Harder, harder —she begged—. Don't stop, just like that.

I changed positions. I put her facedown with her knees on the sofa and her ass raised toward me. I gripped her hips with both hands and penetrated her again with one thrust. From behind the sensation was different, tighter, and I could see my dick sliding in and out, shining with her juices, and her ass shaking with every blow. I slapped one cheek and she moaned louder. I slapped the other. I pulled her hair, winding it around my fist, and drew her head back as 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 with one hand and found her clitoris with two fingers while continuing to thrust into her from behind. It took only a few seconds: she came, squeezing my cock with spasms, moaning long and hard into the cushion, her legs trembling.

I held out a little longer. I pulled out, turned her onto her back again, and climbed over her. I pushed back inside while looking into her eyes, propped on my forearms, my face pressed against hers. I found her mouth and kissed her while continuing to fuck 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 my load inside her in long spurts, gritting my teeth, my body tense from head to toe. I came with my head thrown back and a sound I hadn't planned on making, growling low, while I kept moving inside her through the final contraction.

I remained on top of her, my cock still inside, feeling it throb and slowly lose its tension inside that soaked pussy. Valentina stroked my back with her fingertips in slow circles.

We lay still for a few minutes. The ceiling fan turned slowly. Something that resembled a breeze came in through the kitchen window.

—Three months watching you —I said at last.

—Three months letting you watch —she corrected, without moving.

***

What began 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 name what it was. It wasn't a relationship, exactly. Nor was it only sex, though sex was the easiest part to define. It was something in between: that thing that exists between two people who have watched each other from a distance for weeks, and then see each other up close and discover that they liked the distance, but liked this more.

Valentina never lost that trait of hers: the pleasure of being watched, of knowing that someone was paying attention. It was something constant inside her, not an act. Some afternoons she would ask me to sit in the chair facing the sofa, my cock in my hand, and simply watch while she spread her legs and made herself come with her fingers, staring straight at me until she finished. Other times it was the reverse: I would jerk off in front of her and come on her tits or inside her open mouth while she touched herself at the same time. Other times we would each go back to our own apartments and jerk off and make ourselves come from the windows, as we had at the beginning, only now knowing exactly what the taste and weight of the thing on the other side were like. It was a game we'd both learned to play well.

There was something honest about it. Something without filters, without pretensions.

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

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

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