What My Neighbor Showed Me Through the Window

This is the continuation of what I already told you a while back, so if you’ve come here again, thank you for keeping on reading us. After that night when the neighbor saw my husband and me, I thought that would be the end of it, an awkward anecdote the three of us would pretend had never happened.

I was wrong.

The next day I ran into him in the hallway and blushed to my ears. He, on the other hand, greeted me with a calmness that completely threw me. Not a hint of a smile, not a dirty look. Just “good morning,” and he kept walking, as if nothing had happened. That calm of his, that way of not fixing his eyes where I expected him to, made me more nervous than if he had devoured me with his gaze.

And yet, every time I saw him, I could feel my underwear getting wet. I’m one of those women who has it written all over them; I’d already told you that before. One out-of-place thought and my body would respond on its own, without asking me permission.

Several days went by with no news. I think the three of us were a little ashamed and, without saying it, we avoided letting the moment happen again. But just thinking about it, my husband and I got turned on. We talked about it in a low voice at night, like a secret that belonged only to us.

Until what I’m about to tell you happened.

***

My husband, Andrés, had gone to Querétaro on a work trip. He had been away for several days already, and the house felt huge and silent. I had just finished my period, so I didn’t even feel like masturbating; I was in that sluggish phase of the month when the body asks for rest more than fire.

That morning I went to take a shower. For once I was sensible and closed the bedroom window curtains properly, the one that looks right out to the side of the neighbor’s house. While I was drying my hair, I heard a noise outside. Short footsteps, something brushing against the wall, a breath that wasn’t the wind.

I froze, with the towel pressed tight to my chest. My heart had suddenly started racing.

I tiptoed over to the window and pulled the curtain open just a finger’s width, enough to peek without being seen. And there he was.

He was pressed against the wall, stretching his neck to see if he could catch something through some crack. He was looking for the same luck as that other time, when he had seen me naked without me realizing it. But this time I was the one who discovered him.

And what I saw left me breathless. His pants were open and his cock was out, stroking it slowly, bringing the head fully out with every movement of his hand. A shiver ran down my back and into my legs. It was big, bigger than I remembered having imagined, thick and firm, the kind that makes you swallow without meaning to.

God, he’s out there jerking off thinking about me.

My body understood before my mind did. The wetness came back in a rush, abundant, sliding down my thigh. My nipples hardened against the towel until they hurt. All the fatigue of the month disappeared in a second, replaced by a hunger that wouldn’t let me think.

Without thinking of the consequences, I yanked the curtain open.

He jumped and hid his cock with his hand, like a kid caught stealing candy. I acted surprised, widened my eyes and stayed still. We both knew it was a lie, one of those lies you tell only so there’s a reason to keep going.

We looked at each other. Not a word. His gaze dropped over my body, taking me in completely, then climbed back up until it met mine. I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t want him to leave, that much I knew for sure. But I also didn’t want him getting the wrong idea, thinking I was going to open the door and let him fuck me right there. That wasn’t going to happen. Not yet.

Then he made the decision for both of us. Slowly, almost as a challenge, he moved his hand away and showed me what he had again. He offered himself to me fully, with nothing hidden. And seeing him again, without the rush of the surprise, my knees really did shake.

He started masturbating for me. Slowly at first, with his eyes fixed on mine, as if silently asking me whether I was going to stay and watch or close the curtain and leave him wanting.

I stayed.

***

I took a step back and sat on the edge of the bed, right in the strip of light coming in through the window. I let the towel fall. I felt the cool air on my wet skin and saw him hold his breath when he saw me naked, this time not by accident but because I had decided to show myself.

I slowly spread my legs, so he could see what he was doing to me. So he would understand that he wasn’t the only one burning. My pussy was swollen and shining, throbbing, answering every movement of his hand. I put my fingers there and started stroking myself without hurry, letting him watch.

He watched everything. My breasts, the hard nipples, the place between my legs where my fingers moved in slow circles. He looked at my face, then down again, and all the while he kept pleasuring himself on the other side of the glass, showing me everything in all its glory.

It was the most obscene and most arousing thing I had ever done in my life. We weren’t touching. We weren’t even in the same room. And even so, that distance, that glass in the middle, made every look weigh twice as much. There was no contact, only pure desire, and that made it unbearably good.

There was something about knowing he was watching me, that every gesture of mine would stay etched in his head, that pushed me farther than I would have dared go on my own. I felt watched and, instead of making me uncomfortable, it turned me on like nothing ever had. It was as if his gaze touched me without hands, as if I could feel the weight of his eyes moving over my bare skin.

I lowered my eyes to him for a moment, to his hand going up and down with a rhythm that grew more urgent by the second, and my mouth went dry. I imagined the rest, everything that wasn’t happening: his weight on top of me, his mouth on my neck, that thing he was showing me pushing its way inside me. The fantasy hit me so hard I had to bite my lip not to say out loud what I was thinking.

I started moaning softly, not caring whether he could hear me or not. I touched myself with one hand and with the other I squeezed my breast, played with the nipple, pinched it. My fingers slipped from how wet I was. I sped up and then slowed back down, stretching out the moment, because I didn’t want it to end yet.

Let him see me properly. Let him take this image with him.

I leaned back, propped on my elbows, and lifted my legs, spreading them as wide as I could. I gave him the full view. He sped up his hand when he saw me like that, open and given over for his eyes.

“Look how hard you got me,” he said in a low, rough voice, just loud enough for me to hear through the half-open window. “Want to see me finish, babe?”

“Yes,” I answered, not recognizing my own voice. “Show me. I want to see you.”

“Here it comes, look.”

Pleasure started climbing up from deep inside me, that pressure that builds and tells you there’s no turning back. I rubbed myself faster, eyes locked on him, on his hand, on what was about to happen.

“I’m coming,” I gasped. “Don’t stop, don’t stop.”

The orgasm shook me from top to bottom. I closed my eyes for a second and opened them again right away, because I didn’t want to miss anything. My body tightened all over and then loosened in waves, one after another, while I kept watching him.

Almost at the same time, I saw him convulse. He clenched his teeth, tilted his head back a little, and came. It had been years since I’d seen a man finish with that much intensity, that much of it. It was long, generous, and I didn’t look away for a single instant.

When it was over, he held my gaze for a few more seconds. He didn’t say anything. He got dressed, turned around, and left, just like that, as if collecting the silence we had created between the two of us.

***

I sat there on the bed for a while, my legs still trembling, catching my breath. Then I got up and pulled the curtains all the way shut. My skin was sticky and my body was limp from how intense it had been.

I went back into the shower. The warm water fell over me and I was still thinking about what had just happened, replaying it frame by frame. I thought about what I had seen, about the shameless way he had shown himself, about how he had looked at me while I was falling apart for him.

And, I confess, I thought about what hadn’t happened. About what it would have been like to have him on the same side of the glass. To feel that mouth, those hands, that body I had only been able to look at from a distance. I imagined all kinds of things under the water, and they all lit me up from the inside again.

But it still wasn’t the time. I knew that.

I turned off the tap, wrapped myself in the towel, and stood for a while in front of the fogged-up mirror, smiling to myself like an idiot. Andrés would be back in a few days, and I had a lot to tell him. Knowing us, he wasn’t going to be angry. On the contrary.

But that, as they say, is another story. I’ll keep telling it to you little by little. Thank you for reading us again, and until next time.