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Through a Window

By: frankland



I saw you tonight. I didn't mean to spy, well not at first. I always look across the garden level apartment windows to see if I can see inside the apartments. Just to see the decor, the layout, see if somebody has better stuff than I do. I don't stop, I just keep walking on by with my dog. But not tonight. Tonight your computer screen caught my eye. "You tube," I said to myself. No, it was wrong. Well, it was unlikely that what you were watching on your computer came from you tube. No, there was something I recognized about it. A rhythm, a repetition. Sex. Your back was to the window, but it was still about fifteen feet away, and I recognized it quickly. I looked up and down the sidewalk. Empty. So I took a step closer and squinted. It was a blowjob video. It was a woman, filmed from the side, working this guy's shaft like it was all she ever did and all she ever wanted to do. Like she meant it. You had it in a relatively small window, so I stepped closer. Lucky for me, your apartment's lights were out. Lucky for me, all of your blinds on the bottom right were warped or broken, giving a perfect little peek at you and your computer. 

"What's this guy up to?" I thought to myself, and took another half step. He has long hair, and one busy shoulder...a flannel shirt on. I don't know why, but that seems to fit, to make sense. 

I checked back up and down the street. All clear and no other lights on in the building. He's obviously enjoying the show. I'm not really into cock, but I still take another half step to see what he's working with. I'm not gonna lie, I thought if he was smaller than me, I would feel better about myself. So I lean over to glimpse over his shoulder and it was much different than what I expected. It wasn't cock at all, it was pussy. Sure, there was a flannel shirt on top, but from what I could tell, it was all she was wearing, and the shirt was unbuttoned all the way. She busied herself with one hand and had her other inside the shirt, rubbing her tit underneath. I gained a nearly instant erection watching this. Her head began to lull back, mouth agape, eyes closed, then back to the video as it turned to a close-up of the girl jerking the cock as she licked at the head like a lollipop. I recognized her immediately, as I'd just seen her earlier that day buying cigarettes down the block. When I'd thought to myself, "I wonder what she looks like under all those clothes, I didn't really expect an answer. Yet here it was, in graphic detail.

After another street check I knelt down and inched forward. She was sitting in an office chair, she spread her thin, smooth legs, one over an arm of the chair, another propped up on a desk drawer. She had a landing strip of dark hair on her pussy and perky little tits that she would uncover while she played with them. My cock was so hard it was almost hurting, begging to get out. So I zipped down and let it out. Pre-cum oozed out of the tip and I used it to start jacking off. I tried to match her rhythm best I could, and she in turn looked as if she was matching that of the blowjob. Her head lulled back again and my heart jumped. I didn't know if she could see what I was doing, but from the streetlight she could definitely see I was there. I kept slowly jerking off, watching her furl her brow, mouth open wider, almost close, then back agape again. 

The girl in the video was going strong, jerking the guy off faster and faster, keeping eye contact with him, so we played faster. The girl in the window she her shirt, so she was (albeit unknowingly) naked to the world. She was beautiful, she had creamy white skin, nice little titties, perky nipples, a belly ring and very tone legs. Her whole body seemed to be tensing up, thes relaxing and tensing up again. It was mesmerising. She kicked one leg up on the desk and I could see her all laid out. My dick was entirely out now and I was jerking it for all it was worth. 

In the video, the girl pulled the cock out of her mouth and began to jerk him off very fast and the girl in the window was starting to cum. She pulled at one of her nipples as her hips started to buck. Her hand on her pussy was moving at a furious pace, and just as she bucked one final time, my cock exploded all over the grass, my hand and one little drop actually made the flight all the way to the window, where it stuck in place. My heart stopped again, so did my hand but my cock continued to come. She was still jerking a bit as she slumped down into her chair. She brought her hand up to her mouth and stuck each finger in, one at a time. I backed away and stood up and put myself back together. I wiped my hand off in the grass and one last time I peeked in the window and there she was, staring at me. She was beautiful, but quite stunned. I could see she was wondering how long I'd been there, or so I thought. I patted my pockets, made the "ah-ha!" face and pulled out a doggie bag. I then picked up an imaginary pile of poo, mouthed "sorry" to the girl and made my way down the sidewalk and into the night. 

Through a Window, Not My Own



Girls aren't supposed to look. Or, if we do look, the mere sight of bare flesh isn't supposed to move us. It's always our boyfriends and husbands who pull us to watch a sexy movie. While we feign a lack of interest or protest noisily. Really, we're not supposed to look. Oh, the quickly glanced kiss is fine. It touches us. It's romantic. A moan of pleasure heard through too thin walls; that could bring a brief smile of recognition -- a fellow traveler down the road to ecstasy. But we don't linger. Upon hearing it, we don't run and turn off the TV and shut the windows. We don't stand stock still holding our breath hoping to catch another sound. Closing our eyes to focus concentration on what's going on next door. Hoping, hoping, that he… or she will cry out again. But girls don't do that. We aren't supposed to look.

And so this couple, together in a hotel room. Who maybe forgot to close their curtains. Who just happened to have a room that I could see into from mine. How am I supposed to react to them? After all, I'm not supposed to look. But I do look. I'm in my hotel room, wondering how I'm going to fill another long evening… alone. "It's okay," I tell myself. It's okay as long as you don't seek it out. After all, it's not as if I was lurking in a back alley, hiding in the bushes. I'm just an occupant in this large, impersonal hotel. Who happened to glance out her window. 

She is so responsive to his kisses. And the fact that I've turned out my lights so that I can see better. Well, that's just to spare the couple I'm watching embarrassment if they were to happen to see me. I'm sure that their open curtains are an oversight. A missed minor detail. 

Her full breasts make me think of my own. Remind me of thoughts I had when I was an adolescent. "Would my breasts grow as big as Kim Keenan's?", the most popular girl in my class. Was she popular because of them. Would I be as popular if mine were as big as hers'? What would it be like to have a man bury his face between my breasts? To have real cleavage. Not an artifice of cleaver lingerie engineering. My palms ache as I wonder what it would be like to feel the weight of her heavy breasts in my hands. 

The desk chair can be turned to face out the window. Allowing me to be a comfortable spectator. I open the top few buttons of my blouse. Exposing my own breasts. I wish the windows in these damn hotels would actually open. A cool breeze against my skin would feel exciting. It doesn't matter, my nipples are achingly stiff anyway.

As she takes him in her mouth, why is my first thought to avert my eyes? Because she does it without coyness. There's no long, slow, teasing build up. No attempt to raise doubts or questions in his mind. It occurs to me that maybe she's filling her own hunger, not his. I've always thought of oral sex as an unselfish act. Now I wonder which one of them is being generous? Him or her.

I recall my own youthful experiments. A whispered story passed silently from girl to girl. Frowns and disapproval accompanied by giggles of disbelief. Yet a few hours later, I sneak a piece of yellow fruit from the bowl on the kitchen table and lock myself securely in the bathroom. I turn on the shower taps to muffle any sounds, inadvertent or otherwise, and peel away the bitter skin. I slowly place my lips around the banana and then, untaught, curl them back over my teeth to protect the delicate exposed fruit. In… just a little more. A little further. And then out. Then again. In and out. Back and forth. The sweetness is welcome and familiar. But I wonder what a real one would taste like. I withdraw the fruit and lick the back of my hand. Fleshy. Salty. Is that it what it would taste like? And the other stuff. It's such an abstraction, I can't even imagine it. Back to the banana. Now a little faster. I steal a sideways glance at myself in the medicine cabinet mirror and can't help smiling. I am absolutely convinced I am the only girl who has ever done this. Until years later when I was in college. One of those dunken late night sessions with a bunch of dorm mates. 

And as I reach down between my long legs, I can at least share what he's tasting now. I close my eyes and let that full, tangy muskiness fill my senses. A little more moisture on my finger and I explore another place, further back. But just its sensitive, circular perimeter. Talk about something we're never, ever supposed to ask for. Let alone enjoy. Yet I do enjoy it. And the sight of his reaching, probing tongue gives me a shiver I can't suppress. Maybe I adjust my posture to mimic hers, but I feel confined in this chair. There! A foot propped up on the window sill feels just right. 

And the first time someone walked in on me. When the watcher became the watched. Maybe my roommate missed the scarf hanging on the doorknob. She was always in a hurry. Me on my knees, face pressed hard against rumpled bed sheets. A tall, curly haired boy from my chemistry class behind me. He was a runner on the track team and we never really dated but somehow ended up together. Me on my knees, him behind me. Thrusting deeply. When they aren't too big, I love that position. Even though the first few times, we're not even supposed to like it that way either. Too impersonal. Exposed.

And as you'd expect, my roommate let out a small gasp and froze. The tall boy who's name I can't remember… he froze, too. And me. We're all taught to freeze. To shriek and yell "get out." I froze, but only for the briefest moment before I resumed our rhythm, even if my partner didn't realize the music had started again. I threw myself against him, over and over. Was I performing for my uninvited audience? Instead of pulling the covers around my nakedness I threw off any inhibitions I had ever hoped to have.

And as that young college age cock began to soften against the surprise, I reached between my legs and quickly circled him tightly. By the time our unexpected visitor left the room with the one notebook she absolutely had to have for her class, my partner had recovered and I met my roommate's eyes with a deep, smiling look of satisfaction. 

So I asked myself days later, "is it okay to be seen as long as you don't put yourself on display?" I could never answer that question. Only wonder as I leaned over a co-workers desk to help with a computer question. Our attention tightly focused on the monitor's screen as my loose blouse fell away to reveal a sheer bra. And why is it that some skirts, just don't look right with anything on underneath them? Not even the flimsiest thong.

The first time I climaxed with a man it surprised me. My fingers had always given me a lot of pleasure. And eventually, I found other things to do with that youthful banana. But the experience was always a little disjointed. Never quite right. Too much of one sensation, not enough of the other. Then, the first time I kneeled astride a willing lover, it was as if all the dissonant parts began to fit together. He was everything I needed him to be in that position. Steady and solid. A reassuring face as I was swept forward by a rush of passion.

As I watch this unknown couple, I try to turn my hand into something that it's not. The fleshy part of my palm pressing hard, hard, hard against my swollen lips. Not focused in any one place. But perfect pressure nonetheless. Me grinding against him. Every direction perfect. Forward and back. Side to side. And especially circles. I actually contemplate whether I prefer clockwise or counter clockwise more. Maybe it's got something to do with my own internal flow of energy. 

Now she's on her back, completely open to him. His cock hanging thick and heavy, poised to disappear inside her. It's then that I realize that this couple hasn't stolen a few brief minutes away from very different worlds to be with each other. This was no clandestine rendezvous. For certain, the hot, sweaty passion was there. So much of it, that it's hard for me to believe that their love wasn't the brand new, urgent kind. No, I realized, I was seeing something much more. And it would be too easy to dismiss what I was seeing as sexual gymnastics. Her total openness, I realized, could only come with years of trust and togetherness. This was a couple in the truest sense of the word. Seeing them made me ache for everything I've ever wanted in my own life. 

That one special person. Always there for me. The one person whose violation of me in every and any way possible I would welcome. And so now I find myself unable to do anything but look. And it seems as if they could go on forever. Not seem. I know they'll go on forever. And that last moment. After she's come, oh… at least three or four times by my count. When I see her urging him on with her hands, her face, her eyes, his explosion becomes mine.

Now both legs thrown up on the window sill. Wide apart. Wide open. I shudder beneath two frantic hands. Probing, rubbing, pressing. Swallowing him only seems appropriate. Adding texture, taste, and smell to his pleasure. A circle completed. 

And now I am totally spent. A wasted rag doll. Unable to pull my hands away from the hot wetness that doesn't seem to want to stop. But finally, my eyes do drift away. And as they do, I glance upward. There… faintly illuminated in another window a floor or two above me. I see someone, just for a moment before they withdraw deeper into their own darkness. 

Watching me.