I don’t know what made me look up that first night. I never had before. Every night at exactly seven thirty I walked the same streets, music in my ears, eyes fixed straight ahead. Maybe it was a flash of movement. Maybe a subconscious tug of my attention. But I did look, glancing right at the house I was passing. It was a cute little brownstone, not much different than the others along this street packed in like anchovies. The curtains were thrown open, and I could see what looked like a living room through the sole first floor window.
A woman passed by it, running a brush through her long hair. She was gorgeous, olive toned skin, hair the color of a raven’s wing, a sharp face that made her look both elegant and serious. I don’t know how long I stood there on the sidewalk transfixed, watching her move around the room, before finally shaking myself from my trance. Tucking my head down, I moved on, finishing my walk quicker than usual.
The next two nights passed without incident. The curtains were closed both nights, and I scolded myself for even glancing at them. The third night they were open again, and the woman was moving around the living room. From what I could see, she wore a pair of skinny jeans and a tank top, highlighting her curvy body. Her hands curled around the bottom of her tank top, and before I could comprehend what was happening, she’d whipped it up and over her head, dropping it on the floor.
My cheeks heated up bright red at the sight of her clad in only a black bra. I tucked my head down again and hurried on, feeling like a pervert for watching her through her window. The sight of her was burned into my mind though. For a couple of days I changed my normal walking path, but I eventually returned, missing the comfort of my routine.
I just barely managed to ignore the window for about a week. Eventually my eyes found my way there, as if something was drawing me towards it. She was there again, dancing around the room. I removed my headphones and could faintly hear music playing from behind her door. That wasn’t what caught my attention though. She was dancing around in just a matching black bra and panties. Her heavy breasts were just barely contained as she moved, and as she spun I could see her panties highlighted the luscious curve of her ass.
For a brief moment I stopped breathing. She was gorgeous. The sight of her scantily clad, dancing around in front of an open window with not a care in the world, made me shift uncomfortably, my panties getting damp. It wasn’t just that she was beautiful. It was the way she moved, both entrancing and free. She started to turn towards the window and my eyes widened with fear that she might catch me watching. I shoved my headphones back on and hurried away.
That night I came to the memory of her, and I found myself wishing I knew her name so I could moan it as I reached my peak. Immediately afterwards I felt ashamed, like I was taking advantage of her, intruding on her privacy. I rolled over and knocked my head against the mattress a few times, trying to shake the image of her from my mind.
It didn’t work, and like an addict I found myself glancing at her window again. She was much closer this time, leaning against the window, a book in her hand. I had to guess she had a window seat there and was catching the last rays of sun before the city sank into darkness. This close I could see her better, her full lips, the long curve of her throat. Every time I saw her she looked different. The first time serious and sharp. Then bright and playful while she danced. This time she looked gentle, sweet, peaceful.
She turned slightly and I jumped, prepared to hurry away again. All she did was prop her foot up on the windowsill, exposing the long smooth length of her leg. I wanted to stroke that leg, wanted it wrapped around me. Realizing the direction my thoughts had taken, I left, more turned on than I’d ever been. And that was just from the sight of her. I wondered what it would be like to talk to her? To be close to her? To touch her?
I shuddered in bed that night, resisting the desire to touch myself. It felt wrong and right at the same time. Maybe it was because I was pent up. Because I hadn’t actually had sex in a long time. The next night was a Friday, and I let my friend cajole me into coming out with her, breaking my pattern. Deviating always made me anxious, but I forced it from my mind, trying to enjoy my night out with her. She kept directing my attention towards pretty women, a few of them eyeing me back, but all I could see were those smooth curves, that sharp face, those full lips.
I left early, depressed and angry at myself. I couldn’t believe I was so attracted to a woman I hadn’t even met, to the point that I couldn’t be interested in people directly in front of me. The next night found me back there again. She was back in the windowsill, without the book this time. Instead it looked like she was painting her toenails. I wondered what color it was. I couldn’t tell from here. She set the nail polish down and stretched her arms over her head, the baggy t-shirt she wore rising up and revealing a tantalizing strip of flesh between the hem and her panties. I wanted to touch it, taste her skin.
Again I saw her start to turn, to look out the window, and I hurried on. My guilt grew, and I decided to officially change my walking path. It took some time to get used to, but I eventually settled into the new pattern. Eventually the woman started to fade from my head, just as I’d wanted her to. That’s what I told myself, and I was sticking to it.
At exactly seven thirty, a little over two weeks after changing my path, I started out on my walk. Distracted by my music, lost in thought, I didn’t realize until it was too late that I’d taken my old path. Heart thundering in my chest, I glanced over. It was her window. My feet had unwittingly taken me to her window.
She sat on the windowsill again in just a bra, her eyes closed, head leaning against the glass. I thought she was asleep at first, until I saw movement between her legs. Her lips opened in what looked like a gasp, and my face turned bright red when I realized what she was doing. I shouldn’t be here. I shouldn’t be watching this. Why would she do this in front of a window? Did she not worry about people watching her?
One of her hands came up, tugging down the cups of her bra to reveal her full breasts, peaked with large dark nipples. Her fingers tweaked and played with them until they were hard. It took everything I had not to stroke my own breasts along with her. Her lips opened again, long eyelashes fluttering against her cheek. I could see the movement between her legs quicken and her chest shook as her breaths deepened.
Her head fell back and her body arched, and I realized I was watching her cum. It was beautiful, the look on her face, the way her hair clung to her skin, the trembling of her limbs I could see even from here. Her eyes flicked open and I jumped, turning back the way I came and heading directly home. I stripped the moment I was through the door and landed in bed, fingering myself until I came with the memory of her behind my eyes.
I was distracted all the next day at work, wondering about what I’d seen. Why had she been doing that while sitting in front of her window, blinds thrown wide open. Did she want people to see her? Was she one of those people who enjoyed having people watch her playing with herself? I couldn’t deny that I enjoyed it, even if I did feel like I was invading her privacy.
I decided to walk past there again that night, unable to deny my curiosity. Would her curtains be closed, or would she be perched in the window once again, unaware that anybody could see her in her most private moments. Part of me didn’t want to go back, uncertain what I would find, if tonight was the night I would be caught. At seven thirty I still found myself leaving my apartment, my habit too long standing to break. I found my way to her window at the same time I always did.
To my disappointment, though the curtain was open, the woman was nowhere to be seen. It was for the best, I needed to stop doing this. Just as I was about to turn away she appeared, and my jaw dropped. She was completely naked, moving around her living room as confidently as if she’d been fully dressed. If I’d thought she was beautiful before, she was glorious now. I could see every line, every curve, and in her hand, I could see what looked like a long purple dildo.
My mouth went dry. I wondered if that’s what she’d been using on herself the previous night. She stopped by the window again, hair forming a curtain across her face so she couldn’t see out, and propped her foot up on the windowsill. The position bared her shaved pussy to me, and I swallowed hard. My panties were soaked, and it took everything I had to keep from touching myself right there on the sidewalk.
I watched as she slid the dildo between the lips of her pussy, watched it glisten with her juices, teasing her clit with it. Ever so slowly she started to push it inside of her. I watched as her pussy parted around it, wishing I was in there doing it for her, that I could see what her face looked like right now. Her hand moved faster, building speed until she was fucking herself with it hard. I jumped when her head fell back, revealing the beautiful agony on her face, but I stayed when I realized that her eyes were closed. Her mouth fell open and her body arched, hand shoving the dildo deep one last time as I watched her cum for the second night in a row.
She slid the dildo from her pussy, and brought it to her lips, making me gasp. Before I could react, she’d turned completely towards the window, making eye contact with me, and then winked with a mischievous smile on her face.
My face turned bright red at the realization that she’d known I was there the whole time. I wondered how long she’d known, thinking about all the times I’d caught her in the window. It was conceivable that she’d been there on purpose, as I walked past at the same time every night like clockwork. Her foot dropped from the windowsill and it looked like she was moving towards the door, startling me from my thoughts. I thought I heard it swing open, but I was already halfway down the next block.
After that night I permanently changed my walking path, forcing myself to forget about the woman and move on. Which was how I found myself at the bar once again with my friend, who seemed absolutely determined to set me up with someone. Just as I was about to give up and go home, I saw her. Perched on a barstool across the room. And she saw me too.
She said something to the people she was sitting with and stood up, making her way confidently across the bar towards me. It felt like my whole body was trembling as she leaned against my table, standing uncomfortably close. “I’m Maria,” she said. Her voice was low and sultry, rolling across me like a wave.
“Alice,” I managed, my voice squeaking with nerves.
A smile spread across her face. “It’s good to meet you Alice,” she said, leaning close enough that her hair brushed against my arm, our bodies almost touching. “At least, officially.”
My face turned white and she laughed, reaching out to brush a strand of hair from my face. “I’m so sorry,” I whispered, color flooding back into my cheeks from embarrassment and shame. “I don’t know why I did it, I just-” She cut off my flow of words by brushing her lips against mine. Once, gently, and then her hand curled around the back of my head and she kissed me again, her soft lips molding against mine, making my head spin.
“Don’t be sorry,” she said when she broke the kiss. “I sat in that window almost every night, waiting for you to pass by. It’s the strangest thing, you always walked past at exactly seven fifty, every night.” I could tell she was teasing me, but I couldn’t comprehend anything past her admission that she’d been there on purpose.
“Oh, I- I like to keep to a specific pattern,” I managed, hoping I didn’t sound stupid. “It’s calming for me.” I waited for her to laugh, to call it stupid, like all of my friends did.
Instead she smiled, that beautiful mischievous smile. “It came in handy, I never had to guess when you would walk by. I’ve been waiting for months actually, to see if you’d ever glance over and see me.”
I blinked at her in shock. “You mean- all those times I saw you- the stripping, the dancing, the-” My face flushed again, unable to bring myself to mention what else I’d seen. “You were doing them on purpose, so I’d see you?”
“Yep,” she said, popping her ‘p’ and leaning in to kiss me again. “I was going to invite you in after that last time, but you were gone before I even got the door open.” I was speechless, my eyes wide, not sure if this was really happening or not. “So,” she said, tracing a finger along the curve of my jaw. “Would you like to see the rest of the house?”
More than anything, but I hesitated for a moment, waiting for the catch, wondering why a woman this gorgeous would be interested in someone like me. Finally I nodded with a shaky, “Yeah. I’d like that.” She threaded her fingers through mine, looking victorious, and I made eye contact with my friend, who winked at me before we left.
We strode hand in hand down the well lit sidewalk, both of us silent. Her hand was warm against mine, soft and smooth. Anxiety and nerves fluttered around in my stomach. It was still hard to believe that somebody like her was interested in somebody like me, even as we approached her front door. She didn’t release me as she unlocked it and stepped inside, dragging my unresisting form with her.
By the time we made it inside I was a nervous wreck, and she ran her fingers ever so gently through my hair, stroking her short nails soothingly across my scalp. Taking a deep breath, I asked, “Why me?”
She smiled, her eyes lighting up. They were warm and brown, so deep I could drown in them. “At first it was because I was curious,” she said, one hand cupping my cheek. “I wanted to know why you always walked past at the same time every night, almost without fail. And then because you were pretty.”
The fact that she found me pretty made my cheeks flush. “And then more curiosity. I wanted to know why sometimes you looked so serious and other times spaced out. I wanted to know what music you listened to in those headphones you always wore. I wanted to know if your hair was as soft as it looked, and what color your eyes are.” She brushed her thumb across my cheek, tilting my face up towards hers. “Blue. Like the sky. Exactly how I imagined them.”
I relaxed into her touch, feeling some of my anxiety loosening. “I guess I just don’t find myself particularly attractive, looks or personality,” I admitted. “Especially compared to you.”
She threaded her fingers through mine again and tugged me towards the stairs. “Come, I want to show you something.” I followed after her willingly, and she led me into her bedroom, coming to a stop in front of a full length mirror. She positioned me in front of it, standing behind me, hands on my shoulders, and I noticed that she had at least half a foot on me. “What do you see?” She asked.
My brow furrowed as I frowned. “What do you mean?”
“When you look in this mirror at yourself, what do you see,” she clarified, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear.
I eyed myself critically, my blonde curls, my conservative dress and low heels, my pale skin. “I just see me. Kind of plain and boring,” I said, shifting uncomfortably.
“Want to know what I see?” She asked, brushing her lips against my ear and making me shiver. I nodded shyly. “I see smooth, pale skin, just the right shade that turns beautiful shades of pink and red.” It did so now, as I felt heat trail from my cheeks down to my chest. “I see crystal clear eyes. Your face is a closed book, but your eyes are so expressive if you know what to look for.”
Her lips trailed down the side of my throat, making me shiver. “And such a pretty neck. From the first time I noticed it I’ve wanted to leave my mark. I bet it would be so easy.” I felt her teeth scrape tantalizingly, and I bit back a whimper. She leaned back slightly, gathering my hair in one hand and brushing it over my shoulder. “And the softest golden curls I’ve ever had the privilege of touching forming a halo around you.”
She stepped back slightly, hand finding the zipper of my dress and pulling it down, her touch unhurried, lips tracing each exposed bit of skin. She stood back up, gently pushing the dress off my shoulders, freeing my arms from the sleeves so that it pooled down at my feet. I stood there in my plain cotton bra and panties, feeling silly and uncomfortable next to her.
Her eyes traced my body in the mirror, and I had to resist the urge to cover myself. Hands smoothed across my shoulders, skimming over my breasts to trace patterns on my stomach. “I see a sleek, toned body, athletic and fit.” I’d never really thought of my body as athletic, though I could see what she was talking about. I’d always tried to keep myself in shape, and it showed.
“I’ve wanted to see what’s under your clothes for so long,” she murmured in my ear, hands drifting back up to cup my breasts through the plain bra. “You are an intoxicating mix of innocence and sin.” She tugged the cups of my bra down below my breasts and left it, as if presenting them to her gaze. “Touch yourself,” she said, capturing my hands and bringing them up to my chest. “Show me how you like it.”
My hands trembled as I moved them across my breasts, feeling shy and a little silly. After a moment I let out a sigh, closing my eyes and leaning my head back against her shoulder. I squeezed them gently, molding them beneath my hands, before brushing my thumbs across my nipples with barely there pressure, teasing myself. My fingers moved to my nipples, rolling them in the way that always made me gasp. I felt myself falling more into it, grip becoming rougher.
I felt more than heard her sigh, and opened my eyes to see her avidly watching me touch myself. She met my gaze, a hungry look in her eyes, and for the first time in a long time I genuinely felt at least somewhat attractive. Without breaking eye contact, her thumbs hooked into my panties and dragged them down over my hips until they joined my dress on the floor.
“So pretty,” she murmured, nuzzling my throat. She captured one of my hands and pulled it down, down past my stomach, through the well trimmed thatch of hair on my mound to graze across my bare lips. “You saw me pleasure myself, now I want to see you.” I let out a shuddering sigh, the last of my anxiety released. My fingers stroked through my folds, teasing myself. I was already soaking wet, and I dragged one up to circle slowly around my clit, a sharp contrast to my firm grip on my nipple.
My gaze met hers in the mirror, I sank a finger inside me, stroking slowly before adding another one. “Your eyes get so dark when you’re turned on,” she said, her sultry voice making me shiver. One of her hands curled around the base of my throat, pulling my body flush back against her. “Make yourself cum. I want to watch, to see how pretty your face is in that perfect moment.” I couldn’t deny her, my fingers moving faster, thumb pressed firmly to my clit. A gasp escaped and my legs began to shake as my orgasm raced towards me.
Sooner than expected it crashed over me and I whimpered, body stiffening. Her free arm came around my waist, holding me up when I would have tumbled to the floor. “Beautiful,” she murmured, kissing my ear. “More beautiful than I could have imagined.” She held me, stroking my skin as I slowly came down and returned to myself. “Alice?” She asked once I was more cognizant.
“Yes?” I said, eyes fluttering back open.
“I know you like your patterns and habits,” she murmured, nuzzling me. “But do you think you might consider altering it a little? So that you end up here at the end of your walk instead of passing by?”
A shy smile appeared on my face as I leaned my body back against hers. “I think that can be arranged,” I said, enjoying the feel of her skin on mine. I was glad I’d glanced up at her window the first time. Ending up here was better than I could even have imagined.