Getting to Know My Neighbor Ch. 02

Our encounter -- at a distance of perhaps twenty to thirty yards, in semi-darkness, without a word or a sign exchanged between us, unless our near-simultaneous orgasms were a kind of message to each other -- had caught us by surprise. It simply happened, and we let it happen.

I didn't know what she was thinking, but the following day I could only imagine the night to come. But this time I could think ahead to what might happen, I could plan it, like a crime -- which it probably was. Physical contact, I felt, was out of the question. It could only lead to trouble. But mutual exhibitionism, that was something we could do consensually, and with premeditation.

Of course, I considered that she might tell her parents what I had done. But she had done it too, though not to the same extent. I had been stark naked and erect for her; she was just out getting some air on her balcony in her nightie. Well, maybe not "just", not by the time it was over. I figured that it would be our little secret. I was afraid she might be ashamed of her behavior. She probably didn't expect her orgasm to be so audible (if she was even aware of the sounds she made, that is). She dove inside fast once it had happened.

She could have kept her shutters closed and put it all behind her. But I supposed that she probably couldn't get the sight of me stroking my stiff, shining cock for her out of her mind. Had she ever seen a man masturbate to orgasm before? In any case, wouldn't she want to see it again? Was I being vain? Deluded? Or (knowing the power of sex) just realistic? Only the night would tell.

I decided to do three things differently. I would oil my body to enable it to pick up light better; I would light a candle in my bedroom for a little extra glow. And I would have my binoculars handy. I didn't think I could get away with my video-camera (at least not yet), though the more I thought about disguising it, the more I wanted to try it.

So I set it up. I put it on a short tripod and concealed it behind two towels I hung over my balcony railings. The angle of view peeped through the gap between the towels, in the darkest part of the balcony, and I hung a kind of hood (an old black t-shirt) over the camera, all except the lens. I trained it on where she was likely to be standing and put it on the low-light setting. All I had to do was switch it on and press record.

I was ready. But would she come to the party? It was 1 o'clock again and her room was dark. I began to feel foolish, even perverted, with my bottle of baby oil at my side. But somewhere inside I felt that she must have been feeling the same sexual compulsion I felt. And that meant that she would have to come back for more.

She did. It was about half past one in the morning. She had probably been out with her friends having a drink or two. Or maybe more, to judge from the hour. Perhaps she felt she needed a little help shedding those inhibitions that the priests had instilled, when they weren't ogling her breasts (the few heterosexuals, that is) when she knelt for communion. All I know is that her light came on, just when I was thinking that she had left for the seaside. Her parents seemed to be away -- I had been watching the house.

She turned on her computer and probably checked her Facebook page. I was just watching with the naked eye. And the naked body. And the naked lens of my videocamera at 40x, which I switched on by ducking down behind the towels. It excited me to see the little red "record" light come on, even though nothing was happening.

She hadn't yet turned toward me. After a few minutes she got up from her desk, then stepped out onto her balcony. At first she looked straight ahead. And then she turned in my direction. I was half hidden, well, a little more than half. Again it was dim, and I knew her eyes hadn't adjusted, as mine had. She looked away. But she'd seen I was there. I thought I saw her chest rise as she caught her breath; maybe it was just my imagination. She clung to the railings with both hands and swayed a little.

It was another hot night. My heart was beating hard and my breath was short. Adrenaline and testosterone were hitting my bloodstream in a rush until my head swam. And I felt myself getting turned on. I wanted her to see me getting hard. I stepped out from behind the panel so that I was completely exposed, a naked man standing on his balcony with his cock blowing itself up in slow motion like a long balloon. She looked, she saw. Inside of half a minute I was completely stiff and aching. Did I mention that I had taken 50 mg of Viagra just for good measure? I was as hard as iron and I felt as tall as the Tower of Pisa. And at the same angle, of course.

She went inside. Out of sight, she undressed. I only saw her put her clothes on the back of her chair. Why couldn't she strip for me? She turned the light off. Was she just going to go to bed and humiliate my desire? No, she had something else in mind. She reappeared, in the visible corner of her dark room, wearing a nightie, a negligee, I should say, a new one, not the long one she'd had on last night, but something shorter and more transparent, with a curving strip of lace under the breasts to divide and support -- and show them off in all their maiden glory. There is something about diaphanous fabric that drives me crazy. I had the feeling that she might have bought the nightie earlier in the day, to wear for me. I call that premeditation, and that made two of us.

All the other neighbors had gone to bed. I lit the candle, just inside my room out of the breeze. I took up my old position. I reached for my bottle of oil and poured some in my hand and started to spread it on my chest. I was taking the lead. She was just watching. The candle and the oil lit my skin with a warm glow. I spread the oil over my belly. I don't think I've said that I'm tall and well-built, never mind that I'm in my 40s. I work my abs, and this was their moment. Next I rubbed oil on my thighs, looking down.

Then I paused and slowly poured a little oil in the palm of my right hand. I put the bottle down. I looked right at my neighbor in her sheer nightie, who was frozen in her spot kitty-corner to me. My night vision kept getting better: and there was some moonlight tonight. I stared at those beautiful full breasts, and as I did so I applied the oil to the affected area. My cock was slick and rock-hard. I turned to give her a profile view. I leaned back against the doorway like a prostitute.

I was doing what I had done last night, only more so. Using both hands, for instance, gripping my swollen cock like the handle of a bat. And with the candle and the oil I was a lot brighter. I kept looking at her. I slowed my rhythm into something hypnotic, as if to signal that it was her turn now. I felt that I had slipped into some erotic dream zone, as if I had hypnotized myself by staring at her and by slowly stroking the length of my cock, from the base to the tip, repeatedly.

It worked. She slipped into the same zone herself, I could feel it. She slowly raised her right hand and brought it to her left breast and fondled it. She pressed it, moved it, stroked it, caressed it. Then the other. Then with both hands, crossing her hands, then left hand on left breast, right on right. Very, very sexy. I wished she would just rip the fabric to shreds, but I also enjoyed the show through the fabric.

I thought her nipples had stiffened, but there was only one way to make sure. I reached for my compact Nikon binoculars. I was afraid I might shock her. But the view: her dark nipples were poking against that sheer bodice. I wanted to tell her to pour ice water over her breasts. I could see a dark patch of pubic hair through the flimsy fabric: no panties tonight.

Then she disappeared! Had I gone too far? A minute passed. She came back -- with a big pair of military-style binoculars in her hand (no doubt her father's). Now the pressure was on me. I put my binoculars down and gave her a show. Instead of stroking myself with both hands, I just held my hands steady like a tube and thrust my cock into them and up through them, with a slow, steady motion that ended in a little home thrust, a last lewd shuddering cocking of the hips. You know the phrase "public lewdness" -- this is what its inventor must have had in mind. If they caught me, I would plead 'no contest'. I had never been lewder in my life.

She transferred her binoculars to her left hand and, like last night, dipped her right hand under her nightie. This time she was facing me and seemed to want me to watch. I put my hands on my buttocks and thrust. I bent at the knees and brought my body forward with long thrusting strokes, rolling my hips, always ending with a final hard poking thrust. She was rubbing her crotch hard, as she had done last night. I wanted to see her do it. I got my binoculars again and stroked myself with one hand. My turn to watch.

She put her binoculars down. She raised her nightie to let me see what her hand was doing. Her fingers were sliding down over her clitoris and plunging right inside her, then repeating the same stroke, rubbing and penetrating each time. She leaned back and abandoned herself to her touches and thrusts. After a while she just used the tips of her fingers as if she were strumming a guitar. She must have done this to herself in secret many times before. And now she was showing me. Her nightie was still raised. She was pretty lewd herself. She was giving herself a good old fashioned frigging and letting me watch every minute of it.

I went to the corner of my balcony closest to her and stroked right back at her. The oil had worn off or been absorbed into my skin, and though still silky I could get enough traction to move toward orgasm. I let out some pre-orgasmic groans to encourage her to do the same. She did. We were no different, really, than the neighborhood cats that sometimes must have kept us both awake. She was in heat, and like any tomcat I am always prowling, and we had found each other. Her breasts were heaving against that filmy fabric.

I felt myself about to come, I let her know by my sounds, and I gave an ecstatic cry as I came and shot a load right over the railing of the balcony into a corner of her father's vegetable garden below. He will wonder where the mandrakes came from. Next, my nameless 18-year-old she-cat neighbor climaxed with open lips and shut eyes. Again her sounds were deep, not from the throat but from the belly. That's where the beast of desire has its lair, and it waits until orgasm to be let out, and it escapes with a growl. Then it looks for another host, and it prowls and sniffs until it finds one.

We both went in to our rooms. I waved goodnight. She made a quick sign with her hand and went in. A quick sign. And to me that was an invitation to take the next dangerous step. For the beast had not left me. Why should he when he had found such a good home?

She closed her shutters. And I gathered up my camera. Had it worked? I pressed rewind and heard the sound of the motor whirring. Then the little stop sound. Play. And there she was, at her computer. I watched the whole tape, jacking off a second time. I had never seen a sexier video on the internet. But I'm not going to post it. Maybe someday, but for now, I'll have to leave you with no more than my story. But I swear it happened just as I've told it to you. These things happen, not often, but they do happen.