Neighbours

One of the fun things while living in the city is that you get to spy on your neighbours without necessarily going out of your way and be called a freak in the process. I live in an area where most immigrants establish themselves, which means I get to see people from all walks of life.

Take the building in front of my balcony: three families, all from the same country as me, my Chinese neighbours whom I "share" my balcony (there's a waist-high metal fence between us, not enough to create any privacy), the Arabs beneath me and another family on the same floor, past the Chinese; I got to know a bit about every one of them. The Arab guy from my floor seems to have mental problems; on occasion I hear him bail like a woman, yelling at some unknown person to leave them alone and stop bitching at him. The Chinese are students at the university nearby, they don't speak English and can barely understand their French and his wife just recovered from some sickness that stroke during their vacation back in their country. The guys in front of me are a bit older than us, in their mid-thirties, and keep to themselves a lot. The ones above them never, ever open their windows or balcony door. The ones above are "the lesbians", a couple who's woman is very manly and the man has long hair and sort of looks womanly. They became "the lesbians" from the first day they moved in, when I noticed them on their balcony and confused them with two women. On the last floor there's a family that we called the small-time Sopranos family, the type of person that you associate with petty crime.

All in all, my neighbours are fun to spy on. Every time I go out for a smoke on the balcony there's something happening which teaches me a bit more about their life. They are my personal reality show.

The guys directly in front of me have caught on, it seems, and are trying to shut the doors and window blinds as soon as they see us watching them. There's not much of a view from my balcony, so obviously they're the first we lay eyes on if we go out. I can't stop but think of them as prudes, covering everything and probably undressing under the covers just we don't catch a glimpse of their private life. One night, I happened to see the wife undressing in the bedroom, in front of their mirror-covered closet doors. She got as far as showing her bra before realizing I was out on the balcony and her blinds were open. She quickly covered her bra with one hand while closing the blinds with the other.

She's not a sexy woman, pretty average, but her tiny figure, small stature and ponytail give her a certain charm; besides, who am I kidding, seeing a woman undress is sexy just about every time. What makes it even more exciting is the idea of seeing them even though they take almost every precaution to hide.

I once thought about this: if they stopped hiding, I'd probably stop looking. There's nothing interesting about them; they don't party, they don't fight, they're fairly quiet (except their stupid AC which is loud as hell and makes me want to break their windows in revenge) and they're bland.

So you can imagine my surprise and delight this last Sunday morning when I got another glimpse of their ordinary life, more satisfying than any of the gossip me and my wife had concocted on their behalf until then.

I stepped out on the balcony, with my morning coffee around 10. I had just woken up and decided to sip the coffee on the balcony, in my chair, with Friday's newspaper in my hands. As I sat down, I heard what sounded like a woman's sigh and cringed at the thought of the Arab dude crying again. Nothing followed, so I opened the newspaper and light up a cigarette.

Another sigh, more pronounced and unmistakeable, made me almost choke on the coffee sip I had just taken: somewhere, someone was having sex. It sounded as if it came from above my head; I looked up, almost hoping this to be the first sound to emerge from the ever-closed windows, but I was deceived. The "lesbians" also had their windows closed.

I thought about the ground-level garage windows; I've seen young people do drug deals and smoke up in there before, why not have sex? Before my eyes lowered to the garage's windows, my jaw dropped when I saw the prude's couple windows open and window blinds half-open.

As my eyes got used to the semi-darkness inside their room, I felt my blood rush to my head. On the bed, sprawled on her back, the woman lied naked, with her husband's head between her thighs.

I decided to not take any chance and leave them alone before they saw me. My wife and I make love with the windows and balcony door open quite often, only the semi-matte curtains between us and the world, but we're relatively quiet (and I have managed to convince her not to care that much if people could hear us). Heat of the moment or not, if someone were to spy in on me, I'd probably hide too.

But once I shut the balcony door behind me, I stopped and turned around, peering from behind the curtains.

On the bed, the woman's mouth and throat moved and more powerful moan seemed to come out. I slowly opened the window, anxious to hear her. After that first moan, it seemed the passion between them was too overwhelming to care if someone heard them, so I was bound to have almost the whole experience served on a platter.

The husband looked up to her, lifting his body a bit, his hands stretching to cup his woman's smallish breasts. He caressed and massaged them, not too rough, which I found somehow endearing. This wasn't a porn movie here, but actual love and passion for each other. She turned her head on the side, watching him over hear breasts and thighs, smiling at him and he slid his palm from her left breast towards her pussy, massaging her lips with one hand, while the other was caressing the right side of her body, sliding under her leg, lower on her hip, then on top of her leg, inside the white thigh. The wife was clean shaved, and if I squinted hard enough, I could see her glistening from the husband's saliva still wetting her delicate pussy.

I started regretting I didn't buy those binoculars for my wife, as she jokingly asked me when we moved in, "so she can better spy on the neighbours". I would have loved to see the couple lying 10-15 meters away up, close and personal, to see the woman's every muscle move as she was pleasured by her man, her chest pushing her nice, small, round breasts up and down from the heavy breathing, her hips squirming, trying to follow the tongue that lashed her small patch of skin, bringing her closer to the orgasm with every lick.

Her moans and breathing started getting louder. Using both hands, the men spread her lips, puffy from the excitement, lifting them to expose the tiny clitoris. With the tip of the tongue, he searched the exact spot that would drive her mad, and we both knew when he found it from the sound of her moans. They sounded deep, making me think of a volcano that is about to explode. Her face was red, her head shaking and turning as the pressure was building up. I could imagine feeling the heat between her thighs from where I stood, hidden behind the curtains, crouched near the bottom of the window, eyes wide, trying to capture every moment, with a hand that was gripping and releasing my hard-on absentmindedly but firm.

Her moans were loud now and I found my breath almost synchronised with hers, wishing I was there, next to her, in the room, next to the bed, watching her come. I moved the curtains a bit, trying to enjoy that fulminant moment to the fullest. Her stomach was moving too now, spasming under the pleasure and I imagined her pussy was gaping too, demanding to be filled with a manly member that can stretch her, exposing every possible nerve to the caresses of its head.

She came hard, her eyes opening wide locked into mine. I froze and so did her face for a second, then a loud moan starting from the deep raised every little hair on the back of my neck. She convulsed, lifting her pelvis up, making her man stick his tongue inside her, looking at him entering her in this bizarre way and loving it.

Afraid that she saw me, I left the window right away. I walked into the kitchen where my wife was leaning over the sink, washing her coffee cup. Of course, I pulled her pants down and stuck my hard penis inside of her, between the fingers that stretched her open.

The rest of the day, the windows were closed, but that wasn't unusual. I don't think she saw me, she couldn't have, but it felt scary to be caught peering into the private life of two people. There might even be laws against this, but that's the least of my problems, since now I plan to finally buy that binocular. Maybe even an infrared one. Heat-sensing! The works!