Performance

I had just separated from my wife of twenty-three years, and while we sorted things out, I had moved into a studio apartment. The complex I lived in was unique in that it was actually situated on a hill, in several levels, with drives at each level giving access to the buildings. In my case, the front of my building faced the hillside. The building below me was just the opposite: the back of that building faced the hillside. Now, since my kitchen and bedroom were in the back of my building, and since the buildings were all the same design, it was possible for me to look down into the kitchen and bedroom of the apartment below me. It was about forty feet away and from my vantage point, I had a fairly good view of the two rooms.

I hadn't been there more than a week when I realized that the apartment below me on the hill was occupied by a young woman. She usually kept her windows open, even though it was warm and I knew she had air conditioning.

It became my habit to observe this young woman. She was very pretty, with long dark hair past her shoulders and a slender, petite figure. Unlike many of the girls I saw around the complex, she didn't look burned to a crisp from constant sunbathing. She was a bit pale, but looked healthy.

We apparently kept the same hours. I got home at around seven in the evening and changed and began bustling around the apartment making myself dinner and so forth. I usually had no visitors. Most our friends had sided with my wife during the separation.

I would hear my neighbor's music start up as soon as she got home. She listened to a variety, but usually it was country or rock. I'd hear a little classical from time to time. Now, I did not stare at her. But while we both went about our evening routine, I would glance down to see what she was doing. I don't think she realized that she was being watched, at least not at first.

Our schedules were remarkably similar. We usually got home, changed, made dinner, watched TV and went to bed about the same time. Most of the time I saw her in shorts and a tee shirt. Sometimes she wore sweats. I saw her in a nightgown once, just before she went to bed. But then one night about a month after moving in, I looked down into her kitchen window. It was close to ten, and I guessed she was doing some final cleaning before turning in. Anyway, she was topless.

I quickly moved into my bedroom, which was dark, and watched her while she moved around her kitchen. Her breasts were smallish but firm, with pale pink, well-defined nipples. She seemed unaware of my avid gaze as she completed her tasks. The sight of this young beauty with bared breasts shook me to my core. I had been married to my wife for a long time, and while I had looked at other women, I had never cheated on her. I had been to strip clubs—I am a man, after all—but none of the women I saw there affected me the way this private show did. I found myself with an immediate hard-on.

After about ten minutes, my young lady finished in the kitchen, turned off the light, and reappeared in her bedroom. She walked up to the window and looked out. For a terrifying second, it seemed that she was looking right at me. Then she let down the blinds. Fifteen minutes later the light in her window went out and all was quiet.

I didn't know her name. I didn't know where she worked or what she did. In fact, I didn't know anything about her. But that night, she haunted my dreams. I tossed and turned for hours, unable to get her out of my mind. Finally, in desperation, I jerked off, spilling my come on the bed sheets.

For the next two nights, everything was normal. She appeared in the window as usual, but always dressed. On the third night, I heard music coming from her window. It was a tune by the Corrs, easy to dance to. I looked down and saw her in her kitchen. She was sweeping the floor and wiping down the counter. From time to time, she would move her hips a little, swaying to the music. As she passed in front of the window the paused and, I swear, looked up at me. I stepped back, certain that I'd been caught. Once again, I moved into my darkened bedroom to continue watching. I didn't see her in either window for about five minutes. When she reappeared, this time in her bedroom, my heart gave a lurch.

She was once again topless. And she was wearing what appeared to be a pair of white cotton panties. She carried a glass of red wine and as she moved about the room, she continued her little swaying dance. She seemed to be straightening up the room and putting clothes away. I saw her move over to her dresser. She put the wine down and, facing away from me, slowly and deliberately pulled down her panties. She had a very cute butt. She stood in front of the dresser for a minute or two, rubbing and massaging her breasts. She picked up the wine again and took a sip. Then she turned toward me and danced over to her bed. I got a good view of her full, natural bush.

I was immediately hard as a rock. I began rubbing my cock through the thin material of my boxers. For just a moment, as the Corrs continued to play, my girl danced for me. Then she put the wine down on her bedside table, picked up a nightgown, whipped it over her head, and the show was over. She moved over to the window and looked up at me. Was that a smile that played around the corners of her mouth? Then she let down the blinds and I could see no more.

I pulled down my boxers, fell on the bed and masturbated furiously until I spurted hot, thick and copious all over my belly and hand.

***

Once again, I didn't see her for a couple of nights. The blinds on her windows stayed closed even though they were lit from behind. Then, one Friday night when I got home from work, I noticed that the blinds were again open. I saw her briefly moving around in her kitchen, I heard her television, and then at about ten, the kitchen light went out and the light in her bedroom window came on.

When this happened, I moved to my bedroom and turned off the lights. The television in her apartment went off, and a soft country song began playing. The light in her bedroom window changed color to a rosy pink. I pulled up a chair by my window and waited. It seemed that time was suddenly suspended. It was completely dark outside. Her window reminded me of a movie screen. I could see clearly into her bedroom, forty feet away.

The first thing I saw was her leg. It appeared out of the left side of the window and stretched upward. Then it bent at the knee, her toe touched the floor, and my private dancer stepped into view. As she moved into the window, my heart nearly stopped. She was nude, or at least nearly nude. She had on a pair of white stockings, high heels, and a white thong.

The music played on. She danced for me, stretching out her arms and swinging her hips sexily. She placed her hands on her breasts, offering them to me, then shaking them gently and moving away. She sat down on the floor, turned over on her hands and knees, and flexed her body upward. I strained to see the furry lips of her pussy and the dark indentation of her butthole. I could see the white string of the thong stretched across her shallow puckered anal pore.

She turned back on her back, hooked her thumbs into the thong, and in a flash it was off. For a second, she remained on her back and held the thong up for my inspection. Then she got up and, completely nude except for her stockings and shoes, danced for me. She thrust her pelvis out at me; she framed her bushy pussy with her hands, offering it to me the same way she did her breasts. She turned about, spread her feet wide, bent at the waist, and touched the floor with her hands, giving me a full and unhindered view of her pussy and butthole. She held the pose long enough for me to etch the scene in my mind forever, then straightened up, put her hands on her hips, shook her ass at me, and moved away. At that instant, the music stopped and the light went out.

My heart was beating so hard I wasn't sure I could stand it. Sure, I'd been to my share of strip clubs. I'd seen beautiful women dance naked before. But this time was different. This time, my dark-haired beauty was dancing for me. Me alone. It was like we shared a secret just between us. It was like she was mine.

This time I did not masturbate. I was simply too shaken, too in awe of what I had just witnessed. I sat at the window for another fifteen minutes, but the light never came back on. I finally went to bed, haunted by the vision of my lovely pale, dark-haired dancer.

I slept fitfully until about six the next morning. I awoke groggy and unrested, still reeling from what I had seen the night before. Force of habit caused me to look out my window down to hers. Once again, my heart skipped a beat.

There was a piece of cardboard taped, hanging on the sill of her window. In bold letters the words 10 PM TONIGHT were written. I rubbed my eyes to make sure I had seen it correctly. There was no mistake. I sat down again. My heart was beating so fast I actually became alarmed. I went into the bathroom to take a leak. I washed my face and brushed my teeth. I muttered to myself, "I must be seeing things." I went back into my bedroom and looked out the window. The sign was gone.

***

I spent the rest of that Saturday in a daze, unsure of what I had seen and what I'd not seen. I knew that I had seen her dance the night before, but had there really been a sign outside her window that morning?

I spent some time with my wife. We ended up arguing, as usual. It seemed like that was literally all we had been doing lately. I had hoped that some time apart would make us want to make up and be together, but that was not the case. She seemed reasonably happy and content (in our house, mind you) without me. I certainly wasn't' happy or content, but I was managing. And, I had a secret.

I treated myself to a Chinese dinner that night, all alone. I drank a little too much beer but made it home all right. When I got home, I opened a bottle of brandy and made myself a drink. I watched a DVD but couldn't get interested in the movie. My eyes kept wandering to the clock on the wall. At nine forty-five, I could stand it no longer. I took my brandy into my bedroom, turned off the light, and sat down by the window.

By this time I had already changed into what I usually wear to bed: tee shirt and boxers. I got comfortable and decided to see what would happen, if anything.

I actually had not seen her at all that evening. Both the kitchen and bedroom windows had been dark. The clock on my bedside table read 9:59 when the light in her bedroom window came on.

The blinds were still drawn. At first all was silence, but then the sounds of soft music, some kind of jazz, wafted up to me. My eyes were riveted to her window. In the darkness I caught movement, and slowly the blinds were raised until the window was fully open. The room was lit well enough to see clearly, but with the same rosy pink glow from previous. I notice something different: her bed had been moved so that it was in front of the window. There was room enough for her to move between the bed and window, but the surface of the bed was still clearly visible. The music increased slightly in volume and intensity, and there was suddenly a light shining onto the bed.

The first thing I saw was her hand. It crept around the edge of the window, as if she was pulling herself into view. Then I saw the profile of her breast, and then she bent down so that I could see the side of her face. She turned to me and smiled. She smiled softly and seductively. It was a private smile, the one that lovers give each other. Then she stepped away from the window and I saw that she was bewitchingly nude. No stockings, no garters, no thongs, no shoes, just her perfect, slender, nude body.

The music waxed and waned, with a slow, sensual, flowing melody from a saxophonist who might have been making love to a woman. My pale beauty let the music envelop her, swaying to the sound and the rhythm as if it flowed through her. She raised her arms above her head and let her rounded hips move back and forth in time with the beat. She did a slow pirouette for me, allowing me to admire every inch of her form. Her head was thrown back in silent surrender to the music. It seemed to be a part of her. Her mouth came open and I saw her stick her finger between her lips and sucked sweetly and sensually on it. As she did so she opened her eyes and, with finger still between her lips, looked at me.

Dancing seductively, she moved to the bed. She crawled up onto it and, for just a moment, spread her legs wide enough for me to see clearly her plump pussy and dark butthole. Then she lies on her back and spread her legs wide. The light was now focused squarely on her darkly furred pussy.

She placed her hand on her mound and began massaging it in a circular motion. Her hips began undulating in time with her motions, and with the music. She threw her head back, her mouth open, and I could imagine her moaning as she pleasured herself. She rubbed harder, digging the heel of her hand into her mound and I saw a finger slip between the delicate lips of her engorged pussy. The music played on, building to a crescendo. I saw her, gently at first, then more vigorously, begin to rub her clitoris. Her legs flew fully open and her movements increased until she was finger-fucking her hungry pussy. For the first time, I actually heard my dark-haired beauty moan as she was overtaken with passion and pleasure. I watched, mesmerized, as she alternately rubbed her clit and inserted first one, then two fingers into her wet pussy. Suddenly, she turned over on her stomach, drew up her knees, thrust out her bum and began masturbating furiously. I could see the moisture on her fingers as she feverishly massaged her tortured pussy. Her face was pressed into a pillow; she was biting it in an effort to stifle her screams. Her ass and hips swayed and jerked with the pleasure she was experiencing.

Suddenly, I saw her tense for a split second. Her hand paused at her pussy, and then in a series of spasmodic convulsions, she climaxed again and again and again. She rubbed and rubbed, prolonging her pleasure, making it last, and allowing me to see her complete the most intimate act a woman can ever perform.

I looked down. At some point, I had also begun masturbating. Now my hand gripped my iron-hard penis. Only a few strokes would send me over the edge. I gently cupped my cock, not wanting to come right that second. Instead, I stood up. I turned on a light so that my girl could see me clearly in my window, and I waited.

The music had stopped and all was quiet. My sexy girl was lying on the bed face-down, breathing slowly and deeply. A moment later, she roused herself and sat down on the edge of the bed. She was smiling at me. I pulled down my boxers and stood before her, holding my erection in my hand. I looked at her. I looked at her beautiful, slightly pale body, her smallish breasts, her thickly furred pussy. I looked at her and stroked myself for her. I let her know how she had affected me. How she had altered me, my life. She stopped smiling and looked into my eyes as if to say, "Come for me, lover. Show me how I make you feel." Looking into her eyes, I began climaxing. I shot ropes of white semen all over the floor, the window sash, the chair. I came like I hadn't come in twenty years. I came in tribute to my dark-haired beauty, my secret lover.

She smiled again, got up off the bed and walked to the window. She drew the blinds, the light went out, and her performance was over.

***

The next day was Sunday, and I was in an agony of indecision. Should I take her performance as an invitation? I didn't know. I struggled with it the entire day. I didn't dare go over to her so soon. I didn't know if I could look her in the eye. I didn't know if she could look me in the eye.

Yet by the end of the day, I'd made up my mind. The next day, after work, I would go over to her and introduce myself. After all, this would probably be the last time I, at my age, would ever have a chance to be with a young, beautiful girl like her.

On Monday after work, I went over to her apartment building. When I got there, the building manager was there. He asked me where I was going, I told him which apartment I was headed to. (Our apartments were the same, just in different buildings.) He said, "Oh, you didn't know? She moved out yesterday."

I was dumbstruck. "Yesterday?" was all I could manage.

"Yeah," he said. "She got some of her friends to help her. They moved her out Sunday. Too bad, too. She was a nice girl, and cute too."

I sighed. I was disappointed, yes. But I was also a little better for the experience. She had liked me. She had danced for me. I guess that, despite what me wife said, I wasn't such a shit after all.