Love at First Sight

I've been loving you a long time, down all the years, down all the days, isn't that how the song goes? The lyrics are among my favourites, because they feel so real to me. I fell in love with you the moment I laid eyes on you. Love at first sight, it does exist.

I must confess, I wasn't looking forward to a new neighbour. After... I can't even remember her name now. Anyway, after she moved away I was worried about who'd be living next door to me. But when you came for your viewing, oh wow!

You were the most beautiful woman I'd ever seen. And you know what? You still are. At first, I'll admit, it was your legs and arse that caught my attention. Well, what did you expect in those shorts? It felt like an hour before my eyes dragged themselves up to see the rest of you.

I hated the man who was with you. Tall, fit, good-looking. The kind of guy I hate by default, and seeing him with you just confirmed my prejudices. Yes, I admit, prejudices. Turns out your brother isn't such an awful person after all. He's always friendly whenever he visits. And I suppose I'm the only one who knows his dirty little secret.

Since I'm confessing, I might as well admit that I've hated every man who's walked through your door. Sometimes the women too, your friends and your sister even. But you know me. Always jealous over nothing. Would it be trite to add a smiley face here?

Once you'd moved into my life... well, sometimes it's as if my life only really began when you moved in. That very first time I went to see you I was so nervous. I knew you hadn't fixed the hedge, so I slipped through at the usual spot at the bottom of the garden. Then that slow, careful walk back up to your house, hoping, hoping, hoping. Hoping that my old spot was still there. It was.

The low mound of earth with the pair of tree stumps hadn't been touched by your landscapers. Although "landscapers" is a fancy word for those guys who came in to mow the grass and weed the borders.

Either way, the spot was there. My heart was pounding in my throat as I climbed up. Yes! You hadn't put any blinds up on this side of the house. Landing, bedroom and... yes, bathroom!

Another confession. That first night, when the bathroom light came on and you appeared, I think I forgot to breathe for a while. You probably weren't aware of me that first time, were you?

Or perhaps you were. Our connection has always been strong. And why else would you take so long? Taking off your makeup, brushing your teeth, flossing, peeing. You were dragging the whole thing out, weren't you? Getting me to fever pitch before you'd even taken off a stitch of clothing.

I'll never forget what you were wearing. Stonewashed denims. A pale-blue T-shirt with "LEE" across the chest. Turquoise bra and knickers. When they came off... Well, that's the first time I got off.

But you weren't done yet, were you? You knew I'd stay and watch for more. The way you soaped up your body. Ran your hands across your wet skin. Turned around for me to admire you from every side.

I saw your nipples. So soft and pink, perfect crowns for perfect mounds. Just the thought of touching them would have had me playing with myself again, if I wasn't already. The way your hands brushed across them as you washed yourself, and then slid down to the patch of dark curls below.

I've always liked a bit of neatly trimmed bush. There's nothing sexier, sometimes, than seeing those hairs wet under the shower, stuck to your skin with only one or two escaping to point outward. Following the curve of your mound, offering a glimpse of your slit.

And then when you took the showerhead from the wall and began to rinse, and held it lower...

I managed to time my second climax to match yours, did you know that? I watched carefully for every change in your breathing, in the rhythm of your hand as it rubbed along your slit. When your body stiffened, shook, spasmed, when your eyes shut tight and your mouth fell open, I was there with you. I felt what you felt, the build-up, the wave pressing forward, pressing, pressing, and then exploding in sudden release.

Like I said, we've always had a strong connection.

Even when you teased me, bringing home men, I still felt that connection. When you took them to bed, I still felt as if it was me there, instead of them. I'd watch you kiss, get naked. Stroke each other with your hands and your mouths. Those were my fingers running over your skin, that was my tongue exploring your nipples and the folds between your legs. It was me making you moan and gasp.

None of them ever knew your body like I know it. To them, the cluster of moles on your lower back were a discovery. To me, they're a familiar landmark. They would have to learn that your nipples are too sensitive to pinch or bite. Most of them never figured out that you like your arsehole to be teased ever so lightly.

And no matter how much you moaned and gasped, you never enjoyed it as much as when it's just you and me. When you're under the shower, but particularly on your bed. Lying naked, teasing your skin, teasing your breasts, teasing your slit. Teasing me.

Oh, you've always kept up the pretence of being unaware. You never made direct eye contact. Never spoke to me. Never blew me a kiss goodnight afterwards, and if we met outside the following day you'd never acknowledge our lovemaking.

But you knew. How could you not, after all? All those times you put on a show. Whether it was with your hands or a toy, whether you gave yourself a quick rub or oiled yourself up and gently stroked your body, driving both of us wild until you ended up on your knees with your delicious arse in the air, one hand stroking from below and the other from above. Yes, you knew I was there alright.

Twice you were with another woman. There was that older lady, remember? Her knickers must have been soaked just at the idea of touching your body. She seemed to know better than most of your bed-partners how to please you, though. Another confession: I didn't stay for the end that time. When I saw your lips touch her gash, saw your tongue taste her cream, I came so hard that I was spent for the night. I hated myself for a long time for leaving you alone with her.

And then there was that girl. I suppose you were the older woman by then. You were so confident, so calm while she was shaking with nerves. She was eager, we could both tell, but a little unsure. Well, you gave her an experience to remember. I would have been able to hear her cries of pleasure from inside my own house.

Remember how she was lying flat on her stomach, and you slid your hand under her waist to play with her while your tongue licked her crack and probed her hole? She loved that. So did we, of course. And then she didn't hesitate to return the favour. A bit amateurish, the way she licked you, but passionate. It was beautiful to watch, let me tell you. Your face scrunched up in a perfect agony as you pressed her head against your gash. I'll never forget that sight, or the climax that swept through me as I came at the same time you did.

Since I seem to be confessing everything, I'll confess that I watch your brother too. Bet you didn't know. That secret of his that I mentioned just now? When you're away, and he's generously offered to water your plants, he brings women back to your house. Women who aren't his wife.

The first time it happened I didn't know what to do. I knew you'd gone on holiday. I'd seen your suitcases packed, the plane tickets and hotel voucher that you'd printed. I'd stayed up late and watched as you made the last few preparations, and then I was up again early to catch you under the shower before you left.

So when the light came on the second night, I was in a panic. For a moment I thought about calling the police. Then I decided to have a look for myself. But it was a strange feeling, creeping up your garden towards my usual spot as a concerned neighbour instead of for one of our trysts.

In the end the first thing to meet my eyes was your brother's naked arse. He was fucking a woman from behind on your bed. Hadn't bothered to take off his shirt, so it flapped back and forth with every thrust. He spent a lot of the time looking at himself in the mirror.

When he was done and the woman got up -- I don't think she was done, and I don't think he cared -- I thought for a moment that she was you. Similar hair, similar body, similar face. The resemblance was remarkable. In fact, whenever he fucks someone at your place, it's even odds that she looks quite like you. Let's just assume he has a type, not that he's a sick pervert.

Not that we should talk about other people's kinks, right? I'm sure you remember that time you had three men with you? Three hard cocks for you to play with, three tongues to pleasure you. You seemed to enjoy it. I hated watching.

Once or twice I've thought about setting up a camera. I know, so tacky, right? But it gets cold sometimes, and wet. I've stood there snottering and wheezing, waiting for you. I've been bitten by ants and mosquitos. My hands have been cramped from holding on to my perch. I've sometimes stood and waited for hours, and you never made an appearance. Or went to sleep without making love to me. What a poor reward for my patience.

I've hated you as much as I love you. I've hated you almost as much as I've hated your men, almost as much as I sometimes hate myself.

But the hate never lasts, and the next night I'll be there in case you need me. Because we have a special connection, you and I. The kind of connection that only exists when two people are truly meant for each other. A camera? Please, what am I, some kind of creep?