Sexual Distancing

I'm sure she saw it when I gave a start, leaning forward a little with my eyes squinting hard at the exposed skin between the edges of the red silk. I took in that cleavage I'd glimpsed down her shirt the day I met her, now on full display; the woman had ripe, delicious tits with a hint of blue lace holding them in. Below, her belly led soft and pale down to a pair of basic, functional cotton panties, grey with little stripes on them. Her inner thighs curved luxuriantly out beneath, her gap a lot less defined than I was used to in college but somehow far, far more sexy.

All this I took in in an instantaneous glimpse that coincided, predictably, with my cock surging awake in my boxers. My hand moved automatically to adjust myself, and she waited long enough to notice before she turned with the robe billowing out, then headed back to the couch for her coffee.

If I'd gotten up and walked back inside with my empty coffee mug, she'd probably have seen my bulge; I was that hard, even despite heavy black trackpants. But I just kept staring at her crossed legs instead.

* * *

I decided to be less constrained the next day. Why not? Clearly, Kyleigh's mom wasn't shy; why should I be?

The day started a little warmer, for once, though it was going to be raining later. So I put on a pair of loose white basketball shorts and endured a few goosebumps while I waited for her, with Boysenberry clawing wildly at some bushes.

I'd managed brief, furious phone-sex with Lauren late the night before, but that didn't stop my dick from responding when the curtains drifted apart that morning. She had the pink flowered robe back on this time, all the way down to her ankles but yet hiding nothing with the belt undone. She stood coolly at the window, facing the morning, and this time she had her coffee mug in hand; she held it with both hands clasped over her deep-set belly button.

I saw she'd matched her underwear today.

Lime green, top and bottom, both lacy, and I blinked for several long seconds as she stood there close enough to the slider for her coffee to fog the glass. The blue lace yesterday had given Kyleigh's mom some impressive cleavage, but this green one... well, holy shit. Her tits loomed from beneath the robe, nudging each other, competing for the same space and leaving a deep-shadowed valley in between, and my dick was rising, helplessly, unstoppably, from nothing but her standing there.

She knew she looked good, staring out at the sky, and then she nodded to herself and swished over to the couch. I was staring quite blatantly, not even concealing my interest; she clearly enjoyed the attention, so why not? I watched her settle on the couch with her coffee like a guy in a movie theatre, and now I was the show.

Not quite believing what I was doing, I got to my feet on my grandma's garden steps with my cock tenting my loose shorts almost ridiculously out in front of me. I felt its weight, ready as though Lauren and I hadn't even so much as exchanged hellos last night, dragging my waistband out from my abs. It occurred to me that I couldn't see my neighbor clearly enough, on the couch, to catch her reaction, so I just struck a pose and held it a few unnecessary seconds. Then, feeling pretty foolish, I reached down and adjusted myself very slowly.

She was watching. She must have been. And I was pretty stoked, knowing that.

* * *

She came out onto her deck that afternoon just before the rain arrived, those big eyes of hers looking evenly at me as I sat picking out chords on my grandfather's old Martin. "I didn't know you played," she called out across the yard.

"Most people would say I don't," I laughed back.

She nodded thoughtfully, crouching to move a big potted plant out from under the eaves. "Heavy," she grunted, sliding the pot out inch by inch.

"I'd help," I ventured, after a pause, "but, you know. The virus."

"Yes," she chuckled. "I'll get you sick and kill you." She got it where she wanted it, then glanced up at the gathering clouds in the sky. "Perfect. It'd be a favor to the music world."

"Uh, thanks?" She smiled at me, though, as she passed back into the house, her ass wagging.

* * *

Next morning the curtain came open just slightly, showing me a strip of face and neck and collarbone and cleavage and belly and... wait. My eyes snapped back up, squinting, seeing what I thought I'd seen: nothing. No lace of any color. No straps or hooks or anything. Just skin.

My balls tingled in my flannel pajama bottoms. It was a cold morning, and I could already tell Boysenberry wasn't going to spend much time out here. I just hoped it would be long enough for whatever she had in mind.

"Fuck." I said it to myself, my mouth falling open. Like always, she was looking coolly up at the sky, and I took the opportunity to make sure she wasn't giving me even more of a show; no, just pragmatic panties this morning, no lace. Not that I was complaining, and I shifted on the steps, tugging at my surging dick with no shame at all.

She clearly had none either, because when she spread her arms and pushed the curtains open, her motion sent the robe (back to red silk today) billowing out, settling with exquisite slowness over her naked tits. She didn't even care: didn't care that I was there, hard; didn't care that her house had to be cold, up near the glass that way; didn't care that, for a magical second or two, as the robe swished aside, she showed the world a single dark, egg-shaped nipple.

Holy fuck.

She stood awhile longer than usual, scratching absently at her belly while I stared with my mouth open. There was no more nipple, but nor did there need to be; she obviously didn't care that she'd shown it, and that alone made me think of all sorts of things I wanted to do to her. My coffee scoured my mouth in two convulsive gulps, my eyes never moving from her confident face over her equally confident body, and all at once I knew I needed relief.

And I knew how I wanted to get it. I wanted her to see.

I thought quickly. "Boysen. C'mon," I snapped, and the dog paused with his ears up, thought about how fucking cold it was, and then came loping over to me. I turned once more to face Kyleigh's mom, only to find that she wasn't looking at the sky.

She was staring straight at me.

"C'mon," I repeated. The dog shambled up the lawn, and I took a deep breath and then looked very deliberately up at the bathroom window. The one that opened out like a door. Up to the window, then back at her, then to the window again, and I had to hope she figured it out.

Boysenberry had to be surprised when I didn't bother pouring kibble for him, sprinting right past his bowl and straight up Grandma's beautiful nineteenth-century stairs. Two at a time. I kicked the bathroom door shut behind me; why, I have no idea. Boysenberry the beagle was the only one who could possibly walk in on me.

But I only wanted one person to see this.

I walked up to the long window and squinted out, hoping I'd see Kyleigh's mom at the slider; if she'd gone back to the couch, she'd never be able to see me. My heart lurched when I saw a flash of red at the glass, the blur of her face, and that was enough. I tore off my clothes, making a sad little pile on Grandma's cracked floor, and debated whether I ought to open the window.

Fuck that. There was still frost on the grass down there.

Impatiently I stepped as close to the window as I could, the tip of my dick tapping the freezing glass, but I didn't even feel it. I pressed my forehead to the window, looking out at her bleared shape through two windows, and then I cupped my balls and began to jerk my dick.

I'd never done anything like this before. Don't get me wrong: I'd been a busy little bee all through college, a lacrosse player at a school that liked its lacrosse players, and some of the parties had gotten wild. I'd fucked many times in public, doing all sorts of depraved things, but not like this; I didn't even know this woman's name. But she'd flashed me her tit, so she deserved a reply.

I spat on my dick, the long string hanging, then oozing to join the precum glimmering at my head, and immediately I felt the rush when another squint through the window showed me there was still red at the sliding door. With a sudden wave of naughty exultation I swept my thumb over my head, capturing the fluids there, slicking my cock while I gripped my balls with the other hand. And then I thought of that one quick nipple, closed my eyes, and stroked.

My hand glided up and down my shaft with the ease of long practice, the other palm full of my jiggling balls; this was not going to take long, I already knew. I found myself wishing she could see me more clearly, looking at my face perhaps, watching as the pressure mounted behind my root. I lifted my foot, perching it high on the edge of the nearby bathtub, my hips starting to thrust in time to my blurred hand

I'd been at it only a couple of minutes before I realized I was holding my breath, getting close. My furious, long strokes slowed, the grip tighter, smaller and more controlled pumping just behind my head, and as always I imagined I could actually feel the semen bubbling up my cock, the suspense rising...

I gasped, my cum smacking onto Grandma's window, the whiteness splattering across the glass like birdshit. My leg threatened to buckle beneath me. It was a huge load, five thick healthy spurts easily, while I gasped hard with my eyes shut. I worked through the usual buzzing in my ears, little speckles of slight chasing each other across my eyelids, as I rode out my orgasm.

The red blur was still in the window at Kyleigh's house when I finally released my empty balls; it didn't pull back until I grabbed a Kleenex off the back of the toilet and started wiping uselessly at the glass.

* * *

Around that time, I started getting dirty looks in the supermarket. And I knew why: I wasn't bothering with a mask, my own notion being that they didn't do enough good to outweigh the fact that they made me look like a douche. "I just think," I explained to Kyleigh's mom the next afternoon from across the fence, "that as long as I don't touch my face and refrain from licking peoples' lungs, I'm fine."

She looked at me with her head tilted slightly, her expression unreadable behind the shades. "It's the concealment factor I'm not into." She shrugged. "I like to see the people I talk to."

"Just don't, like, talk to anyone?" I suggested, feeling weird. I'd just ogled this woman's nude tits again that morning, the robe once more flapping freely aside, and the day before I'd blown a massive load for her all over my grandmother's bathroom window. It was strange just standing here having a conversation while her girl played with Boysen. She nodded at me slowly for a moment.

"Yeah," she sighed. "Or, better, just take away the things that block the view." Her eyes behind the glasses crinkled in a crafty smile. "Whichever. Let's go, Ky!" she called, nodding pleasantly at me as she turned toward her house.

And then the day went on exactly as every other day had during this infected spring. Well. Almost every day.

I was out around dusk with the Martin, vaping and playing some random chords while Boysenberry loped through the bushes down near the fence. The orangey lamp was on at Kyleigh's house, and in a half-glanced instant I saw the silhouette of her mom show up at the sliding door. She stared out into the night, then she whirled and hurried out of the room.

The night was just starting to get a little cold when I noticed the upstairs lights go out over there. One of the windows showed the pinkish glitter of the kind of nightlight that projects stars onto the ceiling: the little girl's room. I sighed, getting ready to hunt down little Boysen and head in, when a shadow crossed the lamp: two shapes, one leading the other by the hand, and then I caught my breath.

She was bringing her husband into the room.

She hooked a kitchen chair with her foot and dragged it out to the center of the room, and then I saw her take her hair out of its ponytail as the man sat down. On impulse, I clicked off my vape pen, the greenish glow of the LED winking out and putting all of Grandma's backyard into shadow. Boysen rustled down in the brush, and I leaned forward over the old guitar with a strange suspenseful sense of focus.

The silhouettes showed side-on in the glow from the lamp, the man sitting forward on the wooden chair, tense, while the woman paused and swayed. She took one long, graceful step forward, her arm shoving insistently on his chest, driving him back in the chair; she didn't stop then, continuing between his legs, stretching her short body up against his, the two shadowy heads melting together into a lengthy, full-body kiss.

I realized, with a little thrill of naughty joy, that my cock was already nudging the back of Grandpa's Martin.

Across the yards, the orange glow showed Kyleigh's mom in partial shadow, still rubbing up against her man, and my jaw dropped as she pushed off him. She seemed to taunt him, leaning over and laughing, before she stood straight and whipped her t-shirt over her head.

I'd seen her titties twice now, two fleeting glimpses from between the parted flaps of her red silk robe, but this was different. Now she stood proud and fully topless, her skin outlined in a sun-colored glow, and I actually gasped when I saw her nipples bounce at the tips of her quivering breasts.

Of course, her husband probably had the same reaction I did; certainly he leaned forward immediately, his hands drifting up her body, up under her arms and around the front, clasping her flash in his fingers when he buried his face in between. And I was so mesmerized, watching him run his lips over her skin, her tit elongating in the shadows as he sucked hard on her nipple, that I completely failed to notice that she'd turned her head toward the slider.

Toward me.

I wasn't sure if she knew I was out there, but that's a lie: of course I knew, and of course she did. I caught her shadowed face, heavy-eyed as she pulled him to her, holding him tight to her body while he devoured her tits, and I could see her mouth move soundlessly as she urged him on. I stared, rapt, the guitar forgotten, and his hands were mine as they swept down to her leggings and kept going, dropping them straight to her knees. I saw no underwear.

Her foot snaked out of the leggings at once, her knee landing on the wooden chair beside his thigh. She bore him down, all hot and sultry against the chair's ladder back.

She paused then, tossing her hair, and it slowly dawned on me that he had his hand up, burrowing between her legs, the forearm flexing in a strong, insistent rhythm like a drumbeat. I could see her mouth part in a silent black circle as she moved her hips, swinging them steadily backward and forward, humping his hand while he bit down hard on her nipple.

Blindly, groping with my hand at the battered old guitar case on the grass beside me, I swung the guitar around and across my body in the darkening daylight, then dropped the instrument into its case with a hollow thump. I no longer wanted the guitar in my lap; I wanted Kyleigh's mom there.

I was the man in the chair then, my fingers slick and warm, buried inside her body; she arched on him, her nipples clearly shuddering in the dim light, and I reached down for my cock at the same moment the woman in the other house clawed at her husband's. She was still looking dim-eyed at me, his face still buried in her tits, when I brought out my hard, thick dick into the evening air, completely oblivious to the backyard or Boysen or anything else: it was just me and the woman and the man she was about to fuck, and I had to trust in the gathering darkness to keep the other neighbors from calling 911 on the perv in Mrs Lansky's backyard.

She was grinding on him even before she got his zipper down, her face in spasm, and I held my breath as she arched far back and then swung off his lap with liquid smoothness, kicking her leggings off as she sank to her knees. The man lolled his head back over the chair, his chest rising and falling, and I was breathing in time with him as his woman yanked his pants down to the floor, crouched up and over his lap, and fell onto his hard-on without any hesitation.

He hunched his ass up and off the chair, driving up into her mouth even as I arched up into my hand. She took him smoothly, deep, and I could see her throat bulging as she swallowed him down.

I spat hard onto my dick, missing the first time, but I persevered; the falling darkness was soon filled, at least in my little part of it, by the slicked sound of my hand jerking my meat. Boysenberry might have been dognapped and strangled by some homeless covid patient, for all I cared in that moment, and the man on the chair looked the same.

With good reason. The woman was going down hard, her whole naked body tense and focused, swallowing every inch of what looked to be an impressive piece of meat. I watched her naked body kneeling, graceful, her neck surging down again and again. The man relaxed, his head still thrown back. Why doesn't he take her head and jam it down? I wondered, and even as I did he read my mind: his two hands burrowed into her hair and pushed her down as he arched his hips again, forcing her, and her limbs splayed out like a frog for a moment or two before she was able to adjust.

Fuck. My dick trembled in my hand.

He held her there for five or six long seconds, her arms slapping feebly at his legs, and then he pushed her up and off him, her mouth opening in a fishlike gasp as she collapsed to the floor. I let out a long sigh, my balls in my hand, as he got up out of the chair and tore his shirt off, his cock long and thick in silhouette as he loomed over her nude body on the carpet.

Jesus Christ. I was in his head, staring down at that panting woman on the floor, and then he was getting down on the floor between her spread thighs and by god, she was staring out the window again. Straight at me.

She was still watching me when, with his face gnawing at her neck, the man entered her. I was completely mesmerized; I'd seen people fuck before, but not secretly like this. I could see her hips rise a bit to accept his dick, her expression changing when his butt went down and in, a look of bliss spreading over her face as her head fell back against the carpet.

He started in on her right away; either he hadn't done it in awhile or he knew she liked it rough, because he stuck it to her like a college freshman. His thrusts were vicious, shoving her body across the floor while her fingers scrabbled at his back. She drew her feet up his legs, spreading wide with her eyes still glued to mine and his face still busy at her neck, her shoulder, her tits; the nipples jumped with every thrust, the whole scene feeling like a '70s peepshow with that orangey glow.

I was fisting myself with long, fast strokes now, my hand in unconscious rhythm with the man's surging hips as he took his woman. They fucked seriously, without any kind of tenderness or warmth; he was looking for a hole to spend himself in and she was more than happy to be that hole, the two of them writhing hard while I stared at her face, twisted in lust and staring right back at me.

I wasn't sure if she could see me jacking it; I doubted it, actually, but just as I was gripping my balls more tightly, something made her smack hard at her man's shoulder, signaling him, and the lamp glowed off sweaty skin as he pulled out and flopped over onto his back. I watched as the woman repositioned him, facing him with his head toward me, and then she rose on trembling legs and straddled him.

Seeing her, her trimmed bush sex-slicked and with her legs spread over a hard cock, was almost enough to make me explode all over my shirt in the night, but I held off as she sank onto his pole, her tits huge and firm as they faced me. She smirked wickedly out the window and started riding him, grinding hard, and I imagined it was my own dick buried deep in her snatch, my own root rubbing insistently at her lips, my own pubes tangled with hers, my own balls trembling behind, ready to cum inside her.