The Exhibitionist

Meeting the neighbour

I looked out of the window on a pleasant, warm morning. The sun was coming up to my left, and the street was dead. It was barely six o'clock and I couldn't sleep, so I had made a coffee and was settling to watch the programmes I had recorded on TV, but not got round to seeing. I tend to do that. Set up a series to record, then not watch it for ages, and before I know it, I've run out of space for something I actually want to watch. I opened the curtains and prepared to enjoy a series with some quite sexy scenes, which I knew would not be to my wife's taste. Especially if I got a bit horny and had the urge to relieve myself.

I was about to sit down, when a movement caught my eye. On the opposite side of the road, just to the right, the curtains of the small window upstairs were open. We were on nodding terms with the people who lived there, but not with their kids, who were older - 'cuckoo in the nest' variety.

I knew they had two kids living there. Both were working - we knew because they both had cars and generally left before we got up, and arrived home at around six each evening. The boy was older - probably in his twenties, and the girl was maybe nineteen. Certainly, both were old enough to have left home, but with rent or mortgage being extortionate these days, could probably not afford it.

The figure flitted across the window again. It was the girl, clearly getting ready for work. She glanced across, causing me to duck back, in case she saw me. She turned her back to the window and peeled off her t-shirt. She was topless underneath (I assume she wore the t-shirt to sleep in), and the view of her bare back caused me to keep looking.

'Turn round', I begged, mentally, trying to telepathically control her. Sadly, my powers did not extend to this. If they did, I would have used them far more frequently. However, although she did not turn fully, she spun to her left, bending over (presumably looking in a drawer) and stood.

I didn't get to see her boobs, but I certainly got a nice view of 'side-boob', as she stood and placed her bra round her waist, fastening it in front of her, before spinning it round and slipping her arms through the straps. She turned to face the window again, giving me a full view of her bra-covered tits. I ducked back once again, in case she saw me.

Surreptitiously, I leaned forward, peering around the curtain. She was still there, idly looking out, tracing the line of her bra with a finger, before stroking her breast gently. I was sure she couldn't see me - after all, if she could, she would have jumped back, or closed the curtains, so I kept watching. I was hoping to see more, but suddenly, she stopped, grabbed a top (a white, button-up blouse) and slipped it on.

Maybe five minutes later, she appeared at the front door, jumped into her car and drove off.

It was a good start to the day. Not often I got to see a young woman topless first thing in the morning. It may not have been my best view - just from the side, and over quite a distance - but it still fascinated me.

In truth, I've always been something of a voyeur. I like trying to catch a flash of nipple down a blouse, or underwear beneath short skirts. It was harmless, but I enjoyed the challenge - even spying on my wife at times. Somehow, watching a woman move around naturally while naked, or inadvertently exposing herself, was quite a turn on. I often imagined what it would be like to hide away in a changing room or place a secret camera. Not that I would consider anything illegal, of course, I was content with casual peeping.

Because of this, I decided I would get up early the following morning, to see if this was part of our neighbour's routine. If it was, who knew, maybe I'd get to see a bit more next time.

At this point, I should explain a few things. I retired from work early, aged fifty, because of health problems. Nothing terrible, just enough to impact on my ability to do the job I had done for the previous thirty years. Many employers would have shown loyalty, making changes to my job so that I could continue. Not mine. Despite my efforts, they decided that they wanted a fit and healthy staff team and would not support me. I retired with a gagging contract and an adequate payoff.

I was not sex-deprived either. My wife and I enjoyed a pleasurable sexual relationship, and were very relaxed together. Her libido had waned a bit (more than mine), but still, we generally had sex at least once a week, and weren't beyond getting a bit kinky - she being happy to accommodate my love of photography, while I would spank and handcuff her to cater for her submissive side. We even enjoyed playing with others on occasions.

So, it was not due to desperation that I sneaked glances at other women - maybe just my own secret fun.

The young woman across the road was quite attractive too. Not a media-perfect body, just a pretty woman, but certainly worth seeing - especially as when I usually saw her, she wore rather shapeless 'office' clothes - not tight, figure-hugging things which some went for, but loose blouses, long skirts or trousers and comfortable jumpers. In truth, it was an impression that she was probably attractive, rather than any certainty.

Occasionally, I would see her leave the house in jeans and loose t-shirts or hoodies, her long, mousy hair hanging to her shoulders, framing a face which seemed pretty, if unremarkable. She certainly did not court attention, and I had never seen her with a boyfriend.

Still, I liked to get up early, so why not see what more might be on show?

So, the following day, I was awake at six o'clock, as usual (a habit ingrained from my days at work), and proceeded downstairs to open the curtains.

She was there again. Curtains open wide. She was facing the window, and must have seen the movement, so I decided to stay where I was, apparently enjoying watching the early morning sunrise and the birds in my garden. Occasionally, my eyes would twitch to her window. She stood there, seemingly doing the same as me, and I waited for her to either pull the curtains across, or move away from the window. But she didn't.

She seemed oblivious, as my glances became less furtive. She was dressed in a t-shirt, so I assumed she was preparing to put on her work outfit. Certainly, she had plenty of opportunity to hide away.

Instead, she grabbed the bottom of the t-shirt, and lifted it up, spinning to her left as she did. Did I see a nipple? The distance made me uncertain, as did the movement. I definitely saw plenty of side-boob - more than the day before - as she selected a bra - a white one today - and put it on as she had before.

Again, she turned to the window to slip on her blouse, and I was left wishing for a better view. I wondered if it might be possible to set up a small camera with a decent zoom, and after watching her leave for work from behind the curtain, I went and looked for the miniature spy camera which I had bought a while ago. I had bought it in the hope of watching my wife masturbate in our bedroom, but had never had the courage to set it up.

I had a rough idea where to look, and eventually, I uncovered it. It looked bigger than I thought it had, but still, if I couldn't see her clearly, what chance would she have of seeing this?

I considered where to put it, deciding that the downstairs room, which I usually watched from would be no good - the angle was not great, and it would be too likely to be found. I went to the spare bedroom. It looked directly into the room opposite, and could easily be hidden between the slats of the blind.

I went to the spare room, but as when I wanted to spy on my wife, my courage deserted me, and I decided to 'think about it' a little longer.

On day three, I was again up early. I followed the same process as the previous day, opening curtains, and standing to admire the view. Again, she appeared. I moved deliberately. How could she not see me? I made my glances more obvious, deciding that I would give her the chance to hide herself - I did not want to be called a 'peeping Tom' - and waited.

Once again, she stood before the window. Did she look at me? I was certain she did. Positive. She can't have, because she grabbed the bottom of her t-shirt, and lifted it over her head. She stood at the window, fully exposed. Of course, even then I hardly had a 'good' view, but I could see her shapely breasts, her areolae, dark against her pale skin. I could not make out her nipples at all, sadly.

I was transfixed, desperate to be closer, to see every detail. Then, as I stared, she looked directly at me. I had been caught. Horrified, my heart thumping as I anticipated her shock, as she covered herself, closed the curtains, and prepared to cross the road, hammer on my door and denounce me, to my wife, as a pervert, I decided that dashing away would be an admission of guilt. Therefore, I simply looked away, admiring the sunrise.

I played the scene in my mind. "What the fuck are you doing? Staring at me through your window? You're a pervert. Sick bastard. Is that how you get your kicks? Watching women young enough to be your daughter?"

I would calmly reply: "Sorry. I don't know what you're talking about. I was just looking out of the window, watching the sunrise. I didn't notice you at all." Or maybe: "Don't be ridiculous. Why would I want to look at you? I don't find you remotely attractive. I think you're wishing I was looking..."

As I stared pointedly in the opposite direction, out of the corner of my eye, I did not see any sudden movement - not curtains closing, nor her dashing away. I allowed my eyes to drift toward her again.

Still, she stood. Tits out, visible to me and anyone else who happened to be looking, she stood, and as my furtive glance became a little bolder, her hand wandered up, weighing one well-rounded breast, progressing to the peak. I could not see properly, but she had to be teasing her nipple.

Then, she looked again. She MUST see me. This time, I did not look away. If she came and complained, I had my excuses prepared - and anyway, if she didn't want people to see, she only had to close the curtain. The only conclusion I could come to was that she couldn't see me. Maybe the sun reflected off my window, or it was artificially darkened by some freak of the light.

Still, she moved her hand on her breast, both hands now blatantly toying with her ample boobs. I needed to see more clearly. I desperately wanted to set up my camera.

During the day, I waited until my wife went out and went to the spare room. I downloaded the necessary app to my phone, connected the tiny 'spycam', adjusted it to point at the window opposite and practised zooming in. Perfect. I could watch from anywhere in the house.

The following morning, I did not open the curtain. I got up and went downstairs, and connected my phone to my spying device. I watched the curtains fly open, saw her stand in the window in her t-shirt, and waited for the show.

Her face fell. There was no question. A look of disappointment came across her, and her shoulders slumped. She stood waiting, glancing at my window. Then she turned away.

Was it possible? Could she be deliberately exposing herself to me? I decided to open the curtains. In seconds, she was back, looking at my window. I moved away this time, watching on my phone and waiting. Again, disappointment. I wandered back into view, looking at my phone. She smiled.

As I stood in the window, she grabbed the hem of her night-shirt, and waited. I glanced at her window. Immediately, she lifted her hands, taking the garment with them, revealing herself, topless, at the window. My camera caught the action perfectly, but I was not looking at the screen (not until later), but at her. Again, she toyed with her nipples, and this time she stood.

I had assumed she was always standing, but I must have been wrong. I think she was kneeling on her bed, and this time she stood on it. Her head disappeared above the window frame, but her breasts were still on view, and now I saw her torso, hips and the tops of her legs.

She wore dark blue knickers - nothing fancy, just plain, rather large panties. She hooked her fingers into the waistband and slipped them down, her face popping into view as she bent down, and looking directly at me.

She stood again, a dark triangle now visible. Her hand wandered between her legs. Clearly, it was not the best position for her to masturbate, and after a couple of seconds where her fingers seemed to be pushing into the hairy 'V', she dropped back down.

This time, she looked at me, and she smiled. A secretive grin, a promise between her and me. A bond. She looked at a watch on her wrist, as if letting me know that she needed to hurry - work could not wait.

Then she turned, found clean underwear and dressed. This time, she faced the window. She stood and slipped on her knickers - a thong this time, as she turned round, showing me her lovely backside. Then her bra - white - probably matching the knickers - then her outer clothes. And she was gone, before emerging from the front door, demure and professional as she got into her car, ignoring me completely.

I watched the video of her, revelling in the closer view, but frustrated by the pixellated images, which made things bigger, but no more clear.

I considered my next move. I decided that, if she was getting turned on by exposing herself to me, I owed her. Tomorrow, I would start offering her something in return.

My plan was somewhat derailed, however, that evening. When she got home, I would often glance over the road, just in case she was changing after work, taking a shower or whatever, but never actually saw anything. I had to be cautious, of course, as I did not want my wife to realise that I was staring at the young woman across the road, but an occasional look was fine.

In fact, it was my wife, who drew my attention to my young, exhibitionist friend that evening.

"I wish she'd shut the curtains."

I looked up. "Who?" I asked, knowing precisely who she must mean.

"The daughter over the road. She's wandering about in her room, wearing just a bra. Look."

I shifted my position so that I could see. Indeed, my wife was right. I was glad that my wife was not the sort to be jealous, nor to try to stop me looking, and we watched together for a few minutes, until she pulled a t-shirt on.

"Honestly," continued my wife, "anyone could be looking. It's not like we're going to bother, but some people might be really upset." She glanced at me with a secretive smile. "Perhaps I should do the same."

I glanced at her and raised my eyebrows. "Why? Would you want to turn on her dad? Or her brother?"

My wife is younger than me by some fifteen years, and very well endowed. Her breasts attracted a great deal of attention - indeed, they had been one of the big attractions for me when I first met her. Even now, having turned forty, they remained surprisingly buoyant - probably due to the time she spent exercising.

She shook her head. "Nah. Just be fun flashing them, see their faces." Her eyes drifted back across the road. I knew she was intrigued. My wife acknowledges her bisexuality, and that she likes showing off, and I wondered if she was serious.

"Oh. Looks like she's got a boyfriend."

Indeed, a young man was in the room opposite. He was taller than her, dark haired and slim. As we watched, they embraced and kissed before sliding out of sight, presumably on to the bed, which I knew was below the window.

The man appeared from the waist up, peeling off his t-shirt, and looked outside. He moved to close the curtains, then stopped, and there was clearly a brief conversation. I can only assume that she had told him to leave the curtains open (maybe in case her parents got home and realised that closed curtains would look suspicious), as he returned his attention to the woman, who was just out of sight.

Some legs appeared, vertically, and trousers were removed. Then she appeared again, removing the t-shirt which she had only just put on.

She glanced over the road, looking directly at us.

"Well," my wife commented, "either they can't see us, or they're getting off on being watched."

I suspected the latter. We continued observing. We watched as our neighbour's head dipped again, then began to bob up and down. It was blatantly obvious what was happening. There was more movement, during which a pair of male buttocks appeared briefly, then a female leg was rested on the windowsill. His head appeared, partly hidden by the leg, and dipped down. Clearly, he was returning her oral favours.

We watched for another ten minutes, until he knelt up and pulled a t-shirt on.

"That was quick," my wife observed. "Still, they're young. He'll learn."

There was some movement in the room, probably getting dressed, but too far back to be clear, and a couple of minutes later, her parents arrived. I guessed they had been having sex, knowing they had little time. I think most of us have been in similar situations.

My wife and I had enjoyed watching and surmising what they were doing, and, perhaps unsurprisingly, we felt rather horny. As a result, we ended up going to bed early. Our love-making was something we liked to take time over and enjoy, with plenty of foreplay and interludes to ensure we relished our personal pleasures - using toys, spanking, oral, more toys, some casual photography before my own orgasm.

The result was, that an early night meant late to sleep - especially as we had kept the curtains open and the light on - if those across the road could indulge their brief sexual encounter for our benefit, we were definitely going to set them an example.

It also meant that I was later than usual waking up, and by the time I got downstairs and opened the curtains in the morning, my young friend barely had time to show me her breasts and cover them again before she was leaving for work. This time, as she left, she glanced across at me as she opened the car door, smirking. I felt she had, perhaps, seen some of my antics with my wife the previous night - not too clearly, as our bed was away from the window.

It was a Friday, and I knew that the weekend would upset the morning routine. However, a new opportunity presented itself. On Saturday, there was a street party. Personally, I had no desire to attend. I dislike such things, and felt that even the Coronation of a new King left me with no wish to hang around with people I barely knew. Worse still, my medication meant I could not drink, and there is little more boring than being the sober person as everyone else gets drunk. If only drunks realised how incredibly boring they are.

Still, my wife wanted to go. She was never one to miss the chance of drinking, and so I decided to tag along.

It was the vision of hell which I expected. Someone cooked semi-raw burgers and sausages on a barbecue, someone else produced a guitar and people talked and laughed too loudly at things which were blatantly not funny. I found myself chatting with the father of the young lady whose breasts I had been admiring most mornings, and desperate to tell him how lovely his daughter's tits were. I didn't, of course, but came very close to wiping the smug grin off his face several times.

My wife became drunk and flirty, and I wondered if we might end up with guests at our house for an impromptu party, and if we might find ourselves waking up, having drawn one of the other drunk couples into a foursome which would leave us smiling about a fun evening, while they were mortified, having undermined the bedrock of their relationship.

None of it happened, of course. The only moment of any note was when my muse wandered over to see her father.

"Ah!" he declared. "Here's Sam." We were introduced, and if her dad noticed anything odd about our sustained eye-contact, he said nothing. I suspect he was oblivious, as we looked at each other. She had blushed prettily, maybe embarrassed that her 'kink' or 'preference' had been brought into such sharp focus.