The Other Side of the Window

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"Thank you," I said, giving her the receipt and feeling the touch of her hand as it brushed against mine, and that little contact made my dick jump in my pants.

"Thank you. Nice seeing you again, Jeremy," was her reply. "See you again soon."

Nice seeing me again? See me again soon? What did that mean?

Probably just meaningless conversation, and I told myself not to read more into things than was actually there. I was safe, and I would be back there again tonight, that much I knew, pursuing my hobby. Roxanne Yates.

....

Chapter Five: Barney pays attention.

"Shut up, Barney!" I snapped in a loud whisper.

Barney had accompanied me on my trip to Mrs. Yates - Roxanne's house, and instead of wandering around and smelling bushes and rocks, he was acting testy, growling and snapping.

Tonight I was being very cautious, not wanting a repeat of the night before. The light had come on, and Roxanne had entered the room, looking as beautiful as ever in her blue robe. She had stepped out of the room for a minute, but she was worth waiting for.

My hand was already busy, having slipped it under the elastic of my sweats before I had gotten over here, and while I slowly pumped my dick, Barney yipped again.

"Shut the hell up, Barney!" I hissed, my frustration level rising.

"Don't blame your dog," came the voice from behind me.

....

Chapter Six: Busted.

The fact that I didn't have a coronary was a tribute to the health of my heart, but I was busted. Barney was yapping while I stood there helplessly. I was helpless because Mrs. Yates had a tight grip on the back of my sweatshirt, and while I probably could have broken loose, I was too scared to move or even speak.

I was led into the house and told to sit at the kitchen table. Mrs. Yates sat across from me, holding her phone in her hand as she stared at me.

"The police or your parents?" she asked, and although I tried to hold my emotions in check, I felt a tear trickle down my cheek as I bit my lip hard.

"Well?" Mrs. Yates asked, impatience growing in her voice.

"Please," I said. "I'm sorry."

At this point, I should explain that I have a little bit of a problem. It's actually way more than a little bit of a problem, as it had affected my life considerably, to my never-ending embarrassment.

When I get nervous, I start to stutter. Just another one of my traits that made me one of the more unpopular kids all during my school years. Sometimes it's worse than other times, depending on the level of stress, and I was never more stressed than here sitting at the table in front of Mrs. Yates.

You could have made coffee by the time I managed to spit out those three little words. By that time, the fire had gone out of Mrs. Yates eyes, probably replaced by pity. Who could blame her? I had never felt more pitiful, and for me, that was saying something.

"Are you the local Peeping Tom or something? Looking through the bedroom windows of everybody in the neighborhood to get your kicks?"

"NO!" I protested. "I never did this before - to anyone!"

"Just me then?" Mrs. Yates said. "My luck is as good as ever. How do I rate this?"

"Barney - my dog," I tried to explain, stammering like an loon. "He got lost."

"And so you decided to check to see if I had him in my bedroom?"

"No," I said defensively, not catching the sarcasm in her voice right away. "He ran down this way, and I went after him. When I went past your house, you had just turned on the light and it got my attention."

"I know your mother a little bit," Mrs. Yates informed me. "How would you feel if somebody was peeking through the bedroom window at her?"

"No one would want to," I mumbled, shaking my head. The thought of somebody wanting to see my mother naked was too far-fetched to seriously contemplate.

"I thought I saw someone out there a couple of nights ago - during that rainstorm," Mrs. Yates explained. "I thought it was my imagination. Why would a little kid be out there in the thunder and lightning? The last night I got a better look and saw it was you. I recognized you from the neighborhood and from the store, so I went to make sure it was you. Didn't you get the hint from me that I had seen you?"

"Yes," I sniffled.

"And you still came back despite that?" she asked, and I nodded.

"When did you start this - the night of the storm?"

"No," I said, lowering my head in shame. "I've been doing it for a while."

"What does 'in a while' mean?"

"About... uh... three weeks."

"You've standing out there every night all that time?" Mrs. Yates said in a voice that seemed to be in shock at such a thought. "Waiting outside for me to go to bed?"

"Don't really have to wait all that much, I admitted. "You come to bed a couple of minutes past ten every night."

"So you've got my schedule memorized?"

"Guess so. You come in and take off your house coat, and then you take off your - bra. Then you take the lotion and massage your - you know - breasts. Then sometimes you stretch. That's my favorite, when you do that. Then you turn out the light."

....

Chapter Seven: What to do with me?

The look on her face made the tears start to flow. Not from Mrs. Yates, but from me. I had been fighting them back ever since I had gotten into the house, but despite my best efforts I felt them begin to trickle down my cheeks.

What an impression I was making, I thought glumly, and this only made me feel worse. A skinny little twerp stuttering and crying deserved to be put out of his misery, and if I had my druthers I would have dug my own grave and gladly hopped into it.

"What am I supposed to do with you?" Mrs. Yates. "Three weeks? Why aren't you running around with kids your own age?"

"Don't have many friends - the ones I have went away to college," I sniffed, wiping my face with the back of my hand.

"Surely there must be girls your age that would like to go out with you," Mrs. Yates said.

"I'm no good with people. I get real nervous. Girls especially. I guess I'm just - I dunno. Lonely. I'm just tired of being me."

My tears really started to flow then, and as I covered my face with my hands, I felt the warm presence of Mrs. Yates at my side, kneeling next to me as she put her arm around my shoulder.

"It's alright Jeremy," Mrs. Yates whispered. "Don't be upset. I'm not going to call your parents or the police."

"Thank you," I managed to say.

"I know all about being lonely," she confided.

....

Chapter Eight: Take care of Barney.

"Aren't your folks going to start worrying about you?" Mrs. Yates asked after she helped dry my face. "Worry about where you went?"

"Maybe they'll wonder where Barney is," I told her. "I can be gone all night and they wouldn't care."

"I keep forgetting that you aren't really a kid any more," Mrs. Yates said with a smile. "Maybe you should get the little guy home now."

"I guess," I said, and I rose along with Mrs. Yates, signalling to Barney that it was time for us to go. "Thank you for not - you know."

"That's alright, Jeremy," she said, rubbing Barney's head as he panted at our feet. "It is getting late, and I'm behind schedule. Aren't I?"

Mrs. Yates smiled, making me feel a whole lot better as she opened the door and let me out.

"In about five minutes I'm going to bed," Mrs. Yates said, her hand on my shoulder, holding me back with a gentle pressure.

"I promise that I won't be out there," I pledged.

"Really?" Mrs. Yates asked with a smile.

I nodded while stepping onto the porch, as Barney raced around to the back of the house.

"That's up to you. And this door will be unlocked for another five minutes," she said softly. "If you want to come back, that is. Just come in and go to the bedroom. You know where that is, right?"

....

Chapter Nine: Huh?

Did she just say what I thought she said? I stared at the closed door for a minute, not believing what I had just heard. After her words finally registered, I flew to the back of the house and gathered up Barney, who seemed shocked at being carried back home, especially at such a rapid pace.

I dropped him inside the door, flipping him a treat before racing back through the backyards of the neighborhood before ending up at the Yates house. The light was on in the bedroom, but Mrs. Yates was not in sight, so I went to the front of the house and opened the door slowly.

"Hello?" I called out softly, and getting no response, went toward the back of the house.

I went past what had to be the bathroom, hearing water running in the sink and what sounded like Mrs. Yates brushing her teeth. She had such beautiful teeth, I thought to myself. Just thinking of her smile made my heart flutter.

The light coming from the open door at the end of the hall was her bedroom, and I walked down there slowly, hearing the floorboards squeak as I stepped. The water stopped running in the bathroom as I walked into the bedroom, and my heart began pounding as I stepped inside.

It smelled like flowers, I thought to myself as I inhaled deeply. Around me were the sights that I had only gazed at from the other side of the window; the big double bed with the thick quilt over it, the big oak dresser with the mirror, and the little table with the bottle of lotion on it.

Burt's Bees, I noted as I picked up the bottle. Milk and honey. We sold this stuff at the store, and as I set it back down, I wondered whether Mrs. Yates was actually going to let me watch her massage her breasts. Maybe I had misunderstood her, and I wasn't really supposed to be in here at all.

I panicked for a second, but it was too late to do anything, because I heard a door opening and the sound of footsteps coming toward me. Backing myself toward the window that I had been looking through, I tried not to faint as the shadow of Mrs. Yates filled the doorway.

....

Chapter Ten: Alone together.

"You came back," Mrs. Yates said, her face revealing her to be a little more nervous than she had been out in the kitchen, where she was on the offensive.

"Uh - yeah," I mumbled, and even though she might have been nervous, I was petrified.

"What do I do now?" she said, looking confused. "You said that I do the same thing every night, but I'm drawing a blank. I must be on auto-pilot or something by the time I get in here."

Uh - after you turn on the light you take off your robe and - uh - put it on the end of the bed there."

"Okay," Mrs. Yates said, and slowly undid the robe.

She looked like she was having second thoughts about this, and I was shaking so badly that if she told me to leave, I would have probably jumped out the window.

Once the robe came off, however, there was no way I was leaving. There, not more than five feet away from me, was Mrs. Yates in the flesh, wearing the black bra and panties that I had enjoyed seeing her remove on the second night of my peeking.

I guess that me standing in front of the window, but on the other side of the glass, staring open-mouthed and panting, was having an effect on Mrs. Yates, because she held her hands in front of herself nervously as she seemed to be waiting for me to give her directions.

"Then - uh - you take your bra off. This bra - it hooks in the back. The other ones - the white one and the beige one - they hook in the front."

I know that I must have sounded like an obsessed freak, but I was way past caring, standing little more than an arm's length away from Mrs. Yates. Now, as if under my command, I watched as she reached back and unhooked the bra, and when the last hook came undone, the familiar sight of the harness lurching forward followed.

....

Chapter Eleven: Those breasts.

I stood there, mouth open and knees shaking, as the black brasiere slid away from her breasts. Those breasts. I was so close to them that she could probably feel my heavy breathing, and I was only slightly aware of the fact that Mrs. Yates seemed as nervous as I was, what with her hands fidgeting, unsure of whether to cover herself or not.

Finally, she just let her hands rest on her sides, affording me an unhindered view of her. Just like the women in the magazines, I thought to myself as my eyes devoured the huge globes.

The skin so creamy white, the cleavage so deep and inviting even without the support of the bra, and those nipples! The aureolas were as large as drink coasters, and their pebbled surfaces were a dark crimson in color, contrasting so spectacularly with the pale surroundings. As for the nipples themselves, those thick pegs seemed to be blossoming even larger as I watched.

"I can't - can't believe how beautiful you are," I managed to stutter, the silence in the room becoming too deafening for me to bear.

Mrs. Yates seemed taken aback by my words, and lowered her eyes as she blushed, only to act startled. Apparently the sight of my boner poking out in my sweatpants wasn't something she was expecting when she had looked down, but there was nothing I could do about that now.

"Not beautiful," Mrs. Yates muttered. "I'm a cow."

I shook my head at those words, and when she seemed to be lost as to what to do, I nodded toward the lotion.

"Now you - uh - put the lotion on your breasts," I indicated, and watched as she took the two steps over to the table. As she leaned over, I watched those pendulous breasts sway, looking even bigger from the side.

Mrs. Yates squirted a little of the lotion in her palm and after rubbing her hands together, began to work the sweet smelling stuff into her left breast.

"Do - all women do that to their - you know, breasts?" I asked as her hands caressed the fleshy globe, the skin starting to glisten as the moisturizer got worked in.

"I don't know," Mrs. Yates replied, looking at me looking at her.

"Why do you do it?"

"I guess because it feels good," was her answer.

"Your nipples - they get even bigger while you do it."

"They're very sensitive. Always have been, even when my bust wasn't as large as it is now," she said, and then picked the bottle back up and held it out toward me.

In my dazed condition, for a second it didn't register. What was I supposed to do with that? Finally, I realized what she was offering. The Burt's Bees and her right breast. I took the bottle - which was slick, and managed not to drop it as I moved up next to her.

Mrs. Yates was taller than I was, by about an inch, I realized as I stood so very close, and I cringed when I felt my hard-on touch her thigh accidentally while I tried to get lotion out of the bottle.

"Relax, honey," I heard her whisper to me, and it occurred to me that she might have thought I was having a seizure, what with my wheezing breathing and spastic mannerisms.

Just Jeremy being Jeremy, I thought to myself as I fought hyperventilating while squeezing way too much lotion into my hand. What would I do first? Faint, go into convulsions or ejaculate? All were possibilities as I moved my oiled hands closer to her breast with considerable slowness.

"Mmmm."

I think we might have both made that sound at the same time, when my hands first made contact with her breast. Soft. Spongy - but just a little bit. I was doing it. My hands were surrounding her massive right breast, rubbing and massaging the doughy globe.

Bigger than a football, I mentally noted for some reason, not being able to think of a fruit or vegetable to compare it too. Maybe that thought process was a sign that I had worked in the produce section too long or something.

Connie Durfey - the only real live tit I had ever experiences - now hers were easy to classify. Lemons, or maybe small pears. Mrs. Yates - now hers were something like oversized eggplants, but nothing in the market ever felt like this to me.

"Haven't you ever touched a woman's breast before, Jeremy?" Mrs. Yates asked.

"Uh - once," I replied, hoping that she wasn't asking because I was doing a bad job. "I went with a girl once, and she let me play with hers, but hers were real little. Am I doing this okay?"

"Very nice, honey," she assured me. "Just asking. You didn't tell me the girl's name."

"Her name? Uh - I don't think I should say," I stammered, and even though Connie hadn't shown me much loyalty at the end, I still felt I owed her some.

"That's sweet Jeremy," Mrs. Yates said with a smile. "I was hoping you would say that. I hope you wouldn't ever tell anybody about what we're doing either."

"No," I swore, not adding that I didn't have any close friends left around here, and even the friends I had would never believe this.

I concentrated on oiling up the breast I had been assigned to, and worked the underside as well, amazed at the weight of it. It took considerable effort to lift it, and I could have used more or bigger hands to help in the effort.

"Good," she said. "Is that all I do before I turn off the light?"

"Well, sometimes you stretch," I said hopefully, even though that was a rare occurrence. "Almost like your back was sore."

Mrs. Yates looked at me quizzically, and then started to raise her arms. I was still massaging her breast, but when her arms started to go up I froze in place. She stopped when she saw where I was staring, and quickly dropped her arms down to her sides.

"Please?" I asked, my nervous voice breaking pitifully.

Her face having turned a deep red, Mrs. Yates almost looked ashamed for some reason, and I figured that I must have done or said something wrong. I tried to smile as I nodded to her, and with the greatest reluctance I watched her arms come up, finally reaching above her head as she stretched.

The faintest scent of something light and floral escaped as her arms went up, and as I continued to rub her breasts, I enjoyed the sight of her unshaven armpits. The hair was a rich dark brown, and it grew in long thin patches that nestled in the gentle pockets created when her arms were raised.

"You like that, Jeremy?" Mrs. Yates asked. "You like women with hair under their arms?"

I nodded, as if she needed an answer. I liked women, period. This was just another interesting part. I could have seen better if it wasn't for the sweat that was pouring down my forehead, stinging my eyes, but my hands were full of tit and could not let go.

"Never gave it much thought," Mrs. Yates said, feeling more comfortable with me staring at her armpits - so much more so that she linked her hands behind her head. "If I had known someone would be seeing my armpits, I would have shaved them. No one here to look, or so I thought."

I nodded again, trying to rub my head on my shoulder to get rid of the sweat.

"My husband - ex-husband," she corrected herself. "He would always make me shave them every day. One of the many things I did to try and please him. He thought it was not ladylike for a woman to have anything but smooth underarms. When he flew the coop, I guess I stopped bothering."

"It looks sexy," I managed to say, staring at the dense little nests that looked so soft and warm. "Never saw a woman like this - except Julia Roberts - in that magazine picture?"

"I'm no Julia Roberts," Mrs. Yates said with a sad little smile.

"You - you're way prettier than she is," I assured her, and she was. Everything about Mrs. Yates was beautiful, even the tiny bead of sweat that had started to trickle down from her left armpit.

The tiny droplet had begun a lazy serpentine journey from her underarm, and as it wound down from that furry valley, for some reason I leaned over and caught it with my tongue.

Hearing Mrs. Yates gasp, my tongue retraced the path the bead of sweat had made, until it was nestled into her armpit. I'm sure she was shocked - had to be shocked - but no more so than I was, and as my tongue slithered through the tuft of hair I still couldn't believe I was doing this to her.

The hair was breathtakingly soft, and as I kissed the sweet and salty fur, Mrs. Yates brought her other arm down and cradled the back of my head, holding it in place. Her chest was heaving and we were both breathing like lcocmotives. My dick felt like it was ready to erupt at any second, and just might have if Mrs. Yates hadn't let go of my head, her body spasming a little as she stepped back one pace from me.

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