View From a Window Ch. 01

View from a window

Chapter 1

Graeme glanced out of the window. "Oh," he thought, "oh!"

His next-door neighbour was walking past. There was nothing odd in that. The neighbouring garden came right up to his new home's wall at that point. There was no reason why his neighbour should not walk past. It was not as if his neighbour glanced up or anything and saw Graeme looking; but Graeme certainly saw him. It was a hot day, but there again, in July in that Mediterranean country every day was hot and naturally the neighbour was lightly dressed: rather lighter dressed than he would be out in the street, he most certainly had a tee shirt on but, and that was the surprise which made Graeme stare, nothing else at all. That he had nothing beneath the tee shirt was obvious to Graeme: he had seen the man's cock swinging. Sensible attire really. The man seemed to be pottering around with a watering can and a pair of secateurs. A tee shirt to keep the sun off shoulders and, well, not a need for anything else in the privacy of his own garden. Quite an appropriate thing to do if private. Only it was not as private as he no doubt thought; not with Graeme's small window looking out.

Graeme stepped back into his room and turned for the door. At the door of the room Graeme paused and retraced his steps to take another look, standing rather further back from the window so, given the bright light outside, there really was no chance of being seen. His object not so much to watch the neighbour as to see if, just perhaps, and it would be a shame not to see, just in case his neighbour's young wife might come into view, perhaps similarly clothed or, even better, without attire at all.

Graeme stood looking out. The area he could see was not a lawn. A perfectly manicured lawn would not have lasted a week in that heat without absurd quantities of water. Rather the area featured plants suitable to the climate, -- bougainvillea, citrus trees, hibiscus -- a couple of palm trees and various flowering plants in pots. There was a seat over by the wall of his neighbour's outhouse and, if he moved Graeme could get a very oblique view of just the corner of their swimming pool. It all looked very pleasant and tidy. Certainly, it was devoid of people, at the moment.

He knew he was being nosey. Rather more than that, given he was hoping to see his neighbour's wife and wanting to see her out of his window because it would give him an erotic thrill. He looked at the door to the room. What would his wife think if she knew he was trying to play the voyeur? Yet his eyes returned to the window. A sudden intake of breath from Graeme, as a foot appeared in his field of vision, but, alas, it was his male neighbour coming into view once more, his penis swinging in a jolly fashion under his tee shirt. Graeme watched the man disappearing from his limited field of view, his buttocks peeking out from beneath his red tee shirt.

It was a pity his neighbour's wife was not out in their garden. Surely if her husband went around in just a tee shirt, she would not wear a lot. Graeme had certainly seen her and even spoken to her outside on the road. With his wife, Graeme was new to the area, had only bought the villa very recently and only just moved in. They had bought it for holidays, perhaps to rent out sometimes as well. The neighbours were about thirty, rather younger than Graeme's fifty years (or forty-nine as he liked to say still). The neighbouring wife was a pretty enough woman, Graeme had liked her long dark hair and high cheekbones. He had not been unhappy at her generous cleavage noted in her light shirt, possibly worn without a brassiere, when he had last seen her.

He stood there at the window hoping he might see his female neighbour. He knew very well he should not really be peeking, but he found himself almost glued to the spot in anticipation. A naughty anticipation.

Up to that moment Graeme's last sighting of the young wife had been a couple of days before out in the street but then, all of a sudden, there she was, down below him in the garden. One moment not there, the next fully in sight in the sunshine. Patience was rewarded, there were those breasts unobscured by anything at all. She was just in a pair of green bikini bottoms. Really it was little different from what could be seen on many beaches, but there was the important difference: Graeme was spying in secret. He had not intended to be a voyeur -- well, not much, he had noted one small window of a spare bedroom looked over his neighbours' garden and his reasons for being in that room that morning were, well, they were exactly to see if he could see anything.

Graeme felt himself getting hot and his armpits becoming damp; he leaned a little further forward staring at his neighbour's breasts whilst with a hand he lowered the fly of his shorts. A rather natural thing to do -- for a man. She was talking to her husband. He came back into view and there they both were: he naked from the waist down, she naked from the waist up. A tug and Graeme's penis was out of his fly and in his hand. It was quite different from his neighbours, the one outside was soft and wobbly, the one in his hand hard and rigid. Graeme was willing the man's penis to move. The thought of seeing the woman's hand reaching out and stroking it almost too good. How good it would be to see her erect him, see her hand upon the man's penis as his was on his own. But they just stood there talking and Graeme had to content himself with looking at the woman's breasts,

They were lovely and they were moving as the young wife talked and gesticulated. Pretty full, clearly rather firm with no sag at all; so good to see them wobble and swing; both were surmounted by pleasingly long nipples set in quite small, almost manly areolae. That was all that was manly about them! He thought about decorating them, a drizzle of warm 'cream.'

So strange the very next evening standing in those very neighbours' garden with a glass of beer in hand trying not to look up at his own little window. His wife had been talking to the neighbours; they had barely met until then and that meeting had led to them being invited around for drinks. Clarette was not now topless, definitely not, and Jarrett certainly had trousers on. The window was a lot less obvious from the garden side. Small, covered outside with a fly screen and half hidden by a mass of climbing Passiflora Edulis. Graeme tried to stand with his back to it so his eyes did not keep glancing up at his spy hole. He did not want to draw attention to it and for it to be in some way covered up -- or for his neighbours to ensure they were covered up when notionally private in their own garden. He had hopes of seeing rather more of Clarette. She really was lovely. It would be so good to see her again, unguarded and perhaps fully unclothed. Perhaps she might bend over... Naughty, bad, even wrong but what was the harm? None at all he could see, and Graeme had enjoyed his little voyeuring... and the wank. It was a pleasant evening.

He found he just could not keep away from that bedroom. If he passed the door he had to nip in, close the door behind him and take a little peek, hoping to see Clarette and Jarrett again. A feeling of disappointment when there was simply no movement at all in the garden below. He found himself lingering, hoping all at once a figure would come into his view, his ears straining to detect voices 'off stage.' He was not always disappointed but so often it was Jarrett or Clarette clothed.

A couple of days later he was in luck. Sort of. Graeme stepped into the bedroom and closed the door. It was quite early in the morning and he was on the way to make a cup of tea. Jill was not yet awake though he would probably wake her with a cup of tea on his return. Rather unlikely Clarette would yet be up and about and seemingly he was at least right about that, but instead there right outside his window was Jarrett. He at least was up and about in the early morning sunshine, perhaps just risen, certainly he stifled a yawn; the man was standing there with a book in hand motionless in his garden; perhaps he slept naked, it was certainly hot enough, because he did not have a stitch on, moreover he was standing there with an erection as large as life.

Graeme was not interested in men, not at all, but the association, the fellow feeling perhaps and certainly the connection to sex with Clarette came easily to mind; the thought that the tumescent penis he was looking at might have been slipping and sliding inside Clarette mere hours before, was a very good and arousing one. The thoughts of what penises did. As Graeme stared his own penis erected inside his pyjama bottoms. A quick tug at the cord and his pyjama bottoms fell to the ground leaving him as naked and erect as his neighbour. A real fellow feeling indeed: not that Jarrett could see him.

Had Jarrett been copulating with his wife the night before? Clearly, he had not that morning -- he would not be standing like that if he had! Graeme leant towards the window straining to see. The idea that he might detect dried semen on the man's knob gave him a strange thrill; his thoughts going to imagine how it had come about with Clarette. Better, of course, by far for it to have been her and to have seen the dripping evidence running down her thighs. If only he had binoculars to hand so he could examine Jarrett's penis for that evidence of connection with Clarette.

Strange seeing his neighbour naked and erect; strange seeing any man like that; strange watching him move around the garden with his penis up. In Graeme's mind the possibility and hope that Clarette might appear. He began to stroke himself, moving his foreskin up and down, at the thought of Clarette coming into view, perhaps dropping to her knees and sucking Jarrett's penis. Graeme would like to see that very much. Instead, with no dramatic entrance of Clarette from 'off stage,' Graeme had to content himself with half of the tableau and his imagination. Jarrett sported a fine enough erection, sticking up at a good angle, and a little to the right, from a mass of dark curls. In the early morning heat his balls swung gently.

Perhaps all the erection signified was an early morning need to relieve himself; maybe Jarrett would soon be watering the plants; perhaps it was a habit of Jarrett to take an early morning stroll around his garden, maybe enjoying the tumescent feeling, maybe he just ignored it.

In the garden Jarrett reached and pulled his erection down and then let it spring up. 'Boing!' Above him and unseen, Graeme stroked with more enthusiasm. Yes indeed, it was only a man he was seeing but he was naked and being sexual. The association of sex being enough to excite Graeme. Jarrett turned and walked towards the seat set against the wall opposite the window, showing Graeme his well-muscled buttocks.

Graeme smiled to himself; he was wanking to the sight of another man's bottom. How very dodgy indeed! If only Clarette would appear, her naked buttocks wobbling in that enticing way women have. The up and down alternate movement of the cheeks so arousing to the male of the species. The thought of the two sitting together on the bench and perhaps Clarette's hand reaching and closing. How Graeme would have loved to see Clarette exercising the cock he could see. Almost as much as he would like Clarette exercising his own cock! Exercising it to a conclusion. How good to imagine sitting the other side of her and her two hands working two men and, yes, making the semen appear.

Naked, Jarrett settled down with his book, raising it up to his eyes. He was focused on the book and not the half-hidden window up above, obscured in shadow and by metal gauze. His thighs were spread in that usual 'man spreading' way and so very centre stage was his erection -- fine and upstanding. Graeme did not feel at all nervous standing there naked and as tumescent as Jarrett; the man was not looking at the window, not looking at him or even, he thought, able to see some sort of vague outline of a naked wanking man in the unlit bedroom of the adjoining villa.

Graeme glanced around his field of view, still hoping for Clarette, perhaps in just pyjama bottoms, perhaps in a pair of sleeping shorts, perhaps in a diaphanous nightie, maybe nothing at all. Whatever she was wearing for sleep, there was not a sign she was around. Across from him his neighbour kept reading but, intriguingly his penis did not subside. There it was, naked and erect in the early sun. A fine upright fleshy pole. It in sun, much of Jarrett's body still in shade. No doubt a nice feeling but Graeme did not think the warmth alone would keep it hard. He began to wonder at what sort of book Jarrett was reading. Was it a 'naughty' book, no doubt in French? An intake of breath as he saw Jarrett reach down and begin to stroke his penis. The man was wanking in the sunshine; having an early morning wank in the privacy of his garden -- or rather his supposed privacy.

He had gone to the small bedroom to see if he could see Clarette and, indeed, derive sexual pleasure from that: instead, he had got Jarrett, not simply with soft, swinging genitalia but... Graeme watched in fascination and could not help stroking himself as Jarrett did just the same. It was not female sexual but it most certainly was sexual. He felt perhaps a fellow feeling, certainly he could imagine Jarrett with Clarette and at least see half of the story.

A thought, should he -- it was unlikely Jarrett would be going anywhere in a hurry. Graeme moved, out of the door and downstairs to grab a pair of binoculars. Had his wife appeared and seen him hurrying back upstairs, naked, with his turgid penis swaying and with the binoculars in hand he had no idea how he would explain that away. Still more when she saw not curvaceous Clarette but jacking Jarrett outside the window of the small bedroom -- the one with the, unusually, open door.

Through the binoculars he watched the moving hand as he examined his neighbour's penis in close-up. Not, of course, a lot different from his own though his view was one he only had of himself in a mirror. He could not detect evidence of recent sexual intercourse.

He put the binoculars down and watched and wanked. Perhaps he should stop watching and go and lie on the bed and finish his own wank whilst imagining naked Clarette -- alas, only imagining, he had not yet seen her completely in the buff. Yet he could not drag himself away. There was still the hope of Clarette appearing, and, undoubtedly, there was fascination and erotic implication in seeing naked Jarrett and his self-stimulation. He watched the man place the book down and sit for a moment with his penis in the air before standing and walking off towards his villa's door. Perhaps he would go and have a swim to cool his enthusiasm.

The book was left on the bench. What was it about? Even with the binoculars Graeme could not make out the title. Almost certainly in French which was a pity. Graeme thought he would very much like an English version to see if it had the same effect upon him. Remarkable seeing Jarrett walking with an erection; he would have difficulty when he next met Jarrett next, having seen him like that. Graeme could imagine if he was around theirs again for drinks -- or at his own villa -- standing chatting with Clarette and Jarrett he would think just that. In his mind would be the lovely thought of Jarrett and him both standing naked with erections attending upon the lovely Clarette. How good would that be! He knew even with them standing there all fully clothed he would erect and find it exciting to be standing like that albeit with it all, thankfully, hidden under his clothes.

The man returned carrying a small cup of coffee, an Expresso. Coffee, reading and a wank in the early morning sun. Perhaps a good way to start the day.

It could all have gone on for an hour or more and Graeme would have got bored. Instead it became clear that Jarrett had come to a particularly pleasing passage. How he would like to have known what it was. Was it a young schoolgirl being chastised and things getting rather carried away; was it more of a romance where the couple finally got together; was it some special interest story even more specialised than schoolgirl caning? It could have been anything but certainly Jarrett's hand was moving a lot. Graeme found himself doing just the same despite it very much not being Clarette fingering herself down there in the garden.

And then he saw it. A male orgasm that was not his own. Right there in front of him, down below in Jarrett's garden; semen coming out of the end of his neighbour's engorged penis in short sharp bursts there in the sunshine. Spurts of brilliant white in the sunlight shooting from the penis head. One thing to see his own do that: quite different to see another man and his penis. The man not looking but with his eyes glued to what he was reading.

Graeme could not quite bring himself to do it: not bring himself to ejaculate whilst staring at his naked and recently ejaculated neighbour. There on the ground before Jarrett was the man's cum and his penis was still turgid and running. Just another few strokes, barely one even, and Graeme would be filling his palm with his own cream or else it would have been pattering away on the floor. But it just did not seem quite right. Graeme turned and walked to the door and went to make the tea as originally planned. He was almost shaking with sexual excitement. He was certainly perspiring freely. Very sweaty indeed. He had got really worked up. Such a sight. It was not so much seeing the man and what he had done but the excitement of having watched surreptitiously. It was particularly that; the thrill of the voyeur -- the thrill of the chase when suddenly there is the quarry and it is a fine specimen!

Yes indeed, a fine buck -- the allusion was sound. Jarrett's cock had certainly not been something a man would be disappointed in. Of course, he had wanted to see Clarette, but it had still sparked such sexual excitement and thoughts.

It was not something Graeme normally did, wander around his villa naked and certainly not erect but the erection would not go down. It was just so strong -- he was just so aroused. Wonderful, actually. So good that he stepped outside and walked around his pool. In his mind the image of Jarrett's penis spurting and spurting. Had Clarette been there with Jarrett he would not have seen that; rather the man's cum would have been deposited in vagina or mouth or - Graeme's hand went again to his penis and stroked -- or bottom.

Or, how about, a good thing to imagine: Jarrett and he standing both erect and wanking and cumming all over Clarette's breasts. All over her full, firm boobs, the generous semen perhaps dripping from her long nipples, wet upon her small, almost manly areolae. Graeme could visualise that -- he had seen her breasts after all. What a thought. What a thing to do with another man.

The penis had still not gone down when his naked feet ascended the stone steps as he carried two cups of tea back to his bedroom and Jill.

"Oh," she said as he walked through the door. Jill was already awake and sitting up and reading. Graeme had thought of putting his pyjama bottoms back on -- indeed he would need to retrieve them -- but had thought how good it would be to walk in on his wife like that and hope she did something about it.

"Oh," she said again, "tea and cock. How nice."

"I've been thinking..."

"I can see that... was she nice?"

Graeme walked up to his wife's side of the bed and put the teacup down carefully; his erection loomed towards her. So good seeing Jill in close proximity to his hard penis. She smiled and, as he had hoped, leant across and took his knob into her mouth. It did not take a lot of sucking before Graeme came; the cum feeling unusually hot as it came up his urethra and out into her mouth. As she always did, she let him both cum in her mouth and swallowed. In his mind the image of his neighbour coming there on the seat in the garden.