Window Dressing

Pearl's heart fluttered. She hadn't had such a reaction to such a sight in at least ten years. She looked back to her monitor, but the words could not hold her attention. She looked back, and the woman was already walking away from the window, disappearing into the relative darkness of the apartment.

She looked out to the empty apartment for a few seconds more. All was now still. Even the plants were still, no breeze moving through the impeccably clean glass.

Pearl turned back to her AMA. Someone asked how big her dick was.

She took this picture herself, as she hid her cock behind her gigantic three-foot plastic coin bank shaped like a crayon that she had held on since her youth.

"Not that big. It's smaller than a crayon!"

---

A few days later, Pearl was back at her laptop, at her desk. Fantasies about the attractive and hung futa smut writer usually dressed her in lingerie and stockings as she wrote. In reality, she was in a faded, stretched-out T-shirt and G-string, her hair tied back in a sloppy ponytail. Pearl never thought she looked bad, but she would certainly not leave the apartment like this.

Her reader's ideas of Pearl having an erection as she wrote were accurate. During the AMA, someone asked if she 'wrote with a boner,' to which she responded, 'I write with a laptop.' This time... Pearl found herself uninspired to write about vein-coated ding-dongs. She plunked a few hundred words down on some non-erotic writing she had occasionally tinkered with. The notion of selling something non-erotic to a publisher under a pseudonym... now that was a fantasy that really excited her.

Between paragraphs, she rubbed her eye with her knuckle under her glasses and glanced out her window.

There she was again. The sharply-dressed woman in the apartment across from hers. Once again, she was watering the pair of plants that stood at the edges of the large window. But this time... the woman wore only a towel, holding a cell phone to her ear with her shoulder. The towel pinched her breasts together, the cleavage so pronounced that it almost looked like the shadow had been enhanced with makeup.

Once the woman watered the second plant, she quickly turned in place, a bit too quickly for the loose fold holding her towel in place. One end of the towel slipped out and the damp thing slid off her curves and fell to the floor, revealing the woman's entirely nude backside.

Pearl gasped, and looked back to her laptop screen... for only a moment before looking back up. It was a very nice butt, and her back was shapely and shiny with moisture from her shower. Before Pearl could think on whether or not she should even be watching this, the woman turned around to pick up the towel as casually as she would retrieve a receipt that had fallen from her purse.

And she was dumbstruck by what she saw.

Not the baps. Those were there and as large and lush as she expected, dotted with specks of water and her nipples erect from the chill of evaporation. What staggered her was what was between this woman's legs:

A cock. A really big one.

In Pearl's line of work, she had to come up with many different ways to describe the huge dongs she wrote about. Sometimes she compared them to other body parts or common objects, if she wanted the reader's mind to adjust to their own level of comfort. Other times, she described the cocks in good old Imperial inches. She would describe this one as probably ten or eleven inches, an impressive hang for a flaccid cock.

How did she come to this conclusion? Had all this time studying futa cocks given her the expertise to know its size from a glance, the way musicians can name the pitch of any note?

This time, the work was easier. The woman went down on one knee to retrieve the towel from the floor... and her cock touched the floor just before the knee did. She saw it flex just a bit to the left as she retrieved the towel. She turned in place, the cock wagging out from her body, and she walked off into the apartment, the interior lighting too dim to see her any longer.

There was a gentle snap sound from under the table, as the straps on her G-string broke, unable to keep her sudden increase in mass contained.

Pearl splashed cold water from the kitchen sink on her face, but it did nothing to chill the fever that currently gripped her. Below her chin... not too far below, was her erection, harder than if she had choked the base with a hair tie.

She's a futa. Her neighbor was a futa. A futa with a monstrous cock and a casual attitude towards personal nudity in her home and sun-hungry plants that meant that she kept her curtains perpetually open. And Pearl had just seen her completely naked. She didn't know her name or what she did for a living. All she knew was she was a futa, perhaps something she kept secret from all but her closest friends.

Pearl had looked into someone's window... and saw them naked. This was voyeurism. The thing she swore she'd never WRITE about... she had just done for real. What a hypocrite she really was.

She wanted to run outside and take a walk to get some fresh air... but not with this boner, she couldn't. Maybe she could open a window... if she ever dared to approach a window again, knowing what leering eyes existed where she could not herself see. She desperately wanted to release this sudden tension in her... but not with such a stolen image in her mind. She felt like she could throw up out of shame... except she was actually really hungry after only having a Pop-Tart for breakfast. (Well... two Pop-Tarts. Who eats just one?)

Tucking her erection into her shirt, she walked up to her window and threw her curtains closed. She sat back down at her desk and looked at her erotic prose.

Despite her obvious physical signs of arousal, the prose did nothing for her. It may as well have been a huge meaningless squiggle.

Pearl saved her document and closed her laptop, moving it to the corner of the apartment, where the power cable lived among some other outlets. That was the one downside with her window-facing workstation: the lack of a nearby power outlet.

When writing at her table, the attractive view used to be an upside. Now Pearl wasn't so sure.

---

A few more days went by. There were sporadic moments of productivity over those days, but no large satisfying bursts. Pearl was feeling very uninspired today. She didn't often find herself in such a deeply uncreative mood.

Sometimes, Pearl took some of those adult classes to learn some form of creative skills to give writing a break. She had done the 'wine painting,' but she drank grape juice when everyone else was getting sloshed. It was doubly disappointing because there were lots of cute chicks in the class that she would have loved to 'team up' with, but not when they were drunk. That would surely be a consent issue.

Consent had been on her mind a lot, as of late. Her curtains had been closed ever since she accidentally saw her neighbor nude across the way. But every time she looked up to her heavy, light-blocking curtains... it may as well have been a brick wall. Her lovely apartment on the top floor may as well have been a dingy basement.

Pearl looked down at her writing software. Sometimes the words on the page formed like magic into the erotic worlds of her mind. But restricted as she was, with no sunlight and blue sky to shine on her... they were just words. (She'd love to be one of these posers who goes to write in public in a cafe, but to write smut in public... she'd need to find a coffee shop with a very laissez-faire attitude to large futa erections.)

She looked up again, again dissatisfied at the wall of fabric between her and sunshine. The only window visible to her now was the screen on her laptop, and whatever depths that machine provided her.

Pearl flipped through her absolutely enormous collection of digital pornography, looking for some image that might spark some inspiration. Her collection of videos was smaller than her collection of pictures. Videos were good for getting to the finish line as soon as possible, in case she had a funeral to attend and absolutely could not allow herself to become aroused.

She had an entire folder filled with public nudity videos and photos. It was one of her favorite fetishes, especially in the rare times she got to indulge in it herself. Most people didn't seem to care about a nude woman walking around, as even straight women didn't seem to object to the sight of a nude woman. Adding a penis to the form, even to one as comely and agreeable as her own, apparently brought the entire enterprise back into the territory of unacceptable obscenity.

Could that be the reason why she felt so hemmed in? Keeping the window closed and letting even just a few rays of sunshine into her apartment... it was that little bit of outdoors that made sitting in her living room feel just a bit like... the outdoors?

Pearl was an exhibitionist. But she also lived in the real world, where most average people didn't want to see a giant erection as they were going about their day. Pearl's attitude towards that was unorthodox, for sure. Thus, she kept her own appearances to private events where everyone wanted to see her cock. Except maybe the security guards, but... those that wanted to see it could stand inside and watch.

Her folder of public nudity pics had a subfolder titled 'beach.' She was a little too fair and a little too busy to make many trips to the beach herself. But why bother making the trip, when there were acres of naked ocean-speckled boobs and butts readily accessible on her hard drive?

There was a picture she'd found a year or so ago, of three completely nude futa on a beach with the surf rolling in behind them. Outside their huge flaccid cocks hanging heavily like wind socks on a calm day, accented within their tan-lined pubic zones... they all were in possession of thick thighs and round asses. They were certainly curvier than the average picture of a nude person on the Internet, but certainly not what anyone reasonable would call 'fat.' That was why people younger than her invented that word 'thicc.' Even as a writer, Pearl wasn't sure if that word was positive or negative.

What a lovely image this was. She wondered if there was any more. Pearl dropped the image into a reverse image search to see if she could find what the Internet called 'sauce.' The image was evidently part of an image set, but most of the sites or forums where it was posted...

They were sites entirely dedicated to voyeur porn.

Pearl's heart sank. This was the danger in cultivating a taste for images of nude women on beaches. The field was deeply cross-pollinated with pictures of women on nude beaches who didn't know they were being observed and recorded. Or at least, pictures that CLAIMED to be so. It was like if pepperoni pizza had a one-in-four chance of those pepperoni being sliced pieces of a cat's tail. The idea was enough to ruin the beach forever, much faster than the crowds and the pollution.

She looked back to the image. The shine had come off. It really didn't stir her lust at all anymore, if it really was a piece of stolen nudity.

Hang on, she thought. When was the last time she was even in a room with TWO other futa? Maybe there were two futa somewhere in the stands of that baseball game she got dragged to that one time. That stadium allegedly holds forty thousand people... it was possible. Otherwise, she had never been in the same place as two other futa.

So... these pictures must be staged. Right?

The search for the originating website continued... if it was indeed a website and not some random jerk just spreading it around the Internet to embarrass the women involved. Not sure why these women would be embarrassed about their giant dicks. It never caused Pearl any embarrassment, no matter how people stared...

Was this Photoshopped? Could it be a different picture that had some cocks added to imply the women in the photo were futa, and thus not appropriate breeding stock for the hyper-picky Internet masturbators out there who considered themselves alphas?

Pearl zoomed in on the cocks, close enough that it really didn't look like anything anymore, just a mass of fleshy pixels that could just as easily be a zoomed-in texture from DOOM. There didn't seem to be any distortion, misaligned pixels or anything else that would indicate photographic manipulation.

Eventually, she found another website themed around voyeurism that hosted more of the image set. It showed more images of their nude bodies and cocks from more angles, so the idea that someone manipulated so many images so convincingly was not credible. This selection of images had one that showed the three futa women standing shoulder-to-shoulder and linking arms... as if posing for a picture.

But they weren't facing the camera. Or at least... they weren't facing the camera that took THIS picture.

Could this be a surreptitious photo... of a legitimate nude photo shoot?

If so... that unscrupulous pervert, going to beaches with a telephoto lens in an attempt to abscond with pictures of unsuspecting nude women... they must have left that beach feeling like it was Christmas.

Unless he didn't like futa. But really, who didn't appreciate the sight of a nice futa cock bobbing about? Pearl certainly did.

She looked past her laptop screen, and back to the closed curtains. It felt like taking the mirror out of a bathroom; the 'depth' that window provided made her space seem so much bigger. Putting the curtains up made it feel like a prison cell or a cage in a zoo.

Except that in a zoo... someone would definitely be watching her. Or at least someone would be throwing her steaks.

When she had less income, Pearl had considered becoming one of those streamers who sold their nudity to the thirsty. She'd been told most of her life that she was attractive, and she was obviously hung. Not everyone liked those two things at the same time, but those that did seemed to have very deep pockets.

As she now had as much money as she needed, she preferred to give it away for free. Not with pictures spread to the internet, but with public nudity at 'private' events. Releasing nude images on the Internet was a quick way to lose control of one's image. Even if every female actress, singer or politician had their nudity created with image manipulation, there was no reason to make it easy for them.

All of this was dancing around a question. Even if Pearl liked it when a stranger saw her impressive nudity, would this random woman across from her feel the same way? Was she just oblivious as to how much of her one could see when she stood just so, and when the sun was just right?

What if someone put up a camera in Pearl's apartment, where anyone could log into a website and see her in her apartment, in whatever state she was at that moment? It was Bentham who wrote about the Panopticon, where one could be seen without knowing for sure if one really was being watched.

Then again... that was fine with Pearl. She could totally deal with having people watching her strut around her apartment in her undies. They'd see her blow her nose, pick out a wedgie, eat a cookie after she dropped it... well, she probably wouldn't do that. It'd definitely come off her hardwood floors coated in cat hair. But having a cam for people to watch her real life... that didn't bother her at all.

So long as the camera wouldn't show her laptop screen as she wrote. Now THAT was private. Anyone who wanted to was allowed to see Pearl's big erection, but she would not let anyone read anything until a draft was finished.

She stared at her laptop screen. With her curtains drawn, it really did seem quite bright. This sort of eye strain could advance her mild nearsightedness. She had always resisted the idea that sitting too close to the television as a youth had damaged her eyesight. But maybe her mom had a point.

Pearl threw the curtains open.

Across the way, her neighbor's curtains were still open, those two pampered plants sucking up the sunlight. The neighbor herself didn't appear to be present. After all, it was the late morning, when most people left their dwellings to do their jobs, those poor jerks.

Surely, there was no harm in keeping the curtains open now... right? The apartment was empty... unless she had a pet. Her own experiences with pets told her that cats and potted plants were not the happiest of roommates. Maybe she had a dog who would walk up to that window and roll on his back to catch some sun.

No! If she wanted to meet her neighbor's puppy, if it even existed, she could meet them in the elevator like normal person. Or she could bring over a tray of Rice Krispies Squares to her neighbor and get an 'in' that way.

Pearl got back in her chair, set up her music, and started writing.

---

It was now the evening. Pearl had gotten a bit of writing done, but most of the afternoon was spent goofing off. She either goofed off in the afternoon because she was productive in her early morning and could do so guilt-free, or she did it because no words were coming at that particular moment and she might as well do something fun.

Now that it was dark out, she could see the city lit up in the distance. It was a scene beautiful enough to be a postcard of her lovely city.

None of those lights evoked quite the same reaction as when the light in the apartment across the way turned on.

A pair of legs beneath a skirt tapped along gracefully in heels into the open kitchen. Or at least that's where she was going if the neighbor's floor plan matched her own. She disappeared for a few minutes behind the proscenium of the picture window. If this woman DID have a dog, or at least a good one, that dog would have run to the door the second they heard the keys enter the lock.

She could still have a cat. Pearl could return from her apartment after five years in a Guatemalan prison and her stupid cat wouldn't move out of the sunbeam to greet her.

The neighbor returned to their couch. Pearl thought she might have spent the time to make up a mixed drink, it being late enough that perhaps she ate a quick dinner at the office. Instead, she had a small white tub and a package of crackers, probably Ritz. Maybe the tub had cream cheese in it.

Was this... her dinner? Didn't seem like the kind of thing a fashionable and beautiful woman like her would have. Then again, Pearl knew she had eaten an entire bag of potato chips for dinner on days where she was either deeply entrenched in work... or during any white-knuckle season finale.

Of course, Pearl was never really able to get completely away from her work station, the way others could. If she'd been a bit more disciplined, she could reach her daily word quota, or at least get close, and then she could continuing doing nothing important when all the decent television was on.

In college, Pearl was encouraged to 'people-watch' by a writing professor. They encouraged her to go into public and write the things down that others were saying. To Pearl, this always seemed to be a violation of etiquette, even if nothing made it into a published story. Even deliberately listening to someone else's conversation... that was eavesdropping. It was one thing for an artist to take visual inspiration from the appearance of someone in public. A person's outward appearance was never something meant to be concealed, or else... someone would conceal it.

Pearl's TV stayed off for the night, as she instead watched through their windows as the mysterious woman ate the whole sleeve of crackers, with a bit of whatever the white stuff was. Sour cream? Onion dip? Creme fraiche?

To Pearl's right, her cat meowed, staring up from the floor.

"I filled your bowl already." Pearl said.

Her cat reared up and jumped up into Pearl's lap.