The Neighbor's Window — Watching & Being Watched

I noticed him the first week I moved in. My new apartment was on the third floor, and directly across the alley — maybe thirty feet away — was his window. His bedroom window. The first night, I saw him doing pull-ups in his doorway, shirtless, back muscles rippling. I didn't look away.

After that, it became a thing. I'd leave my curtains open intentionally. He'd do the same. We'd make eye contact across the dark gap between our buildings, and neither of us would look away. Sometimes I'd stretch on my bed in just a tank top. Sometimes he'd walk around in just a towel. It was the hottest thing that had ever happened to me, and we hadn't even spoken.

One night — 11 PM, our usual time — I decided to push things. I lay on my bed, turned toward the window, and slid my hand into my panties. Slowly. Deliberately. He was at his window, watching. I saw him lean forward.

He pulled his shorts down and started stroking himself, his eyes never leaving me. We touched ourselves for each other across the alley — me with two fingers inside myself, him with his hand wrapped around his thick cock. I watched the way it glistened in the dim light. I came with a gasp, my body arching off the bed.

Ten minutes later, there was a knock at my door.

I opened it, and there he was — still shirtless, shorts pulled on, breathing hard. Up close, he was even more gorgeous. Green eyes. Stubble. A crooked smile.

"Hi," he said. "I'm Noah. I live across the alley. I figured after that, we should probably actually meet."

I pulled him inside and kissed him before he could say another word.

He fucked me against my front door, my legs wrapped around his waist, his cock driving into me while we both moaned loud enough that my downstairs neighbor definitely heard. It was fast and rough and desperate — months of tension breaking all at once. He came inside me with a groan, and I came right after, my nails digging into his shoulders.

Afterward, he stayed. We lay on my bed — the same bed he'd watched from across the alley — and talked for hours. About our jobs. Our lives. All the things we'd imagined about each other.

"I've been waiting for you to knock for months," I admitted.

"Me too," he said. "But the show was pretty good."

I hit him with a pillow. He kissed me. And then we gave each other another show — this time, together.