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Message-ID: <54220asstr$1153455002@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: "Polaris" <polestar@runbox.com>
Subject: {ASSM} REV Sharing Love {Polaris} (MF cons voy)
Lines: 1404
Date: Fri, 21 Jul 2006 00:10:02 -0400
Path: assm.asstr-mirror.org!not-for-mail
Approved: <assm@asstr-mirror.org>
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d




<1st attachment, "FWV.doc" begin>

x-archive-expire: 2007-08-01
Author: Polaris
Title: Sharing Love
Summary: A newly single professor discovers the joy of watching,
and finds   that it need not be a solitary pleasure.
Keywords: MF, consensual, voyeurism


Sharing Love


Cindy lived in the house next to mine, one of a row of
near-identical two story frame buildings on our suburban Boston
street. I had met her, and her husband, Fred, a few days after I
moved in, and noticed right away that she was lovely, with a
certain look of fun about her, too. She wasn't actually
flirtatious; she and Fred just seemed to be genuinely friendly,
welcoming me to the neighborhood and getting acquainted, so I
felt vaguely ashamed of my thoughts about her, which were frankly
lustful. Yet I couldn't help myself. I had been a long time
without a lover, and she was simply too attractive to ignore. 

I probably would have spent even more time thinking about her, as
I went on with the process of moving in and starting a new job
and a new, unmarried life, if I hadn't been distracted by the
activities of my fellow renters in the apartment upstairs from
mine. I was certainly lonely, and was becoming accustomed to
being single again, and I was very much inclined to find female
companionship, so I might well have soon done something about
Cindy. The sounds from upstairs, though, quickly seized all my
attention.

It started, in fact, the evening after I had met Cindy and Fred.
I was finishing up my dinner and absently scanning the newspaper,
musing on how Cindy's braless breasts had moved under her Red Sox
tee shirt. The shirt had apparently belonged to a younger and
smaller sister, and the breasts could easily have belonged to a
somewhat larger girl. My thoughts were moving pleasantly in an
erotic direction - picturing how those breasts might look without
the shirt and while moving beneath me, and what sweet sounds
Cindy might make - when I realized that those sweetly urgent
feminine sounds of pleasure and encouragement were not in my
imagination, but were definitely, faintly, coming from somewhere
nearby.

I put down the Globe, the paper and Cindy both forgotten in that
instant, and stood up, listening intently, pushing the chair
slowly away so as not to make any noise. Again I heard it, the
words themselves unintelligible, but the pitch, the tone, the
murmured syllables, unmistakably conveying passion, pleasure and
growing urgency. I was electrified. My entire consciousness
seemed focused on my sense of hearing as I strained to draw in
those fascinating sounds. Moving slowly away from the kitchen
table where I'd been, I realized the sounds were coming through
the ceiling, and seemed to be stronger as I neared the hallway
toward the back of the house. I padded quietly in that direction
and sensed that the soft moans, little squeals and sighs were
clearest as I approached the door to the back porch, though they
were coming through the ceiling, also. The couple above were
approaching the end of their lovemaking, however, and their
cries, her soprano voice and now, his deeper accompaniment,
peaked and faded before I could move closer to their source. A
few indistinct murmurs and a low, languorous, chuckle, then
silence. I stood there a few moments more, my face lifted to the
ceiling and my ears straining vainly for more, then I slumped and
exhaled as I became aware of myself and of what had happened. 

My heart was beating rapidly, even pounding, and my penis was
rigid and aching in my pants. I tried to understand what I was
feeling. Obviously I was sexually aroused, but it seemed all out
of proportion to the faint and not-so-exceptional sounds I'd
heard. I was excited, even thrilled, as if I somehow had done
something dangerous. Or maybe not dangerous, but illicit and
risky. That was it: I'd enjoyed hearing the couple above, almost
as if I were participating in their coupling, but without their
knowledge, and almost certainly against their will. If they knew,
they'd be embarrassed and angry, perhaps labeling me a pervert or
weirdo. If they told anyone else, I'd be publicly disgraced. I
didn't care, though. It had been wonderful, and I wanted to do it
again. Of that, there was no doubt.

Well, now. What was all this about? I'd never thought of myself
as a voyeur. I'd looked at and listened to the usual porn,
especially since it became universally available on the internet.
In everyday life I'd sometimes caught sight of an exposed female
thigh or even the occasional nipple, and I'd certainly enjoyed
that. Not in the same breathless, riveting way I'd reacted to the
sounds above my apartment tonight, though. Whatever the reasons
were, it was inescapable: I was a voyeur now, and, I imagined, a
voyeur I'd remain. I wanted to hear them up there above my
bedroom doing it again. Not only that; I wanted to see them, too,
if I could manage it without being caught. What if the male
upstairs found out and wanted to fight? I'm not a weakling, but I
had no idea what he was like. He could be a weight lifter or a
black belt. Clearly, the solution was never, ever, to be caught.
As I continued to examine my feelings, I realized that while I
definitely wanted to voyeur women or couples, I thankfully had no
desire to voyeur males. Was voyeur a verb? I didn't even know. My
thoughts were scattered, jumping crazily between topics. I did
know, however, that there were millions of couples out there, and
surely some of them were careless enough that I could see or hear
them if I really wanted to. An entire new activity was opening up
for me, and I was going to need some time to understand it all.

Apparently, during these fevered and confused thoughts, I'd found
my way back to the kitchen table and seated myself before the
remains of my dinner. I pulled myself together and forced myself
to think more rationally. Obviously, there were issues to be
dealt with here, and new pleasures to be examined, but the
immediacy and intensity of the past few minutes were receding,
and I could view what had transpired more coolly. I cleaned up my
meal and went to bed, where I quickly fell into a deep sleep,
shadowed by strange superimpositions of Cindy and the sounds from
above.

 	 I spent the next day on campus at my new office, attempting to
prepare my lecture notes and organize my desk in anticipation of
the upcoming semester, but made hard work of it. My thoughts
constantly wandered to the sounds I had heard from the apartment
above, and, more importantly, to how I could improve my ability
to hear them. I left my office as soon as decently possible and
hurried back to my apartment, bemused and self-conscious, but
still determined to pursue my plan.

That plan, plainly, was to find places and methods for hearing
and even seeing the lovemaking of my neighbors. I could think of
nothing else. It seemed supremely important, if not entirely
rational. The train ride and walk home seemed endless.
Immediately on entering my apartment, I put down my briefcase and
began. I went out onto the back porch of my apartment and checked
the parking area behind the house, making sure my neighbors' car
wasn't there. I listened carefully for the sound of movement
upstairs. Hearing nothing, I eased up the back stairs from my
porch to the porch above, until my head rose above the porch
floor and I could see the back door of the second floor
apartment. Next to the door was a window, which, if the layout of
the apartment were identical to mine, would open into the
bedroom. Perfect.

I looked around with my best imitation of nonchalance, hoping to
appear as if I belonged there, and saw no obvious onlookers, so I
climbed two more steps, bringing my eyes up to the level of the
windowsill. With a little thrill, I saw that the curtains hung an
inch short of the sill, permitting a clear view into the bedroom.
I looked around again, nervously, as my next move would make it
considerably more obvious that I was doing something out of the
ordinary. Seeing no suspicious neighbors, I moved up to the porch
floor on hands and knees and crept up to the window. In this
position my eyes were comfortably located opposite the gap
beneath the curtains and I could peer directly inside. Now my
hopes were answered completely, as I saw the bedroom laid out
before me like a theater set. Against the opposite wall, at
center stage, were a king size mattress and box springs resting
directly on the floor, so that the surface of the mattress was
perfectly positioned a short distance below my eyes. The
bedspread and blanket were pushed down off the foot of the bed
onto the floor. The sheets were rumpled and, I saw in a shock of
titillation, spotted with the unmistakable signs of the
lovemaking I had heard the previous evening.

I sank back onto my heels for a moment, to absorb what I had seen
and the opportunities that were presented. After one more quick
look around, I moved closer to the window again and examined the
room, which turned out to contain only a few additional pieces of
inexpensive furniture: a framed mirror over a dresser, and a
standing floor lamp beside a chair just to the right of "my"
window. With newly-developing awareness, I made certain that my
face at the window would not be seen in the mirror by someone on
the bed, and that the floor lamp, if illuminated, would not
reveal me, outside. I could not be certain of the latter, but it
appeared that the window frame would shadow me from the direct
light of the lamp, making my features, in relative darkness, even
more difficult to discern from inside the room.

Congratulating myself on my cleverness, and filled with
anticipation of returning later in the evening, I backed away on
hands and knees until I was again on the stairs, then turned
carefully and descended casually to my own porch below. As I
turned from the stairs toward my back door, I realized that
someone was ringing my front doorbell, and might have been doing
so for some time. Guiltily, as if I had been caught, I hurried
through the apartment to the front door, where I could see the
silhouette of my caller through the frosted glass. I quickly
unfastened the latch and opened the door, and found myself
suddenly blushing into the smiling, exuberant, and innocently
sexual face of my neighbor, Cindy.


Of course Cindy immediately wanted to know why I was so
flustered, but I knew I couldn't possibly confess to her the
complex mixture of thoughts and emotions that were spinning
through my mind. Her sudden appearance, when I was immersed in an
activity I was sure she would find reprehensible, coupled with
the memory of my earlier erotic fantasies about her, and the
sheer arousing force of her presence, left me stunned and
embarrassed. I feared she would somehow guess my thoughts, or I
would blurt them out, and she would be shocked and contemptuous.
I finally recovered sufficiently to mutter vaguely about
difficulty opening the door and waved my hand distractedly,
inviting her in. She clearly didn't believe me, and grinned slyly
as she moved past me, her unfettered breasts in their customary
tee shirt lightly brushing my chest, perhaps by accident. I was
in no condition to guess. I literally took a deep breath,
attempted to gather my wits, and exhaled slowly, before following
her into the kitchen, where she was already helping herself to a
beer from the refrigerator.

She'd just dropped by for some company, she explained, as she
expertly twisted the cap from the bottle, flipped it accurately
into the wastebasket, took a full, unladylike swallow, sighed her
appreciation, and nimbly hoisted half of her tightly
denim-encased rear onto the edge of my kitchen table. Fred, it
seemed, was working late as usual, and it was just too nice of an
evening to sit inside at home, alone. I was left trying to catch
up again, groping for a response while dealing with the movement
of her mouth on the bottle and the way her thighs opened
carelessly to me as she perched on my table.

I suppose I had been in a state of excitement for quite a while,
with the goings-on upstairs, my explorations on the porch, and
Cindy's own earlier effects. In any event, I seemed still to be
unable to steer my thoughts away from erotic directions. As we
continued to chat, Cindy quite unselfconsciously and myself less
so, I found myself fixating on her mouth. She had that sort of
small, sweet mouth, with lovely little-girl lips, that had always
appealed to me. As I watched those lips move, I pictured them
stretching to accommodate the head of my penis, then relaxing
slightly, sliding slowly down my shaft. As one might imagine,
that particular image was somewhat distracting, but I gradually
pulled my thoughts into order and began to simply enjoy our
conversation.

Cindy, the conversation revealed, actually was just as cheerful,
sunny and open as she had seemed on first impression, but not
simple. She also brought an educated, unconventional intelligence
and a healthy cynicism into the mix. An artist, she had studied
and thought deeply in areas about which I knew little, but her
wit and depth of knowledge were apparent. I would come to find
her intelligence to be as delightful as her sexiness, but for me
her frank and intense sensuality was, at first, the overwhelming
factor. Still, that late summer night in my kitchen, we talked
long and widely, through a few more beers and a takeout pizza,
and became friends.

 There was always an undercurrent, it seemed to me, of sexual
awareness. Of course there was no question of my own interest,
but hers was harder to pin down. I've never been an especially
accurate interpreter of female behavior though I've certainly
enjoyed watching it all my life - so I couldn't say exactly what
Cindy was doing, but I constantly sensed that she was presenting
her body to me. First a nipple, for instance, tenting the
material of her shirt, then the fullness of her breasts moving in
that classic, elastic bounce as she lifted her arms to emphasize
a point, or later, the intriguing tilt and sway of her slender
hips as she moved away from me to the refrigerator for another
beer. As time went by I was increasingly convinced she was doing
it on purpose, even if I couldn't say how.

Eventually, with the beer gone and the pizza long cooled, we
slowed down and simply kept company with each other, speaking
infrequently and sharing relaxed silences, listening to the night
sounds outside. Finally, we heard Fred pull into the driveway
next door, and we walked somewhat muzzily to my door, where she
unconsciously, sleepily kissed me and went off home.

I stood, bemused, fingering my lips where they had touched hers,
and watched her go. So many things were happening in my life, and
particularly, it seemed, in the possible revival of my sex life.
First, a sudden and exciting voyeuristic bent discovered. Now, a
growing friendship with a young woman who fired my most intense
erotic impulses, and who just might, I sensed, be interested in
sharing those impulses with me. The question was: where was I
headed with all this? Toward the solitary pleasures of
surreptitiously observing the passions of others, or into the
complications and passions of a relationship, still only barely
hinted, with my lovely, married, neighbor? Which did I really
want? Which could I really have?

Finally I had to laugh at myself, and the soap opera that seemed
to be running itself in my head. It sounded like one of those
romance novels for repressed spinsters, rewritten for a lonely,
recently divorced, and slightly drunk male. Nevertheless, there
might be some interesting days ahead. I gathered up the bottles
and pizza, and went down the hall to bed. Not, however, without
listening for sounds from upstairs. 

The next morning I awakened and immediately, without thinking,
listened for the sounds of intimacy above me. The sounds that
were coming through the ceiling, though, were those of breakfast,
not bedsprings, so I got up and tended to my own preparations for
the day. Just as I was gathering my papers to leave, I saw the
couple from upstairs going down the back stairs and out to their
car. I'd scarcely seen them before, and so hadn't really
remembered their appearance. Now, though, I was considerably more
interested, and peered intently out at them. He was handsome, I
supposed, in an ordinary way. Well built and moving easily, he
looked like a former athlete who had kept himself in shape.
Blonde and tan, he was a contrast to his partner. She was
exceptionally pretty, at least from a distance; a fair-skinned
brunette whose hair hung past her shoulders and shone lovely in
the morning sunlight. Her waist was very slender, flaring into
graceful hips and fine legs. She walked firmly, with long
strides, strong and lithe. I guessed them both to be in their
late twenties. 

All in all, a fine-looking couple, and certainly an attractive
target for my - what? Vicarious lust? Invasive but benevolent
intimacy? Simple, harmless voyeurism? Sick, disgusting
perversion? I couldn't say, though I certainly meant them no
harm, and devoutly hoped they would never become aware of my
interest. As to sickness or perversion, I suppose no one ever
sees himself as the villain, no matter how twisted he may appear
to others. I could find no self-disgust in myself - just an
eagerness to pursue this new thing, and impatience for the coming
evening's events. Watching her decorously clad thighs move under
her skirt, and seeing her knees modestly held together as she
lowered herself into the car, I thought about the fact that I had
already heard her make sounds she thought unheard by anyone but
her lover, and that soon I might see those thighs, bare and
thoughtlessly spread; those knees, lifted and parted to give
access. That I would soon become her secret, unknown lover, and
she, mine. What would she think if she knew? 

I remained at the window while they started their car and drove
away, turning those thoughts about and examining the feelings
they generated with newfound relish. With a start, I realized
that time had passed, and hurried to finished gathering my
papers. Smiling inwardly, I made my way out the front door and
down the walk toward the street, only to meet the other recent
source of excitement in my life.

Cindy, in yet another tee shirt, was coming down the front steps
of her house to pick up the morning paper from her lawn. She
flashed me that memorable grin, bent over for the paper, and
skipped back up the steps, thus allowing me another memorable
sight: her lovely ass, this time without denim or any other
covering, with an entrancing blond tuft peeking out at me from
the tender juncture of those bouncing globes.

Frozen in place, I took a moment to confirm to myself that it had
truly happened, and further, that it had been no accident. In the
instant after I had spied that stunning little bit of fur,
bouncing up the stairs, there had been just the faintest hint of
a merry giggle, cut short by the closing door. I could only grin
myself, in imitation of Cindy, and turn to walk away, shaking my
head in wonder and happy gratitude.
 
I covered the distance to my train, and the commute to campus, in
a pleasant state of anticipation and mild arousal, and somehow
did my day's work in the same warm fog. As soon as my untenured
status allowed, I was out of my office, striding down the street
to the station, back on the train toward home and the events of
the night.

Much has been written, fictionally and factually, about "the
first time" which is supposed to be thrilling or at least
important. If all worked out well, if circumstances and my
neighbors cooperated, tonight promised to be another "first time"
of sorts for me. Somehow, despite all the years that had passed
since my first, first time, I found myself as eager, nervous, and
impatient now as then. I tried to be calm, to attend to other,
ordinary matters, and to maintain an adult attitude of patience,
but truthfully I could think of little else, as the late summer
twilight fell and the sounds and activities of the neighborhood
segued into evening mode. My housemates were indeed at home
upstairs, their tread - heavy for him, light for her - clearly
audible along with fainter sounds of their voices. I forced
myself to prepare dinner and attempted to eat, but made little
progress. Sitting at the table, staring at my cooling plate, I
heard kitchen sounds begin above me and realized that hours would
pass before anyone would be going to bed. Embarrassed by my own
impatience, I disposed of the uneaten meal, poured myself an
unaccustomed scotch, and fell into the chair before the
television. I was still there an hour later, the drink gone,
along with another, and the television muted to let me check on
sounds from upstairs, when my doorbell rang, shockingly loud,
levitating me from the chair and halfway to the door before I
realized what was happening.

It was Cindy, of course, complete with tee shirt and that amazing
grin, both of which aroused pleasantly disturbing memories of
that little blonde morning tuft and giggle. Additionally she had,
in no particular order: two six-packs of very good beer, two
erect nipples, a pair of extremely short denim cut-offs, and a
pair of nervous, vulnerable eyes. Fred, she informed me in a
voice less casual than she probably wished, was working late.

The situation was, as they say in the military, untenable. On the
one hand, this appeared to be the quintessential,
once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. She was here, she was clearly
lonely and ready, she was everything I could desire in a sexual
partner, and it could be oh, so very good. On the other hand, a
brand new personal experience was in the offing upstairs. They
were up there, my neighbors, just above me, and they were in all
likelihood going to have sex together tonight, soon, within
hearing and in plain sight. It was something I had anticipated
with more pleasure than anything in a long, long time. But I
could not watch them while Cindy was here.

It got worse. Cindy wasn't simply a desirable potential sexual
partner; she had become a friend. Right now she was vulnerable,
and probably here for some less-than-ideal reason involving her
relationship with Fred. Lovemaking with her tonight simply was
not permissible. But, if I didn't spend time with her tonight,
when she obviously needed my company, I would not be the friend
she deserved - that I wanted to be - and, and, I would probably
never, ever, have another opportunity to have sex with her. Since
sex with Cindy was something I had come to desire greatly, and
since our friendship regrettably had precedence over present
desires, my choice became clear: I was required to keep company
with Cindy tonight, not have sex with her, and forgo my
voyeuristic plans for the evening.

Well, damn.

All this consideration of the situation had taken only a few
seconds, and Cindy hadn't noticed my distraction. I smiled and
made her welcome, said I had no plans and would love some
company, sat her down in the living room, and ordered Chinese. At
this rate, we were going to work our way through the fast-food
spectrum in less than a week. Anyway, we settled on the sofa to
talk while we waited for the food to arrive.

I wasn't really possible for Cindy not to be attractive and
provocative, but the natural, exuberant sexuality of the previous
evening was subdued tonight. She was still trying, as when she
came in, to offer and invite casual carnality, but her heart
wasn't in it. I could see her determination fading into the
wistful vulnerability I'd sensed earlier. Just couple of beers
and a few gently probing questions were enough to let her open
up. Her eyes brimmed over and the sad tale poured out. Nothing
particularly original, as she herself acknowledged, but painful
all the same. Fred was never there, Fred had nothing to say,
Cindy was always alone and had no one with whom to talk, and the
love seemed to be slipping away. The old, sad, lonely story. She
related her tale simply, with occasional sad little smiles and
sniffles. She brightened up briefly to inhale most of the Sichuan
chicken when it arrived, but a full stomach and another beer soon
had her drowsy, sighing and yawning. 

I pushed aside the food cartons, slid down the sofa to her, and
put my arm around her shoulders, cradling her head against my
chest, in the traditional comforting pose. She sighed deeply, and
snuggled closer. A few more sighs, a snuggle or two, and she was
quickly, deeply asleep.

What male hasn't found himself, at one time or another, in this
situation? A classic dilemma, particularly when the female under
one's arm is someone new. From my angle, looking down at her, the
softly upswept girl eyelashes, the downy cheeks, and the pink,
slightly parted lips, were the picture of lovely tenderness and
vulnerability. Warm puffs of her breath touched my chest, and the
unmistakable fullness of her breasts pressed insistently against
me. Her slender, tanned legs were just slightly splayed as she
relaxed in sleep, and the low waist of her cutoffs arched across
her pelvic bones, offering a shadowy glimpse down along the
secret curve of her belly. My free hand was poised to reach all
these treasures and more. I was filled with conflicting yet
related urges to hold, shelter and protect her, but also to
awaken her with intimate caresses, carry her into my bed, and
gently ravage all that tender flesh and warm femininity.

On the other hand, my arm was falling asleep, my shoulder joint
was painful, and I was going to need to urinate very soon. I
couldn't ravage her, at least tonight, I couldn't fix her
problems and probably shouldn't try, and I really wanted to find
out what my neighbors upstairs were up to.

Not being a saint or a superman, I did what most ordinary men
would do. I held still long enough to make certain she was truly
asleep, then slowly, carefully disengaged. I eased my numbed arm
from around her, listening for any change in her breathing, then
leaned her against a pillow and quietly backed away. I took a
moment to admire her as she lay there, a slightly rumpled and
softly snoring angel, then hurried off to the bathroom to get rid
of all that beer.

I returned to check on Cindy once more, rubbing my aching
shoulder and tingling arm, and saw that she had swung her legs up
onto the sofa, lying curled up like a child, sleeping just as
sweetly. I threw an afghan, crocheted by my ex-wife - who would
have been horrified - over her, and tiptoed away.

Where I went, of course, was down the hall, out on the back
porch, and up the stairs, to look in on my neighbors. To my great
joy, I could hear the unmistakable sounds of passion coming down
to me as I started to climb. Apparently my virtue and patience
were to be rewarded after all. I had comforted a friend, had not
molested her in her moment of vulnerability, and had passed the
time pleasantly and even generously with her, until the objects
of my interest upstairs were ready to, well, perform for me.
Clearly, I was worthy to enjoy the pleasures awaiting me at the
top of the stairs. I grinned fatuously to myself.

Granted, the drinks and the beers and the residual excitement
from cuddling Cindy were affecting my thinking, but I did feel
excited, relieved, and even somehow justified, to finally go up
those stairs and peer through the window at my unsuspecting
neighbors. I could hear the soft voice of the female cooing in
rhythm with the persistent creaking of the mattress and springs,
and my mind filled with fevered images of what I would see in a
few more steps. My heart was pounding, my erection was a bar of
lead in my pants - but I still had enough sense of my situation
to be amazed at the degree of my excitement. I stopped for a
moment, just short of the step that would give me a view through
the bedroom window, to gather my senses and calm down. I took a
few deep breaths, laughing at myself on some level, but aware
that I really did need to get a grip on my feelings. It came to
me that this was what people were talking about, when they spoke
of being 'thrilled'. This was a thrill for me. And hang the
consequences! I took one more step up.

As my eyes rose above the windowsill I saw, under the curtain and
through the open window, a sight that was more even than I had
hoped for. My lovely, dark-haired, lady neighbor was astride her
lover, her back and beautiful bottom turned to me, impaled on his
penis, all her secret places revealed to me, as she squirmed up
and down on him, her sweet juices shining on him and on her, her
opening stretching and flexing as she moved up and down, taking
it in and out and in. Her buttocks flexed and clenched as she
rode, her back arched and bowed, and her shining hair tossed and
waved like a flag of her passion while her sweet voice wordlessly
sang her pleasure.

Overwhelmed, entranced, I found myself kneeling at the window,
having crossed the landing from the stairs unaware, my fingertips
on the sill and my eyes to the gap. My lady was trembling now,
moaning and crying as she neared her climax. Her lover added his
own deeper note, and I felt myself moving in sympathy with him
into her even as I watched her move on him. Behind me, a tiny
sound! My lady paused, poised above him for an instant, with his
penis just barely inside her. Had she heard it too? Would she
turn and see me? But then she plunged down on him, moaning and
grinding against him as he thrust and twisted and spurted within
her.

Then: "What in the Hell are you doing!"

	It was Cindy, of course. I twisted around, terrified, to see her
behind me at the top of the stairs, then frantically whirled back
to the window to make certain we hadn't been heard.

Relief flooded me and nearly made me sink to the floor, but the
scene within seized me instantly. Caught up again, I forgot Cindy
and my situation, and everything else, as I gazed at the lovers.
Finished, she lay atop him, her head lowered beside his as they
murmured and sighed to each other. She was still utterly exposed
to me, and a thrill of shock and lust ran thorough me as I
watched her labia, still stretched around his waning member,
pulse with involuntary contractions. Just above, her tiny pink
anus likewise puckered in the same slow, fading rhythm. She moved
gently on him, then chuckled faintly, clenching her perfect
buttocks. His penis slithered obscenely out of her and flopped
down on his scrotum, and her opening gaped momentarily before
closing itself, her outer lips still flushed and swollen, frothy
with her juices.

They became still, sated, and I came to myself, stirred and
astounded by what I had seen, but suddenly aware of my
surroundings, and the awful, impossible, ruinous presence of
Cindy behind me. I turned my head to face her, dreading her
expression. But she wasn't looking at me. Her eyes were fixed
over my shoulder at the window, and I suddenly realized that,
from her place on the stairs, she was looking directly through
the gap under the curtain and into the bedroom. She had seen what
I had seen, and was still looking. As I watched her, she seemed
to give a small jerk and focused her gaze on me. She blinked,
almost as if awakening, and turned slowly away, silently
descending the stairs and going back into my apartment.

I followed, already cursing myself for letting my excitement and
desire ruin a friendship that had been becoming very important to
me. For disappointing a friend. For losing a possible lover, just
to watch other people making love. For being an idiotic,
self-indulgent, perverse, voyeuristic weirdo. By the time I
caught up with Cindy in the kitchen, I utterly hated myself -
even though I knew that I would do it again, given the chance.
She turned to face me, her arms folded on those breasts - that I
now would never see - her expression unreadable. I braced my self
for the onslaught and stammered, trying to find the words to
begin an explanation. But Cindy spoke first.

She said, "Wow, that was so cool!" And she threw herself into my
arms.

I was having too many overwhelming experiences, too close
together. Still flushed and trembling from what I had seen
upstairs, shocked and shamed by Cindy's discovery of my
voyeurism, and now finding myself holding a squirming armful of
aroused and lovely womanhood, I felt my mind begin to shut down.
The overload on my senses and my consciousness was more that I
could handle, it seemed, and I simply couldn't think.

 Fortunately, Cindy was not so overextended. In fact, her
immediate objective was simple and readily apparent: she wanted
to be kissed. At least kissed. She was pressing herself against
me, breathing heavily, and grinding her pubis against my thigh.
Her face was upturned, and her eyes were on my mouth rather than
my eyes. As I looked down, she did look up into my eyes, just
before she closed hers and parted her lips. Even in my present
state of confusion, I knew what to do. I tightened my arms around
her, pulled her even more firmly against my body, and lowered my
mouth to hers.

For a moment I was aware of the heat and wetness of her mouth as
I felt her lips open wider, and her tongue eagerly sought mine.
She breathed into me and her body seemed to soften all over,
fitting itself to mine. I felt her tongue fluttering on mine, and
then I ceased thinking and fell into her kiss completely.

After a timeless interval I became conscious of myself and of her
body once more. My penis was painful, trapped in my pants and
throbbing with the attempt to stand erect. I could feel Cindy's
pubic mound against my leg, humping steadily, hot and damp, even
through our clothing. Her hands were linked behind my head,
pulling our mouths more deeply together, and her breath was
sighing in and out of my lungs. I opened my eyes and saw hers
open an instant later. Our arms loosened at the same time, and we
stepped back from each other, gasping. I searched her face for
some indication of where to go from here, but again she showed me
directly.

 Staring into my face, she pulled her shirt over her head in one
motion and stood almost defiantly, her breasts heaving high and
firm as she breathed, her nipples tight and hard. Without moving
her gaze, she pulled open her cutoffs and pushed them down her
thighs, letting them fall around her ankles. She toed them aside
and stood with unthinking grace, one knee slightly flexed and
turned out, in the classic artist's model pose. My breath caught
at her loveliness, and her expression softened as she saw my
reaction. I moved my eyes down from hers, over those perfect
breasts with their young, pink aureoles and peaked nipples; down,
down, past a tiny navel, along the slight convexity of her belly,
to her sex. The blonde wisp I had glimpsed so briefly, before,
was fully revealed now, only slightly veiling the rich,
unexpected plumpness of the pudenda. Cindy shifted her weight
slowly, and her labia opened wetly, allowing me a breathtaking
glimpse of her rosy inner lips.

I was literally stricken dumb, absolutely unable to speak. I
raised my eyes again and found a tiny, ironic smile touching
Cindy's mouth. She looked down at the distended front of my pants
and raised a questioning eyebrow, playing at cool, though her
breathing was fast and ragged. I jerked into almost frenzied
motion. My clothes and shoes seemed to fight me, but I was not to
be denied, and I finally finished with them strewn around me. My
erection stood rock-hard and aching. Cindy exhaled slowly as she
stared at it, then moved toward me. We almost crashed together,
eager for the feel of each other's nakedness, but were suddenly
clumsy as my penis collided awkwardly with her belly. I pulled
away and turned slightly, then reached joyously for her crotch,
my left hand simultaneously sliding down and around for my first,
wonderful feel of her ass. The middle finger of my right arrived
at her pussy and she inhaled suddenly as it slid slickly home,
diving down along her firm, swollen clitoris and curling up into
her depths. She grunted softly and pushed herself into my hand,
sinking my finger deeper.

I realized she was grasping my cock with both hands, pulling it
toward her waiting cunt. I barely had the wit remaining to
realize that I couldn't plunge into her while standing there; she
was too short. Her vagina was squeezing my finger, though, and
her hands on my cock were bringing me rapidly to a crisis.
Urgently, I moved my hands to her waist and began backing her
toward the kitchen table. She looked at my face, her eyes glazed
and unseeing, then flinched as the table edge pressed into her
buttocks, but she never let go of my cock. I moved my hands under
her, lifting, and saw her understand. She gave a little hop,
levitating onto the table, and opened her legs, pulling me along.
She kissed me again, playing with lips and tongue. Her feet
gently stroked my back and thighs, drawing me in. She broke the
kiss and smiled at me, as she slowly lay back on the table and
raised her knees.

I tried to take in the vision she was, lying like that and
presenting herself to me, for me. I wanted to always remember
this: her lustful smile, the beauty of her limbs, the richness of
her breasts, and the frank offering of her perfect, inviting,
luscious cunt. I think perhaps she may have been trying for
something like that too, as she looked up at me, over her supine
body and between her upraised, opened thighs. I imagined briefly
how I might look to her, my face filled with affection and lust,
my chest heaving, and my cock straining toward her proffered
pussy, as I gently pushed her knees further apart and came to
her.

But we couldn't wait for making memories. The immediate pressure
was too great. I caught a whiff of her scent, and I could feel my
nostrils flare. It was time. The head of my cock pushed between
her cunt lips and began to sink slowly, steadily into her. She
sighed and tilted her pelvis a little to accommodate me. I
glanced up at her face. Her eyes were closed and she had almost a
listening expression, as she felt me pushing in. Deeper and
deeper I sank into the silky grip of her vagina, and she seemed
to soften again, opening her legs a bit more, accepting the
penetration. Finally I was all the way in. I felt the head of my
cock gently bump over her cervix and nudge into the very end of
her passage, just as my pubic bone came firmly up against hers.
Some part of me seemed to confirm what it had expected: we were a
perfect fit. I didn't move for a moment, simply savoring the
sensation of her surrounding me, gripping me, holding me inside
her body.

I looked up again and saw her smiling at me. I pulled myself back
as she watched, then moved in again. I was rewarded as her eyes
closed and she gave a small groan of pleasure. I pulled and
thrust again, slowly, but the sensation overwhelmed my restraint
and I had to plunge more rapidly, more strongly. A thought forced
itself into my haze of pleasure: would I finish too soon, leave
her disappointed? I couldn't hold back, though. I was lost. I
reached up to hold her shoulders and realized that she was
already nearing her orgasm, her eyes closed and her lips drawing
back from her teeth, her vagina beginning to spasm around me. She
began an almost imperceptible tremor, which grew rapidly into
rapid shaking of her entire body, and I felt her clutch and
flutter, sucking and squeezing me in seeming desperation. Her
legs pulled me irresistibly to her and she began to emit breathy
little grunts that grew swiftly into full-voiced, unrestrained
cawing. The muscles of her neck were straining with her effort,
and she once again stared straight into my eyes, her bright blue
irises ringing dilated black pupils that seemed to draw me in,
even as her body did the same.

It was more than I could stand. I simply let go and pumped
frantically, slamming into her again and again as fast as I
could. Through the fog of lust and sensation I heard the slaps of
my thighs and balls against her, echoed by her rhythmic cries,
and my cock seemed to swell and gather itself. Our eyes were
locked together. Her pelvis lifted off the table and she
screamed. An inarticulate roar burst from deep in my chest. The
pressure inside my balls exploded, and surge after surge of hot
semen pulsed through my glowing, inflamed cock as I strained and
quivered against her.

Finally, the spurts ebbed, then ceased, and Cindy slowly lowered
herself back to the table top, drawing me with her, still deeply
imbedded. She sighed and looked away, suddenly shy somehow. I
reached up to stroke her hair as a wave of tenderness washed over
me, while still slowly moving gently in and out of her. In a
moment her internal muscles clutched at me again, and her arms
tightened around me as she shuddered through an aftershock. She
looked back at me and gave a little puff of feigned wonder and
exhaustion, but then clenched on me again as another spasm took
her.

Now I was aware of her body beginning to reshape itself as
separate from mine, and felt the edge of the table digging into
my thighs. My back was straining from leaning down over her, and
the bubble of arousal that had surrounded us and isolated us from
all else dissipated. I was back in my kitchen again, naked,
sweaty, my flaccid penis slicked and dripping, and I was standing
between my neighbor Cindy's legs. She was lying back flat on the
table, her lower legs draped over the edge, one hand idly
brushing her pubis. I stepped back and she propped herself up on
her elbows, then sat up and pulled her knees together almost
primly. We both looked around, seeming anywhere but at each
other, but then we both quit that silliness and smiled into each
other's eyes.

"Well - " I began.

"So - " she said at the same time.

We both stopped, smiling. 

"Beer?" I said quickly.

"God, yes!" she blurted.

I moved around to the refrigerator and pulled out a pair of
bottles, glad for the distraction, and made somewhat of a
production of opening them and passing one to her. We drank
together, tilting the bottles up and taking large, gurgling
pulls. The beer was suddenly wonderful: bitter, cold and
refreshing. I hadn't realized how thirsty I was. Cindy seemed to
feel the same, taking another quick gulp before sliding off the
table and moving to gather her scattered clothing. She glanced at
the table, then ruefully at me, then back at the table, nodding
at the shiny trail she had left while sliding. We laughed
together and I felt the tension dissipate. Cindy fingered her
soaked and matted muff and we looked down at my own pubic hair,
shiny with our juices. My cock was sticky with drying semen and a
trail of wetness ran down my leg.

"Guess there's no denying what we've been up to," she shrugged.

"Guess not," I admitted. "But, uh, how on Earth did this happen?
When you caught me. I mean, when you found me looking at, well,
you know, I was afraid..."

"You mean when I caught you peeping at your neighbors fucking?"
she asked, grinning. "Well, who wouldn't peep at them? That was
hot! I've seen movies, but never real people doing it when they
think no one's looking. It's different   real or something. I,
uh, guess you noticed what it did to me."

"I surely did. I thought you were going to hate me and tell
everyone what a pervert I am, but you were - well, you were
really aroused."

"No kidding. And not just from finding you up there, doing what
you were doing. Or just from watching them. You'd been so sweet
and so careful earlier, and the other times I've been with you,
when I could tell you were looking at me and wanting to do a lot
more than just look. I've been doing everything I could think of
to get you into bed, without actually being slutty and obvious. I
was beginning to think I'd have to hit you over the head. But
finally, I managed to catch you all excited, and I was too.
Excited, hell: I may have been a little flushed, but you were
about to blow out your zipper!"

She grinned up at me insolently, tee shirt in hand, her nudity
forgotten or, maybe, flaunted. Her hair was tousled around her
face and her lips were swollen and bruised from kissing. The tops
of her breasts were flushed, and her pussy was, too - glowing at
me from between her lovely thighs. She was magnificent. I drank
her in, wanting this image never to fade. I could hardly believe
I had just been inside that gorgeous, vivid body; that I had
pumped my seed into her; that I would do it again. My cock
stirred and lifted. She saw it, and lifted her eyes to mine,
raising that same inquisitive eyebrow she had used not so long
ago.

"Oh, yeah?" Now both eyebrows rose appraisingly as she examined
the rising evidence. Her head tilted dubiously, but - I rejoiced
to see - eagerly. "You really think so?" I held out my hands,
palms up, glanced down once more. Hard and throbbing, the damn
thing stood there, unmistakable and blatant.

"Well, it certainly looks that way. I'm probably more surprised
than you," I confessed. "Should we do something about it, before
it goes away?" She moved her hand to touch it, smearing the clear
drop that was forming on the tip. I felt my cock pulse with
pleasure and I stepped toward her. 

"Come with me," I husked, my throat suddenly tight and dry. I
started to lead her down the hall to the bedroom, but she turned
ahead of me and went along, giving me my first real opportunity
to study her unclad posterior. There were charming, naughty
dimples I hadn't expected, given her slenderness. She gave it a
little extra, vamping, then turned her head and gave me a long,
slow look under heavy eyelashes   a look as unmistakable, if not
as blatant, as my rigid member. I followed her into the room, my
cock waggling ahead of me in a manner that would have been
comical if the mood were different.

We pulled the bedcover down, studied and calm, all uncertainty
gone, standing on opposite sides of the bed, then moved onto the
mattress together. With an unconscious gesture she told me to lie
back, then moved down, kneeling to take me in her mouth. It was a
revelation for me. I had experienced oral sex many times in my
life and - as they say - the worst I'd ever had was wonderful.
Nevertheless, I had always been somewhat unimpressed, concluding
that the pleasure lay more in the gesture of affection and
willing service than in the physical sensations.

 Lying there in my own bachelor bed, in the first few seconds of
having Cindy's lips, tongue and fingers upon me, I finally
understood what all the fuss was about. She was tenderly, sweetly
making love to my genitals, yes. But she was also using every
movement, pressure, and friction at her disposal to stimulate
them to the absolute maximum, and to suck my semen from me as
quickly and completely as she could. She was stroking my shaft
with her circled fingers. She was massaging and squeezing my
balls with perfectly controlled pressure, one finger sneaking
down to tease and poke my asshole. She was tonguing the head of
my penis in an excruciatingly pleasurable way, and finally, she
was sucking so hard I could feel my cock swelling even larger as
her cheeks sank in with her efforts. All the while she was
humming and slurping happily, squirming like a puppy and looking
up at me with lustful, mischievous eyes.

For a while I simply wallowed in it, gazing at the ceiling and
trying to comprehend the incredible sensations spreading from my
groin. Occasionally I would look down to confirm it was really
happening, that this lovely young woman was working so hard and
so well to bring me to ecstasy. Some dazed remnant of good
manners moved me, at last, to squirm my head and shoulders around
toward her in an effort to return the favor. She simply shook her
head to say, "No" while still diligently sucking, then barely
pulled off of me, trailing a beguiling strand of saliva back to
my inflamed knob, just long enough to add, "Another time," and
bent to her task once more. I gave up the attempt and surrendered
myself to her mouth. Soon I felt my climax becoming inevitable,
rising at a quickening rate that would soon become explosive.
Gasping, I raised my head to warn her, "Cindy...Cindy, I'm about
to..."

Pulling off me with a wet popping sound, she grasped the base of
my cock firmly and smiled. "Another time," she repeated. She
squeezed tightly, and amazed, I felt my orgasm recede. Cindy's
smile was recognizably the same one I had seen so many times
before, but her eyes were unfocused and her lips were slack with
lust and abandon. She clambered up astride me, never releasing
her hold, and straddled my hips, fumbling a little in her haste
to plant my swollen glans against her opening. Finally relaxing
her grip, she gave a little wiggle of adjustment and firmly
impaled herself. I was ecstatic to feel the now-familiar nubbin
of her cervix and to sense again the perfection of our fitting
together. Clasped happily in her snug, welcoming sheath, I simply
relaxed to adore the way she looked astride me, and to savor the
sounds and sensations of her sweet exercise.

Cindy was motionless for a moment, eyes closed and breathing deep
as she adjusted to my presence within her. She was crouched above
me, her feet pressed into the mattress on either side of me,
touching me only where her hands pressed against my chest, and
where her pubis rested upon mine. Slowly, she raised her
hindquarters until only the tip of my penis nestled between her
sweetly stretched labia. Then she lowered herself on my shaft to
rub herself briefly against my pubis, only to draw herself
sensuously up along that wet and swollen axis and then plunge
down again. Soon she was posting like a huntress on a cantering
horse. Her eyes were tightly closed and the cords of her neck
again began to stand out. That almost-painful grimace pulled her
lips back and she began sharp expulsions every time she slid down
to bottom out against me: "huh...huh...Huh...HUH!"

Suddenly she jammed herself down and began a frantic to and fro
motion, grinding her clitoris against me. Her movements became
irregular and uncoordinated, and I feared she would lose me, so I
grasped her hips and tried to hold her down on me as she began to
shake and wail. Her eyes snapped open and she froze for an
instant, then she jerked convulsively three times, twisting and
grinding, mewling like a cat in agony or ecstasy -  I couldn't
tell which. Again she was motionless, then jerked against me
once, paused, and did it once more, less violently. She softened,
relaxing, it seemed, all over, and she fell forward on my chest.
I could still feel her squeezing me faintly, rhythmically, below.
Unbidden, the memory came to me of my neighbor upstairs clutching
the shrinking penis of her lover in the same rhythm, and it may
have come to Cindy, too, because she chucked just then in the
exact low tone the woman above had used.

I, however, did not slither out. I was still rigid. I did not
know if I would ever be otherwise. Still, my lover lay exhausted
and sated upon me, and I had certainly taken my pleasures with
her (and the couple upstairs) tonight, so I gently pulled myself
out of that tight, heated grip. Sliding and turning, I brought
Cindy to the mattress, both of us on our sides, facing each
other. I put a hand on each side of her face and pulled her to me
for a soft kiss. Her breathing slowed and she lay languid in my
arms. She moved her gaze over my face, studying me, then let her
head fall onto the pillow.

"Holy shit," she said.

"Exactly."

"What do we do now?"

"Well," I said, gently prodding her belly with the slippery end
of my penis. "There's the matter of my, uh, unrequited..."

"Damn it, you know what I mean... us!" She actually rolled her
eyes. It was adorable. I grinned into those amazing blue
windows.

"Oh you want to take care of the minor issues first? I said.
"Okay, this won't take long. Hmm - when can you move in? And what
about Fred? I think that's about it."

She giggled. It sounded exactly like the one I had heard when she
flashed me her sweet ass on the porch steps... was it only a few
hours ago? She lowered her chin, so serious, and said, "These are
vital matters, sir. Please behave accordingly." Unfortunately for
her credibility, she chose that moment to throw her leg over
mine, brushing her soft, damp bush across the sensitive head of
my - yes, still hard - penis.

"Yes, well, harrumph!" I blustered. "Let's take the difficult
issues first. What about, harrumph, err, Fred?"

"Harrumph?" She echoed. "Harrumph? What's with that? Oh, wait; I
get it - you're blustering at me."

"Right in one," I confessed. " I'll behave. No more hurrumphing.
But really, what about Fred?"

"Well, you know about what I told you earlier. You know, about
how things are not so good between us, and there really doesn't
seem to be any love..."

"Mmm, Hmm," I nodded.

"And the thing is, we're not really married."  She paused. "That
was a lie. Just what we told people, to avoid hassles."

"So, you're not married," I said. She nodded. "And you don't need
a divorce." Her head bobbed again. "And you don't have any
kids...?" This time, I confess, I was a little apprehensive,
though there had been no sign of children.

"Kids? God, no. With him?" I felt myself relax, a little ashamed
of myself.

"Okay," I said. "That's simple, then. You tell him tomorrow. Or
we tell him. Whatever. Now for the easy one: when can you move
in?" She giggled again. I could learn to like that giggle. Then
she straightened, as much as one can when lying naked in bed, and
looked into my eyes, serious again.

"Really? I mean, are you that sure?" Her eyes searched mine. " I
mean, given how, well, sudden this all is, and how little we
really know about each other..."

"I'm sure," I answered her, taking her face in my hands again and
brushing her lips. "Let me tell you. I knew my ex-wife for years
before we married, but it was still a disaster. I don't think you
can ever really know, until you give it a try. What have we got
to lose, really? Let's just move in, and try living from day to
day, and see how the months and years turn out." I was straining
to express my true thoughts and feelings, trying to let her see
that I believed in this, how much I wanted to try. "Come live
with me, and be my love," I said, smiling at the clich.
"And...we'll...just...see."

She was silent for a long time, her eyes moving over my face.
Then her eyes lost focus and I could see her working through it
all. Finally she focused on me again and gave a firm little nod.
"Okay. We'll see."

"I love a woman who can make a decision," I grinned. And I think
I may be falling in love with you, anyway."

"I just might fall in love with you, too, stud. As you say -
we'll see." She reached down and held my erection gently. "But
right now, will you please put this thing in me and get some
relief before I have to go home?"

I sighed dramatically, and murmured, "Oh, thank God. I thought
you'd never ask. May I?"

Without another word, she released me and moved onto hands and
knees on the mattress. Smiling, she lowered her head onto her
forearms and presented her upraised hindquarters to me. I gazed
for a moment at the sweet target she so willingly offered, then
moved up behind to mount her in the old, animal way. As she felt
my organ begin to spread her, she pushed back slightly, easing me
in, drawing me into her humid, welcoming passage.

I began to move in the ancient tempo, working steadily in and
out, and she moved to perfectly align herself with my strokes,
then held herself still: a passive, patient instrument of
pleasure and a loving receptacle for my seed. I felt a rush of
gratitude to her, giving herself so unselfishly and completely,
trusting me to give myself likewise when she needed. I continued
to strop myself in her wonderful, silken warmth. I sensed my
union with her and all those like us, down the ages, who had
performed this same tender ritual; and I wondered right now, at
this moment, how many were coupled just as we, in this city, in
the world. For a moment it seemed we were all lovers together.

 But the rising, insistent sensations in my own vitals drew me
back, and once more it was just Cindy, and me, together. My
balls, gently swinging and bumping against her cunt, drew
themselves up close and emptied themselves, my penis pulsing and
throbbing as I gently pulled her against me and gratefully buried
myself to the hilt in her once more. I felt my offering stream
out of me, into her; and she, feeling it too, sighed and accepted
it with a gentle thrust in return.

I stayed within her for another minute, returning to the world
where we all live, separately. Then, smiling, I withdrew my now
completely exhausted member and, with one lingering look at the
heart-stopping view she offered, moved as if to lie down beside
her once more. She looked around at me with an expression
newly-bred females have probably worn since the beginning of
time, but then shook herself and swung her legs off the bed,
saying, "I really do have to get home. It's going to be tough
enough telling Fred tomorrow, but I don't want him to find out
tonight. Will you forgive me for running out?"

"Right now I'd forgive you for anything, toots," I said in my
best Groucho, complete with wiggly eyebrows. She frowned,
puzzled. I hurried on, in my own voice. "No, really, it's OK,
sweetie. I know what you mean. Right now we don't need to cuddle
and sweet-talk. Besides, I'm probably going to pass out in about
thirty seconds."

She grinned her thanks and we headed up the hallway for our first
enactment of another lovers' ritual: gathering up the scattered
clothes. We accomplished the task and pulled shirts and pants on
groggily, then made our way to the door. She gave me another
sleepy little kiss, much like the one the previous evening, but
so different now. I watched her pad barefoot across to her house,
shoes in hand, and then made my way through my apartment, turning
off the lights, and back to my bedroom. I fell into the musky bed
and was instantly asleep.

As one might expect, I wandered through the next day at work in a
fog of satiated sensuality and sexual fatigue. As I made my way
home, though, I was amazed to find myself beginning to step more
quickly, with remembered visions of Cindy and Myself, and of my
upstairs neighbors, heating my thoughts. I hurried down my street
to my apartment and saw, from some distance away, a small,
forlorn figure seated on my front steps.

Imagining all sorts of disastrous scenarios between Cindy and
Fred, I hurried up the walk toward her. She grinned that fabulous
grin at me, though, and jumped up happily. Relieved, I moved to
hug her. I received a quick but frankly amorous kiss, a
surreptitious grope and a happy "Hi!"

I returned all three as best I could, then held her away to
inspect her. She smiled brightly at me, but her eyes wavered away
from mine, briefly, then returned, uncertainly. I noticed a pair
of suitcases and a large plastic bag, stuffed with - of course -
tee shirts and cutoffs, beside her. "How are you?" I asked.

"Well, I'm free," she ventured, somewhat carefully. "I mean -
Fred threw me out. So, I'm I free woman. So, uh, will you still
have me? I mean - do you still want me to..."

"Oh, Hell yes!" I beamed. "Did you think that was just bullshit,
last night?"

She gave me a super, high-wattage version of her smile, making me
feel like a very lucky man, and giving me great hopes for the
evening. "Not really," she said, "but I hadn't seen you all day,
and people say stuff while they're...well, when they..." she
trailed off, shrugging. 

"In bed?" I whispered conspiratorially. "Making love? Having sex?
Doing the dirty? Bumpin' uglies? Fookin'?" I leered at her as
evilly as I knew how.

"Well, yes." She admitted, slapping my arm and pretending to
pout. "I believed you, but then I was sitting here outside your
door like an orphan, and I started to wonder..." She shook her
head and frowned up at me quizzically. "...Fookin'?"

"Technical term," I told her. "Only for collitch perfessers and
such. Means fucking. Wanna?" I tried the leer again.

"Gee, I don't know, professor," she gave me, in a little
girly-girl voice. She turned baby-blues up at me and batted her
eyelashes. "Are you sure you're not just being nice to me so I'll
let you - you know..."

"Of course not, my dear," I assured her professorially. I swept
grandly past her, picked up her luggage, and went through the
door ahead of her. "Why, someday, I may even want to have a
conversation with you."

That earned me a kick in the rump, hard enough to make me think
twice before teasing her again. But then I heard that terrific
giggle behind me, as she picked up her bag of clothes and
followed me in, for our first full night together.

We opted for sushi this time, continuing our progress through the
take-out spectrum. We chattered like old friends as we attempted
chopsticks - Cindy much more proficient that I - and dribbled soy
sauce, wasabi and green tea onto the table. Sated, we compressed
the leftover Styrofoam-rice-and-sauce mess into the trashcan,
retrieved new beers from the refrigerator, and ambled out to the
front porch to enjoy the coolness. We really did seem to have the
easy, uninhibited camaraderie of old friends, but we also had two
new lifetimes of experience, feelings, and opinions to exchange.
Ours was easily the most enjoyable conversation I've ever shared,
with the bonus of glancing over occasionally, as the dusk slowly
fell, to see Cindy leaning back in her chair, graceful legs
propped up on the porch railing, breasts riding high and firm,
her lovely child-woman face silhouetted, spending the evening
with me.

Eventually the beers were empty, the sun was gone, and, perhaps,
thoughts of bed were intruding. We moved into the kitchen,
fiddling with our bottles, not certain what to do. Suddenly,
though, we raised our heads simultaneously as a sound reached us
from above. As clear and unmistakable as could be, a long,
passionate groan emanated from upstairs, followed by the rhythmic
thump of a bed against a wall.

Our eyes met. Each of us, I think, wondering how the other would
react this time, and each of us wanting to go, run, hurry out and
up to the porch. Cindy broke first, quickly shoving her bottle
into the trash and heading down the hall. Over her shoulder she
gave me a self-mocking grin, but there was no concealing her
haste to get upstairs. I hesitated only an instant, fumbling my
own bottle into the trash, dropping it instead on the floor, then
leaving it to roll under the table as I hurried along behind her,
cursing my clumsiness and laughing at my own eagerness.

By the time I moved up the stairs, Cindy was already on hands and
knees at the window. I slowed momentarily to look around. All was
in darkness, and there was no sign of anyone who might see us at
our voyeuristic mischief. I looked at Cindy, her attention
riveted on the lovers, and I was filled with amazement and
gratitude at my luck. Now it was time for us to share this happy,
lusty thing. I moved silently, eagerly, up the stairs to join her
- and them. As my eyes rose above the windowsill, I could see
that our couple was indeed at it again. Past Cindy's shapely,
denim-clad rear, I could see that he was in his woman from
behind, just as I had mounted Cindy last night. I remembered my
feeling of kinship for him, and her, and Cindy, and all lovers
everywhere; for our private, shared, acts of love. Smiling to
myself, I moved up behind Cindy, touching her flank to tell her
of my presence. She glanced back at me and offered a quick smile
of welcome, then returned her gaze to the lovers inside. I moved
closer, peering under the curtain. He was stroking steadily,
strongly into her, his buttocks clenching and releasing as he
sought their mutual release. She was mostly hidden under his
body, her head away from us toward the wall, but the sounds of
pleasure and encouragement she was making were clear and
exciting. I touched Cindy's sweet bottom, and was elated to feel
it clenching in synch with the lovers.

Unconsciously stroking Cindy's pulsing buttock, I looked again
through the window, just in time to see him disengage and move
back, exposing his lover's flushed, shining pussy to us. Her
entrance gaped briefly and then closed itself coyly, as if aware
of our stares. She lifted her head from the pillow, then twisted
lithely onto her back as he waited, kneeling, above her. He was
stroking himself slowly, his gaze fixed on his target as she
settled herself for his continued, loving, assault. She smiled
lovingly and spread her thighs in the classic invitation, her
vulva upraised and parted. Cindy inhaled sharply in seeming
anticipation as he moved forward over her and raised his
buttocks, tensing to position the head of his stiffly swinging
cock at her opening.

I slid my hand down and in to stroke Cindy's plump, tightly
covered pussy. The crotch seam of her cutoffs was pulled deeply
between her vulva, and she pressed back against my hand, hunching
frankly as my finger slid firmly along the damp, warm seam.
Inside, we could see the woman's slender hands appear between
their spread thighs, briefly fondling his scrotum, then grasping
his rigid member to position its swollen head for the plunge. My
cock was raging within my shorts. I reached under Cindy's belly
to unfasten her cutoffs, and began to gently pull them off, down
her thighs. I glanced up to see him push himself strongly into
her, and felt Cindy wiggle to help me pull her pants down,
exposing her lovely, naked ass. She was breathing quickly and
shallowly, focused on the scene within, but obviously aware of my
attentions, as well.

I palmed one sweet globe and, with my other hand, roughly fondled
and fingered Cindy's pouting, softly furred cunt. She was soaked
and slippery, and squirmed against me almost frantically as I
plunged first one, then two fingers, deep into her. Inside, she
was a furnace, clenching and writhing around my probing, twisting
fingers. I fumbled at my clothing frantically, one-handed, and
finally, reluctantly, pulled my fingers out of Cindy so that I
could use both hands. I dragged my pants down and finally freed
my cock. Inflamed and heavy, it slapped against my belly before
settling directly behind my beloved's waiting, beckoning cunt. In
mindless, unrestrained heat, I grabbed her hips and shoved myself
brutally into her. Her head jerked back and her body was jolted
cruelly; she groaned; and I froze, shocked at my own unthinking
brutishness. I held myself there inside her, appalled; but then,
incredibly, my sweet lover pushed herself back at me, wiggled her
ass jauntily, and squeezed me invitingly. She sent me an urging,
lustful smile over her shoulder, and swung her eyes back to the
window.

Amazed and grateful, I let myself go again, stroking, then
pounding, into her. In the bedroom, the lovers were approaching
their own climax. He was ramming himself into her, their flesh
slapping in that steadily rising tempo. Her feet, lifted high and
wide to receive him, shook and wobbled as he slammed against her.
She was crooning her song of delight and incitement, clutching
and stroking his back; his grunts and gasps were rising to join
hers. At the juncture of their bodies, her foamy labia stretched
and pulled as he plunged in and out; his balls swung and slapped
against her upturned, straining buttocks.

I found myself pumping into Cindy in perfect time with the couple
on the bed. As he pounded into her, I rammed into Cindy, stroke
for stroke. We were all four of us together, even if they didn't,
couldn't know; brothers and sisters together in passion, at least
for this one moment. I felt my orgasm building, swelling, and
Cindy's body was clutching, fluttering around my shaft.
Unknowing, I began to groan and pant; louder and louder as the
pressure built.

Cindy, hearing me, turned her beautiful face from them to me and,
holding a finger to her lips, grinned an amazing grin, winked,
and stage-whispered, "Shhh! They'll hear!" And then, a miracle,
she began to come on my cock, squeezing, humping, squirming,
twisting and pumping, even as she turned once more to watch
them.

I know I will remember her expression forever. Somehow she
managed to combine, in that brief grin, on the threshold of her
orgasm; the urgency of the situation, our passion and love for
each other, the humor of the whole thing, our love and respect
for the couple we were so rudely spying upon, and the wrenching
pleasure that even then was surging through her. I began to spurt
and spasm into her, and I felt my seed, my love, and my heart, go
out forever into Cindy. I held her to me once more and I knew
that we would be together always, from then until, well -
forever.

After that evening, our lives together merged and flowed along
like a river, easily and naturally. Fred and Cindy managed their
split fairly amicably, after his pretense of anger faded. Cindy
suspected that he was actually relieved and, she said, had
probably been having an affair with someone during all those late
work sessions. Poor fool. We wish him well.

We live a fairly ordinary life, altogether, if one disregards our
shared, rather unusual, and somewhat risky hobby. I teach and
pursue my research. Tenure is a possibility, someday. Children,
too. Cindy's art finds a steady, if modest market. We have worked
our way through most of the take-out food establishments in the
greater Boston area, and even cook occasionally now.

We travel when we can, and have developed some highly effective
methods of people-watching. People in resorts, particularly on
tropical islands with secluded beaches; or people in large
hotels, with balconies and picture windows, who believe they
cannot be seen or heard. People anywhere, who think themselves
alone. We never take pictures or make recordings, and we never
try to contact them, but we do watch and listen, and we have some
rather good memories.

We still live in my old apartment. We like the neighborhood, and
have become friendly with many of our neighbors, including the
couple upstairs. They enjoy playing bridge with us occasionally,
but only for a little while, as they like to go to bed early. We
don't mind. As for watching them through the window, and often
making love along with them, well - they haven't caught us yet!

Boston, July 2006








  







          













           



           
	





        



         
	
















 


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