Each day he walked past her house on the way home from work, heading for his apartment near the bottom of the hill. She lived on the second floor, and seemed to spend most of her time in the afternoons on her balcony facing the street, as she was there almost every nice day. Sometimes she was carefully watering her flowers, others, sitting at a small round table, reading or sipping what appeared to be iced tea. On hot afternoons it looked awfully good, and so did she. Often he could faintly hear the sound of a radio playing, usually smooth Latin jazz. Occasionally she was hanging over the balcony railing, peering up or down the street. That seemed odd, since it is a very quiet street with very little going on. He was usually the only pedestrian in sight. But he enjoyed that view of her because he could see her breasts hanging slightly as she leaned, obviously very well developed, under the tee shirt or tank top she usually wore.
Not once did she ever make eye contact with him or even seem to notice his presence, though he walked directly beneath her. Since the street went down a fairly steep hill, he could see directly onto the balcony most of the way down the walk, until he was 60 feet or so from the house. There was only a wrought iron railing surrounding it, offering a complete view from the floor up. The days he enjoyed the most were the ones she sunned herself on the chaise at the far end of the balcony, lying flat and seemingly oblivious to anything on the street, even though it offered a direct view of her for those that might care to look. He cared to look very much. She was never naked, but always wore either a light teal or hot pink bikini on those days, and appeared to be well oiled up for protection from the sun. Since she could not see him then, he could stare as much and as long as he wanted, and of course his pace always slowed considerably.
Sometimes she was face up, wearing an eye shade, her breasts standing firm under the little patches of cloth. Other days she was face down, always with her legs spread slightly so he could see the tiny strip of material that barely concealed her pussy, and didn't cover her hard smooth ass in the least. On those days his breath would catch in his throat as he caught sight of her when he came around the corner three blocks up the hill. Without a conscious thought he could immediately feel a slight swelling in his briefs. Lately those days seemed to happen more frequently. The only time he would avert his eyes were the rare times a car or pedestrian passed. As the weeks went by he began to fantasize about her, picturing her without the bikini, in different poses, and wondering what she was like to be with. She certainly added a little excitement to his life even if she had no idea he was alive.
Each day he walked past her house on the way home from work, heading, she supposed, for an apartment in the building he turned into near the bottom of the hill. She had admired him from the moment she first saw him, about her age, pleasant looking, and, she thought, quite muscular, though it was hard to tell under his work clothes. As she was terribly shy, she never let him see her glancing at him, but often hung over the balcony so that after he passed she could watch as he walked. She fantasized that he could see a little of her exceptional figure in that pose, and though he never really seemed to pay attention, she had caught him glancing at her from time to time. She always tried to find something that would be revealing without being obvious, and never wore a bra, preferring the natural look for him. As time passed she started to think more and more about him, imagining what it would be like to talk to him, and wondering what his life was really like. Was he married, did he have someone, or (she almost dared not think) was he like her, alone and often a little lonely.
At first she had simply read a book or enjoyed the afternoon, sipping her tea and listening to the music of the small radio playing inside her door, her Latin heritage showing in her choice of music. Occasionally she would maintain a bit of a tan by sunning herself for an hour or two during the quiet part of the day when the sun was directly on the balcony. It occurred to her he might be looking at her then, even though she could not see him, and little by little she tanned more frequently. The truth was, which she would never admit to herself, she began to really ache to meet him and talk to him, but she had not the vaguest idea how that could happen, and would not even allow herself to think of actually approaching him.
Friday the 13th there was an employee meeting at his company. Work stopped two hours early and they all met in the main lobby. Fortunately there were only mundane subjects discussed, most of which had been thoroughly ground in the rumor mill long before the meeting. As a result, it ended half an hour early, and the employees were allowed to leave with full pay for the day. It was a gorgeous afternoon, and, as always, he looked forward to his walk home. It had become the highlight of his day. His face dropped, however, as he rounded the last corner and realized that she was not on the balcony. It was the first time all summer he had not seen her there, and he wondered if something had happened or she had moved away.
As he walked, somewhat downcast, down the hill she suddenly emerged onto the balcony. He didn't realize, of course, that she planned her afternoons around the time he normally came by. In her hands she had a small tray with a pitcher of tea and a glass full of ice cubes. Surprised by her sudden appearance, he stopped and stared at her. As she stepped down onto the balcony she glanced up the hill and immediately saw him standing and looking. She had the sudden feeling of being caught in the act, and as a result missed her footing. She fell in a heap on the balcony, her forward motion throwing her tray against the outer railing, the pitcher clanking against it and shattering on the floor. The glass went completely over the railing and smashed on the street below.
For a moment he could do nothing but gasp at the sight, and she was paralyzed with pain from a hundred places, her head having hit the large planter in the outer corner of the balcony, her knees slamming into the hard surface, and her left ankle firmly wedged under the bottom rail of the wrought iron railing. Without thinking he ran forward the hundred feet or so to her house and yelled up, "Miss, miss, are you all right"? As a reply he heard something between a sob and a moan. He said, "Can I help, are you ok?"
A very weak voice with a trace of Latin accent replied, "No I don't think so, I can hardly move and my foot is stuck somehow." He looked up and saw her bare toes sticking past the edge of the balcony, and realized her slipper was lying on the sidewalk beside him.
"What can I do"? he said.
"4 1 7 2 5."
"What?"
"4 1 7 2 5 - the code."
Suddenly he realized she had an entry code just like his apartment. He ran in the entryway and up the stairs, mumbling the code to himself. Punching it into the little keypad he still managed to get it wrong the first time, and had to cancel and re-try. Thankfully it worked and he slammed open the door, running through the little apartment to the balcony. He almost shuddered at the sight. She was lying on the floor turned to face him, foot firmly wedged and leg twisted, tears streaming down her face. At least he didn't see any blood, although there was a big red welt on her forehead, and the knee he could see was badly skinned. Muttering words of encouragement he looked at her ankle and realized the fall had forced it into the small space. Tentative pulling only elicited a loud gasp and moan from her. Glancing desperately around he noticed the small bottle of suntan lotion inside the door. He poured the greasy liquid over her foot and ankle that was outside the rail, and slowly and gently started working it back through. He could hear her groaning but she didn't scream, and suddenly it slid all the way out! She gave out a big sigh of relief and rolled over to untwist her leg, looking up at him.
