The rain had stopped when Trish and I walked outside. The grass was wet, and crickets were chirping and heat lightning flashed in the distance.
We were both wearing one of Bob's button-down shirts and nothing else, picking up items from our yards that had been scattered by the thunderstorm and refiring the grill. Two steaks were on the table, and the big block party that started earlier in the evening was now down to the two of us.
I took Trish by the hand and led her into my house. We walked straight to my bedroom, turned out the lights and looked through my side window.
"Damn, would you look at that."
I could see clearly into Trish and Bob's bedroom, directly at their bed and the exact spot we were standing naked minutes before.
"See?" she said. "Now we can watch each other."
The truth is, she'd been watching me for some time without me knowing. I'd never been one to close the blinds at night, and thoughts rushed through my head. What has she seen? How many nights has she watched me? How many kinky scenes has she watched?
"Since the day you moved in," Trish said, answering my thoughts.
She slapped me on my bare ass.
"Now we can have some fun," she said.
I vaguely understood what she was talking about, but having witnessed (and participated) in her idea of fun an hour earlier made me a little horny and more than a little uncomfortable.
Bob was still on the couch he passed out on, my cum drying on his face, her panties drying on his chest, his limp cock hanging from his pants, shriveled and pitiful while his wife stood in the next-door neighbor's bedroom wearing nothing but his shirt.
"Did I tell you how hot your ass is?" I said, rubbing my hand up and down her back then popping her on her bare ass.
She didn't say a word, leaning instead onto my windowsill, her shirt hiked up over her perfect round ass, looking into her bedroom and asking, "you think Bob watches you too?"
I wanted to fuck her again right then, right there in my window, imagining her husband watching from 30 yards away.
"He's a fag, you know."
"What?" I asked. "Are you serious?"
"He's right about one thing," Trish said, still staring out the window and into her bedroom. "There was a time when we were swingers. But that was years ago."
"Wait, Bob's gay?"