I'd been watching her for weeks.
The day her family moved into the house next door, she'd removed the tattered old curtains from her bedroom window. From my sofa, I could see directly through it. She'd put up some art prints, a couple of posters. But she'd never replaced the curtains.
She looked to be in her early 20s; about half my age. I'll admit to feeling a pang of guilt - her father didn't look much older than me. But I was only looking, I figured. It was harmless. And what a sight: petite yet curvy, she was five foot nothing with shoulder-length hair, its natural jet black interrupted by streaks of bright, almost neon pink and blue. Even from afar I could see she was pretty in a wide-eyed, innocent-looking way.
It was only a few days after she'd moved in, around midnight, that I saw the light come on in her room. I glanced up and my life changed for good.
She was stood in front of the window, taking selfies on her phone in a mirror I couldn't see. And she was completely naked. Her big, natural breasts pressed slightly against the glass. When she stepped back from the window she was still close enough for me to see that she was completely shaven, with slightly puffy labia creating a tantalising coinslot. She didn't see me - that time.
For two weeks this was her ritual - standing in the window before bed, taking pictures of her naked body. I'd come to take it for granted so much that it didn't even occur to me that she might look in my direction. Until one night, she did.
Her eyes met mine and immediately opened wide. Was that shock? Anger? Embarrassment? I was trying to read her expression when her face relaxed, her lips curling into a smile. She lifted her hand and waved at me with her fingers, before putting her index and middle fingers in her mouth. Her cheeks puckered as she sucked for a moment before sliding them out. Was she..? Her hand was moving down now, to that gorgeous slit. She started to stroke herself with her lubricated fingers, all the while looking me in the eye.
Time froze as I watched her touch herself. I was transfixed, my feet rooted to the spot. Without thinking, my right hand moved to the growing bulge in my jeans to which I could feel the blood rushing. She stopped and pointed at me, then curved her hand into a grip and moved it from side to side. I blushed. Was she joking? The expression on her face told me not. I unbuckled my jeans, giving some much-needed relief to my arousal.
That's when her light went out.
I stood in my living room, hand in my boxers, wondering what the hell was going on. Had I imagined it? Was it some kind of trap?
My mind was still racing minutes later when I heard the doorbell. There she stood, wearing a full-length coat and a wicked smile.
"If you're going to perv on someone, you should at least know their name."
She put out her hand, and without thinking, I took it. Her fingers were still wet.
