It was a fine, sunny Tuesday afternoon. Jack, who had been busy since early setting up his new pad, threw another collapsed carton onto the stack, screwed up some more packing paper and stuffed it into an almost full bag. He straightened, hands on hips and flexed backwards. He looked out through the kitchen window onto the rear lawn. The sky was a brilliant blue, a gentle breeze appeared to fondle the leaves of the trees. He used the side of his finger to wipe the sweat from his brow and uttered a mild expletive concerning the amount of work still to be done. In fact it really wasn't that much; he had well and truly broken the back of it. There were perhaps three more cartons to unpack. Mind you that was mainly kitchen stuff, which always took so much longer.
He opened the fridge. "It's a bit early but ... what the hell!" he grabbed a can of beer snapped the ring pull back and took a deep draught. He placed the beer on the kitchen bench and wandered off to the linen cupboard and grabbed a beach towel. He threw it over his shoulder and wandered out into the back garden. He opened the rear door to his garage, reached inside and pulled out a banana lounge. Choosing the best sun angle, he set it up and lay the towel out upon it. The small back yard was great. Big enough to have a few people around for a BBQ, small enough that gardening would take little of his time and effort; and it was private. He looked around the small backyard checking the sight-lines. It was as he had remembered from his first inspection of the property, he could not be overlooked. There were no double storey buildings in the vicinity, the yard backed onto the ivy covered rear wall of a neighbour's garage and the two timber side fences were at least six foot high.
He returned indoors, drained the remaining beer from the can, pitched it in the trash, grabbed another and then, on the way back out, picked up a file of materials relating to the new job he'd just taken on. He returned to the back garden, slipped out of his shorts and lay back to enjoy the sun.
Jack Ramsay was a man on the move. Twenty seven years of age, fit, active, good looking. He had once seriously considered playing football professionally. He still ran and worked out almost as hard as he had back then. Instead of football he had gone to university and studied mining engineering. He had had the good fortune to be picked up by a junior miner fresh out of university. It hadn't taken him long to make his mark. He was rewarded for his positive, can-do attitude with the offer of this new project management role, based in Brisbane but with significant exposure to the mine site on a fly-in/fly-out basis. The file he had taken to read was all about the new mine that had recently received the go-ahead from the board.
As interested as he was in the new job, the reading was drearily bland. He lay the file beside him on the lawn and took another sip of beer. He pushed his sun glasses up his nose and lay back. This was the life. Jack new that sun bathing was frowned upon by the medical profession these days but, with his olive complexion, his skin tanned readily and, providing he built up slowly each season, he never seemed to burn.
His reverie was broken by a sound over to his right. It wasn't loud, he barely heard it, but hear it he did, and it was incongruous. He glanced at the fence from where he thought the sound had come, and he noticed a hole. It appeared to be the sort of hole that is caused when a knot in the wood dries out and falls out of the plank. There was light behind the hole and then, suddenly it became dark. Something, or someone was behind it! Was he being spied upon? Who lived next door to him? He didn't know, although, come to think of it he had heard singing coming from that side this morning. It had sounded like a young woman, perhaps singing in the shower. He didn't move or give any sign that he may have been aware that he was under observation; he just continued to gaze straight ahead, watching the hole in the fence out of the corner of his eyes. With his sunglasses on, anyone watching him wouldn't know he was watching back.
After two or three minutes there came again that same sound, a slight creaking of the fence timber, and then the light returned to the knothole. He continued to watch but no shadow returned to it. He smiled to himself. Some little while later he went back inside and continued with the unpacking.
The following day he was alert to the sounds that came to him from his neighbours. There was none from the little house to the right, but from the left he again heard singing. He found he could hear it clearest from his bathroom and wondered if the house next door had its bathroom next to his. In any case, she had a pretty voice, he thought.
Later that morning he took a small load of odds and ends out to his garage. As he closed the door he heard the unmistakeable sound of a banana lounge being opened and adjusted. He felt a small thrill of excitement as an idea entered his head. He waited, giving time for her to settle then, ever so carefully, made his way to the knothole. Barely breathing he bent over and lined up his eye with the hole. He hadn't made a sound, he was sure. He focussed his eye. There she was! The banana lounge was set at approximately forty five degrees to his line of sight. She lay upon it, naked. The leg closest to him was slightly raised, concealing her most intimate aspect. She was decidedly attractive, about 24, he fancied. Tawny hair, worn long and fashionably bedraggled, hung in lightly curling tresses to her shoulders. Her breasts were full, beautifully shaped, turned slightly outwards and peaked by pink nipples. Her skin was fair but carried enough of an even tan to suggest this was not the first time she had lain there. She was trim. 'Trim taut and terrific!' Jack grinned recollecting the phrase his father used to use.
The girl pushed herself up a little on the lounge so she was sitting up. She sat cross legged. Again the leg prevented even a glimpse. Clearly unaware of the eye observing her, she began to cup her breasts in her hands and massage them. Jack was very conscious of the illicit nature of his voyeurism, but that simply added to the piquancy of the moment. He was also very aware of the rapidly growing erection in his shorts. He cautioned himself to remain vigilant against making any sound that might give him away.
She slid down in the lounge and turned onto her side revealing her bottom to his eager eye. She picked up a magazine and began to read it while her left hand caressed her rump. This continued for what must have been less than a minute when she threw down the magazine and sat up again, clearly bored with the reading material. She stretched, rolling her shoulders back and accentuating the shapeliness of her breasts. Then suddenly, to Jack's horror, she turned her face full toward him and called out:
"Well, d'you want to come over for a cup of coffee?" He stood up and reeled backwards. He was, for just an instant, guilt stricken -- caught in the act, as he was, but his equilibrium was restored at the almost simultaneous realisation that it had all been a show for his benefit anyway! Nevertheless he was too slow to prevent an embarrassed cough from escaping his lips. He heard her giggle in response. "Well ..." she called out, "do you? To his annoyance he found himself coughing again.
"Er yes ... er thank you. That would be nice."
"Well, okay then, you'd better come to the front door."
"Yeah sure; see you in a minute then."
He couldn't believe this. She knew he was watching her and she wanted him to come over! He could feel the excitement in the pit of his stomach. His hard-on, which had subsided somewhat with the initial embarrassment of discovery, was now recovering quite nicely, thank you! He stumbled in through his back door, quickly checked himself in the bathroom mirror, ran a comb through his hair, applied a little deodorant (to be on the safe side), checked his teeth and gave them a very quick scrub with his toothbrush. Satisfied, though dressed only in shorts and tee shirt, he picked up his keys and scooted out the front door.
He knocked on hers. She opened it almost immediately. She had put on a bikini top which, if anything, accentuated the shapeliness of her breasts, and a sarong. She smiled at him.
"Come in." He stepped through the door and she led the way to the kitchen. "Tea, coffee, something else?"
"Er coffee would be great. Er thanks." Jack hated his diffidence. Why could he not be more suave? She put water in the kettle, put it on its stand and switched it on. She turned and, smiling brightly, stuck out her hand.
"Hi, I'm Nikki."
"Oh, er Jack." He tried to match her smile as he took her hand and look her in the eye. It was a little difficult because he knew he just so wanted to fuck her and, if the eyes are the windows to the soul, she couldn't miss seeing that!
"So, just moved in?"
"Yeah, furniture arrived Saturday afternoon."
"Are you new to the area?"
"Yeah, I'm up from Melbourne -- work."
"Oh, okay, what do you do?
"Oh project management sort of stuff."
"Oh, okay, cool."
She turned around and busied herself with cups and spoons, coffee and sugar, and reached into the fridge for the milk. Jack perched his rump on a stool at the kitchen bench and watched her, drinking in every detail. He loved the square set of her shoulders, the two ends of the string of her bikini fell from the knot into the natural hollow in her lower back. He liked the narrow waist and the flare of her hips. The sarong was loosely tied and had settled at the top of her bikini bottom, revealing the beginning of the cleft between her buttocks. Jack had no doubt that lust was colouring his perceptions but, nevertheless, she was definitely a bit of alright -- another of his father's sayings!
Soon they were sitting side by side on the couch, their cups on the coffee table. They sipped their coffee. Neither seemed to know quite what to say. A moment or two of awkward silence was finally broken by Nikki.
