After graduating college in Pennsylvania, I accepted a job offer with an engineering firm just north of Boston. It was time for me to move out on my own. I packed up all of my belongings in my car: various kitchen things in the trunk, my clothes on the backseat, and my TV riding shotgun with me on my passenger's seat. I spent the first few days living out of a hotel, but found a nice studio apartment in a large complex just north of the city. It consisted of eight high-rise (8-story) buildings and five "garden" (3-story) buildings each having 12 units per floor. I did some quick mental math; it was amazing to me. The complex had over 1,000 units. Assuming an average occupancy of 1.5 persons per unit, the complex alone was home to more people than the entire town where I had grown up in rural Pennsylvania.
My studio apartment wasn't too bad for the money I paid. It was just under 600 square feet. It was on the ground floor of one of the garden units, so it didn't offer the grand views of Boston that were available from other units in the complex. The leasing agent told me that the unit had been vacant for a while, because first floor units were the most difficult for them to rent. She explained that little old ladies fearing for their safety didn't like to be on ground level. As a young man, I didn't share those concerns. And, I actually perceived the ground floor as an advantage for two reasons: 1) because it would be easier to move in/out, and 2) because of a childhood trauma where I was in a movie theatre that caught fire, I've always been a bit afraid of not being near an easy escape route.
One of the drawbacks of the studio apartment was that it didn't have any windows, aside from the double-hung sliding glass door that opened to the ground level porch. The sliding glass door, however, effectively served as a floor to ceiling 'window' allowing lots of natural light into the kitchen and bedroom area of the studio. Only the hallway, closet, and bathroom areas lacked natural light, but these were the tradeoffs one makes when you're starting out on your own.
Having moved 300 miles from home for my new job, I didn't have any friends in the area. Thus, my life consisted primarily of eat, work, sleep, and repeat. I would commute to my office, a short 15 minutes away, work for 8 to 10 hours, drive home, cook dinner, unwind for a few hours, then fall asleep and do it all over again. I didn't really have a social life or 'go out' anywhere.
An advantage of having a studio apartment to myself was that it allowed me full opportunity to express my true self. Some would say that I am nudist. I tend to refer to myself as an anti-textile. While my passion for the nudist lifestyle grew out a desire to be naked in nature (particularly on the farm where I had grown up), it transferred to my indoors life, as well. It was not uncommon for me to immediately shed my clothes upon returning home from work, and then spend the remaining time from evening to early morning completely in the buff, until having to get dressed for work the next day.
One evening after coming home from work and having shed the textile burdens of my 8 to 5 job, my phone rang. It was Shane, my best friend from college, who was now living in New Jersey. It had been a while since we had chatted, and there was a lot of catching up to do. I paced around the apartment, holding the phone to my ear, telling Shane some of the trials and tribulations of my new job, and listening to him complain about his sister's constant parade of suitors while his own dating life was nonexistent. The conversation went on for over an hour. At some point, I had stopped walking around the apartment. I paused at the sliding glass door, somewhat absent mindedly staring into space, as we talked.
There really wasn't much of a view from my apartment. I looked out upon the corner of the back parking lot, that my building shared with two of the high-rises. Few people from my building seemed to use this parking lot, as the front parking lot was a shorter drive upon entering the complex, although it did require you to walk up a few stone stairs to access the front of the building. At some point, I looked up and realized there was a young man standing on his balcony on the 7
th
floor of the building across the parking lot. How long had he been there? I really had no idea. Given that I was engrossed in my conversation, it was possible that he had just walked out onto the balcony. But, it was also possible that he had been standing there for 20 minutes. As I continued chatting with Shane, my eyes focused on the young man. Was he looking off into the distance over the roof of my 3-story building? Was he looking at me? I couldn't tell. I would estimate the distance between his building and mine to be about 100 feet. Could he tell that I was naked? I could obviously tell that he was clothed, but he was standing outside. Perhaps the slight glazing on the sliding glass door was reflecting back upon him and he couldn't actually see me?
My call ended, and I completed my evening by watching Seinfeld reruns, scrolling through my phone, and typing some messages in group chats. Night came, sleep ensued, and the cycle of life continued. The next day at work, I admittedly was a bit distracted. I kept thinking about last night. Had that young man seen me naked? If so, he certainly hadn't recoiled in horror. Was he just enjoying the refreshing air of late Spring evening, or was he deliberately looking at me?
That night, as I came through my door, I must have torn off my clothes in 10 seconds or less. I had no one to talk to, but I grabbed my phone anyway. I walked up to the sliding glass door, holding my phone to my ear, and pretended to talk. I couldn't think of another 'valid' reason to be standing in front of the glass door, so I just proceeded with an imaginary conversation. I looked across the parking lot, up to the 7
th
floor, and the young man was again out on his balcony. Did he spend a lot of his time out there? Was he waiting for me? It seemed he was leaning on the railing, looking down. I was more convinced that he could actually see me. I wondered how much detail he could make out from 100 feet away.
As I looked at him, I noticed two other young men walking around inside his apartment. They seemed to be about the same age as he; both of them were chubby. I tried to imagine the relationship among the three guys. I knew that the complex only had studios, 1 bedroom, and 2 bedroom apartments. So, three men living in a two bedroom apartment. Were they brothers? Were they college students? Did one of them sleep in the living room (kinda like I did in my studio) whereas the other two got bedrooms? Oops, my mind was wandering. I looked up and noticed that my spectator was gone. I admit, I was a little disappointed.
The next night, I came home, and as you can probably guess, I stripped off my clothes, and immediately walked to the window and looked up towards my 7
th
