Edge of Obsession

There's a man outside my window.

I can see his silhouette between the bushes, a broad figure illuminated by the moonlight, and for some reason... I don't know what to do next. The window overlooks my tub, and aside from the shower and closet, not a single part of this bathroom would be hidden from anyone standing close enough outside. I've resisted installing curtains, loving the natural light I bathe, dress, and prepare in every day. It never occurred to me that someone would get this close. Trespass on my property... watch me without my permission.

And yet, I haven't moved.

From his perspective, I must look frozen at my vanity, staring into my own eyes, my left hand resting on the countertop and my right... hopefully out of sight. Frozen in what? Indecision? What the fuck am I undecided about? There's only one rational response--to call the cops.

So why haven't I done it yet?

I know my phone is just inches away from me. All I have to do is reach for it. I could have the cops on the line in less than a minute. I'm sure as soon as I pick up the phone, whoever's out there will get the hell away.

Or... will he carry out whatever plan he has for me? He has to know I saw him. I never sit at my vanity this long, and tonight, I just happened to glance at the window behind me in my reflection--only to see something that shouldn't be there. A solid shape invading my reflection, positioned over my left shoulder like a devil whispering all kinds of encouragement toward awful, deranged, and... delicious prospects.

My eyes shift, surveying my reflection, curious as to what he could see. The idea of being so candidly observed--whether picking my nose or taking a nude picture while drying off--I can feel my body responding to the thought. My nipples, already large and dark, are constricting, becoming more visible through my plain white t-shirt... someone watching me could easily think I was aroused.

My fingers, arrested in mid-stroke by the sudden awareness of having company, started to move again, seemingly of their own accord. What does it say that discovering even more wetness between my legs at this point didn't surprise me one little bit?

My God, what's wrong with me? Who in their right mind gets even a little excited in this situation? And the possibility that someone watched my hand slowly lift my shirt, followed my fingers as they slid into the waistband of my panties, pressing farther down and between my lips... The idea comes and goes before I can even scold myself. But the desire remains, lingering long enough for me to question my sanity.

A familiar voice follows, trailing behind my brief lapse in judgment. My mother's voice.

"You knew what you were doing. You brought this on yourself."

I shut my eyes against the intrusion. There's no way I asked for this, so her disembodied voice can fuck right off... even if there's history to support her accusation.

The pressure builds inside me with every crook of my fingers. He couldn't possible see this. The fabric covering my pussy, fabric distended by my hand as I circle my clit with my fingertip, urging my body to chase an orgasm I've been denying myself for days. But what he probably can appreciate is how my hips shift and move with my own masturbation...and I hope his pants are getting uncomfortable. My mind races at the idea of him chasing his own climax while watching me, wanting to shoot rope after rope of his cum on my property, claim it as his territory...because eventually I will be his.

That last thought is what sends me over the edge, my body wracked with wave after wave of pleasure realized. My left hand grips the edge of the vanity for something stable, something to ground me as I crash back into reality. The fog of orgasms is never easy for me to shake so I allow myself to float in the euphoria of finishing what I started before...before him.

My mother's nagging voice returns with a vengeance in that moment.

I open my eyes, determined not to let the part of her that lives in my head be right for another second. I finally withdraw my hand from inside my underwear and snatch my phone from the counter, ready to activate the emergency call feature on the lock screen. But at the sight of my wet fingertips, my fingers freeze. I have to look one more time. My eyes disconnect from the screen and search for the shadow I'd seen in the window, just to the left of my far-too-curious reflection.

Nothing.

No one's there. No shadow. No figure. I set the phone down and spin in my seat to face the window, scanning every pane of glass and the darkness beyond. But I find nothing. The man, real or imagined, is gone.

I suppose I'm relieved I didn't call the police. I'd hate to be that hysterical woman--living alone and startled by every shadow and bump in the night. I chuckle at the idea that edging myself this long made me hallucinate.

I exhale, realizing I'd been holding my breath, and try my best to shake it off as I stand to go to bed. Flipping the switch, the lightbulbs retire and the darkness they kept at bay immediately invades my home. I leave both the vanity and window behind in the darkness...but something compels me to shut the door against the darkness just in case. Crawling into bed, I hope sleep comes quickly.

Maybe then I won't have to confront the unmistakable feeling of disappointment.