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Standing in front of the open window, she shivered as a light breeze dried the water from her pale skin. She looked upward, toward the night sky, not at the man across the street who sat in his own bedroom watching her. Stretching her arms over her head, she pulled her long blonde hair up and away from her neck. She arched her back toward the window, catching a glimpse of herself in the mirror in the corner of the room. She looked like a woman waiting for a lover. Tonight, the stranger who watched her was her lover and her body was for his pleasure.
For a long time, Maisy had thought the watcher was watching her roommates. Sara and Karen were thin, lithe little things who made men’s heads turn on the street. Sara even modelled occasionally, for goodness sake! The three women had speculated about the watcher over the past couple of months, debating whether they should do anything about him. Sara and Karen breezily accepted the idea that he was, in fact, watching them. They were used to the attention. But it had caught Maisy quite by surprise to find the watcher in his usual spot on several occasions when neither of her roommates was around. And it wasn’t as if he was waiting for them, either. In fact, she found herself watching the watcher and noting how quickly he abandoned his post when Sara or Karen arrived home.
It thrilled her to know he was watching her.
Dusk had fallen and she knew she was backlit in the window, erotically framed in the brackets of her red curtains like a Rubens painting for his private viewing. She fleetingly wondered if anyone else might be watching her from the darkened buildings, but it didn’t matter. The watcher across the way – her watcher – was the only one she was interested in. She could see him sitting in his usual chair facing the window. It was hard to tell what he looked like and she didn’t have the nerve to use binoculars to study him, but she could tell his shoulders were broad and his hair was dark. She imagined he was older than her, an older man with a penchant for women with soft curves and plump bottoms. He was a shadowy figure in a darkened room, watching her. Appreciating her. Desiring her.
“Go on, then,” she whispered to him. “Get a good look at me.”
She let her hair cascade through her fingers as she dropped her hands to her shoulders. She gently kneaded and soothed the muscles of her neck and shoulders like an imaginary lover. As if he was impatient for her to get on with it, the watcher shifted in his chair. He wore a white shirt and dark pants. Fully clothed in comparison to her brazen nudity. She had never seen him do more than watch and now she found herself aroused at the thought of seeing him naked.
“Want more, do you?” she giggled. “Well, let’s give you more.”
With that, she cupped her plump breasts in her hands, the soft flesh spilling over her fingers. She closed her eyes and imagined it was him touching her. Her nipples tightened under her fingertips, becoming hard, pink pebbles aching to be touched and sucked. A soft moan escaped her as she tugged gently on them and felt a corresponding tingle of sensation between her thighs. The sounds of the evening traffic fell away and all she could hear were her own little whimpers of desire.
Her eyes fluttered open and she saw the watcher leaning forward. Anxious. As anxious as she was, she imagined. She felt nervous with anticipation, as if waiting for her lover to fuck her. She stared at him and mouthed the words, “I want you.”