A Quiet Woman

I live in a corner flat, on the top floor. It's nothing special: living room, kitchen, bathroom and two bedrooms. Nothing remarkable about it, in fact, except that the architect had the happy notion to add windows in the end wall.

The idea, presumably, was to make the place lighter, and they certainly do that. They also give an unobstructed view of the flat opposite, with the same windows.

When the flats were built, back in the 1990s, the council planted a row of trees between the buildings. Poplars, I think -- the ones with the big leaves that fall off and fill the air with that typical smell all autumn and winter. Whatever they are, they never grew tall enough to reach the sixth floor and provide that privacy we so cherish.

I moved in after my divorce, and counted myself lucky to find the place. Large enough for me, and quiet, and the commute to my new job wasn't too bad. I didn't know anyone nearby, so when I saw the notice about a monthly barbecue I made an effort to go.

It was one of those communal dos that Americans call a potluck, set up in the bit of green in front of the two flats. There were perhaps thirty or forty people there, standing around, cooking, eating, drinking. All nice and polite.

I dropped the wine and crisps I'd bought on the long table and looked around. I didn't recognise anyone, and was feeling a bit awkward. There was a group of middle-aged blokes clustered around the two barbecues, and I was about to force myself upon them when someone tapped my arm.

"You're the new neighbour, aren't you?" It was a balding man, mid-30s, florid face and a pale moustache. "Across from us, corner flat, top floor." He jerked a thumb over his shoulder at a stoop-shouldered redheaded woman standing slightly behind him. "We've seen you fixing up the place. You should really put up some blinds. You don't want Ginny here seeing you in your underwear!" He guffawed.

I glanced past him at Ginny. Her eyes were downcast, a few strands of her strawberry blonde hair escaping from her scrunchy to cover her face. I decided not to make a joke about not wearing underwear.

Instead, I smiled at my neighbour and held out my hand. "Ollie," I said. "Pleased to meet you." Nodding at Ginny, I added, "The curtains and blinds are going up tomorrow."

"Vernon," the man said, seizing my hand and pumping vigorously. "And my wife Ginny, of course. Ginny, say hello to Ollie."

Ginny leaned round her husband's bulk and pressed her small fingers lightly against my palm. They were surprisingly warm. Her thin wrist emerged from a bulky sweater that seemed too thick for early summer. The freckles on her hand matched the ones on her face. She glanced up and gave the ghost of a smile, whispering something that could have been "Nice to meet you," then retreated.

"Come on, let's find ourselves something to drink." Vernon turned to inspect the table and grabbed a bottle of beer. Some craft brew, it looked like. I waited for a moment, then realised that I was responsible for my own drink, and presumably Ginny's too. Two glasses of wine duly poured, I let Vernon fill me in on the make-up of the gathering.

"No kids, you'll notice," he explained. "Thank fuck they're all away on holiday. Nothing more annoying than trying to relax and have a nice drink with that lot screaming and running around."

One of the women took exception to this, and strode over to join us. A bit of an argument broke out between the two of them, and I soon wandered off to join the group manning the barbecues.

All in all it was a pleasant occasion. Vernon grew louder, until someone from his building diplomatically helped him upstairs. Ginny followed, still silent. I'd seen her sipping wine almost continuously, but it didn't seem to make her any less shy.

The next morning was Sunday. Bash came round to help me settle in and put up the curtains in the bedrooms and gauze blinds in the living. Ginny watched from twenty feet or so away, and gave a little smile. Vernon appeared when we were nearly done and waved cheerily. I smiled back, and he replied with a big thumbs-up before collapsing in an armchair and falling asleep.

"How come they don't have to have blinds?" Bash asked as I poured coffee. "Actually, never mind. Have you had a chance to ogle the wife yet?"

"What?" I really hadn't given it any thought. My divorce was still raw, and while I'd given a few women a more than passing glance Ginny was so mousy that she'd barely registered.

Besides, I was new, and I didn't want a reputation as a creepy perv. That kind of thing would have me moving away again before I'd even settled in.

"Come on, she's a redhead. That means she's hot, right?" Bash gave a leer. "Remember what's-her-name at uni?"

He continued in this vein while we drank our coffee, until I distracted him by suggesting we give up on the jobs around the house and go for a hike instead.

As summer passed, I settled into my new life. I attended a few more of the monthly barbecues, when they didn't clash with my hiking trips with Bash. I tried to avoid Vernon if I could. Ginny was always tagging along behind him, even if she projected an aura of wanting to be anywhere else.

Sometimes I heard his voice across the space between our flats, shouting and ranting. It got worse, and then one barbecue in late September he didn't show up. Ginny was there, with a gaggle of women clustering around her.

"He left," said Marcus, who lived two doors down from me. "Stood outside their front door, shouting so everyone could hear, about how she was sucking the life out of him." I'd been working late that day and missed the excitement.

I grunted. I wasn't really interested, beyond being glad that I didn't have to socialise with Vernon.

"Fuck knows how she'll pay the mortgage," added Dylan, then glanced around guiltily. There weren't any kids listening, and he continued. "I doubt she earns enough at the library."

I wandered off to refill my glass as they continued their gossip. By now I knew most of the neighbours, and I made small-talk while I waited for a kebab. I was just slathering some hot sauce over it when I noticed Ginny at my elbow.

I handed her the sauce, floundered for words, then just said, "Sorry about you and Vernon."

"I'm not!" The fierceness of her reply took me aback. Then, before I could say anything, her eyes went down again and she gave her usual shy smile and handed back the bottle. "Thank you, but I don't want it after all."

No,

I thought,

you have some heat inside you already.

For some reason it brought back the recollection of her surprisingly warm hands.

For the first time in months I really looked at her. As she turned away I caught a glimpse of flushed cheeks beneath the loose red hair, but what drew my attention was the shape beneath her bulky sweater.

I'd always considered her skinny and shapeless, but now I noticed the curve of a pair of breasts that seemed large enough to topple her forward.

"They're huge, aren't they?" It was Dylan, murmuring in my ear. "Maybe with Vernon out of the picture she'll start wearing something sexier so we can get a better look at them."

I muttered something and tried not to picture it. As it was, I felt like a caveman, only starting to see Ginny as a woman because of her huge tits. My resolution not to do anything that would label me the neighbourhood perv was still strong as well.

I stuck around for another half hour or so, trying not to stare at Ginny and her sweater, then made my farewells. My excuse was the usual one: I had to be up early to meet Bash for one of our hikes. The real reason was the stink of those leaves covering the ground under and around the trees.

The hiking plans were real, though, and it was still dark outside when I got up, showered and pulled on my gear. A light breakfast, and I was ready to go with my boots on and my pack packed. Then, with the front door open and the lights switched off, my phone pinged.

It was Bash.

Caught something. Staying in bed today. Sorry m8.

Fuck. I'd been looking forward to getting out.

Something or someone? Har har. Take it easy.

So there I was, a whole Sunday before me with nothing to do. I ran my mind over all the possibilities. Go hiking by myself? Fix the leaky tap in the bathroom? Go through that box of papers sitting on the kitchen table that hadn't been opened since I moved in with my ex six years ago?

In the end, I did the only natural thing. I dumped my pack, pulled off my boots and returned to the bedroom. No need to turn on the light to undress and crawl back into bed. No need to draw the curtains.

I woke sometime later. It was still dark outside, but from across the way a warm yellow light was pouring from Ginny and Vernon's living room -- just Ginny's now, though. Grumbling to myself, I was about to get up and close the curtains when movement caught my eye. Movement, and pale, naked skin.

For a while I thought that I was mistaken. After that first glimpse Ginny vanished from sight, presumably into the kitchen -- if I had in fact seen her.

The longer I lay there watching, not moving, the more I convinced myself that it was just the remnant of a dream. Had I been dreaming of naked women? Of thin, pale redheads with massive boobs? Quite possibly. The naked women bit, at least. So it was likely that I'd just imagined it.

No.

I'd seen that glimpse of movement. Deep down I knew it, and the knowledge shouted down my resolve about not being creepy.

So I lay still, barely daring to breathe.

She must think I'm away for the day. Everyone knows I go hiking on Sundays. And no-one else can see inside her flat.

Part of my mind was cursing that I might have missed plenty of other sights of my naked neighbour.

At last my patience was rewarded. Ginny stepped into view, crossing the living room from the kitchen to the bedroom.

Yes, she was naked.

My first thought was that she wasn't as skinny as she appeared under those bulky sweaters of hers. Her boobs were large, but not out of proportion to the rest of her. They were firm, jutting out from her chest. Slightly paler than the rest of her, though not much, with pink nipples pointed directly forward.

Her waist was narrow, and her arms were more muscled than I'd expected, but there was a feminine softness to her body: the slight roundedness of her belly, the plump arse, the firm thighs. Only her calves were perhaps a bit skinny, and they were the only part of her that was ever visible.

All these impressions flooded into my mind in the few moments before she disappeared. I took the opportunity to check the time on my phone -- a bit after 7am -- and switch it off. I didn't want the screen lighting up my room and exposing me to Ginny.

Quickly I adjusted myself. My cock was raging hard. It had been swollen even before I'd had a clear look at Ginny, just from the anticipation. It had also been nearly a year since I'd last had sex, and almost as long since I'd seen a naked woman anywhere except on my tablet.

I'd barely settled back down in a comfortable position that gave me a clear view of Ginny's windows when she re-emerged. A wave of disappointment crashed into me as I realised she was wearing a bathrobe. The belt was only loosely knotted, and I could see a bit of cleavage and some swaying movement, but that was all.

She had a brush in her hand, and she sat down in the big chair opposite the window and ran it through her hair.

It was nice hair, and longer than I'd realised. As she brushed it, first one side, then the other, it almost began to glow in the yellow light.

I continued to watch, still hoping to see more nakedness, but also just enjoying the sight. It was exhilarating to be part of someone's private moment, sharing an intimacy born from her unawareness. Thinking herself alone, unobserved, she yawned and slouched comfortably, one foot on the coffee table.

After a while she put the brush on a small table beside her chair. Taking a handful of hair, she turned and held it up to the light. I recognised the ritual: the search for split ends. Peering closely, she drew a pair of scissors from the pocket of her robe and began to snip. Settling down, she took her leg from the coffee table and swung it over the arm of the chair.

There!

It was unmistakable. Her robe slipped open and I spied a patch of red-gold curls nestled between the white flesh of her thighs.

I was surprised at how arousing it was. Just a woman -- someone I'd barely considered in a sexual way before -- minding her own business, with a glimpse of her pubes on display.

Even knowing that she wasn't looking at me, and that she probably couldn't see me if she was, I barely dared to move. Well, except to give my cock a bit of a rub under the blanket. It was one of those "if I move I'll spoil it all" moments.

So I lay there, my world reduced to that rectangle of light and the heat of my shaft. Ginny snipped a few times, then took another pluck of hair and began again. As she shifted, her robe fell open to uncover one of her boobs.

It was a gorgeous sight. My eyes flicked from her nipple to her pubes to her face and back again. I wanted her to move some more, show me some more, but at the same time I wanted this to last forever. It was such a magical moment

Of course it didn't last forever. After a while she let her hair fall and put the scissors down. The look on her face was one of boredom. She glanced around, picked up the brush again and ran it through her hair once, then tossed it onto the couch.

She shifted in the chair, and for a second I thought she was about to get up and leave. Instead, her eyes flicked towards the window -- the side where my living room was, not the side where I lay naked in the darkness -- and she pulled open her robe and settled back.

Suddenly my heart was pounding in my chest, in my throat. I had a clear view of her boobs, and between her legs. Her pubes thinned out lower down, and I could see pink lips peeping out between them, pursed together as if waiting for a kiss.

Mesmerised, unable to move if I'd wanted to, I watched her bring her hands up to her nipples and pinch. A flinch ran through her, then she pinched again, pulling outward before letting go. Her nipples retracted, darker than they'd been a moment earlier.

Her fingers ran across the skin of her breasts, stroking ever so lightly. I could picture the goosepimples appearing, imagine the shortness of her breath. She made tight circles around her nipples, gradually moving out then back in again until her nails dragged over the hard pink nubs. Again she pinched them, and now her mouth was open and her eyes were wide.

My mouth was open too, I realised, and my tongue was dry as I ran it over my lips.

As I watched, she lifted her leg over the armrest again. Her fingers ran over the insides of her thighs, rubbing so hard that they left red marks on white skin. Back and forth they went, a little higher each time until they brushed against those red-gold hairs.

She sagged a little lower in the chair, and now her fingers ran lightly along the tops of her thighs, where leg met body. She teased herself, then she brought her fingers inward and pressed her pink lips together. When she released them, they were shiny with moisture.

Now she rubbed along her lips. Her fingertips vanished from sight, reappearing briefly before disappearing again between her folds. With her other hand she reached up to cup her breast, squeezing it rhythmically as she rubbed.

I was rubbing as well. Moisture had leaked from my cock, covering it in a slick and sticky lube. I didn't want to come yet, though, so I was careful not to approach too close to the edge.

Ginny wasn't so cautious, it seemed. Faster and faster her fingers rubbed, and I saw her body shiver and jerk. Suddenly she stopped, and stretched over to the couch.

"No," I gasped out loud.

But yes. She took the hairbrush and brought it down between her legs. A few movements along her slit and the handle was coated in her arousal. She sank further down, both legs on the armrests now, and with two hands she positioned the brush before her entrance and slowly pressed the handle inside.

It went in easily, but her face screwed up, eyes tight shut and mouth open in a rictus of pleasure or pain. Her body was stiff, relaxing slowly as she withdrew the brush, only to tense up again when she slid it back in.

She writhed on the chair, her body seeming to want to escape the intruder while simultaneously pressing down onto it. A hand came up and dragged across her face. Her hair was plastered to her forehead, a dull, dark red now instead of its golden pink. Her chest heaved, sending those large, pale breasts shuddering up and down, shaking and jiggling to a beat that had nothing to do with the rhythm of her hand on the brush.

When her free hand clawed across her breasts and down her stomach to the patch of golden curls I knew she was close. I was too, stroking slowly but steadily, squeezing hard to hold back the knot of electricity I could feel coiled between my legs.

In and out the brush went, losing its rhythm. Her body and hands seemed to be jerking with a will all of their own, faster and faster, but all working towards the same moment. My hand joined in, and for a moment we were in sync.

Then she froze, her back arched up from the chair and her mouth went wide in a silent scream. I held back an instant longer, letting my eyes feast on the sight of her foot kicking wildly, her hand clawing at her stomach, the damp hair falling loose as she threw her head back.

But it was no use, and my eyes squeezed shut as the electric explosion fought its way free and my body went through its own judders and shakes. Hot cum splashed onto my stomach and over my fingers, and my grunts were loud in the silence of my room.

When I opened my eyes, Ginny was still collapsed on the chair. The brush was in her hand, held before her face. The handle was shiny, and she examined it with interest. So did I.

Then she took a deep breath and pushed herself upright. For a moment her legs wobbled beneath her, and she steadied herself with her free hand. She turned, walked around the chair and headed towards the bathroom, leaving me with the sight of that pale plump arse.

As I caught my breath, wondering whether she was coming back, I felt guilt creep over me. Or perhaps not guilt. I'd done nothing wrong: she was the one who'd decided to pleasure herself before a curtainless window. I'd just enjoyed the sight. I'd never promised not to watch, I'd never even promised that I wouldn't be there to see.

But still, there was something gnawing at me. Probably the same old fear of being branded the neighbourhood perv.

Whatever it was, I didn't want Ginny to even suspect I'd seen her. So I carefully made my way to the bathroom and rinsed off in the darkness. Dressed once more in my hiking gear, I took my pack and slunk out of the flat, hoping that I wouldn't run into anyone.

*

For the next few weeks I made sure to mind my own business. I kept the blinds drawn across the living room window, and turned on the light whenever I was in my bedroom. Everything not to give Ginny a reason to suspect I was spying on her.

Even so, I couldn't help myself from glancing across the way from time to time. It was as if my eyes were drawn to every movement, every flicker of light.

Soon I was familiar with her routine. She rose a little after me on weekdays -- the library was closer to the flats than my office was -- and had a breakfast of crackers and tea. When I got home from work, she'd be in the kitchen, eating a one-pan dinner or a bowl of soup. I remembered what Dylan had said about paying the mortgage on a librarian's salary.

Her evenings were spent with an e-reader. After a week or so I noticed her making notes on a writing pad, and soon a pile of what were clearly coursebooks and syllabuses built up on her coffee table.