It's six thirty-two precisely when the light comes on in the apartment building opposite, just as it does every week night when your neighbor comes home from work.
You've already turned off your own bedroom light and removed the cloth that conceals the high-powered telescope you have pointed straight into her apartment, and as you place your eye up to the lens you don't even need to adjust the focus: everything has been set up ready.
You watch as your pretty blond neighbor goes through her usual routine -- dumps her purse on the kitchen table, kicks off her shoes and takes off her coat, which you know she'll place on the back of a dining chair instead of hanging it up. This she'll do later, once she's had a glass of white wine.
You've been in love with her since she moved in across the street six months ago, and you've got her nightly routine down pat. You also know a fair amount about her even though you've never actually spoken to her. You know her name is Heather Parker and that she works at a major bank in town. She recently split up with her boyfriend and has had two one-night stands since then. You know this either through watching her apartment, or by carrying out a little clandestine investigative work: checking her mailbox, following her to work, watching her from a distance. The irony is that she doesn't even know you exist, apart from those fleeting moments you've engineered so craftily: passing by her in the foyer of her apartment building, or bumping into her in a coffee shop.
But she's so beautiful you've never had the guts to talk to her. You merely watch and wait for the right opportunity.
Heather is twenty-three years old and gorgeous. She has long blond hair which she ties in a ponytail for work (sometimes she pins it up in a bun, but not often) and she has the widest blue eyes you've ever seen, together with the sweetest smile. Sadly, you rarely see her smiling these days, not since she split up with Mark or whatever his name is. But when she does smile it lights up her whole face and makes those big blue eyes shine brightly.
Right now Heather is sitting at the kitchen table drinking her wine and opening her mail. Under the table she's wiggling and stretching her toes to relieve the discomfort of being in heels all day, and you fantasise about calling her up and offering to massage her feet. You reach beside you for your own glass of wine -- chilled Pinot Grigio, just like hers -- and take a sip at the same time as her, make your own mental toast to a delightful evening.
After reading her mail and finishing her first glass of wine, Heather gets up and -- as predicted -- hangs up her coat on the back of the apartment door. She then walks through to her bedroom and turns on the light, and you have to quickly shift position to reframe her.
Once inside her bedroom, Heather takes off her suit jacket, throws it on the bed and unzips her skirt. She lets this drop to the floor, and you can see that she's wearing sheer nylon pantyhose, flesh-colored. In just hose and blouse she wanders into the bathroom, where you guess she's turning on the shower as usual. It's frustrating that you've never been able to see in there and have always had to imagine what's going on inside, but once you see steam rising you know she's about to take a shower or bath. You can only hope she's not going to finish undressing in there, hiding the erotic spectacle from your illicit gaze, but to your immense relief she re-emerges from the bathroom, unbuttoning her white satin blouse. You smile happily to yourself as she continues her unknowing striptease for you.
The window of Heather's bedroom has Venetian blinds and they are drawn all the way down, but because your apartment is one floor higher than hers you can actually see fully into her room. And because she's never adjusted the angle of the blinds you've always been able to watch her undress or make love, or whatever she does in the privacy of her own bedroom. You often wonder whether she's done this on purpose -- if she gets a kick out of being watched -- or if she's blissfully unaware that some of the folks opposite can clearly see into her most private space.
Right now Heather is taking off her blouse. She has a lovely bra on today, white satin with lace trim, which cradles her breasts beautifully. You wish she would slow down her striptease but after all she is casually undressing for a shower, not putting on a burlesque show. Reaching back she unhooks her bra and shrugs it from her shoulders, revealing her bare breasts to your hungry gaze. For such a slender-framed girl she has magnificent tits: full, round, and surprisingly large, with big, seemingly ever-hard nipples. You watch as they bounce and jiggle unrestrained while she neatly folds her bra and places it on the bed. You can't understand why she leaves her skirt crumpled on the floor and carefully folds up her bra, but all the same she does this every night. Well, we all have our little quirks, don't we?
She bends over to pull down her pantyhose, taking her panties down at the same time -- now why couldn't she have taken them off separately? -- but at least she gives you a good view of her ass and legs while she stoops down to step out of her underwear. Now fully naked, she walks to the bathroom with her back to you, denying you that glorious glimpse of pussy, and pushes the door to behind her. All you can see now is steam escaping snake-like through the crack in the bathroom door, and you curse silently at not being able to see inside there.
While she's busy in the bathroom, you look down and realise you've got a hard-on. There's nothing unusual about that; the sight of Heather undressing nearly always gets you aroused. You decide to play with yourself a little, and open your fly so that you can free your dick from the confines of your pants. As you touch yourself, you picture Heather soaping herself in the shower, sliding her lathered hands all over those luscious breasts and down between her legs, pleasuring herself while you do the same. You imagine her running a soapy hand up between her buttocks, cleaning that most intimate part of her, and think how much you'd love to do it for her. I bet you'd love to slide your finger into that little hole, wouldn't you? Or maybe grab those wet, soapy breasts from behind and play with them, while your hard dick nestles in the crack of her ass...
On the brink of coming, you quit masturbating and take a peek through the telescope, but she's still in the bathroom. So you sit there patiently and finish your wine, languidly stroking your sensitized dick.
After a while, Heather emerges from the bathroom wrapped in a fluffy white towel and with wet hair. You sit up and peer through the telescope, cursing again that she didn't come out fully naked; nevertheless you watch as she sits down at her dressing table and begins drying her hair in the mirror. Even though she's performing a fairly mundane, everyday task, there is still an illicit thrill to be derived from secretly watching her, from invading her privacy like this, and your cock remains stiff in your hand.
