I slept in late. I don't know why, I just did. Every other day I wake at 5AM; I set my alarm, but I don't really need it. My body has adjusted. By 6AM I'm dressed and out the door on my way to work, my 14-ounce thermos cup filled with steaming hot coffee for the long drive, fighting traffic. Since I overslept, and even slept through my alarm, something was up, and I decided to call in sick. I sent a text and email to the boss, and then I rolled over.
I glanced out the window and the lights were on in my neighbor's room. We never see each other, due to conflicting work schedules, and she probably thought I had already gone to work, assuming she thought about me at all. My neighbor, Joanie Douglas, was in her mid-twenties, and I had just turned 35. I'm Dylan.
The human eye, like the eyes of carnivores everywhere, notices motion. That's why animals freeze in place when they're alarmed; it's harder for the predator to spot them. As I casually glanced across at Joanie's window for no good reason, I saw motion. It was Joanie; no surprise there. It's her home, after all.
The surprise came from the suit she was wearing: It was her birthday suit! I hadn't realized just what a pretty young woman she is, and I instantly fell hopelessly in love with her naked boobs, which at the time I thought just had to be perfection itself. She fiddled around in the room she was in, and I got some mighty fine looks, and then I got a real treat.
Joanie raised one leg, exposing her pussy to my hungry eyes, and she used some kind of applicator which she put up her pussy. At this point I was cursing myself for not having binoculars. Note to self: Buy some! Then Joanie, luscious boobs jiggling away, walked to the stage exit. It looked as if she was heading towards her bedroom.
I quickly got out of bed and ran to the next room. If Joanie's blinds were up, and they usually were, I could get some more views of her naked body; perhaps even better ones, since her bedroom has a large picture window!
I thanked my lucky stars. It must be good, clean living, I told myself. There was Joanie, in all of her naked glory, and she was doing a little dance of seduction. She was playing with her boobs, and then teasing her pussy with her fingers, as her hips swayed to and fro. Some super lucky male member of our species entered from stage right. He had gotten out of Joanie's bed, went behind her, kissed the back of her neck and played with her boobs.
After a while, with me enjoying every single second of the erotic show, Joanie led her man by the hand to her bed. She pushed him down onto the bed and climbed up on top of him. Her head went down and all I could see was her naked ass sticking up, but judging by the subtle motions, and the positions, it was a lead pipe cinch his cock was buried in her mouth.
After a bit, she must have stopped the blowjob, because she climbed up on him, slipped her luscious body down on top of his cock, and slowly gyrated around, morphing into a bouncing motion as she sat upright and rode him superbly. What a lucky guy.
Joanie's eyes were mostly closed as she rode the guy, but at one point she opened them. Her look was kind of a glazed look of pleasure until suddenly she looked over at the window I was in, and she must have seen my hand moving. We humans have carnivore's eyes, and she caught the motion of my hand caressing my own cock, and she knew. I knew that she knew, because her eyes got wide open, and she looked shocked.
Suddenly, her look of shock became one of confusion, then reflection, and finally amusement. She smiled at me. I smiled back, and gave a little wave with my hand, using the one that wasn't on my cock. She shivered, right there, sitting straight up, with her lover's cock embedded inside her, She continued fucking her partner, but she kissed the air in front of her, in a gesture clearly meant for me. Classy dame, that Joanie!
All good things come to an end, even Joanie's inadvertent show, and I watched the two of them get dressed and leave the room to enter another part of the house I couldn't see into. I got dressed too, and did my morning ablutions, and had some coffee and toast. I even turned on the lights.
An hour or so later I heard screaming from Joanie's house. I heard them from next door, right through the walls of both houses, and even through my headphones! The screams were that loud. They were not screams of pleasure; quite the opposite!
Joanie and her lover were really going at! This was much worse than a lover's quarrel. Lover boy came at Joanie, but she ran, he caught her, and then he gave her a sucker punch to her solar plexus. She reflexively bent over and then he gave her an expert karate chop to the back of her neck. Now she was down, on the floor, and he kicked her repeatedly, in the ribs. Joanie collapsed out of my view, rolling down a few stairs, and her house went morbidly quiet.
Lover boy looked alarmed, and he left Joanie's house in a hurry. I scrambled, trying to get outside in time to catch his license plate, but I was too late. All I could tell was that he drove a detailed Camaro.
I didn't know what to do. Joanie might be in trouble and need a doctor? I could see the fear in lover boy's face; he had gone too far, and he knew it. It didn't take me long to figure out what I had to do; maybe one split second? I put on a jacket and went next door. I was going to ring the bell, but lover boy had left Joanie's front door wide open, and cold air was pouring into her home. It was December in Indiana.
I called out, but there was no answer. I kept calling out until I came across a crumpled heap of the sexiest neighbor one could ever hope for. Her clothes were ripped with her bra emanating from her top. Joanie was completely still, but she was obviously breathing, and I exhaled. I realized I had been holding my breath. I touched her. She stirred.
"Go away, Mike. I told you to leave!" Joanie said, without even moving from where she lay. Her voice conveyed pure, unadulterated hate. She thought I was the man she had just fucked so lovingly, and then fought with so brutally.
"Mike left, Joanie. It's your neighbor, Philip Croydon," I said.
Joanie rolled over onto her back, wincing with pain, one eye already swollen shut, and she looked up at me. "Hello, Philip. To what do I owe this pleasure?" and she groaned in pain, closing her eyes. "Excuse me, please. Mike really did a number on me. He must have hit me fifty times. It hurts all over."
That was enough for me. I let Joanie lie there, moaning in pain, and I called 911.
Half an hour later I was standing beside her, with her in a hospital bed. She was feeling no pain; a morphine drip can do that. She had a swollen, black eye, three broken ribs and a mild concussion, some internal bruising, but nothing she wouldn't fully recover from. Even beaten up and stoned on morphine, Joanie was a feast for my eyes.
We talked for a long time. We had never really taken the time to get to know each other. At one point, she said, "Did you enjoy my little show? I got excited when I saw you watching us fuck." I wasn't at all sure she would have said that without the morphine. "You helped to give me one of my best ever orgasms. It sure wasn't Mike's doing!"
I told her what I thought of her show, and of her. I told her how I thought she was perfection itself.
"Except for my taste in men, right?" she said.
"Well..."
"It's okay, Philip. Mike is one of those men who doesn't take rejection well, you know? It's an occupational hazard of being a single woman, I suppose. Hey, how do you take rejection, yourself?" Joanie asked.
"Had I been Mike, making love to you would have been such a thrill, that I would have been grateful to have had the chance," I said.
"You wouldn't have been angry when I dumped you after fucking your brains out?" Joanie said. It had to be the morphine that allowed her to talk like that!
"Disappointed, sure; sad, definitely; forlorn, indubitably; angry, maybe, but I never would have hit you," I said.
Just then a delivery man arrived with a spectacular bouquet of two dozen, long-stemmed roses. Joanie glanced at the card. "Please take these to Louise Smith, room 312 in the cancer ward," Joanie said. "Tell them they're from Philip Croydon, will you please? Philip, could you give him a twenty?"
The florist gratefully accepted my $50 bill, and he promptly left to bring the flowers over to the cancer ward.
"Louise is a friend of my mother; she's in Stage Four," Joanie said. "The roses are pretty. Should I take Mike back? You'll get some more erotic shows if I do, you know," and Joanie winked. Then she winced. Apparently, it hurt to wink. "Make-up sex is often the best."
"I don't want to give you advice on how to run your life. I do enjoy the shows, however," I said.
"I should reward you for saving me. Once I'm back home, I'll come over and give you a private show, just for you. Would you like that? Feel free to say no, of course. I'm being a bit forward, here," Joanie said.
"It might be your morphine drip talking, but if, once you're sober, you ever want to do that, rest assured that I would love it!" I said.
***********
Joanie did not take Mike back, even though he tried persistently. She totally stopped dating. I suppose she was waiting for her ribs to heal, for the black and blue marks to vanish, and for her black eyes to become normal again. It took a while. Little by little she began to look like her old self again. I know, because she undressed for me in her window every single night, and I enjoyed watching her do it, too, every single night. She would see me watching, and she would smile, and wave.
I was surprised one Saturday afternoon, when my doorbell rang. It was Joanie. I greeted her, expressed my pleasure at the surprise, and invited her in. I offered her a drink and we each had a glass of wine, even if it was 3 o'clock in the afternoon.
"To what do I owe this pleasure?" I asked.
"Just being neighborly," Joanie said.
We sat and talked for a while. I couldn't get the images of her naked, and even fucking, out of my head, but I tried mightily. As we talked, I checked her out. She was pretty. Her face was the face of a porcelain doll. Round, with big eyes and red lips; a little natural rouge in her cheeks, all framed by blonde hair which was a lovely shade of yellow.
She had nice legs and a small waist, which, combined with her already noted perfect breasts, made her the exemplar of a modern woman. She was not a heavy, fleshy woman like Rubens painted, nor was she a skinny little flat-chested thing that iconified the flappers of the roaring twenties, no, she was a modern girl, with the height and weight appropriate to the third decade of the twenty-first century. Too bad she was so young. I'd guess she was in her mid-twenties, and I'm in my mid-thirties.
"I have a date tonight. If I like him, I might take him home. Keep your lights off, and you can watch. I bought you a present for the new year," she said, and she handed me a gift-wrapped box. I asked if I should open it right then and there, and she nodded yes, so I did. It was a pair of binoculars, of quite high quality. She saw my surprise, even my shock, and she winked at me.
"There's an attachment that converts them to night vision," Joanie added, and she giggled. "You know, in case one of my next guys insists on having the lights off." She winked.
"I have a present for you, too," I said, and I gave her a nicely wrapped box.
