Naughty Nepali Nymph

As those who know me here are well aware, I have voyeuring down to a science, regularly catching women in the neighborhood undressing by applying tried and true techniques.

But that's not what happened in this case.

My next-door neighbors, who have four young kids and both work, hired a sitter for the summer.

I'd noticed her, of course, and that she was a small, very attractive girl of probably Indian descent looking to be maybe 15. Seeing her shunt the kids around in her VW Passat, though, I knew she had to be at least 16 to get a driver's license.

One day she locked the kids and herself out of the house and knocked on my door for help. She'd already called the parents on her cell, but the kids were thirsty, so I got them all ice water, and—the children's being extremely obnoxious-- we waited on the porch instead of inside and got acquainted until the lawyer dad arrived with keys.

Though she'd been next door all day every weekday that summer, this was the first time I'd actually met her and had a conversation. Extremely polite and well-mannered--almost formal--she said she was going back for her sophomore year in college in a few weeks. She also mentioned that both her parents were physicians originally from Nepal, but she was born and raised in the United States. OK, so she was 18, maybe 19, and the Nepali heritage explained her dark complexion.

This was the first time I'd ever seen her up close, and, let me tell you, she was super-cute. Petite, with an extremely slim physique, she had a beautiful face with dark almond eyes and supremely smooth, very dark skin. She was wearing an oversize button-down-collar shirt with the tail out at the time, so I couldn't get a good read on her underlying physical topography, but it appeared promising. Her rather ordinary English name, Catherine, bore a stark contrast to her exotic looks.

The next morning, I heard the unruly kids making noise and glanced out the window to see that they were in swim suits and piling into the Passat. Unfortunately, Catherine was already in the car behind the wheel, so all I could see was her pretty face. I figured they were going to the pool at the country club next door where the parents are members.

A couple hours later, I went to take some trash out only to find out that my back yard was flooded over an inch deep, even though there wasn't a cloud in the sky. I waded around to the side and could see that water was cascading beneath the tall wooden fence between our two yards.

Squish-squishing between azaleas to their driveway, I looked through the iron gate for the source of the flood. Aha, next to their newly planted tree lay the garden hose on full force gushing water across the ground rather that soaking into it. Since my property is slightly downhill of theirs, the water was pouring into my yard.

My first thought was to just climb the fence and shut the spigot off myself, but their usually quiet black lab snarled and reminded me that was not such a good idea.

Knowing Catherine had taken the kids over to the club to swim, I decided to just slip through the slit in the tennis court fence and go get her. The pool is only about 50 yards from the courts that border the other side of my back yard.

Approaching the Olympic-size pool, I was surprised at how few people were there on such a hot, sunny day. I passed a fat cat with a diamond-encrusted Rolex and pinky ring catching rays staring at me. I smiled; he didn't. I was not a member. On the other side, atop the tall chair, was the big-boobed bleached blonde lifeguard eyeing my every move. I smiled; she didn't. I was not a member. A group of teenagers playing water polo stopped to take a look at me. I smiled; they didn't. I was not a member. At that moment, the term "exclusive" took on a deeper meaning: I was, by definition, being excluded from this private, hoity-toity country club.

I'd figured it would be easy to spot Catherine, but where the hell was she and the kids? Maybe they'd gone inside the clubhouse for lunch or left the premises altogether. Then, at the far end of the enormous pool, in the shade, I heard the unmistakable cacophony of the little next-door-neighbor shits mouthing off, and there she was. In the distance, because she was so diminutive, she'd just blended in with the kids.

But she was no kid, far from it. She was all woman, and the closer I got, the more adult—and better—she looked. Twisting around on the lounge to face me, Catherine was wearing a French-cut micro-bikini showing that her tits, firm C-cuppers with dark little nipples visible through the white fabric, were much bigger than I'd imagined, and positively perfect. Then she stood up to pick up the littlest, crying child, displaying a tiny, terrific booty atop smooth, slender legs simply beyond compare.

Catherine was one fine piece of ass!

I suppose because I was wearing a Panama hat and shades, she didn't recognize me until I walked right up in front of her and told her who I was. Then she blossomed into a wide smile, and I explained what the problem was.

In her rather formal manner, she apologized, "Oh, I'm so terribly sorry, Mr. (Hornyman). I'll take care of it right away," then turned to deal with her four out-of-control charges. I lingered to lick her eye candy as long as I could before ambling on back to my house, glancing back several times as she gathered up the unruly children.

I was busy in my home office upstairs, and though I looked out my window occasionally, somehow I missed her and never did see her come back to shut the water off. But I knew she had because the flood was receding. At least I would not have to water the lawn for a few days.

It was about a week later that I went outside after dark for my usual after-dinner walk around the block for a smoke. Passing the neighbor's driveway, the blinding motion-sensing light flicked on--annoying me as usual--and I noticed that one of their SUVs was gone, but that Catherine's VW sedan was parked out in the street.

What would she be doing there at 9 o'clock, I pondered? The parents must have gone out for the evening, and she was babysitting, I surmised.

I was about to light up and move on when, out of the corner of my eye, I caught some movement from a second-story window.

Well, I'll be a son of a bitch. It was Catherine, naked as a jaybird!!! What a stroke of luck!! After all the intricate maneuverings I've employed over the years to ogle hot-bodied neighborhood babes--carefully learning the timing of their before- and after-work routines, when they exercise and take showers, exactly which windows to watch for, etc.--here I'd completely accidentally stumbled onto this to-die-for teen, nude!

And not only was she bare, she was also smoothing her dainty hands all over her body, pausing to twiddle those dark brown little nipples with no surrounding areolas up to mouth-watering points. Like my turn-of-the-century home built about the same time as theirs, the neighbor's windows have one large pane in each sash, so there were no cross pieces to obstruct my view. With the light on inside and dark outside, only about 30 feet away, and standing barely a yard away from the window, Catherine was crystal clear. That window is the one on the left of a side-by-side pair, and the shade on its right-side twin was all the way down. So, had she been standing only a few feet over, she would've been hidden from view. Again, pure luck!

I said she was nude, but I could not be absolutely sure, for even when I stepped up onto the foot-and-a-half-tall brick wall running along the edge of the sidewalk, I could still just barely see the very tops of her butt, hips, and lower abdomen. Since I was looking up from ground level, and she is so short, her bottom half was just below the lower sash, out of my line of sight. She might be wearing some low-slung panties, and she might not. I simply HAD to find out, but how?

The scene from Animal House in which John Belushi uses an extension ladder to voyeur the blonde sorority gal flashed through my head. That approach drew a silent chuckle, but, although I have such a ladder, using it would be, of course, all too obvious and completely out of the question.

I surveyed the situation further. The neighbor's house is constructed so that the roof over the front porch extends out beneath all the second-story windows on the front side, making a platform that only slants down slightly for drainage. That would be an ideal place to drink in the view of Catherine at extremely close range.

My house is built similarly, and when I don't want to hassle with getting the ladder out of the basement to clean out the gutters, I've climbed up the pillars that support the porch columns, and from there am able to reach a gutter with one hand while using the other to clean it out. A few times I'd spotted a dead limb on the roof and at no small risk had used my arms to hoist myself up high enough to get a leg over the gutter and then roll onto the roof to retrieve the limb. In a case of they-don't-make-em-like-they-used-to, my gutters are obviously strong and anchored to the house like the hinges of hell.

So, I walked up to their porch in hopes that I could gain second-story access in the same way. Checking out the downspout, I could see it was made of the same flimsy aluminum as the gutters above and would never support my 170 pounds, so that was out. Funny how situations like this make you notice things you never did before.

OK, so I had to quickly find a higher perch for a better view before the show was over.

The only trees in the front yard are a stand of crepe myrtles right there by the wall and driveway that have grown quite tall because they've never been pruned. Accordingly, the trees have dozens of skinny trunks that extend straight up from the ground and don't begin to branch until about 9 or 10 feet high. Like all crepe myrtles, they have no bark and are really quite slick.

In other words, if I had to pick trees not suitable for climbing, it would be those crepe myrtles. However, climbing them was the only way to get up high enough to ogle Catherine's bottom half. You see, I never learned to use a pogo stick or pole vault, two ridiculous options that actually did cross my mind.

Though it was dark, anyone driving or walking by might see me, but ours is a quiet side street, and its being a few minutes past 9 in the evening, cars and pedestrians would be few and far between. So, I figured it was worth the risk. In fact, it was less likely anyone would see me up the tree than if I continued to linger there on the low wall or sidewalk.

So, I shinnied up the crepe myrtles. I cannot remember the last time I'd climbed a tree, but, like riding a bike, it's something you never forget how to do, and I was a very good climber as a kid. Even so, it wasn't exactly easy, as, with no handholds, I had to climb one of the slick, skinny trunks like a rope. Once I got my hands up to where it began to branch, though, I was able to hoist myself up and then stand in the fork.

I wiped the sweat out of my eyes, and now they were nearly even with the upstairs window framing the young beauty, right at crotch level. And no, she was not wearing panties! Her tight buns, dark as the rest of her skin with delicious dimples atop each one, were so tiny I could have cupped them both in one hand.

She walked away, and I thought for a moment the show was over, but then I heard music, and she returned. As she did so, Catherine was facing the window straight-on, and I saw her pussy for the first time. It literally took my breath away! With her pubes shaved in a pencil-thin, practically black vertical strip, I could easily see her dark brown labia, so puffy, smooth, and tender looking. They merged into a slit, where, at the top, an extremely thin yet protruding clit hood flared up and out. I've never seen such a narrow one that sticks out so far—unusual and simply divine. In a conditioned-response reaction, my tongue began to flick.

In my fantasy, I could hear Catherine ask me in her formal tone, "Please excuse me for being so forward, but would you be so kind as to perform cunnilingus?"

She began to dance to the music—Green Day—which was great not only because I like that group, but also because she was moving. And the way she moved was incredible---vigorous, yet smooth and sensual. Her buns flexed. Her boobs jiggled. She turned this way and that so that I could ogle her from every angle.

But no matter which way her body went, most of the time her head was pointing straight ahead—at a right angle to the direction I was viewing her—as if she were looking at something. I noticed this from the get-go and thought at first it might be a TV, but there was no flicker. Then it donned on me: Catherine was watching herself in a mirror, probably one over a dresser. I could see the bed, a side table, and a chest of drawers, so it would fit that a dresser would be against the spare bedroom's west wall, which was out of my line of sight, blocked by the shaded window.

She continued to dance, with one hand fiddling with her nipples while the other brushed her vulva more and more. Now that I was up in the crepe myrtles, I not only had a better angle, but was also a few feet closer and could see her better than ever. I tell you in all honesty, Catherine was one of the best-looking, sexiest girls I've ever seen, and I'm counting film and TV stars, beauty pageant finalists, centerfolds, you name it.

There was a pause in the music, and she stopped dancing. The next Green Day tune started, but Catherine remained still. Then, both hands descended to her crotch. Oh, boy. What was I about to witness? Looking down and making a "v" with the index and middle fingers of her left hand, she pulled up and away on her crotch flesh to flatten out the aforementioned protuberance. Out from beneath its hood emerged her Nepali nubin, swollen and glinting in the strong ceiling light. Oh my God, what a sight!

Inserting the index finger of her right hand between the lips of her pussy, she slowly dragged moisture up onto her love button. Rubbing it ever-so-gently in little circles first one direction then the other, she gradually picked up speed. Then she suddenly stabbed the finger into her pussy and went back to her clit, this time flicking it fast as the fluttering wings of a hummingbird.

Not surprisingly, I found myself hard as a billy bat. Catherine had probably had major trouble getting all four of the little hellions to bed and now was using the spare bedroom to decompress in the form of some self-pleasuring.

The next time she went for more vaginal lubrication, she used two fingers and dug around a bit before returning to clit play. This time her labia remained parted a bit, displaying the bright red wet innards of her pussy in dramatic contrast to the dark lips surrounding it. It was hard to pry my eyes off her crotch, but I looked up at her face, and her sexed-up expression was simply priceless.

This went on for quite a while, and I cannot say for sure, but it appeared that, over and over, she was taking herself to the very brink of orgasm then backing off before she came. For each subsequent cycle, judging from the extent to which her body would shudder and her faces contort, she was getting ever closer. She very well may have been having little mini-orgasms every time, but whatever, she was working up to The Big O. Although just an audience of one, I was her biggest fan and rooting her on. Too bad I was on the sidelines and not on her team to facilitate!

I was so fixated on this naughty Nepali nymph that I'd temporarily lost all sense of time and place.

Some headlights approached and snapped me back to the reality of what I was doing, but I wasn't particularly concerned because I was up in the trees whose foliage hung down on the street side and kept me pretty well hidden from the street. So I quickly got back on task gawking at Catherine, now rapidly finger-fucking herself with one hand while vigorously rubbing her engorged clit with the other. The Big O seemed imminent.

The vehicle slowed, but that didn't really bother me much because the driver was probably just braking for the stop sign just two doors up at the intersection.

Then the vehicle slowed to a mere creep and eased into the driveway. Heart pounding, I prayed it was just someone seeking a drive to turn around in and would back up and leave. Oh, no, it was a black Toyota Highlander. The neighbors were home! Oh shit!!!

Now, I already have a strained relationship with them. Ever since they moved in, the wife/mom has had a problem with me, culminating in her pitching a cursing, conniption fit, then actually calling the cops, about my using the leaf blower and weed-whacker in the middle of a Saturday afternoon because the noise woke up her napping baby. We have not spoken since. Before that, her husband was a decent enough guy, but she apparently wears the pants in the family, for, after that incident, he ignores me, as well. Suffice it to say they would take me to the cleaners if I were caught.

OK, so there I am, literally up a tree, the bottom of my soles only 4, maybe 5 feet over the tops of their heads as they get out of the SUV. I froze, doing my best impression of a crepe myrtle.

Assessing just how noticeable I was—or not—I realized it was sheer luck that I was fairly well camouflaged. My long slender legs were summertime tan, and blended in with the verticality of the skinny tree trunks. I had on navy blue shorts, and though I almost always wear a contrast color shirt, I'd just pulled on a navy polo because the rest were still in the dryer. So my dark clothes were dark like the night. Further, with shorts, I always wear socks—clean, bright white socks that practically glow in the dark—but that night I'd just slipped on a pair of driving mocs over my bare feet.

For once, I was grateful for their motion-activated security light that had been so irritating, as it came on as soon as they pulled into the drive and would remain on until 3 minutes after all motion ceased. With blinding light in their eyes, they'd be far less likely to see me. From the conversation, it sounded like they'd had a few drinks, so that helped my cause, as well.

Finally, people seldom look up, and, thankfully, they didn't. Had they that evening, they would have seen me AND Catherine.

Waiting for them to both get inside, I was going to spring out of the tree as soon as the door shut and book like hell out of there, but they certainly took their sweet time. In the mean time, I looked back up at Catherine, who appeared to be right on the heels of The Big O.

Thankfully, the CD was either over or between songs, and she must have heard the front door opening because in an instant her expression went from one of extreme pleasure to abject panic. In a blur, she raced from the room out of sight. At that rate of speed, I figured she got some clothes on and appeared as normal as ever by the time she encountered the parents.

I slid down the trunk like Batman down the bat pole and walked my usual route around the block. Relieved that I'd gotten off by the skin of my teeth, I don't think I've ever enjoyed a cigarette so much, so I lit up another one. Besides, I wanted to kill a few more minutes to ensure all was quiet on the neighbor front before going back home. Lucky to not have been caught, I was now playing it overly safe by avoiding all human activity anywhere near that house.

When I rounded the corner at the stop sign, I could see that Catherine's silver Passat was still parked in front of the neighbor's. Hell, it had been nearly half an hour since the parents got home. Why was she hanging out there so long? Had they caught her naked? I seriously considered going back around the block again, but I realized that would be positively paranoid, and that she was probably just lingering to be polite and bring the parents up to speed on the kids. Besides, it would take less than a minute to walk past their house, across my front yard, and down my drive out of sight to the back door where I'd be safely inside.