Jonathon couldn’t see her face, only the slim, sexy legs dangling on the side of the sofa. He peered through his apartment window, squinting and cursing at himself for not buying the binoculars that were on sale last week. Her skirt rode high on her thigh, a mini-skirt that reminded him of the schoolgirl fantasy he’s had for decades. Her stockings were opaque; they resembled the look of argyle socks that were knitted with extra length. He admitted it didn’t sound too sexy, but as far as he was concerned, they required garter belts. That’s all he needed to know; if something required garters, it was sexy. As much as he tried, he couldn’t see if she wore any panties. Everything about her made his dick hard.
Her living room was always tidy, perfectly arranged, not even a pillow out of place. She had a lawyer’s bookcase next to the leather sofa and he wondered if that was her profession. No matter, he was still hard even if she was a lawyer. In fact, he didn’t know anything about her except that she loved to lounge in stockings and short skirts, sometimes with a bra, sometimes without. Every night around seven the lights in her apartment come on and he hides behind the blinds, in his dark bedroom, oil and dick in hand.
He knew she had long black hair because, on occasion, she would move into partial view as if to tease him with the possibility of seeing the face to go along with the luscious body. Every now and then, she would stand up and walk into another room, but never into full view. Her face was still a mystery. Again, he cursed at the fact that her shutters weren’t completely open. At least he could enjoy the view - however limited - of her lying on her side, feet over the armrest and her delicate arms caressing her knees and thighs.
Many times Jonathon entertained the possibility that she, just once, might please herself. It was an irritating mystery as to why she never did. Months of hope without the slightest satisfaction! He never saw any men in her apartment. For an instant he questioned if she were a lesbian, then smiled. Jonathon often wondered if she just used her sexy lounging as foreplay before scurrying off to bed and masturbating there. With his luck, she would touch herself in the one room he had no visual access to. Nevertheless, his mind traveled to the secrets her skirt hid, and he jacked off as many times as his body would allow.
Every night she was home, Jonathon peeked through his blinds. Week after week his curiosity grew: he wondered who this woman was, what she did for a living, what she was like in person and in bed. Several times he tried to dash out his door, down the stairs and across the street in hopes of bumping into her. However, each time he did, he only found himself in a sweat. Disappointed and exhausted, he would bump into the old bag lady by the door asking for money to buy her next bottle of booze. Damn those stairs! He tried the elevator once, thinking it was faster, but it seemed every tenant was going out. As the elevator stopped on every floor, he anxiously and cordially smiled at the people who had no idea he was in such a rush.
When he rented the upscale apartment on the ninth floor it was for the view from his living room. It looked out onto a serene pond – man-made, of course – that calmed him down after a hard day’s work. He never expected to find the treasure his bedroom window offered: a beautiful woman who would tease him to orgasm each night as he played peeping tom.
Jonathon was obsessed. He turned down invitations to “happy hour” with friends – little did they know he had several happy hours at home – and avoided the idea of dating. When he walked down the street, every woman he looked at was one with long black hair. Sometimes he would go for a walk around the time she was expected home, hoping to catch a glimpse, or better yet, bumping into her. His timing sucked.
