The View from My Apartment
Angela's name suited her perfectly, because, in my opinion, she resembled a cute, sexy, little blonde cherub. She was a beautiful 42 years-old woman, and wasn't at all fat, or even chubby. Her cheeks and oval face, however, made her look oh-so-sweet whenever she smiled, and Angela smiled often. Her friendly, bubbly personality was also a big factor in me thinking of her as a cherub, because Angela always brightened up my day, whenever I saw her. To complete the picture, she was 5'5" tall, with blue-gray eyes, medium-blonde hair, and a light complexion. Angela had dyed her natural light-brown hair to medium-blonde, and wore it in a classic bob cut that just touched her lovely shoulders. I eventually learned that her measurements were 36-26-38, and that she wore a 34C bra, and a size 8 dress. She reminded me of a younger, thinner, sexier version of Tipper Gore.
I was 27 years-old, and had rented my large, third floor studio apartment from Angela and her husband. So, Angela was my landlady. Angela and her husband owned several nearby apartment buildings, that had originally been large, single family dwellings. My apartment had originally been the attic of a large single home, before the entire house had been converted into apartments. I had chosen my apartment because it had several skylights, and I could, actually, use it as an artist's studio. I'm only an amateur artist, but it was fun to be able to use my place for painting and photography, when I had the time.
As Angela and I lived right next door to each other, we bumped into each other frequently. She had a large garden, and was often outside, in her jeans and tank tops, tending to it. About once a week, in the summer, she would stop by my apartment with tomatoes, or cucumbers, or something from her garden. I would often photograph her flowers, and, a few times, I even got her to pose for me, while she was working in her garden. Once, I talked her into posing, in her garden, wearing a pretty sundress and straw hat. I sent those photos to the local newspaper, and to the surprise of both of us, they were published in the "Home and Garden Section". All-in-all, we were on friendly terms, and even flirted with each other, on occasion.
Angela's husband was another story. He was a lawyer, and was older than Angela, by about 10 years. We hardly ever spoke to each other. It wasn't that he was particularly unfriendly, it was more like he always seemed to be preoccupied. I had the impression that he didn't pay much attention to Angela.
My computer desk was set up near a window that faced Angela's house. So, one day, when I heard hammering outside, I just turned in my chair to look out the window. Then, I saw that the noise was coming from some carpenters that were working in Angela's attic. The next time that she stopped by, I mentioned that I had seen the renovation work. Angela told me that her daughters were always bringing their girlfriends home from college on the weekends, and that they were converting the attic into another guestroom to make more room for them.
As Angela was telling me this, she walled over to the window, and looked across at her house. After looking out, for a couple of seconds, she laughed and said, "I can see that I'm going to have to tell my daughter's friends to keep the curtains closed, and the shades down at night." She continued, "You can look directly at the bed of the new guestroom from this window."
Angela was right. My window was about twenty-five feet away from her house, and directly across from the center window of her new guestroom. To add to that, my window actually looked slightly down and directly at the bed that was located in the middle of the room.
I laughed and said jokingly, "Please don't do that, Angela." I continued, "I was really looking forward to watching your daughter's cute little coed friends prance around at night in their thong underwear. This is the only place in the neighborhood with that kind of a view, you know." I finished, "I bought that telescope, over there, just so that I could peep into your new guestroom at night. And, now, you're going to ruin it all for me," as I pointed to a small, brass, folding telescope that sat on a nearby shelf.
The telescope remark wasn't really true, as I had owned that little telescope for years, and often carried it with me when I went hiking. But, pointing it out, as I did, served to enhance my little joke.
Angela turned to face me with a smile, put her hands on her hips, in a matronly fashion, and said, "Oh, you like to watch pretty girls prance around in their underwear, do you?"
"Yes. Yes, I do," I answered with a laugh, "And this way, it won't even cost me any money, like it does down at the nudie bar."
Angela laughed and said, "Oh, you're a naughty, naughty boy, Greg!" She continued, "Don't you get enough pretty girls to prance around for you in their underwear, right here, in your little artist's studio?"
"No. No, I don't," I said with a laugh, "An amateur artist, such as myself, can never talk enough pretty girls into prancing around for him in their underwear."
Angela said, "Oh, really? And, just how many of your girlfriends have you managed to talk into posing for you, up here in your little love nest?" Then, she laughed, again, and added, "Excuse me. I meant to say 'your artist's studio'."
"Unfortunately, none of them," I answered with mock sadness.
She responded, "None of them? That's hard to believe!"
"No, none of them," I answered, "My relationships with my girlfriends are all strictly platonic."
