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."
"Don't quit your day job," Angela said with a smile, "Otherwise, you won't be able to afford to go down to the nudie bar anymore."
We laughed, then Angela said, "So, none of your girlfriends have ever posed for you?" She continued, "I know that that's not true." She finished, "You're very sweet, Greg. Most men brag about their success with women."
"I was taught," I answered, "that a gentlemen doesn't kiss and tell." I continued with a laugh, "Or look and tell, or whatever and tell." We talked for a little while longer, then Angela left, and I didn't give our conversation another thought. That is, I didn't give it another thought until a few days later, when things started to get interesting in the neighborhood.
On Tuesday evening, after Labor Day, at around 8:00 PM, I was sitting at my computer, when I noticed a light go on outside, out of the corner of my eye. I glanced out the window and saw that the light had come from the center window of Angela's new guestroom. Angela was walking away from the window, so I assumed that she had just raised the shade. I didn't think anything of it, and continued working.
A few minutes later, I looked up from the computer, to rest my eyes for a moment, and glanced out the window again. This time, I saw Angela walking around in her plain white bra and jeans.
I said to myself in surprise, "What the hell?" Then, I looked more closely. As far as I could tell, the only shade that was up was the one on the center window of her guestroom, and the curtains were wide open. I was quite certain that Angela had seen me working on my computer, when she had opened the curtains and raised that shade. Then, I remembered my little joke of a few days before.
"Interesting," I said to myself, "Very interesting." After thinking about it for a moment, I turned off my computer and the lights of my apartment. Then, I sat down, in the dark, to see what Angela was going to do next.
First, Angela laid some blouses out on the bed. Then, she sat on the end of the bed and exchanged her flat shoes for high-heels. Next, she started trying on her blouses, one at a time. She put on quite a fashion show, alternating between looking at herself in the mirror, and turning and looking directly at my window. Angela looked cute, beautiful, sexy, and happy, all at the same time, as she slowly tried on the three blouses over a period of about fifteen minute. I could see that she, definitely, had a real woman's breasts, a good figure, and a nice ass. Those tight jeans and high-heeled shoes really helped to emphasize Angela's shapely butt. When, she was finished trying on her blouses, she simply walked over to the window, smiled, and pulled down the shade.
I was pretty sure that the fashion show had not been an accident, so I immediately got up and turned my lights back on. When I looked out the window, I saw that Angela had pulled her window shade to one side, just a crack, and was peeping out at me. As soon as she saw me, she closed the shade completely.
