The Bedroom Window

Fifty to sixty-degree winds blew from my window meeting my ceiling fan, distributing a brisk freshness through my bedroom--a feeling better than air conditioning. The sounds of children playing, cars driving down the main road behind our quiet neighborhood, and the sounds of neighbors returning home from work and their duties for the day typically keep me company.

My home is my sanctuary, more specifically my cozy and comforting bedroom. I'd never leave if I didn't have to.

The window in my bedroom's my channel of interaction with the world, "getting to know" people from a distance. I gage temperaments, personalities, and lifestyles based on what I observe. I can tell when someone had a great day, a long day, or just wants it to be over. I can tell when a person needs a hug or a drink--maybe both.

The Johnson's live a couple of houses over. They're people-persons, always having company over. Repeating cars are regularly parked in their driveway along with ones I've never seen before. Always always having some sort of gathering, they were very much socializers.

Mrs. Rogers lives directly across the street from me. She spends most of her days tending to her garden. Although she lived alone, she seemed genuinely happy, keeping herself occupied. Her hobby brought her much joy; I could tell from the smile that was always on her face while she planted her seeds into the soil and pulled out weeds.

Then there's my newest neighbors who's been living next door for a few months now. I can tell they're fairly private people. When they see me, they greet me with a wave and a quiet smile on their face. They'll waltz into their home, not to be seen again until it was time for them to leave the next day. Not huge talkers I assume.

They didn't come out much unless it was to go to work or pick their kids up from their nana's house. Sometimes upon their return home, usually around 5:30 P.M., the kids would jump out of the car, describing the fun activities that took place there, their excited voices piercing through my bedroom's window screen.

Their blinds are always closed, their curtains probably closed behind them. They dressed rather conservatively, even when they didn't have to work. Reserved characters. They were introverts like me.

I do my best to keep a low profile. When I have to go out, I make it as quick as I can, anxious to return to the confines of my home. I delve into my personal life with a few close family and friends, but mostly keep to myself. I usually live vicariously through people, painting a picture of what their lives are like through observation. It allowed my mind to stay active without having to verbally engage much. What's unspoken speaks the loudest to me, and not many words are needed.

I've grown a keen interest in my new neighbors--about what they did for work, where they were from, their backgrounds. Hell, what their names are.

The Jones's. They look like they could be "Jones's." That'll be their name for now.

I don't know why I had this fascination with uncovering who the Jones's were. I was never this much interested in people or their personal lives. I usually go with what I see and keep it moving. But these people intrigued me for some quiet reason.

The next day, a Friday night, the Jones's have their bedroom blinds and curtains open to my surprise, something I never seen before. I peered through their window from mine, only able to see so much through the obscurity from the blinds. The Jones's were out of sight.

I started making my typical assessment. The baby blue paint on the walls told me that they were chill, maybe sensitive or calm people. They were lax, laid back. Didn't make a fuss about things. Their family picture was mounted on the wall above a desk. It was huge--at least a forty by sixty-inch frame. The photo was a vivid display of their family structure. The light pink dress on Mrs. Jones told me she was sweet and likeable. Probably great with other kids. She could have been a schoolteacher or worked in childcare. Her smile was bubbly, with teeth well taken care of and absolutely invested in.

Mr. Jones wore an all-jet-black tailored suit. He was definitely some sort of executive or had some white-collar career. His eyes were bright behind his black-framed glasses. His smile was the smile he'd give me when we crossed paths--warm and comforting but exuding the reserve I always sensed. His personality wasn't nearly as serious as his wardrobe depicted. It was like he had another side to him.

And their two kids--a son and a daughter. Twins. They're dressed in all-white, each of their smiles mimicking their mother and father. The son with the warm, reserved smile of his father, the daughter with the brightly, stretched smile of her mother. Cute.

As I'm in a daze, observing the family photo on the wall, Mr. Jones appears in sight out of nowhere. He turns to look out of his bedroom window and we lock eyes. Shit! He caught me! I slid to the side of my window, out of sight. I froze in position, afraid to make a move. Even a sound. After a few minutes I slowly turned to peer back out of the window. He was gone, the blinds and curtains still open.

Embarrassed, I turned off my lights and headed to bed.

I felt like crap the next day, obviously not the ideal spy. It was a Saturday. Everyone in the neighborhood was home, all cars in their respective driveways. I probably should keep my blinds down and closed today, I thought to myself. But somehow I couldn't, even after yesterday's bust.

I walked to my window to open my curtains and draw up the blinds. The Jones's blinds were drawn all the way open, along with the curtains. This was a first. I'm especially surprised at this due to yesterday's occurrence.

I wondered what had gotten into them. What made them more "open" these days? They were nowhere to be found again, and I chose to walk away and stop lurking through their window before one of them saw me in action again.

More embarrassing than Mr. Jones catching me was not knowing what piqued my interest about the Jones's. It was becoming a seed of obsession that I was looking to water. While everyone else around me fed my imagination, allowing me into the unseen doors of their lives, the Jones's hadn't. They radiated a mystery that I was becoming a little antsy to solve.

I thought about doing some work although Saturdays are one of my days off. I didn't have anything else planned and figured I'd make a little extra money. I walked toward my nightstand to grab my laptop and what I seen out my window froze me in my tracks. My eyes widened, and I held my breath, almost cutting off my own circulation.

Mr. Jones was in front of their bedroom window kissing on his wife's neck. I felt a sudden guilt, like when Mr. Jones caught me peering through his window last night. At the same time, I couldn't stop watching. I was drawn in like a magnet unable to take my eyes off of what was unfolding.

He explored her neck with passion as her head fell back in ecstasy. She bit her smiling bottom lip, raking her hands in his hair. I could tell she loved when he did that, like it was one of her favorite parts of foreplay. And he knew just what to do--exactly what to do.

His hands found her black lace panties under her knee length, beige frill skirt while he continued devouring her neck. He traveled to the opposite side of it, continuing to massage her ass. After a few minutes, they shared a passionate kiss--a kiss I haven't experienced in probably years. She hungrily bit his bottom lip, him returning the favor by biting her upper one. I was growing intense, and funnily I could no longer feel the fifty-degree winds that usually blew through the window.

He began to unbutton her white top that was tucked into her skirt. Once he reached the last button, he slid the sleeves of her shirt down slightly, exposing her shoulders. He took his mouth to her chest, tending to her breasts. Her hands remained on his head, agreeing with all his movements. I could feel the sensation from afar like I was in the room receiving the special treatment. I was almost envious but intrigued. They had my eyes glued to the affair.

After the breast action, Mrs. Jones fell to her knees and unbuttoned his trousers, unzipping him with her mouth. Rather impressive, I thought. He sprung out like a jack-in-the-box and she took him into her mouth--all of him. She was going at it like she was in a race against time, determined to meet her goal of making him cum. He took one of her breasts in his hand, throwing his head back in enjoyment.

I drew my head closer to my window's screen, zooming in my sight on what might possibly come next. As I continued to watch Mrs. Jones taking in Mr. Jones, I realized something--nothing is what it seems.

The prim and proper, quiet "Jones's" definitely had a side to them that they kept hidden from the world. While I uncovered this about them, I also uncovered something surprising from myself--that my curiosity ran deeper than my awareness. That I had a deeper hunger and yearning that I wasn't consciously aware of. I still wondered what made them so experimental today. This seemed random and completely out of their order.

Mrs. Jones stood up and Mr. Jones grabbed her hand taking her out of sight. What was happening? What was next on their list of "events"? A few minutes later, Mrs. Jones walked past the window wrapped in a crème bath towel. I assumed she was headed to the shower to freshen up to finish what they started.

Mr. Jones appeared, dressed in a light grey robe. Yeah, they were definitely just getting started. He turned around facing the window, lifting his arms to close the curtains. Here we were, making eye contact again, my mouth cracked open. I was again frozen in place, in acceptance of my inability to move. He cracked that warm, comforting smile of his, winking at me.