Before we were married, my wife, Sasha and I decided to live together in my studio apartment. We were in love and planned to be married and the apartment, though small, was affordable and convenient to the big city where we both would worked.
It was one big room with a small galley kitchen with a countertop looking out to a wide room. We fit a small seating area near our queen sized bed, where we spent most of our time.
The room was dark but cozy with one small window that was half under ground. The window opened to the side of the neighboring building 2ft away providing no view, and sparse natural light in the afternoon. It was small and dank and possibly the happiest place in the universe.
Most nights we would climb out of our underground nest and walk to a restaurant for dinner, and cap it off with a few drinks. Then we would return to our love cave and rip each other's clothes off like new lovers do. We had sex on the counter and chairs, we fucked against the walls and on the floor. We even installed a love swing where my long legged blonde beauty would lay back suspended while I rocked her in and out over the shaft of my cock. She'd lay there weightless, legs spread wide hanging from the ceiling while I fucked her tethered torso. Her imagination seemed limitless.
Sasha had a penchant for role playing and there were times I came home to Wonder Woman, whom I would easily subdue by capturing her lasso, or her dressed in black lace and garters pretending I'm the unsuspecting pizza guy getting the best tip of his life.
If I came to the door and heard music playing, I knew there were sexy wonders behind it. Sade was the soundtrack to a world of exotic pleasure drowning out the primal sounds of our wild adventures.
She turned that small space into a fantasy chamber and gave her voluptuous body up to me in every way imaginable. It was our sexual heaven on earth.
We shared the building with three neighbors. A quiet Pakistani couple upstairs above us, a Greek family across from them, and, next to us, a 60 something Vietnam vet named Paul that I had struck a friendship with, despite his painful shyness, over our mutual love of football. He was a Boston guy and came over to watch a game and drink a few bourbons. During the season, it was a sunday ritual.
When Sasha started showing up Paul retreated. He always went silent around any female I brought around and seeing Sasha pulling up in car, sent him into hiding.
I think females had been cruel to him in the past. Paul was not an attractive man. He had a scar of replaced skin on most of his cheek and was sensitive and recoiled any time a woman looked at it and made the usual sour face. He avoided contact at all costs and was a lonely man.
He carried the baggage of his looks and his trauma from the war, and locked himself away from the world. Especially from women.
That changed the day he was forced to meet Sasha. I invited him over for a drink to tell him she was moving in. She showed up unexpectedly, and he was trapped. She came in the room in a stunning short skirt and button down top, introduced herself with her mesmerizing smile. Her amazon frame formed a curvy wall between him and the door.
Before he could get up she introduced herself, leaned in, and kissed him on his scarred cheek. He sat back down as her long fingers lingered on his shoulder.
She unlocked his shyness with one gesture. I'm sure the 36D cleavage that hung in front of him as she bent didn't hurt. Her shirt was buttoned but strained at the top one, and as she leaned it let go, giving Paul the best view in the house. Sashas big, beautiful, hanging jugs swung five inches from his face. He couldn't take his eyes off them and was instantly under her spell.
They became fast friends.
At almost 6 feet tall, legs for days, wavy blonde hair and a pair of hypnotic knockers, Sasha made friends easily.
She's always had a way of making even the least important person in the room feel special.
Yes, everyone wanted to fuck her. That was undeniable. But her real gift was making you feel like you were good enough to have a shot. She may have been the first beautiful woman that ever talked to Paul. She made him meatloaf once a month. He opened up to her about his trauma in the war.
We lived there in harmony for two years when we got horrible news. Paul told me he had been diagnosed with Cancer and would need a wheelchair soon. Complications from agent orange he was exposed to in the war.
He would have to move upstate with his sister whom he barely had a relationship with.
He had been deteriorating lately and was using a cane. The diagnosis explained why. He didn't have much time left.
He wanted me to come over and talk. He said he needed to get something off his chest.
When I walked in he was at his table with a two empty glasses and a bottle of Johnny Black sitting between them. He poured us both a drink. "I have a confession that I have to unload,"he said. "Please let me finish before you react, then you can choose how to respond when I'm done," he said, voice breaking.
"I won't be alive much longer and I need to come clean before I check out."
I was hanging on his every word.
"One day a little over a year ago, I had a problem with my cable and the operator told me to check my connections."
"I traced them to the back alley, I didn't even know you could fit between the buildings but I climbed out my window and managed to squeeze back there and check the line coming in," he said nervously. "When I finished I noticed that if I layer flat I could see in your apartment. You must leave the window unshaded like I do for the light."
I had an idea where this was going. "Paul, you don..."
I tried to stop him.
"No, I feel so guilty and I need to say this " he said firmly." I watched Sasha getting undressed, I should have looked away but she was so fucking sexy! Goddam it! I couldn't look away," he cried, head in his hands.
I didn't know what to say. I struggled to act offended.
"Paul, umm."
He stopped me. "It's worse." He interrupted. "Every time I heard that music, you know the smooth jazz that doesn't cover your sex sounds?
I would crawl out and I watch. I watched your most intimate moments and I coveted that beautiful woman that has been nothing but kind to me."
He choked up. "I hate myself for doing that to you and her."
I thought about all the things he must have seen. Wonder Woman subdued and corrupted. The Pizza guy tied to the bed. My sexy Sasha swinging from the ceiling getting railed in zero gravity.
He must have jerked off 100 times to her getting off in every position imaginable. A front row seat to the Sasha show, the envy of every man but me. I slugged down my drink and poured another.
I didn't really know how to feel. I felt like I was supposed to be angry but part of me recognized that in his position it would be hard to resist watching. He was lonely and without any sex life at all, and next door was Showtime after dark.
