There once was a girl from St. Paul
Whose relationships went the long haul
But once in a while
With a wink and a smile
She was open to Tom, Dick, or Saul
I knew this girl. She was a peach. She wanted only long term boyfriends, but when she was in between boyfriends, if the stars were aligned just right, or the moon was full, or the tide was high, or something (I never really did understand exactly when or why) she became up for sex with any man who was reasonable. Or so it seemed to me. I'm Harry, the lucky neighbor of this sexpot.
The trick for me was to find her during one of those rare moments, when she seemed to be available to almost anyone who came after her. I really wanted to lay her; she was beyond sexy, at least she was for me. By the way, I'm Harry, and I'm the one who wrote the limerick. Sally did not, and to my knowledge still does not, know about it.
Let me describe Sally, so you can better understand. Around 25 years old, she wore her long blonde hair with a flip at the end, as if she were a star on a 1950s-television show. It worked for her. Her blue eyes melted into her blonde hair, and her pale skin might have given a lesser woman a washed-out look. Not Sally. She was too vivacious, too full of life, to ever be washed out. And then there was her signature bright red lipstick, matching her painted nails, both fingers and toes. Sometimes she would vary it, with purple, or bright royal blue, but the nails always matched the lipstick and the eyeshadow creating a unified effect, which worked well.
The only detail that rang wrong was a tiny butterfly tattoo on her ankle. I figure some college night she got too drunk and visited a tattoo parlor on a dare. As for her figure, God made her especially designed for my taste: She was thin as a rail with two exceptions: large, prominent breasts and the world's cutest little bubble but. Her skinny legs were nevertheless perfectly shaped. Her figure was a subdued hourglass.
Sally's best feature were her eyes. I only got to know them well later. The effect was blue from a distance, but up close one could detect most of the rainbow. Her eyes contained little bits of brown, amber, green, even lavender. Gazing t her eyes was like looking through a kaleidoscope. Sally could change the effect with well-chosen eye shadow or eye liner, and she did, giving her a chameleon effect.
While Sally had a great figure and a compelling face, what defined her was her love of life. She combined her love of life with a spirit that bubbled over with girlish enthusiasm. One would have to be possessed by the Devil himself not to be captivated by Sally. To know her was to love her.
I guess I'm laying it on a bit thick. But dammit, that's how I felt. This wondrous woman was my exhibitionist neighbor. I could not believe it. Life is strange. It throws all sorts of things at a guy, and in my case, it threw Sally. I did not dodge, I let Sally's magic hit me square on. I let it consume me. I was the better man for it.
Sally moved into her apartment only two months after I took up residence in mine. Both are rented, and in the deep East Village, near Avenue B. This neighborhood is called Alphabet City. My bedroom was on a higher floor than was hers, but mine looked down on hers giving me a spectacular view. Of course back then it was just another apartment; I had not yet met Sally.
Sally had blinds, of course, but suddenly after a month of her living there, I noticed she had begun to keep the blinds raised. One day I woke earlier than usual, and took a cup of coffee and the newspaper to bed with me for a little leisure time. I glanced down at the neighbor's bedroom and I thought I had seen a bunch of naked flesh go by.
I sat up in bed, put down my coffee, and stared at that bedroom. A few minutes later I was rewarded by seeing a near naked sexpot of a woman walking around in her bedroom, wearing panties only. I stared at her breasts so intensely, I did not even notice her lovely face!
I was to learn her name is Sally, and she was staring at her window in such a way that I had a full-frontal view of her nudity (save her panties). Her panties were royal blue, by the way, lacy and skimpy. Finally, the sexpot got a spray and some cloth and cleaned away what must have been a spot of her casement window.
Her luscious boobs jiggled as she wiped away the spot. When she finished, I realized that all told, I had enjoyed a full seven-minute display of her body. I was in shock. It was a good shock, but it was still shock. When the show ended, I just remained in place, dealing with my disbelief over what I had just seen.
St. Paul has a long, cold winter. But when Spring rolls around, the women rebel from the cloistered layers of clothes upon clothes, and they show a lot of skin. Sally was no exception. Indeed, she was at the cutting edge of showing skin: short skirts or Daisy Dukes, sleeveless tops, halter tops with no bra, and basically, she had as little covered up as was possible. When she went braless, her nipples would poke seductively from her halter tops and her T shirt tops.
But this was only on the weekend, of course. During the five-day workweek, she dressed for work. She always looked pretty, but just much less over the top risqué. She wore skirts and pretty blouses, primarily. She wore hose, and medium heeled shoes. Work is work, after all.
Sally ended up leaving St. Paul when she got a great job opportunity in New York City. She found a small place in the East Village in Manhattan which even with her hedge fund salary, she could barely afford. I had the good fortune to live next door to Sally. Indeed, as I explained earlier, one of the windows of my apartment had a very nice view of her bedroom.
I lived a couple of floors higher than she did, so I could see into her apartment easily, and presumably she did not notice me doing that. People often look down. More rarely do they look up. Nevertheless, as a precaution, at night I would spy on her with my lights out. Hers were burning brightly, making it easy to have a nice view.
During her periods of, shall we say, high sexual availability, she kept her blinds up, and I suspected she might have some exhibitionist tendencies, because in the early morning (and only in the early morning) she tended to walk around her bedroom wearing only a skimpy pair of panties, often disappearing into her bathroom (where the window was frosted, alas), I assume to use the facilities, to shower, to fix her hair, or to apply makeup and the like.
