View From the Window

Adrienne

Adrienne pulled into the driveway of the rent house, and got out of the car. She had only two more weeks of leave left, and she wasn't sure she'd be finished with the work on the house by the time she had get back into the daily grind. Still, taking the month off to finalize the divorce and get moved had been a good idea. She had been so busy with manual labor she'd hardly had time to continue to obsess about the failure of her eight year marriage.

"God," Adrienne thought, "What the hell have I gotten myself into?" The rent was affordable, but to get it, she'd had to promise the landlord that all the cosmetic improvements to the house would be at her own expense. And there was going to be plenty of expense. The interior and exterior needed a fresh coat of paint, the kitchen and bathroom cabinets needed new hardware, and she had taken up the carpet in three rooms to expose hardwood floors that seemed to be in decent shape. She still had to haul the old carpet outside, but the sanitation company hadn't brought the dumpster yet. Adrienne had budgeted enough to hire house painters for the outside, but the rest was going to be strictly DIY. That way, she could buy quality supplies.

That would come after the clean-up. The previous tenants had just abandoned stuff they hadn't wanted to take with them. Adrienne and a couple of her girlfriends had rented a truck, and spent all last weekend lugging that junk away. Zoe and Claire made sure they didn't bitch about aches and pains when they got back to the office on Monday. According to Zoe, most of the men in their office had thought it "cute" when they learned who was on Adrienne's moving crew - two more women. But the three of them were fully capable of moving out the old tenants' cast-offs, and would be able to handle Adrienne's minimal furniture as well. Determined and stubborn to a fault, Adrienne had decided to stay away from men for at least six months. Having women help her move was just part of that plan.

The former renters also apparently had never washed a window in the house in the six years they lived here. After finishing the packing in the condo she'd shared with her husband (make that "ex" now), she had come to the new house this evening - to wash the windows from the inside tonight. She would wait to wash the outsides till after the painters were done.

She unloaded newspapers and her window cleaner in the small foyer, and thought about where to start. "Might as well be the top," she decided and took several stacks of newspapers and her sprayer up the small flight of stairs to the only room on the upper floor of the house. This was the one she had chosen for her study, as there was another room downstairs that she preferred for her bedroom that had a connecting bath. She walked over to the bay window that dominated the east wall of the room. When she had looked at the house, she had been delighted to see that there was even a window seat, and it had storage underneath.

Dropping the window seat cushions on the floor, she started crumpling up newspaper to use to wipe the window cleaner off the glass. Her grandma had sworn windows could only be streak-free when wiped down with newspaper. Adrienne had done as Grandma said, and so far, it had always worked. She climbed up on the window seat and got to work.

Sometime later, she was almost through with the window, coming around the last curve in the bay. A flash of light through the leafless limbs of the winter trees caught her eye, and she stopped to look for the source of it. It burned steadily, and as her eyes adjusted to the receding light of the day, she was able to make out the source of the light – a lamp that had been turned on in a room in the house next door. It was a table lamp, sitting on a small table beside what looked to be a brown leather couch. She caught herself mentally inventorying her neighbors' living room or den, and stopped short.

Adrienne was mildly surprised. The houses in the neighborhood were on decent sized lots – all probably built about thirty-five to forty years ago. Hers was the only one on this side of the street that had two stories – well, okay, a story and a half – and she guessed that this perspective, plus the leafless trees, had created a seasonal breach of privacy for her neighbors. She wondered if they could see her, too, if they stood in the right place. A six foot privacy fence created a barrier around the small side yard and enclosed the entire backyard, so she supposed no one had a view from ground level.

She was about to spray the last panes of glass when she saw a man and a woman come into the room. "Guess those are the neighbors," she thought. The woman, petite with short blond hair, came closer to the window, and reached over her head for something. As she raised her arms, the bare-chested man came up behind her, and reaching around in front of her body, cupped her breasts in his hands. Jerking away from him, the woman began to squirm determinedly out of his grasp, and turned to face him, making exasperated gestures with her hands. Adrienne could only guess at the dialogue, as she saw the man raise his hands palm out toward his wife, in a manner that clearly suggested he was pleading his case.

But his wife was having none of it. Before she strode out of view (and Adrienne supposed, out of the room), Adrienne was able to see the look on her face, and it was angry, not the look of a woman aroused by her man's sexual advances. The man looked pissed, and walked to the window, just staring out of it.

Adrienne backed up a little, not wanting to risk having him look up, and realize that someone had just seen this very private moment. She felt sorry for him, as she saw his look of frustration change to one of resignation. He closed his eyes, and began to rub his jeans-clad crotch with one hand. Then, to her amazement, he unzipped his jeans and took out his erect cock, stroking it slowly, right in front of the window.

Adrienne's heart beat faster now, and almost unconsciously, she crept closer to the window. The room behind her was darkened, since she hadn't bothered turning on the light when she started washing the window. She stood transfixed, watching the man as he pumped his cock faster with one hand, while easing his jeans slightly down his hips with the other to allow him to cup and tug his balls with his free hand. With his head tilted slightly back and eyes tightly closed, his cock erupted, shooting streams of cum toward the window. He continued to stroke - slower now, cum dripping over his hands, till he was spent. He opened his eyes, wiped his hands on his jeans and zipped them up. As he turned away, Adrienne leaned back against one wall of the bay window, breathing rapidly. Her pussy was swollen and wet – she could feel it through her panties. The scene she had just witnessed had left her incredibly aroused – and embarrassed as well. She had to get curtains or a shade for the bay window as soon as possible.

__________________________

The next morning found Adrienne hard at work. She had been at the house since just before sunrise, cleaning and setting up her kitchen and bathroom, which amazingly were in good shape and painted in just the colors she liked – pale yellow in the kitchen and a warm beige with just a touch of pink in the bath. All she needed to complete in those rooms was replacing the old hinges and knobs on the cabinets, and she had the new ones in a box in the car. She wandered through the downstairs rooms with a cup of coffee in her hand. Most of her coffee spilled when she backed into the living room, tripping over the first of three rolls of old carpet she'd dragged in there after ripping it up off the floor.

"Shit. . . that's the last damn time I'm tripping over this," she said aloud to no one in particular. She set the coffee cup down in a windowsill, and went to open the front door. Dumpster or not, the carpet was going outside now. She had to have room to spread the drop cloths when she started painting later anyway.

Adrienne tackled the job of getting the carpet out of the living room and through the front door with the same strategy she used for everything else – she tried to outwit it. She momentarily studied the roll of carpet, and angled it so she could back out the door, dragging it with her. Grunting with the effort of hauling the damn thing around to the right angle, she was already sweating as she started pulling on the grungy carpet, stray hair from her ponytail sticking to the side of her neck. What she hadn't taken into account was the narrow width of the opening in the doorway, and finding that the roll of carpet was just an inch or so wider than the passage through which it had to come. No matter how hard she tried to squeeze the end of the roll up to at least start to get it through, there seemed to be no budging it.

"Looks like you need some help." So focused as she was on the task at hand, the deep voice behind Adrienne startled her, causing her to fall backward from her squatting position in the doorway to land unceremoniously on her butt on the porch. She turned to look over her shoulder, only to find the man from next door looking down at her.

Adrienne turned a deep red as she started to get to her feet.

Bret

He loaded Cynthia's suitcase and garment bag in the car for her. This was the fourth buying trip in two months. He knew she was crazy about her job, but he also suspected she was trying to spend as much time away from him as she could. She had jumped at the chance to take the job, even when he protested the travel schedule. The trips were never shorter than five days and one had been nine. He couldn't understand when and why the closeness they had shared had disappeared. Sex was almost non-existent, and on the rare occasions when she agreed to make love, he could tell Cynthia's mind was a million miles away. They had been together for almost four years, and only married for the last two. He guessed his buddies had been right when they told him marriage could fuck up a perfectly good relationship. His sex life now seemed to be relegated to jacking off damn near every night of the week.

Like last night. A mid-winter break in the landscaping business he owned with his brother made it possible for Bret to be home before Cynthia on most days, and sometimes he was home all day long. Yesterday had been one of the days he was home all day, and he had gone the extra mile to make sure that Cynthia wouldn't have a thing to do around the house when she got home. He had gotten her favorite wine, and put on a few tunes they both enjoyed. When she came in from work, he had encouraged her to sit down, drink some wine, and enjoy the music. They had even sung a couple of their favorites together, just like they used to. Everything had been going so well, until Cynthia had gotten up abruptly and wandered off to the den. He had followed, not wanting to lose the mood. When he reached around her to touch her breasts, she exploded, pushing him away and screaming at him that all he thought about was sex. The look of disgust on her face when she stomped out of the room was getting just too damned familiar. She had run to her bedroom – that's what it was now, her bedroom – slamming the door behind her.

He had briefly considered following her, but just couldn't stand one more night of pleading with his wife through a closed door to come out and pay some attention to him. So he stayed in the den, feeling a mixture of resentment, anger and unrequited lust, his cock still hard and throbbing in his pants. As he rubbed himself through the denim, he imagined Cynthia's hand on his dick, and her fingers unzipping his fly. Stroking lightly at first, he remembered a time when she had been eager to kneel in front of him. . . her breath and the touch of her lips on his rigid cock as she began licking and teasing the head with her tongue, giving him chills and making his heart pound. As his fist closed tighter around his shaft, he fantasized about taking her from behind, there in the floor, pounding his cock into her tight, wet pussy, and taking both of them into a shuddering orgasm that would leave them both breathless and lying in a heap together on the rug. And as his cock erupted, shooting streams of cum, he could almost hear Cynthia whispering to him, "Oh yes, baby, cum with me. . . I want it all." He wondered if he would be left with only the memories.

As he closed the trunk of Cynthia's car, he noticed the neighbor next door, struggling with something in her doorway. She was poised in a semi-squat position, and even with the sweatpants she wore, he could tell she had a really fine ass. Whatever it was she was tugging on seemed to be getting the best of her. He thought he'd do the neighborly thing and offer to help. As he walked across her driveway and came near to her porch, he could hear her cussing under her breath as she tugged futilely on a roll of carpet that was stuck in the doorway. "Looks like you need some help."

She must not have heard him as he came up the steps, because he obviously startled the hell out of her. She jumped, and as she did, fell backwards out of the doorway, landing on that fine ass on the porch at his feet. She looked up at him, her face red as a beet.