............ With some help from my friend Leitha...........
It had begun by accident, really. Or at least that's what she told herself when she recalled the incidents.
Bo heard the tires crunch on the oyster shell drive way, heard the music turned up loud pouring from the speakers before the driver killed the engine.
He stood back from the window shade, watched he woman step out of the Mustang, raise her arms above her head, lock her hands together, arch her back, stretch, push her pelvic forward. Her tits, her nipples push out against the thin summer blouse. Heat flowed into his loins, his limp penis took note of the woman's long tanned legs, the spread of her thighs.
He saw her open the trunk, retrieve two canvas bags, loop the straps of a pair of binoculars over her shoulder. She picked up the bags, walked toward the next door bungalow. He watched her unlock her unlock the door, watched the white of her shorts against the darker color of her skin.
"Hope she ain't got a man showing up later," he thought.
Bo watched the bungalow, knew the woman would come out soon, the beach right there calling to her. Then he saw it, the upstairs curtain move, the flash of sun touch the binoculars lens.
"It's time," he said to himself, grabbed a towel, headed to the shower just between the dunes and the steps leading up to the Johnson house. He turned on the shower, tested the flow and heat of the water.
She had been sweeping the sky with her binoculars, looking for that elusive Mississippi Kite that had reportedly been sighted in the area. Just as she was giving up and lowering her binoculars, they fell on the nearly naked brown body of a man. He was preparing the outdoor shower and blithely unaware of her eyes on him. He seemed to be softly singing to himself. She knew she should turn away... this was a private thing - and beach manners demanded it - but she couldn't.
Careful not to look toward the woman's vantage point he pushed down his trunks down to his ankle, stepped out of them. His back toward the bungalow he lathered his hair, his chest, down his long athletic legs, his buttocks. He turned a quarter turn, feeling her eyes on his naked body, feeling his cock begin to go hard. Ran his hands over his erection, underneath his balls. He lazily stroked up and down the length, saved the real pleasure for later.
Leitha had known someone was staying in the Johnson's house for the week, but had not been particularly curious about it. They often rented out the house to friends and relatives. Leitha was always careful not to get drawn into "drinks" as it usually resulted in her becoming a tour guide for whoever.
This, however, was very different. Leitha drew back a bit from the window. She watched as he lathered up his body and nonchalantly dropped his bathing suit around his ankles. He languidly moved his hands over his neck, his chest and finally to the rather significant cock that was hanging between his thighs. As he began to suds himself, he grew erect.. very erect.. and Leitha was chagrinned to realize that her own body was reacting quite fiercely to what she was witnessing. Without completely realizing what she was doing, she slid her own hand over her neck, her breasts and finally under the waistband of her shorts... ending up where she felt the strongest pulsing in her body.
Involuntarily, she shuddered and moaned as her body released a long-pent-up orgasm. Leitha had been without a partner for quite some time and had forgotten how wonderful such a release felt.
It became a habit, in the days to follow. Leitha was almost afraid to leave the window, afraid to miss the daily outdoor shower of the dark, handsome stranger next door.
It became a daily ritual. Bo watched for the slight parting of the curtains, the flash of sun on the woman's binoculars.
Once he teased her: Stretched, studied the pounding waves. He did not lower his swim suit, show the woman his tight buns, his larger than life cock. He ran off down the beach, into and out of the waves, disappeared into the distance. In frustration Leitha's fingers reached inside her waistband, inside her panties, inside......
It happened on Wednesday. Leitha was at her usual post, slightly outside the window frame when he began the ritual. She was covered by only a wispy cotton sundress and was anticipating the feeling of warmth and the rush of relief that was to come.
On the third day Bo saw the expected flash of sun on lens, smiled inwardly. Towel and shampoo at the ready he made his way to the shower. Let the water and the early summer sun wash over his young and hard body. He stood, his back to the bungalow, ran his hands and long fingers down each leg in turn.
But on Wednesday, he stood with his back to her, letting the water flow down his broad shoulders and river into his buttocks. Leitha was unnerved by the change of routine and carelessly stepped a little further into the window frame. She had her hand on her breast when he turned and looked directly into her eyes. She gasped and ducked below the window, feeling foolish and exposed.
He turned in a quick, smooth motion, looked directly at the window where he knew she would be. The snapshot burned itself into his brain: the woman, tall and slender, dark hair. Binoculars in one hand, the other squeezing her breast, fingers pinching a nipple.
She moved away suddenly, a startled look on her face.
Bo pulled on pale linen shorts, cut several inches above the knees, a vee-neck tee shirt, two buttons at the throat, sandals. He picked up the bottle of Australian Malbec, and the record, an old but well cared for vinyl. He crossed the short distance between the two beach houses. Knocked.
Leitha knew without looking that it was he. Giddy with anticipation and dread, Leitha opened the door to confront a broadly grinning young man holding a bottle of red wine, two glasses and a record.
The sound of scurrying came from inside. The turning of the door lock. There she was, close enough to touch. Seeing him up close she sucked in a deep breath, clutched the cotton sundress just in front of her breast.
