She knew I watched her; she knew and she made me suffer. I couldn't help myself, I had to watch her; she was so damn sexy I was hooked.
I would watch from the study window on the second floor of our house. I could see down onto the decking at the rear of her house, it was a vantage point that offered a superb view of her whenever she sunbathed during that long, hot summer.
At first she wore a bikini, but even that was almost too much for me to bear at such an age. I had never experienced a woman like her, my only sexual adventure to date had been with a girl my own age; an encounter that disappointed us both.
To see Mrs James in all her magnificent glory in her own back garden was just too sublime for words. To see her almost nude, with her big breasts barely concealed in that skimpy bikini bra-top and her gorgeously ripe buttocks jiggling saucily as she walked… she was a walking dream to me.
The first time I spotted her I remember flushing hot red and hurrying from the room with guilty haste. The quick glimpse was indelibly imprinted on my mind however, and the image of Mrs James, our neighbour, lured me back to the window.
She didn't do a great deal that first afternoon, the afternoon of my discovery, but I spent at least half an hour gazing down at her voluptuous curves with my cock straining against my jeans front. I felt an ache in my stomach that I now recognise as desire. I wanted to revel in the pleasures of Mrs James' body, but could only dream of holding her big, heavy breasts in my hands and savouring their springy texture.
Of course in my fantasies, Mrs James was an eager participant, and I must have fucked her in every corner of both our houses during my masturbatory rejoicing, night after sticky night.
Then, late on in the summer, Mrs James happened to glance up. I have no idea why she chose to look into the study window; perhaps she sensed someone watching, perhaps it was pure chance – whatever, I moved quickly, but was sure I'd been seen.
My heart leapt and my stomach flipped when Mrs James looked up. There was the instant of realisation on my part and then I moved. Thinking about it later, moving was the mistake; movement attracts the eye and I probably gave the game away from that decision. At the time I stood just out of view in an agony of indecision for more than a minute before I surreptitiously peeped back outside.
She was gone.
I was mortified and a thousand fears hit me at once. What if she told my mother that I'd been spying? The humiliation was huge and I groaned out loud with the anticipation of the trouble I was sure was about to descend.
Nothing happened. I spent four or five days in constant fear. My guts were in knots, and every knock at the door caused my heart to race and my sphincter to tighten as I imagined an irate Mrs James about to vent her spleen.
Then, on a hot Friday I saw her in her garden again. I tried my best to stay away from the window, but I simply couldn't resist. The siren call of her physical presence meant that I was soon gazing and lusting as usual.
What happened on that afternoon nearly blew me away completely, and I can still recall that feeling even though over twenty-five years have passed since that moment. I was just thinking that Mrs James hadn't seen me after all. She couldn't have if she was back out sunbathing again. Nevertheless, I was determined to keep well hidden this time, and it was just at that moment that Mrs James reached behind her body and unclasped her bikini top.
I was flabbergasted and stood slack jawed as her lovely breasts swung free. Mrs James' jugs swayed sexily as she moved the towel around on her sun-lounger and then she shocked me again by quite blatantly lifting her sunglasses up and then smiling right into the window I was watching from.
She knew I was there all right and the dirty bitch was flaunting herself at me. She sat back and made herself comfortable before she teased me some more by pouring lotion into her palms and rubbing it into her skin. She daubed her legs and tummy and then spent an age massaging the gloop into her tits. My cock was huge as Mrs James rolled her big jugs in her hands. Her nipples thickened and stood out, easily as thick and as long as the top joint of my pinky finger. The lust surged through me and I pulled my cock free of my jeans and tugged at it fiercely.
Heedless of discovery by any of my family, I tugged at my cock until the semen shot from the slit at the crown of my glans, and I sobbed with the exquisite pain of my temporary release.
Mrs James had even gone so far as to let her thighs fall open and I could clearly see the bulge of her mound against the gusset of her bikini bottoms. God, how I craved her.
This torture went on for another week or so, and each time Mrs James would drive me into a wanking frenzy. She got quite obvious toward the end of the summer and actually began to wave her fingers at me as she calmly walked away after each of our sessions. By now I was obsessed and was devastated when the warm weather gradually slipped away. I had no idea what I would do now that Mrs James was forced indoors by the autumnal winds.
***
'Could you just go round to Gina's next door,' my mother asked me as she hung up the phone. 'That was her on the phone; she's got a heavy box that she needs lifting and she wondered if you could give her a hand.'
The ploy is almost laughable now I'm looking back. The obviousness of it makes me smile, but as a callow youth of eighteen years, and very nearly a virgin, I had no idea of what I was walking into. Mrs James represented the epitome of feminine embodiment. She was an iconic figure to me. I may have seen her topless in her garden, but I had absolutely no idea how to deal with her on a face to face basis.
I was terrified and my limbs positively trembled as I walked along her driveway and up to her front door. I may as well have been going to the gallows. I was petrified, but I couldn't think of anything else to do. To refuse would have brought a barrage of questions from my mother; questions I couldn't answer.
'Hello,' Mrs James whispered huskily at me in response to my timid knock. 'Do come in.'
She held the door wide for me and the condemned man stepped inside.
'Can I get you a drink?' she asked and led me through to her kitchen. 'I'm just having a glass of red. Would you like one?'
Wine wasn't my thing. In fact, I wasn't much on alcohol at the time and I compounded my youthful naivety by asking for a cordial instead.
Mrs James laughter pealed delightedly and then abruptly stopped as she studied me closely. Her steady, dark-eyed stare disconcerted me and I felt even more ill at ease.
'Darling, you're shaking,' Mrs James said concerned when she saw my trembling. 'Are you afraid of me?' she teased.
'A little, yes.' I answered truthfully causing the laughter to bubble from her again.
'You poor thing,' she pouted. 'You've nothing to fear… I won't hurt you.' Mrs James looked at me levelly and continued: 'I know you watched me,' she said straight out. 'I know you were upstairs.'
I reddened, the voicing of her knowledge embarrassed me and I felt the heat on my face.
