Windows Bk 02 Ch 01

When I was writing the window stories I was writing three different stories. I wanted to mash them all together, but the third window took a different path. This story has differences from book one, although it still revolves around Sean and Sylvia moving in to their house, and being watched from a third window. It is set in the late 60's early 70's.

Sylvia

..........................

I am sat on my husband's lap in the front of the van. The gear stick which comes up from the floor is between my legs. I've lost count of the times Gerry the driver, has changed gear and felt my thigh. Sean my husband is chatting to Jake, who is sat on the other side by the passenger door. I sit there in my brown suede miniskirt, feeling Gerry's knuckles rub the underside of my thigh, down out of sight of my husband.

Gerry strokes gently, as I look straight ahead out of the windscreen. We're all bunched up, with a van full of stuff to move into our council house. I stand up to let Sean slide out of the passenger seat. He jumps out, and Gerry whispers to me.

"Good job I didn't stand on the brake pedal too hard Sylvia, you might have done yourself a mischief on the gear stick."

I give the smiling Gerry a little embarrassed look, which he laps up.

After half an hour of unloading boxes from the van, Sean passes the beers round from the wooden crate. He tells me to nip to the chip shop, for him and his friends who helped us move.

I've been watching this woman as she stands in the queue in my fish and chip shop. She stands quietly on her own after placing her order. She's got a look like Liz Taylor, black hair with curls here and there, and it is shoulder length, I bet her old man hangs on those locks when he's drilling her.

She is nice and slim, and stands still with her long legs together, and strikes me as the sort of bird who does as she's told. I glance at the two women in their 50's looking her up and down. The women leave, giving her a last disapproving look.

"Don't worry about them love, they are still living in Victorian times," I say, looking down at her long legs sticking out of her miniskirt.

She smiles shyly, as I hand her the fish and chips wrapped in newspaper. I lean on the counter and watch her ass sway in a brown suede miniskirt, as she walks to the door.

Juggling her purse, and four lots of fish and chips she can't pull the door open. I step out from behind the counter and put my hand on hers, and yank the door open.

"It's a bit stiff my love," I say, with grinning eyes.

She mumbles a thank you, as she squeezes past me, well I'm not moving. She gives me a little embarrassed knowing look, and goes on her way, no doubt feeling the grease of the fish and chips, which had transferred from my hand, to hers. A car horn sounds as she waits to cross the road. The guy in the passenger seat leans out of the window, and says something as they pass her. She ignores them and crosses the road.

They drive off laughing, after asking me if I'd like a lift, because they wouldn't want my fish and chips getting cold. The guy in the passenger seat said, he had something else he would like me to keep warm. He winked and blew me a kiss.

I can still feel where the man in the chip shop put his hand on mine. He didn't move when I went passed him, and his fat belly rubbed against me.

"I don't know where the plates are," I say, flipping open another box.

"Don't worry we'll eat it out of the newspaper."

I watch Gerry as he shoves the battered fish in his mouth. He bites and then chews it, talking at the same time about how nice the house will look when it's decorated.

"What are we going to do with all the boxes when they are empty?" I ask.

"Stick them in the loft. You'll need them when you realise you should have married me, and you leave Smithy."

Everyone laughs, and my husband tells Gerry he couldn't keep up with me in the sack.

Gerry looks at me, and I can see he's amused by what Sean joked about, but underneath I'm sure he is thinking about giving it a go.

As I go past my husband carrying the rolled up fish and chip paper, Sean pulls my hip to him as he sits in the chair. His hand is on the back of my thigh, and he tells the men I'm too young for them, and I only have eyes for him. They laugh, but even now I can see Gerry still wondering about me in bed.

I carry a box up the stairs knowing Jake is down the bottom of the stairs looking up my skirt. When I reach the top I stop and look back down at him. I know he's seen my green panties under my tights, and I can see the shifty look in his eyes.

"Could you bring the white box up for me?" I ask.

I'm bent across the bed, smoothing out the quilt when Jake comes in.

She must know I'm stood behind her, but she messes about with the bed cover stretched right across it. I couldn't really see what colour her knickers were, the light from the window on the landing shone too brightly, but now I can see they are green. I watch her thigh muscles tighten as she stretches further. She must fucking know she is flashing it all.

She stands up and turns round, there's that fucking look on her face again. Like she is totally unaware for the last couple of minutes, she's been showing her knickers off. I wonder if she is that naive that she thinks I looked away, or I would never dream of standing there, right behind her, taking in the view of the green panties and tan tights stretched across her ass. No she knows alright. She's a prick tease, although she would deny it.

I put the box down on the dressing table. For a split second I think about shoving her on the bed and ripping those knickers and tights off, and just having her. Sean's a lucky bastard having her for a wife. Oh he moans about her in the pub, never having sucked him, and then downstairs just now, he comes out with how we couldn't keep up with her in bed.

I could fuck things right up for him, and tell her about Sean getting blow jobs from the tart Vicky, out the back of the pub, but no, I keep my mouth shut, about the old bag who is in her late 40's, because she has sucked me a few times. All our wives think Vic is a mate down the pub. Sean is into Vic, and you can't go wrong for a couple of quid for a BJ. Sean goes there quite a bit, and now he's moved nearer the pub, he won't be able to stay away. Poor Sylvia, but I'd have his wife, and I'm going to one day, and I'll get that blow job her husband doesn't, one way or another. I watch her flip the lid off the box which I carried up. She reaches in and pulls out a mass of colour. It's her bloody underwear that she had me carry up the stairs in the box. I step out of the bedroom, with the image of her green knickers tattooed in my brain, before I lose the plot and jump her.

The Third Window

I watched them move in a few days ago, and now with her husband at work I assume, I knock on the door. I smile at her and offer the woman in front of me a pot containing a plant. I take off my brown trilby hat.

"My name is Ronald Smith, I live next door. I saw you moving in the other day, and thought I'd welcome you to the area. Is the man of the house at home?"

"No, he's at work, I'm Sylvia Smith, pleased to meet you, it seems we share the same surname."

She smiles at me, as I tell her Smith is very common. A shrilling whistle from the kitchen hits our ears.

"Oh it sounds like the kettle is boiling, Sylvia. I guess I picked the right time to turn up?" I say cheekily.

"Would you?" she starts.

"Love to my dear. There's nothing better than having a nice cup of tea to help us get acquainted."

She smiles politely, probably hoping I would refuse. Not on your life Sylvia am I going to turn down the chance to get up close. She turns and leads me in.

I take in the purple strap of her bra, underneath a thin white blouse. How I would love to reach out and unclip that bra. My eyes travel down to the flared black miniskirt she is wearing, and the backs of her thighs, covered in the sheen of her brown coloured tights. Her ankles look immaculate, slim, and so ripe for kissing. She wears red mule type slippers, with a red fluffy band over the top of her foot. The slippers have seen better days, but I love hearing the sound of the slipper, slapping the on the sole of her foot as she walks.

I watched her when she got out of the van a couple of days ago with a few men. I was looking out of my window as the van turned up, from that moment I felt mesmerised by the beauty moving in next door. She carried lighter things into the house, unaware that only a few yards away, from behind my net curtain, I was gently and slowly tugging my erection, thanking the gods that my new neighbour, isn't a fat ugly women like the last one had been. Two of the men who helped them move looked her way. They made rude gestures to each other, about the gorgeous young female behind her back, as she bent over picking things up, and no doubt giving them a flash of her panties.

I watch her now getting the tea ready, amongst the mess of boxes in various stages of being unpacked. I could watch her all day, her little feminine movements attracts me even more close up. I watch her stretch up to the cupboard. Her hemline rises, and there for a couple of seconds, I'm treated to sight the control tops of her tights. As she turns round I have to physically stop the lust filled expression, which I know is on my face, before she catches me.

We sit at the kitchen table and talk, well I talk and Sylvia listens. She is quite shy which adds to her appeal for me. She tells me she wanted to be a policewoman, but she doesn't have the brains. She is polite, and sits there seeming to be interested in what I tell her. I am happily surprised that she asks little questions about my love of cactus plants. I'm a teacher, and used to talking, although after half an hour, she is probably bored of listening to my life story, but bless her she is too polite to let it show. It would appear to my delight that this woman, with her pretty green eyes and jet black hair, has been brought up properly.

I decide to excuse myself, because I don't want her thinking I am an annoying old man, besides, I've spotted the pile of washing to my right, and sticking out just under the top is her green cotton panties. One day I shall get her into something silky, but those are hers, and have been against her cunt. She gets up and walks to the sink, giving me time to nimbly grab her panties, and stuff them in my pocket.

"What's that?"

"Oh a neighbour brought it round, a welcoming gift."

"Christ, look at the bloody thing. Who in their right mind gives someone a cactus plant?"

"Sean, it was nice of him."

"Him, you mean a man brought it round?"

"Yeah the old man next door gave it to us. The one you said was hiding behind his curtain when we moved in."

"What that creepy lecherous old git?"

"Sean, he's a teacher in the grammar school for boys. I think he's just a little lonely."

"Great, we'll have him knocking on the bloody door every five minutes. So what's he like?"

"Okay, thin and a bit pasty looking, he's bald on top. I felt sorry for him; although he went on about the cactus plants he has in his greenhouse too much. I just smiled, like you do. Oh his name is Smith as well."

"Hell we could be related," Sean says with a chuckle, "I'm surprised he came round, he must hate having us council tenants living next to his detached up market, snob house."

"Hello Sylvia, have you settled in alright?"

"Oh hello Mr Smith, yes nearly all done now. I can't believe it has taken me a week to get it sorted."

"I've told you to call me Ron. Here let me."

"No I'm fine honestly."

"Sylvia, I don't mind carrying your shopping, and we're heading the same way. Did I see you in the chip shop yesterday?"

"Yes, I've applied for a job there; I saw an advert in the window the first day we moved here."

"Sylvia, if you'll allow me to say, I don't think it would suit you, and I've heard the owner has well, wandering hands. There might be an opening at the school in the canteen. I could put a word in for you, I'm sure it is better paid too."

"Thank you for carrying my shopping, I'd ask you in but Sean will want his tea ready for him."

"I quite understand my dear, and I'll ask about the job in the canteen for you, it'll be better than a fish and chip shop."

He's probably right. The guy who interviewed me in the fish and chip shop, seemed more interested in patting my knee, and then squeezing past me a couple of times. He sat me in a small room and interviewed me, well it was more about asking me if I could work late, and he would see to it that I got home safely. His hand lingered on my knee when he said that and I suspect walking me home safely won't be his real intention.

"Sylvia, I talked to the old git next door. You know he isn't that bad. He said he was trying to get you a job as a dinner lady."

"Yeah, nice of him, I didn't ask, he just said about it. Do you know he's been to Egypt, Africa, and other places in his army days? He was a photographer and a radio communications guy by all accounts"

"No, I don't talk to him as much as you. You know I was watching him when you brought me a beer out; his eyes were all over you. I reckon he fancies you."

"Don't be silly, I'm 26, he must be......how old do you reckon he is?"

"God knows. Right I'm going to see Vic down the pub, are you sure you don't want to come?"

"No, who is Vic anyway, I've never met him?"

"Vic is....well Vic I guess."

"Anyway I've got ironing to do; maybe we could go out to the cinema at the weekend?"

"Yeah okay. Oh Don's going to have a look at our telly next week, although he reckons it could be beyond help. We'll have to save up to get a new one, or rent one. Maybe we could get a colour one instead of black and white. Hopefully you'll get the job in the old git's school soon."

I've been wandering round town for a while. I've been up the concrete steps three times now. I've been followed up by a guy, and then two guys who were together. Right now I'm looking in the telly rental shop. Several men have passed behind me, and one even whistled.

I watch Sylvia staring in a shop window. I feel a stirring between my legs. Her hair is held back off her face by a yellow Alice band. She's wearing a shiny purple coat, which comes to mid thigh. I can just make out a glimpse of the dark blue hem of a dress or skirt. I watch her for a few minutes, she seems oblivious to the males walking past, who are having a good look at her long legs. I tuck the magazine hidden in the brown paper bag under my coat.

"Hello Sylvia, sorry did I make you jump."

"Hi Ron, I was miles away window shopping. Our telly gave up the ghost a couple of weeks ago. Sean wants a new colour one, but we can't afford it."

"Oh dear that is a shame."

"He lost his job last week, but he's got the chance of working on those new oil rigs in the North Sea. I don't want him moving all the way up there."

"Now, now dry those pretty green eyes," I say, handing her my clean handkerchief, "if things are really that bad I'll ask if the school needs another dinner lady. I'm afraid someone else was taken on."

"Would you, it would be really helpful."

I feel that my plan is coming together with the help of outside forces. Hopefully that useless fool she married will get the job away from her. A bad thought hits my brain like a thunderbolt. What if she goes with her husband up north? My budding plans to get her in debt to me have to be moved swiftly along, it's the only way.

"Sylvia, would you go up north, with your husband?"

I wait anxiously for her answer as she thinks about it.

"I don't know I like it down here. We've only just moved into the house as you know, and I was hoping to have children soon."

"No....I, I mean you can't have children when your husband doesn't have a job."

She looked at me oddly when I said no a little too sharply, but she half smiles at me, and I relax.

"No you're right. We had all these plans, and now he might have to work away. We haven't really talked about moving up there. I don't really want to."

I feel a warm glow inside of me. I feel like a lion separating his prey from the rest of the heard, in this case Sylvia, from her husband. With Sean away a few weeks at a time, I'll be able to move in on Sylvia, become her friendly neighbour, and then strike like the lion, gripping her round her throat like a gazelle, so she is at my mercy!

We board the double-decker bus together. I guide her to the stairs; she walks up ahead of me. I savour the view up her coat, and up her skirt or dress. She's wearing pale blue panties, again in that horrid cotton, under her tan tights. It is so inviting, I could reach up right now, and touch her. I lick my lips, what I wouldn't give to push my face on her lovely round bottom, and smell her scent.

I walk up the stairs of the bus, with my neighbour right behind me. I know he will be looking up my skirt. I sit in the window seat and he squashes in beside me. Our arms are against each others, and I look briefly at the refection of us in the window, his eyes are turned down towards my lap.

I sit next to her on the bus, and insist on paying the fare. She thanks me and I tap her leg just above her knee, twice. She looks out of the window, and I look down on the leg I touched. In my mind my hand is still there, travelling up while she ignores it, but I refuse the fantasy, concentrating on the way her leg felt, the tingling sensation the nylon made on my fingers, and the slightly cold feel of her leg underneath.

I glance at the palm of my hand, my lucky hand, the first to touch her. I look across and down at her lap, the skirt or dress is short, which sticks out from the V her buttoned up coat makes. Her legs are pressed together, but one day, hopefully not long from now, my Sylvia, will sit there nervously, but a little excited, as I stroke her leg over many, many minutes, until I finally pull them apart, like the lion ripping open it's prey's throat, and then, then I will fuck her.

He tapped my knee when he insisted on paying. I close my eyes as I lay back on the bed and remember how clammy his hand felt. I guess he's a typical male, but I do feel a little sorry for him living in that big house all on his own. He saw up my skirt too on the stairs of the bus. I feel myself panting a little more as I remember the men who passed me by while I was looking in the shop window. Then the two men who followed me up the steps, drifts through my mind. What if they had caught me up, and pushed me round the back of the disused shop!

I'm watching her snivel, as the dinner lady protests yet again.

"I didn't steal the money, I, I don't know how it got there?"

"I'm sorry Mrs Harris the money was in your purse, all £15 of it. Now Mr Smith says the money was in his desk drawer, and there it is in your purse."

"He's lying, I don't know how it got there," the woman sobs.

"Well, it's there now. You are sacked Mrs Harris."

"Who would have thought it Ron? She always seemed so trustworthy."

"Yes headmaster, but I have caught her looking around my office when she brings in my afternoon tea. I do know of a young woman that I would trust with my life, Sylvia Smith, and I happen to know she is in need of work."

"Smith you say, is she a niece or something?"

"No, no relation, her husband is out of work too."

"Well Ron, it seems too good to be true, but if you can vouch for her, then yes, she can start next week. I'm too busy to get involved with the canteen staff, bloody low life good for nothing bitches."

I go to the kitchen and open the clothing store. I select two work uniforms the dinner ladies wear, in what I think is Sylvia's size. At home I get out my poor dead wife's sowing machine, and take the hems up about 3 inches, on the already short uniforms. I hang them on two wire hangers, and stand back imagining Sylvia wearing them. They are light blue, and have metal poppers from the neck down to the waist. I take a deep breath. Now I have got one woman the sack, I'll be replacing her with Sylvia!