Voyeur with a ViewCategory: General   Feb 14th 2019  12:57PM   0

          The people who live across the street from me rarely close their blinds. I wonder if they think their big picture windows are tinted enough that nobody can see in from the outside – or if they’re just so high up that they don’t imagine being overlooked. Or… and this is a thought I really like to entertain… perhaps they do know that I can see them, and they like it

 

They’re an attractive couple. A blonde, pixie-like woman with short hair and slender limbs, and a rugged-looking man with salt-and-pepper stubble who always comes home in a suit.

 

They have quite the active sex life, this couple. I know, because I’ve watched a good portion of it play out. They’re at it more or less every evening, sometimes on the sofa in their living room, but more often in their bedroom. And I, of course, am in my bedroom, in my apartment, on the other side of the street. 

 

I watch as he rips her clothes off and kisses her passionately on the mouth. I watch as she unbuttons his pants and sinks down onto her knees. The sill blocks my view, but I know exactly what is happening. My imagination likes to run wild.

 

 

That’s how it often goes, but the thing about this couple is they like to experiment. I’ve watched them try so many different things in the passing months it would make a sailor blush, but I can't look away. A healthy blush is attractive isn't it?

 

 

We’re only the width of a street apart, but their windows are large and clean, and I can see almost every detail. It’s startlingly intimate – almost as good as being in the room with them. Indeed I can make out the expressions on their faces at any given moment.

It’s this that makes me think they know I’m watching. The emboldened glances out the window, the mischievous grins they wear, and the glee with which he penetrates her. It feels sometimes as though they know they can be seen. As though they’ve neglected to draw the blinds entirely on purpose.

 

Perhaps, I wonder, they want people to see. Perhaps they want people to come and join them. Would they welcome a stranger into their flat to join their little show? I feel as though I’m already intimate with them, and that would simply be the next step. Perhaps even if it’s not a show that I’m meant to see I could find some way of wandering over there, bumping into one or other of them in the corridor, charming them. Perhaps they might still invite me to join their lustful little display.

 

Perhaps one day they will. I can imagine them looking across the street at me, smiling, because they know that they’re little show has found an audience.


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