The Man In The Window
written by:
Judy Sky

This story goes back to when John and I lived in a high-rise San Francisco apartment. We lived on the sixth floor. The best thing I liked about that apartment was the fire escape. I liked sitting out there, often-times alone because it was in it's own way, my personal escape.

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One particular weekend, I can't remember if it was a Saturday or a Sunday, John and I were spending a lazy day together at the apartment. It was nearly dark outside with just a little bit of blue and orange left in the sky where the sun had set, and the breeze was still warm, providing the kind of soft air that feels refreshing on the skin.

"Where are the wine glasses?" John called from the kitchen.

"They're above the sink," I called back without looking at him. I was headed towards the fire escape, preoccupied by what I hoped would be waiting for me.

"What? Where?" he said as he swung one cabinet door open after another. I didn't answer.

I opened the window and crawled out, gripping the window frame as I stretched one leg out and then the other onto the rusty metal slats. I brushed the dust from the windowsill off of me and pulled up the camisole strap that had gently slid off my shoulder. I could hear John call out "Found them," from inside the apartment. I was too preoccupied to acknowledge his finding as I stretched my hands out on the railing and took a deep breath of ocean air, then stretched up on my bare toes and exhaled.

Our apartment was at the back of the building and faced another apartment building across the way. Because we were on the backside, there was no street below, just a courtyard of grass and shrubbery. It was a great place for watching, and in some cases, being watched, so if you wanted privacy you would have to close your window blinds.

With that in mind, I found myself often intrigued with scanning the windows of the opposite side of the courtyard below. Some were lit up with some blinds down and some blinds up. One had billowing drapes that breathed back and forth with every gust of wind through the open window. Some were dark and empty. Some revealed people walking back and forth inside, or just sitting and watching television. There was nothing out of the ordinary, except for one.

My eyes moved across the windows until I came to the one that I would always end up stopping at. He was there. His apartment was the same level as ours with a nearly direct view. The light coming from another room was dim, but I sensed him sitting there by his window as he so often did, peering out at whatever his eyes fell upon. I placed my hand delicately on my chest and began to play with the pendant that hung lightly around my neck, and stared through his window, searching for his face. I wondered if he could see me.

"Judy, take these," John's voice on the opposite side of the window woke me from my daze. He reached out two glasses of red wine to me and I took them, breathing deeply with disappointment of John taking me out of my private moment. He maneuvered himself awkwardly out of the window as he asked, "why the hell did you come out here?" He wasn't expecting an answer and I didn't plan on providing him with one, since the real reason for me being out there would have been hard to explain.

I watched John brushing himself off, his hands brushing against his crotch, his thighs and every where his body touched the dusty ledge. I reached out to hand him his glass before he was done. He looked up at me and took the glass after he made one last swipe at his pants. My eyes left John as I turned back to the man's window. I was sure I saw movement; a leg sliding apart from the other, or an arm reaching for something ... I wasn't sure.

I'd seen him before, many times during the day sitting at the window looking at nothing in particular. I wondered if he was a writer looking for inspiration from his neighbors, or an artist searching for a model. I often had this fascinating thought that what he was really searching for was a woman in the nude that he could gaze upon through the open window of her apartment. I was tempted at times to test that theory, and I kept thinking that some day I will.

I caught him looking at me several times, although "caught" may not be the right word because he never looked away when I spotted his eyes peering my way. He never turned his head or shifted his gaze. He would continue to stare at me as though we were competing to see who would cave in first and look away. Sometimes I thought that maybe he was waiting for me to live out my horny housewife fantasies and invite him over for sex.

It became a habit for me to take a quick glimpse every time I passed the window to see if he was there. Obsession might be a better way to describe it. When I came home from work I would open the blinds so that he could see me. I enjoyed the feel of him watching me, those dark eyes following me from one window to another with thoughts going through an even darker mind. I tried to imagine if his thoughts reflected mine and I liked thinking that they did. I would try to imagine what would happen if I bumped into him on the street. I wondered if he would recognize me, if he would say anything.

"What are you looking at?" John's eyes traced the curves of my body. He wasn't paying any attention to what was across the way and he didn't care what I was looking at. He just wanted my attention. Usually when he wants me to drink wine with him, it becomes a precursor to sex. We always had sex in the bedroom or in the shower, never in the living room in front of an open window, and certainly never on the fire escape.

I could feel John looking at my neck and almost instinctively as though he'd touched me. I tilted my head to the side. He took this as an invitation and leaned in to place his lips on the spot where my neck meets my shoulder. His lips felt warm, sending a pulse of heat passing through my body. My eyes never moved from the man's window. Was he watching me? I wasn't sure. There was still that little remnant of sunset that gave a slight glare off his window.

My thighs began to feel as though they were swelling. I arched my back as John assaulted my skin with his hot mouth. He slid the strap of my camisole from my shoulder and let it hang down the side of my arm as his lips moved lower to the newly uncovered flesh of my back. He now had one hand on the small of my back and the other moving around to my breast.

I spotted another flash of movement from the man's window. He was indeed watching and the knowledge of it made my body hotter still. I lightly bit my lip as both of John's large hands moved across the front of my breasts and my nipples came to life under the palms that covered them. I set my glass down near the edge of the fire escape, then turned towards John and kissed him ravenously. One of his hands slid up underneath the back of my camisole and caressed the bare cheeks of my ass. I closed my eyes and imagined that John was the man in the window who was holding, kissing and caressing me on the fire escape.

I moved to the brick wall of the building and turned so that my back was against it and I could see the man's window over John's shoulder. John's mouth moved from mine, down my neck, to my breasts, moving the silky material of my camisole out of his way as his tongue tickled my hardened nipples.

I had a clear view of the window and the fading glare of the sunset was gone. I saw another movement, and suddenly his face moved out of the shadows into the path of the moonlight. Now I clearly saw him watching. His eyes stared straight into mine and my body shook as if electricity had passed through it.

I lent my lips to John's ear, my eyes never leaving those of the man in the window, and whispered, "Fuck me."

John stopped suddenly, surprised by what I had said, not because he hadn't heard it before, but because we were outside on the fire escape. Never the less, he had a large boner going on and eagerly complied. I felt him unleash his manly beast from his pants and then press me hard against the wall.

He lifted my camisole and as I spread my legs and lifted one to his hip he slid into me. The pleasurable shock of John's cock sliding into my pussy made me cry out with a quick gasp while I continued to stare at the man in the window. His eyes glittered in the darkness and I watched his lips, imagining them touching my skin whilst his hot flesh pressed against mine.

John began to thrust deep inside of me, giving me the full length of his shaft. I moaned loudly. I wanted the man to hear me. In my mind it was his hands kneading my breasts, his thighs rubbing against mine, his cock buried deep inside my burning, wet pussy. I could see his eyes consuming me.

John continued slamming into me, the brick wall leaving impressions on my back, scraping my shoulder blades. But it didn't matter. It felt too good to stop, especially when I felt my body begin to tense and headed for an orgasm. John banged harder and my insides surged. My pussy snapped tightly around John's ridged cock as I came. A number of strokes later and John let out a groan and his body got ridged. His cum shot deep inside of me and oozed down my inner thigh after he slid out of me.

John felt as though he completed his task of pleasing his wife and himself. He smiled and kissed me on the lips, zipped himself and headed back through the window. I stood there for awhile, his juice trickling down my leg, my left nipple just barely peeking over the edge of my camisole, and stared at the man across the way. I couldn't hold back the sly smile that formed on my lips when he smiled over at me.

"Aren't you coming inside?" John called after me.

I sighed as I watched the man's face disappear back into the shadows. "Be there in a minute."