The Balcony
written by:
Naughty Miranda

Seriously?

I mean, seriously?

My shades were open. Of course they were, it was almost ten o'clock and dusk was barely falling. The joys of summertime in northern Maine. The joys of a vacation apartment. And th guy across the courtyard has his shades open, too. Presumably for much the same reason.

But the problem with apartments that all but butt into one another's faces is... you can see everything that's going on. And, while I've always been careful enough to make sure I'm nowhere near a window when... well, when I'm doing anything I wouldn't want a neighbor to see, it seems that some people aren't quite so cautious.

Otherwise they wouldn't be riding an exercise bike, stark naked in the middle of their living room. With the shades open.

Or maybe they would. I don't know the guy, I don't know what gets him off. Perhaps the idea of riding raw, with the whole world staring in through the window, is a major turn-on for him. He's not a bad looking guy, after all, mid-twenties, maybe... and if this is anything like a routine for him, it explains why he looks in such solid shape too.

Solid enough that I don't feel bad watching. Solid enough that I might just pull up an armchair, grab a glass and - hey! What are you laughing at? It's not like there's anything better on TV.

Twenty minutes later He must be nearly done. Even from here, I can see the sweat; any closer, I could probably taste it. Which... could be interesting. He's definitely slowing, though, so maybe he's finishing, winding up with a few last revs, and then... I don't see a towel, or shorts lying close by. I wonder which side of the bike he'll get off on. Plus, it must be warm in there. I'm feeling flushed and I've got the French doors open, to catch whatever final drafts might be wafting between the buildings tonight. His are closed. He really should...

Ah. He dismounts. Nice ass. From here, anyway. Muscular back, too. And he's... dammit, heading for the kitchen. I'm guessing his apartment is laid out the same as mine, maybe mirror image... so if it's not the kitchen, it's the bathroom. No, it's the kitchen. Because here he comes back with a tall glass of probably water, and...

Shit. Shorts. What kind of person keeps their shorts in the kitchen? "A quick drink, make some toast, and then I'll change my pants." Weirdo. No wonder he cycles in the nude in his living room. But wait. He's stepping towards his own French doors now. Typical. <i?Now he stands there and pulls them open, now that there's nothing to see.

Nice bod.

Nice abs!

Nice smile... oh shit. He's seen me. A quick wave back? A grin? Might as well. If I pretend I'm not looking, then I'll be the weird one, and he'll probably have all his friends round tomorrow, to stare at the woman he caught staring at him.

Now what? He's still standing there, looking at me. I'm still sitting here, looking at him. I look down at my own outfit, t-shirt and cut-offs. Should I stand and maybe let him catch a quick reciprocal eyeful? He's obviously waiting for something....

Okay. That wasn't so bad. I stand, step through the doors to the balcony. Which is barely big enough to fit a chair, but does a nice job of holding some planters and herbs. His, on the other hand, is festooned with ... stuff. I guess he's not the outdoors type.

I thought he was going to speak, for a moment. But instead he's still looking, so I'm looming back. And he's tracing a hand down his chest to his stomach, which looks just a little bit creepy, I think. But not really. It's funny, as well. So I laugh, and watch as he laughs back, and he nods as though I should do the same thing.

Definitely creepy.

But I do it anyway. Start at one shoulder, down between my boobs, and then flatten one finger out into three of them, and slowly down my tummy.

He echoes, even slower, and halts at his waistband.

I start at my waist, and stroke up to my breasts.

We're both grinning now, and I wonder what his eyesight's like? Good enough to see my nipples swell, and make blunt indentations in the fabric of my tee-shirt? Probably not, it's a fifteen foot gap, and the light is beginning to fade at last.

His hand swoops, to the waistband and then beneath it. My fingers halt, frozen just beneath my belly button. More of his hand disappears beneath his shorts, and I know he's waiting for me to do the same thing. But I'm frozen - a little embarrassed, perhaps a bit shy, but most of all, more than a little curious. Or even impatient.

Quick, make a decision.

I tug off my t-shirt, grateful that I went without a bra this morning. He grins and mouths something. It looks like "nice tits." I smile and nod towards his hand, still buried in his shorts, and he gets the message immediately. I see his arm begin to move, and my mind fills in the blank as he starts to massage his cock. I wonder how hard he is... how hard he will be before I finally get to see it? Because I know I'm going to. Just as I know that he'll be seeing more than me. This game has gone too far to stop any time before that.

I'm stroking my own breast now, and his hand is still down there, still hidden. I hook my other hand into my waistband, and tug just a little, show him some hip. Even in the gathering gloom, I can tell that he doesn't know where to look first. Hurry! Soon it'll be too dark to see anything.

He removes his hand, reaches behind him, picks up his phone. Holds up three fingers, then ten, then four. He's giving me a number. His number. I flash the same numbers back to him, to let him know I've seen them, then punch them into my phone. More numbers are flashed, more numbers punched in. There is a single ring, echoed from across the divide, and then he answers. A simple "hi."

"Hi."

There's a silence. Then; "are you still watching?"

"Yes."

"What do you want to see next?"

Another silence. "What do you want to show me?"&#8232;

A laugh. "I owe you for the tits."

"Then pay me."

There was an intake of breath. "How?"

Okay, I see where this is going. "How would you like to?" And then, before he can answer, "but you'd better be quick. We're losing the light."

I see him look around. "Then I'd just have to tell you what I'm doing."

"Go on then."

His free hand is back beneath his shorts. "I'm holding my cock."

"Uh-huh."

"It's hard."

"How hard?"

"Very hard."

"Show me."

"Show you what?"

"Show me your cock." And I bit off the words that almost followed... one thing at a time. Because he was pulling down his shorts now, and I cursed the darkness. If it wasn't for the paleness of his hand....

"Can you see?" he asked, as though reading my mind.

"Not really," I murmured and I heard him curse. "Maybe you should come closer?"

It took me a moment. "I need to get dressed again."

"I can wait." He gave me his apartment number and, just for a moment, I wondered what I was thinking of. Running across the courtyard in the middle of the night... well, not the middle, but close enough... to meet a guy I'd never met, so I could watch him beat his meat.

Ah, but was that all I'd be doing? Was that all he'd be doing?

I had about five minutes in which to decide.

=========

He'd pulled his shorts back up by the time I reached his apartment, but a smile and a cold beet welcomed me in, and for a moment we stood, grinning at each other, before he led me inside and offered me a seat. I was right; the apartment was the exact mirror of mine, and the furnishings were identical too. Even the painting of the pool at dawn, that hung on the wall beside the television, was the same. Hotel chains - don't you love them?

We swapped small talk. Chrissie, up from Philly. Mike, in from Ohio. My guess that he was somewhere around his mid-twenties proved to be spot on; his suggestion that I was around the same age got a laugh, and one of those indeterminate nods that thanks him for the compliment, without mentioning how much of a compliment it was.

Was there a Mrs Mike? No. There'd been a girlfriend, but they parted a few months back. A Mr Chrissie? No. There is a boyfriend, but he's not here, so I decided not to mention him. Well, we don't want Mike getting the wrong idea, do we?

I nodded to the exercise bike. He'd rented it from a store in town, tio make up for the time that he'd miss at his gym. I admired his dedication, then couldn't help but ask... "so, do you always exercise in the buff?"

"You saw that?"

"It was hard not to."

I do declare, the boy is blushing.

"So you saw...."

"No. Well, not much." I finished my beer and he was handing me another one, lingering beside me as I took it from him, and our fingers brushed together just enough to say....

"Do you still want to?"

"What?"

"See."

I looked up at him. I didn't expect that. I was thinking there'd be some more nervous sparring, gently bringing ourselves back to the place we'd come so close to on the balcony.

"I don't know," I teased. And then, reaching my own hands up to his waistband... "Oh, what the hell." I tugged.

But did not touch.

He wasn't hard any longer, but plump and long regardless. Thick. Inviting. The kind of cock you'd want no matter who was on the other end of it. You just see it and you know it's yours. My mind could conjure other images, but I purposefully suppressed them.

He'd invited me to play; I wanted to see what he wanted to do.

"Your turn," he grinned, and I stripped off my top again; hesitated, then pulled my cut-offs down. My panties, for the moment, were remaining in place.

He stepped back, and his hand closed around his cock, gently tugging as it grew in his fist. I don't know about you, but there is something so wonderful about watching a guy jerk off - seeing exactly what he needs to pull the maximum pleasure from the movement; the way his thumb sweeps across the head; how sometimes he tugs, and sometimes he caresses. The way his other hand will reach for his balls... I almost reached out to help, but no, this was his show. I didn't know if he wanted me to act as anything more than an audience, but if he did, he'd have to ask.

I felt his eyes on my breasts, so I cupped one and smiled, squeezing and stroking my nipple as my own eyes remained fixed on his dick. He stepped closer, and his free hand gently stroked my cheek. His cock was so close that I could catch its odor now, and I breathed in happily. Forget cologne, forget aftershave. This is what a man should smell of.

I leaned back in the chair, parting my legs, stroking myself through my panties. Now his eyes were there, and I watched his hand moving faster... not blurring yet, not nearing his climax. But definitely picking up speed. I raised my ass, slipped the panties away, and opened my legs wider. Parted my pussy lips with two practiced fingers, then slipped a third one inside.

He gasped, and I echoed him, astonished at how wet I had become; how desperately I needed... what?

"What do you want?" he was asking.

"You."

"What do you want me to do?"

God, not this again. "Eat me. I want you to eat me."

And he fell to his knees, his thumbs stretching me wide, his tongue sweeping circles that delved deeper and deeper, till it felt as though his entire face was inside me, his tongue long and firm, flicking and lolling. My hands moved to grab the back of the chair, and I raised my hips and pushed myself against him, slowly moving against his face, feeling my wetness slipping across flesh that filled me.

My right hand reached down and touched my clit with one finger, and his lips pushed it aside, closing around it, sucking it deep. The top of his tongue found it and flickered, and suddenly I was gasping loudly and pushing him further back... now his hands were on my hips, pulling me as I pushed, and together we half collapsed, half tumbled giddily, back onto the carpet, my hips still grinding against his face as I thought of his cock, so close, so hard....

I flipped myself around, so quickly that my cunt barely left his mouth, and now his cock was in mine, sucking greedily on it as he released me for a moment to loudly moan. We rolled a little, onto our sides - my one leg straight, my other raised high into the air, yoga for yonis as he sucked at my cunt, and I had his cock exactly where I needed it, to lick and suckle, to bite and slobber, and then to push so deep into my throat that my entire felt like a giant pussy.

And when he came... and I came too... I barely even tasted it, just felt his passion slip straight down my throat, hot and wonderful and so bound up in the sensations that tore through my own body that the two ecstasies merged into one single, blinding, burst of light...

...and we rolled apart, each lost in the glory of that impossible joy, and there were no words, no sounds, no need. For as long as we lay there, we were one. And when we fucked later, long and slow, our bodies slick with sweat and saliva, we both knew one thing.

That no past vacation had ever ever felt as great as this one, right now.

At least until the next one.