As soon as I saw him, my smile froze. Jonathan was standing in his living room, not fifteen feet away from me, staring down at the news on his TV, his back three-quarters turned towards me. Around his shoulders was a large bath-towel and as I watched, he sort-of shrugged it higher and began rubbing at his damp hair. My breath caught in my throat as the movement lifted the towel high enough so that I could see his naked bottom, the muscles jumping and twitching as he dried his hair.
For the first time in a decade I felt a surge of heat within me accompanied first by guilt and then by panic that he would turn and see me watching him.
Shock, they say, makes you do the strangest things, and that morning I reacted completely out of character. Instead of dashing off and leaving Jonathan to his ablutions, I stepped backwards into my living room and off to one side of the doorway from where I could still view the scene in his living room – but couldn't be easily seen myself. Guilt had been pushed firmly to one side as my suddenly excited brain rationalised my behaviour in any way that it could – as long as he couldn't see me, no one would get embarrassed or hurt; it was just a harmless one-off experience and I should make the most of it; it was something that my body needed after so long without any excitement and sometimes the body had to rule the head.
However I explained it to myself, I knew one thing very clearly – that I was shockingly, incredibly, and wonderfully turned on. As Jonathan rubbed at his hair, I began to wonder what he would do next. Would he tie the towel around his waist and head back to his bedroom or bathroom? Would he back out of the living room with his eyes still glued to the TV? Or would he... my heart was pounding in my chest now... would he turn around so that I could see his nakedness in all its glory?
I tried to make myself as small as possible and as still as possible and waited for what seemed an eternity. At one point he made to turn away from the TV but then turned back before I could see more than I already viewed, the frustration making me smother a whimper. After ten years my juices were well and truly flowing again, enough to make me aware of a damp patch spreading in my panties. The excitement was so out of proportion and yet so demanding that I knew that I would have to relieve the pressure within me before many minutes passed – and yet dare not move for fear of missing anything.
Just as the pressure became intolerable, Jonathan threw the towel to one side and leant forward, switching off the TV. There was a moment's hesitation and then it finally happened. He turned and strolled into the kitchen, his cock and balls in plain view, swinging tantalisingly before him. He was big, a little bigger than George even, and just so perfectly proportioned. I had been clenching and unclenching my pelvic muscles as I stood waiting and now that my patience had been so wonderfully rewarded, they began to spasm without my control. Before I knew what was happening, I was on the verge of an orgasm.
I felt trapped – if I moved, he might see the movement and know I had been watching him, if I didn't, then I was going to climax, and he would be sure to hear me...
I was saved by his telephone and as he dashed into his living room to answer it, I swung myself away from the doorway and far out of sight. I knelt on the sheepskin rug and slid my fingers down my panties and into my soaking pussy, the very first touch bringing me to climax. It was an extraordinarily intense sensation, not unlike a dam bursting – which, given the state of my underwear, was an appropriate expression.
I was feeling things that had long been forgotten – excitement, lust, naughtiness, and most importantly, I felt like a complete woman again.
It was this last factor that shaped my decisions over the next little while, and, if that sounds like a lame excuse to you, then you have obviously never felt like I had in the years leading up to that morning. I can't explain it any other way except to say that it was as if part of my very reason for living had been absent – and until I felt that surge of lust and excitement, I hadn't even realised it was missing.
When my mind settled back to something like rational thought, I took myself off for a shower, dressed in fresh clothes, and headed back to the kitchen making as much noise as possible to warn Jonathan of my approach should he still be naked. Oh yes, and I was trying very hard not to picture that particular scene. My early warning system proved unnecessary, as Jonathan was dressed in a t-shirt and jeans, sat at his kitchen counter and sorting through his mail.
Somehow, I managed to feign surprise at seeing him, and we exchanged pleasantries across the divide between our kitchens. I learnt that he was taking a week's leave and was intending to ‘do nothing but relax’, and that the previous day he had been called into work despite this. I had the devil's own job trying to keep my mind on the conversation, rather than picturing three more mornings with the possibility of seeing my neighbour after his shower. I rather pointedly did not mention that I no longer left for work a couple of minutes after him...
One's conscience can be a useful tool, but for the remainder of that Tuesday mine was only good for arguing with. By the time I went to bed – and remembered to set my alarm clock for the usual time – I had reached an agreement with it whereby I would wait around the next morning until I had seen Jonathan. If he was fully dressed, then that would be an end to any deliberate acts on my part, but if he were not, then I would stay out of sight, watch him and enjoy the view, just once more. Sleep was hard to come by.
I was awake before the alarm and in position ridiculously early. I told myself that this was just a sensible move because, one way or another, this would be the last time I would spy – there I said it – on Jonathan deliberately.
It was gone half past eight before I heard the distant sound of Jonathan's shower starting to run and I was doubly glad. For a start he would think that I was at work by now, and secondly – he was taking a shower just like the day before... If I had thought my excitement was extreme on the Tuesday it was as nothing to the way I was feeling just then. When the shower fell silent, I thought my heart was going to hammer its way out of my chest.
As silly as it sounds, I had not dared move from my vantage point after I had taken up position, and I was still wearing my night-dress. With nothing underneath the old cotton, the temptation to let my hands stray to my already damp pussy was devilishly strong – but the thought of my neighbour hearing me crying out or moaning if things went too far stayed my hand.
After what seemed like an eternity but was in all probability only ten seconds or so, I could see Jonathan's shadow growing larger on his living room floor as he approached. Would he be dressed already? Surely, he hadn't had enough time to dry off and dress after turning off the shower? Or would he maybe be wearing a robe?
As he stepped into the room and into my line of sight, I thought I was going to pass out with delight and excitement. Jonathan was naked once more, his body covered in glimmering droplets of water. My eyes were drawn to the matted, damp thatch of hair around his cock and I sent up a prayer of thanks for such a wonderful view.
Like the previous day, he had a towel with him, and he started to dry his hair in front of the TV. As his muscles quivered, I allowed myself the tiniest stroke, a promise of what was to come once the show was over. I had dreamt about this all night long, and now that it was here it was just so damned wonderful. Or at least, that's what I thought up until the point when Jonathan finished drying his hair.
At first, he just draped the towel over his shoulder and ran his fingers through his hair until it had settled a little. Then he reached behind him with one hand and let the towel slip down until his other hand caught it. He started to dry his back by moving the towel from side to side, first his shoulders then lower. As he started to dry his bottom, he let go of the towel with one hand and briskly rubbed the towel down the backs of his legs, bending a little and affording me a view that had my heart hammering at my ribcage again.
Jonathan switched the towel to the front of his legs and then up to his chest before finally rewarding me as he lowered it over his groin and began to rub himself dry with long, slow
strokes. The thought of his hands and the towel moving over his cock had me biting my lip to stop any sound escaping. It took me a little while to realise that he was being extremely thorough, and when I finally did, I allowed myself a stroke or two, unconsciously mimicking Jonathan's movements.
The warmth from my groin was beginning to spread throughout my body and I didn't think it could feel any better than this. Until Jonathan turned away from the TV.
My eyes almost popped out of my head when he threw the towel away. Standing side on to me I could see that his cock had enjoyed the drying almost as much as I had. It was standing proud, its weight preventing it from appearing fully erect. It was magnificent. My eyes were locked there, and I felt the blood rushing through my veins, realising too late to do anything to stop it that I was on the verge of orgasm. My hand had stayed, unnoticed, at my pussy and I was rubbing the tip of my middle finger furiously across my clitoris. I just couldn't stop and with Jonathan's proud cock just a few feet away from me, in full, glorious view, the shudders started to course through me.
I moaned through my lips, clamping my free hand over my mouth, as the first wave crashed over me, my whole torso shuddering with pleasure, my knees threatening to buckle. I gave in to the inevitable and the orgasm swept through me, pulsing waves of euphoria through my mind and body.
It was a timeless thing, an intense and pure sensation, a succession of peaks that seemed to last a lifetime. Even as the aftershocks rattled my body, sending muscles jumping and twitching, I realised that the perspective of my view had altered. Jonathan's glorious erection was now pointed accusingly at me.
I had no idea whether I had made a lot of noise, but obviously something had drawn Jonathan's attention. He was peering curiously into my apartment but didn't appear to have made out my quivering form in the deep shadows beside the kitchen door. I stood as still as my body would allow, quieting my breathing, trying even to still my heart for fear that he would hear the beats of my post-orgasmic recovery. The second his head turned away, I dived back into the safety of my living room and tip-toed through to my bed.
I spent an hour there, wondering what to do. I wasn't sure that he had seen me – thought that he hadn't, in fact – but now that I had derived so much pleasure from my spying, I had pangs of guilt that threatened to make me yell out loud. Worse, I was ashamed. Not ashamed for my body's reaction, not even for the pleasure my mind felt. It was more... I felt guilty for having invaded Jonathan's privacy and had deliberately set out to do so for my own pleasure.
I had been raised in a very religious family, as so many of us were in the hills back then, and I knew that I should atone for what I had done.
Of course, I couldn't just provide him with a show in return for his – after all, what joy would he get out of seeing a woman almost twice his age and running to fat? No – the only thing that I could do would be to confess to him – that, at the very least, I had seen him naked and watched for a while. It would be humiliating in the extreme, but it was fitting, and it was proper. It was also nerve-wracking beyond words.
I showered and dressed, called my work pretending to be sick, and raided the larder for my emergency bottle of whisky. Once I was sure that Jonathan was now fully dressed, and that I was slightly anaesthetised, I said a short prayer and took the deepest of deep breaths. Chastising myself for a fool, I left my apartment and made the short walk around the corner to Jonathan's front door – a short walk that seemed to take an eternity.
Before I could lose my nerve, or the whisky could wear off, I knocked twice. Jonathan opened it quickly and smiled at me.
"Glynnis! This is a nice surprise. What can I do for you?"
I ploughed in before my legs took me running in the opposite direction, "Jonathan, I'm truly sorry, but I've done something unforgivable."
"I'm sure I would have heard if you'd been murdering someone next door. Surely it can't be as bad as your face says?"
"It is. Well, maybe not as bad as murder, but it is an unforgivable intrusion."
"I doubt that-"
"Please, Jonathan, let me get this over with." When he shrugged and nodded, I stumbled on, "I was... that is... I didn't go to work today. Well obviously, since it's midday and I'm home, but what I mean to say is, I was here all morning. That is, I was here this morning and specifically I was here when you came out of the shower... when you were drying yourself off in the living room. I mean, I saw you then and didn't stop watching right away. Well, at all, really-"
"Oh Glynnis! I'm sorry! I had no idea you were home otherwise I wouldn't have dreamed of standing there like that."
My eyes opened wide – what on earth was he doing apologising? "No, Jonathan, you have nothing at all to apologise for."
"I don't understand."
"Jonathan..." The confusion seemed to lend me some sort of control and I started again, "I was standing there watching you this morning and it was very wrong of me. I'm sure if you'd seen me you would have covered up and since you didn't know I was there at all anyway, then you've nothing to blame yourself for in the least. What I'm trying to apologise for is that I stood there watching you and didn't let on that I was at home because... well, because I enjoyed it! There, I've said it! I am so very sorry-"
"Oh, Glynnis!" To my surprise – shock, even – Jonathan laughed, "I'm very flattered! And if you don't mind me wandering around stark naked, I certainly don't mind if you enjoy the view."
"You are joking, surely? I mean to say, Jonathan, I... well, I really did enjoy the view. Physically if you see what I mean."
"Glynnis, I get the impression you're beating yourself up over this and there's no need whatsoever. Like I said, it's very flattering..." He broke off for a moment and then gave a chuckle, "I seem to recall now that I might have enjoyed towelling off a little more than is seemly this morning. I guess that didn't help much, did it?"
The directness brought flaming colour to my cheeks, but now that I knew he wasn't mad at me – was quite the opposite, in fact – I felt bold enough to answer honestly, "Well, yes, you're right. It's been a long time since my George died and, well, I guess things were building up inside me."
"That sounds dangerous, so I'm glad that I have helped a little. In fact, now that I think about it, it's more than just flattering, it's rather nice altogether."
I shook my head, "That's very kind of you, Jonathan, but I'm sure you don't really mean that."
"Oh, I'm totally serious. I love the image it conjures up. A bit like I'm waking some wonderful creature that's been sleeping for years and years."
"There's nothing wonderful in me anymore."
"Nonsense!" Jonathan's eyes moved over my body in a way that gave me the sort of goosebumps that I hadn't felt since I was a teenager, "You're a fine looking woman and knowing that there's all of that repressed sexuality in there is quite the turn-on."
The boldness of his words and the inclusion of 'sexuality' sent the goosebumps into overdrive. Fortunately, my logic circuits kicked in, ""You're being very kind to a foolish woman, and I'm very grateful. As I said, I'm really sorry-"
"Stop with the apologies. And also stop putting yourself down. I mean every word I say."
Suddenly I was desperate to get away – it was all too good to be true and a big part of me didn't want to burst the bubble. Despite Jonathan's protests I virtually ran back to my flat, muttering apologies all the way.
I spent the afternoon and evening doing something I hadn't done for many a year – drinking steadily. I had hoped that it would help me forget the embarrassment of the day, but instead it had me daring to hope that Jonathan hadn't just been polite about everything. Finally, somewhere around ten o'clock, sanity kicked in and I went to bed happy that I had at least confessed my crime to the victim, and that the victim was not too unhappy with me – which was altogether the best I could hope for under the circumstances.
I awoke with an unaccustomed headache – I wonder why – and padded through to the kitchen for tea and paracetamol. It was on
ly seven-thirty and I had a good two hours or so to recover before any attempt to go to work, so I toasted some bread and spread it thickly with marmalade. I was still standing there forcing down a few mouthfuls twenty minutes later when I heard the shower turn on next door. I gave a rueful smile and acknowledged to myself that at least I had got some pleasure out of things as well as all the embarrassment. The latter had me scurrying over to the sink and washing my breakfast things, determined to be out of sight when Jonathan made an appearance.
I reached the door just as the shower turned off, and something made me pause just for a few seconds. A tiny part of my subconscious wanted me to check something out before I careered off back to my life of celibate boredom, and I turned back to face Jonathan's kitchen. Just a couple of seconds later, he strode into his living room, naked but for the towel around his neck. I swear my heart nearly choked me.
I watched with disbelief as he switched on the TV and set about drying himself, just as he had the previous morning. When he reached the point where he began to dry his groin, he flicked a quick look over his shoulder and grinned hugely before turning back to his task.
I stood slack-jawed in the doorway as the truth finally found its way past the dozens of barricades that my self-esteem had set in its path. Jonathan hadn't been lying to me, hadn't been trying to spare my feelings. He stood there now, deliberately displaying himself and in the full knowledge that I found it arousing. I was dumbfounded and delighted, scarcely daring to believe my luck. It was just about to get better.
When he turned and faced me this morning, slowly, teasingly, I could see – oh-so clearly – that his erection was full. I could see the veins standing out proud along the rigid shaft, the deep pink hue of the bulging end. I could even see the glimmer of moisture at its very tip.
Butterflies Page 5