I Flashed the Neighbor on Purpose

Everyone has that neighbor. Mine lived in the building across the courtyard, one floor down, with a perfect straight-on view of my bedroom window. I noticed him noticing me about two weeks after I moved in. I would catch him at his window in the evenings, coffee in hand, and he would look away fast whenever I looked over. Cute. Shy. Completely unaware that he had just become my favorite hobby. Because here is the truth, and I am only telling you because I trust you. I flashed the neighbor on purpose. Every single time. And I would do it again.

The first time, I told myself it was an accident. It was a warm night, I had just gotten out of the shower, and I walked from my bathroom to my closet in a towel. The towel slipped. These things happen. Except I knew exactly where his window was, and I knew exactly what time he had his evening coffee, and I took just a second longer than necessary to fix the towel. When I glanced over, he was frozen mid-sip, staring. I smiled, waved like the friendliest girl in the world, and closed my curtains.

I thought about his face for the rest of the night. That stunned, deer-in-headlights look. I could not stop thinking about it.

So the second night, I planned it. I waited until I saw his silhouette at his window, and then I started my little routine. I left the curtains wide open. I changed out of my work clothes slowly, like I had all the time in the world, down to my underwear, and then I stood there in front of the mirror brushing my hair, giving him the full show of my back, the curve of my waist, the lace of my bra. Then I turned around. I looked right at his window. I unhooked my bra, let it fall, and stood there for a full five seconds, completely bare from the waist up, looking directly at him.

He did not look away. He stood there like a man watching the best thing that had ever happened to him, and I felt powerful in a way I had never felt before. Then I smiled, blew him a kiss, and closed the curtains.

The third night, I went further. Silk robe, nothing underneath, curtains open, lights on. I poured myself a glass of wine and sat on the edge of my bed where he could see me perfectly. I let the robe fall open slowly, like I was too warm, and I touched myself while looking right at his window. Not frantically, not like I was in a hurry. Slowly. Deliberately. I ran my hands over my body the way I would want someone else's hands to do it, and I watched his silhouette lean forward, and I came with my eyes locked on his window, and it was one of the most intense orgasms I had ever given myself.

I closed the curtains and finished my wine and thought, well, that is either the end of it or the beginning of something.

It was the beginning of something.

The next evening, there was a knock on my door. I opened it, and there he was, holding a bottle of wine, looking nervous and brave at the same time. He said he was my neighbor from across the courtyard. He said he thought it was time we properly met. I looked at the wine, I looked at him, and I stepped aside to let him in, because I am a brat but I am not a monster.

We barely made it through one glass. He told me, voice shaking a little, that he had not been able to think about anything else for three days. I told him that had been the idea. And then he kissed me, and it was desperate and hungry, like three nights of watching had built up into something he could not control anymore. He pushed me back against my couch, and his hands were shaking when he opened my robe, like he could not believe he was finally touching what he had only been allowed to see.

I let him take the lead for about thirty seconds, and then I took over, because that is how I am. I pushed him back onto the couch and straddled him, and I rode him right there in my living room with the curtains wide open, because at that point, why stop. He kept saying he could not believe this was happening, and I kept moving, and when he finished he held onto me like I might disappear, and I laughed and told him I was not going anywhere. I lived across the courtyard. He knew exactly where to find me.

Now he comes over twice a week, and the window game has become our foreplay. Sometimes I put on a show. Sometimes he just watches from his place and texts me what he wants to do about it. Last week he texted, curtains open tonight? And I texted back, they already are.

I am starting to think I should get better curtains. Or worse ones. I have not decided yet, and honestly, neither has he, because every time he tries to bring it up, I distract him. A girl has to keep some mystery. Even when the whole courtyard has seen everything.