Prologue
It happens every Tuesday at 12 PM.
The young, blonde woman races up the stairs and quietly closes her bedroom door. The long, ivory curtains gape open, inviting curious eyes to slither through the crack. There’s movement as she scurries around the room, looking for the one item that will help her escape the confines of her reality for the next twenty minutes—at least.
Once she’s settled, she blooms on the pink cotton sheet folded over the mattress. Her knees, as always, pointing in the direction of the white door with the brass handle.
Taut thighs steal the spotlight, spreading eagerly for hungry fingers that circle and dunk into needy flesh. Her slender neck rolls back, her sharp chin elevated to the ceiling as perfectly shaped lips caress the slew of moans that hum behind the closed window.
And I’m here, on the other side.
Concealed behind the safety of my own slabs of glass and paneled walls.
Watching.
Waiting.
