In the Neighbourhood

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Chapter 19: Teen Lust

Sully’s heart was pounding like a jackhammer and sweat ran into his eyes again and again, no matter how often he wiped his forehead with his hand. Even that was a difficult operation, leaving only one hand for balance and support. If he slipped now, she’d hear him for sure and that would be the end of it.

This was the fourth time he’d tried this, and it finally seemed like things were going to work. The first time, he made a small noise on the roof with his foot, had spooked himself and run off. The next time, he had started out too slowly and the light went out before he got onto the little ledge of the roof outside the window. Last time, he’d been in the right place at the right time, but the window was closed and he couldn’t see anything through the frosted glass and the fog.

That had been the most frustrating time of all. He had pressed his thumbs against the window frame but it wouldn’t move, and even if it had, it was far too dangerous—Sully wasn’t really afraid of his father any more, but if he was caught on the next-door neighbour’s roof, peeping through the window, there was no telling what he’d do.

So Sully had just stood there at the window, trying in vain to make sense of the soft peach-coloured shapes far away on the other side of the glass. Eventually the faint sound of the water ceased, and a little later the light went out. Sully had made his way to the ground and jacked off furiously in the darkness between the two houses.

He didn’t even know the woman’s name. His parents had mentioned her once or twice, and Sully was pretty sure her first name was Lisa; he had never heard the last name, though, so he was forced to think of her as Mrs Lisa.

The bathroom window faced his bedroom window, and he had been watching it almost every night since they had moved in. She was very regular in her habits. Every night, between nine-thirty and ten, she took a shower. No matter how he tried, though—even leaning way out of his own window—he could only see the tiniest strip of the room, just a flash of towel or bathrobe or, on a good night, bright red hair as she entered or left the room.

He was ready tonight. The window was half-open, giving him a full view of the bathroom, everything but the toilet, way over to one side, and he didn’t much want to see what went on there anyway. But the shower, the bathtub, were in exactly the right place.

He told his parents he was going to Will’s house to work on a paper for English class. This much was true, but he’d left at eight-thirty, so that he could be back and on the roof by nine. He could feel it: tonight was the night.

He waited for many dark, aching minutes, hidden in the shadows and wondering what—if—she would come to him. He imagines what she would look like in real life; he had seen only a few minutes of her on tape, a few spectacular, world-changing minutes that he had thought of ever time he saw a woman in tight jeans, every time he had snuck a peek between the buttons of a girl’s blouse at school.

Sully knew all about sex, of course; he had found his father’s porno tapes back when he was twelve. Then last year he had found the tapes of all the neighbours, as well as his parents. He watched them all, one after another, one day when his father was going golfing and he played sick. He was sore and raw for a while after that; he tried to jack off at least once to each couple. He failed with his parents’ tape, and he wasn’t sure why; he had a hard time looking them in the eye for a few days afterwards, though.

After that awesome day, the tapes were moved and Sully had found their new hiding place only recently. The very first tape he tried was these new neighbours, and he had never been so turned on.

He had seen Playboys and even a Hustler once, but none of the thin blondes in the magazines—not even his favourite, the one who had nothing on but a yellow plastic raincoat—had entranced him like the woman next door. He had been interrupted after seeing only a couple of minutes of the tape, had almost not heard his mother come in the house. He hadn’t had a chance to return the tape to the closet since then, and was planning to break it up and throw it away in the woods behind the school whenever he had the chance.

But in the meantime, he started to pay more attention to the people in the house next door. It wasn’t long before he realized that there was a ledge right below the bathroom window, and a tree near enough that was climbable.

The light came on and he ducked out of the window as quickly as he could, steadying himself on the little ledge silently, the pounding fear ringing in his ears.

He waited for a few seconds, gulping the thick night air quietly. When his hands stopped tingling and were steady again, he slowly moved one eye to the edge of the open window and looked.

The bathroom was empty. He could see it all much better now, though, and he was impressed and excited at the view. The shower was a stall, one of the ones with glass instead of curtains. The bathtub was in easy view, and the towel hanger bars, and a small rug where she would dry herself, and sinks where she would lean over, nude, breasts hanging down like soft, sweet melons—

Suddenly sensations, vibrations, grew under his hand on the windowsill, under his knees on the ledge. He pulled back again and heard the clear click of the bathroom door closing.

She was there.

Holding his breath, Sully risked a peek, just enough to see a sliver of the bathroom.

She was there, in a t-shirt and jogging pants, in front of the mirror. She was rubbing white cream from a tube into her cheeks, eyelids, forehead.

Frustratingly, her right side was towards him, so her arm was blocking the view of her body. Maybe she had already showered. Maybe he wouldn’t see anything.

She screwed the cap back on the tube and put it down, then lowered the sweat pants, then the panties below them. She crossed her arms and lifted the shirt and—

She was nude.

There was a great, sore emptiness inside him suddenly, and he sucked in a warm, healing breath—caught a stray drop of spit—and he coughed.

Just once, quietly, but her head turned and Sully fell, silently thank God, to the ledge.

He stayed there, absolutely still, as her footsteps came near him, and her shadow blocked the light coming from the window.

I can pretend I was sleepwalking. No, say that he was coming home from Wills and saw someone up on the ledge and tried to stop him.

He looked up just in time to see her shadow recede from the window’s light.


He moved a little, to a better position, so that he’d be able to disappear from the window more quickly in an emergency. He would look in from the other side, where he could slip back and even jump off the ledge without coming into the window’s light. Careful, careful. What if she was no longer nude? What if she was gone? What if she was calling the police, right now?

Sully was sweating. One more look, he decided. Then he’d go, no matter what. It was just too dangerous.

He looked.

She had started the shower—how had he not heard the water?—and was bending over, running the water over her fingers, her butt towards him.

They didn’t show you anything in Playboy.

Sully knew women were hairy down there; everyone knew that. But the—his mind hesitated before saying the word—pussies, dark and pink, folds of skin—they were hairy, too.

Then it was gone.

She was under the water now, running her hands through her hair. Her arms raised, the skin at the sides of her breasts stretching, pulling jiggling them in new, unimaginable ways.

The water slipped down her arms, down her chest, down her hips and legs. Sully could hardly even bring himself to look directly at her nipples, or at her crotch; it was too much, too much.

“My god my god my god...” he discovered he was whispering to himself.

He tightened his mouth, tried to calm down. It was a naked lady. Ladies went naked all the time. He concentrated, hard, on her nipples.

But now she had the soap, and each motion sent her flesh moving in new and thrilling ways, sent fresh pangs of wonderful pain into Sully’s stomach. His cock strained hard against his jeans; he would have given anything to be able to jack off right now.

She was washing between her legs.

No, she wasn’t.

Even as his senses were overwhelming him, dizzying him with the wonder of every curve, the calm schooltime voice explained to him: she was jacking off.

Women don’t jack off.

But she was. Her hand—one finger, slipping in and out of her, the other now pulling hard at her nipples—

Didn’t that hurt? It looked like it hurt.

—faster, faster, so fast that he could hear the slap of her hand against her skin, feel the way her thighs quivered with every stroke.

“Nnn—nnnn—” she said. He heard it, clear as her naked skin, the groaning, animal growls.

That’s an orgasm. Women can have them after all. That settled the debate they’d been having at school all year.

She was rinsing herself off now, pulling her hands through her hair, thick sheets of soapy water falling down around her. The perfume of the shampoo was drifting to the window, sweet and fruity.

She’s over, soon.

It was true; she was turning in the water, making sure all the soap was gone. His cock felt huge, it must have been a mile long by now. She turned off the water, and the night fell silent.

She took a towel, lifted it to her head—


Looked right at him.

The towel snapped to her body, threw itself around her hips, and Sully was gone, off the roof, twisted his ankle, doesn’t matter. Go. Go. Out of the light.

He’d walk back to where Will lived, pretend he had just left, and walk back home. If she called the cops, he’d have a good excuse.

He stopped in the park for a few minutes though, sat in the darkness, on the jungle gym, thinking of her, committing every bit of her, every movement, every single hair, to his memory, forever.

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