When I enrolled in the graduate psychology program at a university in New York City, I sublet an apartment in upper Manhattan just off the campus. I saw an ad in a popular downtown weekly for a spacious room with a view. However, the view advertised—a modest glimpse of the Harlem River—was by no means as diverting as was the view I had of several of my neighbors across the way.
I lived opposite one of those mammoth apartment complexes commonly found in the city. Consequently, I was faced with the spectacle of wall-to-wall windows peopled with a virtual cross-section of the urban population. But this simply enhanced the already exotic environment and added to my urban education.
I was both surprised and excited to find that many, if not most, of the residents either chose not to have, or were simply unable to afford, draperies for their windows. As a result, I was privileged to witness an array of bawdy affairs whenever I was home. But, of course, the most titillating encounters occurred in the evening, when people shed their clothes and retired to their beds.
I suppose I was always most fascinated by a young female couple, lesbians I was soon to discover, who waltzed shamelessly around their apartment in the nude. It was apparent to me that both young women were aware that they were on view, making perhaps a few too many trips to the open window to display their delectable bodies for my wistful gaze.
One woman was black, tall and light-skinned, with long, flowing brown hair that stopped short of her waist. She was so thin her ribs were visible, and while her breasts were inordinately hefty compared to the rest of her body, which gave her a seductive, womanly allure, from behind she often appeared to be a longhaired boy because her hips were so slight.
Her lover was, I believe, Hispanic, a diminutive, compact bundle of energy that translated into some rather stunning sexual episodes in their bedroom, from what I could see. She was, in my judgment, the more dominant of the two and, with her take-charge personality and powerful body and character, the more interesting as well.
The first time I noticed them, I was glancing out my window at my river view. They arrived home late together and turned on all the lights in their apartment. At first I thought nothing of them, though admittedly, it registered in my head that they were both highly attractive women. But after a moment I looked back to find them embracing and slowly undressing each other. I was suddenly caught in a serendipitous moment of numbing sensuality. My body grew tight; I stopped breathing; my eyes, riveted on this picture of lesbian mystique, ached slightly and began to tear. My legs grew weak as I stood watching them disrobe. Soon my cock was erect, throbbing helplessly, as I was drawn in, captured by their unabashed display of lust.
So taken by the moment was I that I unzipped my trousers and, before long, was actually standing at my window, my cock grasped firmly in my hand, stroking my shaft as I watched my two beautiful neighbors disappear into a blissful, passionate union.
I could hardly contain myself as the smaller of the two handled her mate, guiding her onto the mattress, showering her tanned flesh with kisses, her fingers kneading her thighs and calves, before she pressed her mouth to the sweet flower beneath. Her lover’s back arched, her face donning an expression of total abandon, release, as she lost herself in the skilled ministrations of her partner.
I, too, was swept away, and surging heat was quick to sweep up within me, prompting a bold orgasm. A steady stream of come spewed forth as I stroked my cock and continued to indulge in my neighbors’ inviting display.
After watching several episodes of these two young women, I felt compelled to bring my new hobby a step further. This I did by purchasing both a rather sophisticated pair of field glasses and a top-of-the-line camera with a wide-angle zoom lens. The excitement their lovemaking brought to my evenings was like nothing I’d ever before experienced. I was, as they say, hooked, addicted. There was no turning back.
In good time I was able to make a rather impressive portfolio of my new subjects, photographing their heated rounds of cunnilingus, breast licking, and oil massage.
One night in particular stands out in my mind. It was an uncharacteristically steamy October evening, quite muggy, and without an air conditioner, one was prone to sweat profusely, even sitting still.
My neighbors were not still. The young Hispanic girl was acting as if she were on a mission. She began slowly, moving up behind her lover and rubbing her hands over her shoulders and back. Gracefully she knelt behind her and pressed her face in between her legs, no doubt delving with her tongue into the sweet crevice of her cunt, teasing her lover’s ass with her wet lips. Then, without notice, she stood, reached back behind her and produced a rope. She tied her lover’s hands behind her back, then sat her on the edge of the bed. She left the room for a moment, but when she returned, she had a length of black silk, which she used to blindfold the other woman.
She maneuvered her lover back up onto the bed, propping her up on a few pillows, then began caressing her, playing with her large breasts and pinching her full, succulent nipples. I could tell that they were both enjoying themselves. They were perfect for their roles. I snapped away as a hard-on raged in my crotch.
Before long the young bundle of energy crept down between her lover’s lithe thighs to taste a cunt as red as steak and seemingly protected by a dense thicket of black pubes. As she licked her lover’s meaty cunt, she hoisted her own ass into the air, granting me a splendid view of her slick tunnel. Her cunt was a fainter shade of pink, a glossy coat of feminine ooze seeping from her dainty crevice.
Casually the Hispanic girl slid a finger beneath her and presumably slipped it inside. The sight was most enchanting and inspired me to join in the fun. With haste, I put my camera to the side. Lowering my trousers, I began stroking my cock while I peered through my binoculars, capturing their every move, every nuance. If only I could hear their lustful murmurs, I thought. If only I could smell their arousal.
I couldn’t help but notice that both women were sweating, their bodies glistening with a slick allure. I, too, had worked myself into a rather intense sweat, and I felt as if I were an integral part of their scene.
The sight of these women writhing on their bed, overwhelmed by the pains of passion, shook me to my very foundations. With stunning simplicity, I, too, came, leaving a hot puddle of come between my feet.
While I no longer live in Harlem, I still get some use out of my sophisticated camera equipment and continue to refer, when the moment feels right, to my albums of memories.
—Mr. F.G., New York, New York