A brief scene about obsession and voyeurism, from a longer work about obsession and sex. This is all there is of the novel, so far. Written in November of '07.

--

In his mind, he called her Esmeralda, the Gypsy queen. Each time he saw her in the window across the way, he felt a fresh stir of passion, a resurgence of the power she held over his heart and his libido. She was the most beautiful creature he could ever have imagined, with her delightfully dark complexion, her luscious mane of loose black curls, those perky breasts, the seductive curve of her hips; if he could have imagined the perfect woman, his picture would have fallen short of the incredible vision of womanhood into whose window he gazed daily. Nathan considered himself to be the luckiest man in the world, just to be allowed the sight of her. Luckiest but for one, of course, for the man with whom she shared her bed was far more fortunate than Nathan could ever hope to be.

Sometimes, Nathan's vigilance was rewarded with a greater prize than the mere sight of his Gypsy queen, for the curtains were seldom drawn, and she was not a modest woman. There were days she walked around half-naked, exposing her enticing breasts to the world, and some days she did not dress at all. There were also lovemaking sessions with the boyfriend, lazy weekend afternoon games and heated, passionate trysts. Even this was exceptionally pleasing to Nathan, for it allowed him to see her in glorious action. On rare, wonderful occasions, however, Nathan caught his Esmeralda in the act of masturbation, and, at these times, his voyeuristic passion all but drove him mad. She was his Heaven and his Hell, his angel and his tormenting demon.

Nathan Isaac Fowler was a lonely man, by birth and by nature. Though he had spent the better part of his life in isolation, unwanted by his family, he looked back on those years only with a certain detached fondness, and welcomed his continued solitude with open arms. Observation, rather than participation, fueled him; his life was a spectator sport. At this moment, his pale hazel eyes were focused on his favorite 'show,' as it were, and he was making the most of the opportunity.

Across the street, his Esmeralda's unguarded window offered Nathan a marvelous view, the best he could have hoped for. The lovely woman lay sprawled over the cushions on the living room couch, in full view of the window, her eyes fixed on the flickering TV screen, just outside of Nathan's line of vision. She was completely nude, giving the voyeuristic boy the full show that her divine sexuality had to offer.

Even as Nathan watched, as surreptitiously as he was able, the woman's delicate hands began to caress her naked breasts, her slender fingers pinching and tugging at the dark, delicious flesh. Her eyes were still watching the TV, but, in his mind, Nathan could feel them burning into his own as his pale fingers squeezed those cinnamon mounds, and his mouth suckled at the chocolate nipples. Immediately, he felt himself stiffen, as his organ anticipated the play out of the scenario his mind was building. Almost unconsciously, he let his hand slide under the waistband of his pants, seeking to encourage the budding sensations therein.

As the light from the television screen flickered over her features, the woman's hands became bolder, her fingers more aggressive, grasping her flesh more tightly and twisting her hardened nipples in a manner that seemed almost painful. Her body was beginning to respond, it was clear, for already she was building up a sheen of sweat, and her hips began to make little start-and-stop motions, as if begging for the attention of those fragile, yet strong, little fingers.

Nathan slipped off his clothing, leaving himself exposed and obviously eager, though he kept his own self-pleasuring safely behind a curtain, where the world couldn't watch. By this time, his member was already engorged and purplish, demanding his attention. With no further fabric obstruction, he was able to take a proper grip, wrapping his fingers tightly around the shaft as he imagined her digits in place of his own and began to stroke himself. At first, he moved his hand slowly, but he was unable to prolong this self-teasing, and his tempo soon increased.

On her couch, the object of his imaginings was taking things to the next level as well. While one hand still groped at her breasts, the other danced down her body and buried itself between her brown thighs. At first, she stroked her vulva gently with the full hand but, within moments, she shifted tactics and began to tease her clit with a single finger, rubbing the digit in a leisurely circular motion as the fingers of her free hand pinched and pulled at her hardened nipple, rolling the sensitive nub between forefinger and thumb as she applied a second finger to her clit and increased her tempo.

Somewhere in Nathan's mind, it was his hands that gave her such pleasure, his hands that knew her body so well that he could play her like a harp, touching all the right strings. The pressure built inside him, threatening to overwhelm his senses. Sweat beaded on his pale skin with the acceleration of his heartbeat. As his hand pumped faster and faster, he moaned in time with his shallow breath, eyes locked feverishly on the scene in the window across the way.

The woman, too, was approaching climax. Her eyes were closed now, ignoring whatever she had put on the TV as erotic material, lost now in a world of sensation alone. Two fingers became a full hand once more, eagerly rubbing her clit as her hips bucked wildly and her head arched back. No attention was left over for her free hand, which now only gripped her breast tightly as all her focus became concentrated in the hypersensitive bundle of nerves that her clit had become. Putting her whole arm into the effort, she moved her wrist as quickly as she was able, her lips crying out unconscious syllables as she thrust herself against her fingers.

From his own apartment, Nathan was unable to hear her utterances, but, to his ears, she was screaming his name. Never mind that it was only his own hand that touched his genitals; in his mind, he was thrusting deep into his Esmeralda, and she was climaxing beneath him, her body writhing against him as she shrieked out her ecstasy. As her nails raked down his back, the fantasy exploded around him and he came violently, shouting aloud as his seed erupted forth into his waiting, wadded handful of boxer shorts.

Even as Nathan regained his equilibrium, the woman he called Esmeralda was seizing up in the throes of her own ecstasy. Her hips bucked once and stayed, pressing her clit against her maniacally twitching fingers. Orgasm rocked her curvaceous frame, stiffening her entire body for one breathtaking instant, every inch of her trembling with pleasure before she collapsed limply against the couch, whimpering slightly with each heavy breath.

In that moment, her eyes flicked up to the window, whether attracted by some small motion or simple instinct it was impossible to tell. Nathan hastily ducked back behind the curtains, but it was too late; for one explosive, terrifying instant, their eyes had met. She had seen him.