Midnight Tease Through the Glass

I’ve never confessed anything this filthy out loud, not even to myself in the dark, but three nights after the window I still wake up soaked and furious. Forty-two, freshly divorced, boxes half-unpacked, and all I can think about is my twenty-four-year-old neighbor’s thick veiny cock. Cody. Athletic, restless, standing there that first night with his sweatpants shoved down, fist working himself while he stared straight through my glass like he already owned the right to watch me come apart. He left me teetering—fingers buried to the last knuckle, cunt fluttering on the edge—then simply stepped back and shut the blinds. I finished alone later, biting my pillow, hating how empty it felt without his eyes on me.

Tonight the ache is worse. I tell myself I’m only going to bed early. The silk robe is all I wear; the air in the new house still smells like cardboard and possibility. My phone lights up on the nightstand.

Paulina: You still thinking about him? Me: Every fucking second. Paulina: Good. Blinds open even a little? Then use it. You’re allowed to want this. Show him you’re not done. Explore it, Har. Text me after if you don’t chicken out.

I snort, thumbs trembling. She’s been relentless since I spilled every wet detail over coffee—the way his cock glistened, how my legs shook when he matched my rhythm, the cruel denial at the end. Supportive doesn’t cover it. She’s practically daring me.

I leave the overhead light off and switch on only the low lamp by the bed. That’s when I notice it: the blinds aren’t fully closed. A deliberate three-inch gap I must have left without admitting why. Across the narrow side yard his window is lit, curtains wide. Cody is already there. Bare chest, joggers pushed under his heavy balls, one hand wrapped around that same thick, veiny cock. He’s stroking slowly, openly, raw hunger plain on his face the second our eyes lock. No surprise. No shame. Just the same devouring stare that ruined me before.