It was one of the few times I actually began to feel sorry for my father. He was a cop and spent most of his life sitting and watching, waiting for something to happen; usually something bad so he could arrest someone. Me, I was waiting for the woman in the tower across from my building to masturbate with her blinds open again, so I could get off on it. The first time it happened, it was an accident. I was simply gazing out into a thunderstorm, waiting to get lost in thought, when I saw her walking around naked in her apartment. I had seen her partially nude before when she was getting dressed, but this time she was totally nude and was making no attempts to change the status quo. Before I knew it she was laying on her bed and masturbating both of us to intense orgasms. Since that afternoon, I had pretty much staked out her window, waiting for a repeat performance. On one hand, it was obviously pathetic, if not downright perverse, to throw myself so completely into the voyeuristic act. My social life, which was nothing to scream about before, soon whittled away to nothing. I couldn't take the chance of being away if she did it again, so I would never leave and would never let anyone come over, because there was no rational reason why I was standing by the window naked with a pair of binoculars in my hand and a towel at my feet. On the other hand, I was saving a lot of money. Voyeurism is very cheap. Compared to my ex-girlfriend, the binoculars paid for themselves in less than a week. Things began to take an especially perverse nature once I knew her schedule. I knew when she would leave for work and when she'd return. I could tell by the clothing she wore what kind of day she was expecting and the type of mood she was in. She seemed to feel most at home in a tight black turtleneck that emphasized her bust, which was very impressive for an Asian woman. This and a very stylish charcoal gray Donna Karan double-breasted suit that she wore with the finest lingerie. Stiff little blue and gray working women suits with matching skirts and Calvin Klein underwear were for the days she cared little for. Usually these were the days she'd work late. I even got to know her lovers. The most frequent visitor was the Dark Prince. He made his first appearance in a double-breasted olive linen suit with a whiter-than-white T-shirt on under it. I called him the Dark Prince because of his olive skin tone and his heightened cheekbones. He looked like some sort of European Royalty. He was definitely European. I could tell that much by the swagger in his step, the oh-so-macho way he would grab her and kiss her, if not the by the times he would show up with his pants leg shoved into his designer boots. I could almost smell the excessive amount of cologne he wore. European. Eurotrash was more like it. I didn't like the Dark Prince. More often than not, he would show up after a screaming fight on the phone, confirming my suspicions that he treated her like shit. As if I needed more proof he was European. I hated his overly chic manner as well. Not to mention his tailored clothing, gorgeous red sports car and haunting good looks. But what I hated most about the Dark Prince was that she liked him the most. > Just as shadow has light, the Dark Prince had his own antithesis, which I called the White Knight. The White Knight was so named because he was the WASPyish person I'd ever seen in my life. The guy just smelled of vanilla and mayonnaise; polo shirts and tweed; New England and Kansas. He had wheat-colored hair, pale pink skin, thin lips and no ass I could discern. But I had a begrudging affection for the White Knight because he seemed so earnest in his affection for her. He seemed to be in awe of her and happy just to be around. Unfortunately, women have a word for men who treat them well and worship and adore them: boring. He bored her. I could tell and I really couldn't blame her. He dressed boring, he walked boring and he fucked boring. When it came to watching her have sex, my perversity, it seems, had reached new depths. The sight of the beautiful woman I adored having sex did nothing for me. I watched, but that's about it. In fact, when she would have sex with the Dark Prince, I would get upset, mainly because she was so obviously enjoying it. The Dark Prince never made love to her, he fucked her, but she didn't seem to mind, because he knew how to do this well. More often than naught, they would enter the room with him carrying her, her legs wrapped around his waist; sometimes clothed, sometimes not. He'd then toss her onto the bed and stand over her, like Alexander looking over Asia Minor. His foreplay consisted of him fingering her, in a very arrogant manner. He slid a finger or two inside of her and watched on in amusement while she twitched like a worm on a hot plate. The Dark Prince would never go down on her, just shove his fingers inside of her to make sure she was ready for him. Once I saw him smoke a cigarette and sip wine while she masturbated for him. I guess you could say my hate crystallized at that point. Not only did he get a private performance of what I lived for, but also he had to be there to ruin my chance to enjoy it. He then added insult to injury by fucking her. And the man never, ever, used a condom! The White Knight---or Mayonnaise King, as I've recently taken to calling him---in contrast, would walk in holding her hand. He kissed her softly and began to undress her. Her expression was one of bemusement, as if she couldn't decide if this was sweet or stupid. He would then perform the only action that he did that ever seemed to excite her: he'd go down on her for an eternity. I must admit I was very impressed with The Mayonnaise King. He went at her like a dying man at his last supper. I've clocked him up to a full hour of head. He'd gnaw at her until she passed out, then he'd crawl in bed next to her and go to sleep. A few times, he'd actually mount her, taking time to wrap his firm pink organ in latex. This was what we called a tender mercy, as she seemed to be doing it just for him. The Mayonnaise King would pump her slowly, while tenderly kissing her and sucking on her nipples with equal restraint. She would respond with equal enthusiasm---or lack thereof. > It was quite a change from Dark Prince's naked iron rod being slammed into her with the subtlety of an atom bomb. They would fuck so hard I could see their flesh tremble. The Dark Prince would twist her nipples between his thumb and forefinger quite violently, but only seemed to add to her pleasure. More than once I would see the Mayonnaise King in the deli near my home buying flowers, and I would have to fight the urge to tell him that he should just burst into the house, fuck her like an animal, then crawl in bed next to her and cuddle. This would win her over completely, as the Dark Prince would just burst into the apartment, fuck her like an animal, then go to sleep. She would rarely join him, choosing instead to smoke a cigarette and stare out the window, contemplating her life with assholes like that, I'm sure. There were other men, one night stands mostly, but it was only the Mayonnaise King and the Dark Prince who came regularly. Sadly, like most beautiful women adored by men, she had no female friends. The closest she came to that was an olive skinned beauty, whose arrogant nature and familiar cheekbones convinced me that she was the Dark Prince's sister. Judging by her noticeable unease around the Dark Princess, that attitude didn't go down nearly as well without sex to take the edge off. On Friday nights she usually dressed for a night of club hopping with the Dark Prince. This Friday was no exception. This Friday, as I sipped my tea, I watched her pour her lovely frame into a beautiful black bodysuit, a pair of tight black jeans, black boots, and a black linen jacket. She pulled her hair back in a "I-don't-feel-like-fucking-with-it" ponytail, lit a cigarette and headed out. I was mulling over what movie I was going to see, as I had at least until 3:00 am before she returned---her usual Friday night time---when the light in her bedroom registered in the corner of my eye. She was home early---less than an hour after leaving---and she was not happy My first clue was the way she just threw her jacket on the floor. She was an immaculate woman. I could see her living room and her bedroom from my point of view, and they were almost always totally spotless. The crumpled black jacket was now the only flaw. My second clue was the bottle of wine she violently opened. You could tell she was a woman of some breeding, as her anger was still not motivation enough to make her drink out of the bottle. Her hands shook as she poured the wine, but she didn't spill a drop. > Throwing back the entire contents in one gulp she hastily poured another. This too was gone in a long swallow and another glass was poured. By now the first dose had hit and calmed her down enough to drink it properly. She sipped the wine as she turned the stereo on and activated the CD player. She took a long swallow and began to move slowly with the music. She was feeling better now. Good music, better wine, and whatever had happened to her were now beginning to have less and less of an effect. I had no doubt it was the Dark Prince. If the Mayo King had pissed her off, he'd be crying an apology in front of the building right now. The Dark Prince would have been the one to say, "If you do not like it, you can go, uh?" then go back to nuzzling the blonde she'd caught him with. Suitably relaxed, she picked the jacket off the floor and hung it up. She then took off her shoes and began to dance to what I imagine was a slow groove. I didn't see any Europop in the apartment, nor did I vision any hardcore funk In no time at all, she had finished her third glass and poured another. For a moment I was afraid she was going to drink herself unconscious and she might have done just that if she hadn't seen her reflection in one of the many mirrors in her apartment. She paused with glass in her hand and smiled. She then blew herself a kiss. Setting the wineglass down, she then went into a series of model poses, which delighted both of us. "Take off the jeans. Take off the jeans," I said over and over to myself. It was my mantra. It worked. She removed the jeans. The bodysuit was of a thong design and suddenly gotten better since the last hour wherein I'd seen it. It was a beautiful construction and I would've given anything in this world to fuck her in it---or out of it for that matter. Apparently, she was not immune to its effects either, as she began to slide her hands over her breasts down to her hips to her firm, fat-free ass, an obvious product of the Stairmaster in the corner > She paused to take herself in, as if she was thinking what a fool any man would be to pass this up. The look on her face was indignant. How dare he!?! How indeed. I could no more turn away from a woman like that than stop breathing. Her features then softened. Now she looked sad. Was she actually sorry not to see that bastard? Another caress of the breast let me know this was not the case. She was sad because she wanted to get laid. I could empathize. Many times had an unfulfilled erection motivated me to turn on the kitchen gas and take a nap. She began to pinch the nipple of her left breast while still sipping the wine. As she finished off the remnants with a long swallow, she let her hand slide down her stomach to her crotch. She stared at herself in the mirror as she licked her lips. Suddenly, baring her teeth. She then squeezed her crotch hard, as if the pain would make the desire go away. If anything, the effect was the opposite. That squeeze sent her in the direction of the bedroom. The realization of this sent a sudden rush of blood to my head that blurred my vision for a few moments. After it passed I realized that I only had few seconds to set the camera up. After the last time, I realized my memories of it weren't enough for a good masturbation session; I needed more. This led to an elaborate explanation to a rental salesman on how I needed a video camera and a super telephoto lens to birdwatch. He didn't believe me for a moment. I hate New Yorkers. She climbed into the bed like a cat, walking around on her hands and knees for a few moments before settling down with her head flat and her ass high in the air. Once she was in place I could leave the camera and return to my binoculars, which gave me a better picture. She was massaging her left breast with her right hand while she rubbed her crotch with her left. This was not going to do, so with a smooth and practiced ease, she unsnapped the suit, the sudden release of tension sending the back portion of the suit recoiling up to the small of her back. She had no use for simple friction any further, and immediately slid a finger inside. It encountered little to no resistance, so I assumed she was quite wet. The sensation caused her to arch her back and emit a little cry. After the rush, she smiled with delight and began to finger fuck herself. I could not do the same as I would come in an instant and probably pass out. I just had to restrain myself, while my more-than-erect penis leaked semen down the shaft to gather at my balls and drip on the floor. Simple restraint would not prove to be enough this time around, especially when she removed the finger and licked it clean. The next thing I knew I was on the floor, as my legs could no longer support me. When I viewed the tape later, I saw that I had missed her liberally coating two fingers with her own juices and sliding them in. By the time I had risen to my feet, she was pumping herself deeply, while using her right hand to now stimulate her clitoris. I would have killed for sound. Judging by her open mouth, she was probably moaning up a storm. She slowly slid her fingers out and up to her ass for a new stimulation, then she moved them back to her vagina, then back to her ass. I couldn't understand why she had such indecision, until her right hand went to her ass and her left returned to her crotch. She had been lubricating it. My earlier experience had prepared me for this, so I was sitting down now---but I came as soon as she slid the finger in her ass anyway. I lost a few more moments to my orgasm. I have a habit of closing my eyes when I come, envisioning myself filling her womb with sperm, while she screams, "Oh, shit baby! Fuck!" and claws at my ass trying to draw me in deeper. Being raised a Catholic, I tend to like my sex on dirty side. Thank you for this, the faculty at St. Margaret's---especially you, Sister Nicole, who so obsessed over the filthy nature of sex that it was all I could think of and want. When I finally opened my eyes, I found drops of semen on the window. It had been quite a shot. I managed to look past it to see her finish herself off. Her mouth formed a small "o" as she sucked in air, feeling the delicious pain of self-sodomy. With excruciating slowness, she added another finger, but with a greater ease this time. Her sphincter was slowly dilating to accommodate the intruders. She was furiously vibrating her clitoris with her left hand while pumping her fingers of her right hand in and out of her ass. Apparently that wasn't enough as she reached over to her nightstand with her left hand---without removing her right hand from her ass---to open and remove a small cylinder about the size of a lipstick. I was younger then and had no idea what it was for. It was too small to be a dildo, unless she really liked the Mayonnaise King more than I thought. It was only when she finally pulled a very reluctant finger from her ass, turned the "lipstick" like a bottle top that it dawned on me. > I could see the smile of delight on her face as she reinserted her right index finger in her anus and placed the "lipstick" between her legs. What her fingers had started a couple of hundred cycles of battery-powered vibration more than finished. Her orgasm washed over her like a wave, only to be followed by another and then another. My flaccid penis, covered with my sticky, drying semen, began to stir at the sight of this. I grabbed it and began to pump it, using the come as lubricant. It hurt, as it was still tender from my previous orgasm, but like her, I found the pain a good one. It soon became a warm, slow burn down to my anus. She stopped pumping with her rear fingers and held them fast, buried in her anus. Her hips began to pump down involuntarily. Her mouth was open wide, crying for the one orgasm that put the previous smaller ones to shame. My own orgasm had come more quickly than I'd believed possible, and I was struggling to contain it so we could come together. When she suddenly straightened her legs and began tremble, I knew it had arrived. While the electric pulse of pleasure ripped through her body from her head to her toes and back again, her head whipped from side to side, as though she was fighting the part of herself that suggested that maybe, maybe this was too much for her. Her body held tense as a rail for at least a full minute---more than enough time for me to release my orgasm and recover. I didn't close my eyes this time, but I did see myself firing salvo after salvo onto her naked buttocks and legs. I then saw myself sliding my still hard penis between her cheeks, using the friction to wind us both down. After laying there with her hands between her legs for long moments, she finally wrapped herself up in the comforter and went to sleep. I was actually glad. I really don't think I could have handled another run. I lit a cigarette and made a cup of tea and sat there, watching her sleep, listening to soft whir of the video camera I’d neglected to stop.