Doing the Dishes

I am certain the neighbour can see me walking around my apartment at night in all states of undress.

When I moved into the small walk-up, the leaves on the trees blocked the view from my windows to hers. It was summer, and I could look into her garden, see her working hard, on her knees, digging the ground, planting, or weeding. Her garden was perfect. Each plant placed for bloom at a different season—the curve shape of the neat flower beds, the dainty magnolia surrounded by a decorative, stone border, the twisted crab-apple shading a small bench and two painted deer, and a trellis canopy overgrown with vines. Perhaps in her 70s and meticulous in her looks even when gardening, I expect that the woman next door is equally fastidious in her life and perfect in her expectations of others, with conservative views and a fragile sensibility.

Now, in early winter, I can see her in the back room of her house, sometimes pottering about, sometimes she is ironing. I can watch her as I wash the dishes, the large window over the sink is undoubtedly lit up in the night sky the same as hers. I see her glance up and know that I am in full view from the waist up. I like to imagine that she turns out the lights to sit in the darkness and spy on the neighbours—their little lights revealing vignettes on their lives.

I am not careful. I can’t be bothered to put on my housecoat just to go to the bathroom and I prefer to clean semi-nude, stripping off the remaining dirty clothes to clean the bathroom then clean myself in the shower. I often end up washing dishes without my shirt on, sometimes without my bra even—my large, soft breasts dangling and swaying over the hot, soapy water.

When my lover comes over for dinner, he cooks, the scent of a curry or grilled steak or even a casserole greeting me as I open the door to my apartment. It feels so domestic, though I know he is only on loan to me from his wife. The warmth of food, of light, of his embrace on the dark, damp early days of winter envelop me. Comfortable in each other’s company, we linger over dinner, the bottle of Riesling between us, whetting our appetites for more. But first, I want to do the dishes.

While my lover puts away the food, I fill the sink with hot soapy water. I can see my neighbour in her backroom. For a moment she looks up from her lit window. And in that moment, my hands sunk deep into dishwater, my lover comes up behind me. He weaves his fingers into my curly hair moving it away from my neck. Still, with my hands preoccupied with the dishes, I arch my bare neck up to meet his lips as they kiss and caress my soft, smooth skin.

Sudden sensations of desire spread throughout my body. I reach back over my shoulder to pull his head into me, the soapy water dripping down his shirt. My eyes, which had been closed allowing me to fully focus on his touch, open. In a glance down, out the window and despite the distance, I seem to catch the neighbour’s eye. She certainly wouldn’t be able to see my mischievous smile, but I direct one her way anyway. Then, the light in her window goes out. But I know she is still there, watching.

I return to the dishes, but my lover remains at my back, pushing his body into mine. I can feel his cock hardening through the light layers of fabric that cover my ass. His hands reach around and begin to massage my breasts, so large each over flows in his palms. I sigh and allow my body to sink back ever so slightly into his.

He releases my breasts only to begin unbuttoning my shirt. It falls open exposing my breasts, encased in the lacy black bra, to anyone who might be able to see in my window. I allow him to remove my shirt over my wet hands. He takes of his and I can feel the warmth of his skin, the fine prickling softness of the hair on his chest, against my back.

He keeps his cock pressed up against my ass as he leans away to slide his hand up my back. He finds my bra and unhooks it. The bra joins the growing pile of clothing on the floor at our feet. I sigh as his fingers find my nipples, first tracing the goosebumps of my areola then pinching the erect, raspberry pink buds. I hold the wine glass in my hand, unable to finish rinsing it while taking in all the sensations of his touch. My hands still sink into the sudsy water without splashing, but I am soaking, my cunt dripping wet into my thong.

I am wearing my work clothes—at least on the bottom half of my body. He unzips my pencil skirt and shimmies it over my hips so that it falls to the floor around my feet. I step out of it as I start washing the plates. His fingers slip into the waist band of my nylons. He peels the them down my legs, running his lips down my thigh as he kneels behind me to help me free my feet from the suffocating fabric. My ass cheeks in the cool air, his fingers press into the flesh scarcely divided by my black thong. His tongue drags along the flesh and he bites the muscle, not hard enough to bruise, but enough to make me cry out.

I have given up doing the dishes and lean over the sink, propping myself up with my hands on the opposite side of the sink. My lover nudges my legs apart slightly. As he continues to knead my ass with on hand, the fingers of the other pull aside my thong. He runs a finger the entire length of my wet slit taking a moment to slide one finger, then two, into the heat of my cunt. I can feel the wetness from his fingers drag down my leg as he slides off my panties.

When he stands, he drops his pants around his ankles. His arm presses against my back asking me to bend over more. I comply almost bending into the sink, the warmth of the water curling up in steam over my skin. My nipples brush against the suds catching the bubbles that tingle and pop. I spread my legs and going up on tiptoe with full knowledge of what comes next.

With one hand braced on my shoulder and the other holding onto his cock, my lover runs the tip along my slit coating the head with juices. He positions it against my hole and pushes in. I groan as I take in then entire length, his thick cock filling me. In the reflection of the window I can see my flushed face, my mouth open in a groan or sigh or biting my lip. I imaging my neighbour can see it too as my lover moves slowly at first then faster so that my huge breasts quiver and shake almost slapping me in the face. And then behind me, his face in concentration looking at my back and my jiggling ass.

He reaches around to my clit and rubs it as he pounds into me. Soon I am coming, the cries escaping my lips that would be visible but inaudible to my neighbour. Soon after my orgasm settles, he cums. He pulls out from me and squirts inordinate amounts of liquid over my back and ass so that it drips down between the cracks of my cheeks. In his exhaustion, he drapes himself over my back.

I turn to him my back to the sink to give him a long kiss. I suggest a shower together. But before we leave, I turn back to the window and lean over to look out, as much as I can in the darkness. I look towards the neighbour’s window and give a little way—just in case.

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