An old building apartment in Vienna’s 7th district, a window opposite, a summer where no one lowers the blinds. Explicit short story. 18+.
My apartment in Neubau was on the second floor, with two windows facing the inner courtyard. Opposite, on the third floor, lived a woman I saw through the kitchen window on my first day moving in, as she was setting down a kettle. She wore only a thin, white top, and her breasts were outlined beneath it – firm, with dark nipples pressing against the fabric. I immediately felt a pull between my legs, a damp warmth spreading through my cunt.
I was new to Vienna. I had come from Munich for a year, for a position as a research assistant at an institute, and I had taken over the furnished apartment from a predecessor who had moved to Berlin. The woman opposite had probably seen her every day too – and maybe she had watched just as secretly as I was doing now.
Her kitchen, my living room, her bedroom and my bathroom faced each other. The courtyard was about ten meters wide, which wasn’t much. Viennese old buildings are built that way – tight, intimate, as if designed for people to stare into each other’s windows.
In the first weeks it was July, then August, then a hot September. No one in our courtyard had air conditioning. No one lowered the blinds during the day because it would have been too dark, and at night it didn’t matter anyway because the heat couldn’t be driven out by closed blinds. So we left everything open – windows, doors, curtains – and exposed ourselves.
We had never met, but we saw each other every day. She was in her early thirties, slim, dark hair, with a quiet way of moving. She often cooked, she read at the kitchen table, she sometimes talked on the phone for a long time, leaning by the window, in a language I thought was Italian. Her hands were slender, with long fingers that wrapped around a wine glass. I imagined those fingers burrowing into me, deep into my wet slit, while she looked at me.
On a Thursday, mid-August, I came home around half past eight. I made myself something to eat, stood at the kitchen window because the light was best there, and I saw her opposite just coming out of the shower, wrapped in a towel. The towel was small – it barely covered her breasts, which hung heavy and full beneath it. Her skin still glistened, damp from the warmth, and I saw a drop of water running from her neck down between her breasts. She saw me. She didn’t flinch. She nodded at me, friendly, almost like an acquaintance. Then she let the towel drop a little, just a centimeter, but exactly enough that I saw the curve of a nipple – dark, erect, already hard.
I nodded back. My heart pounded, and I felt my cunt getting wetter. I pressed my legs together to feel the pulsing rising deep inside me.
That was the beginning of a silent acquaintance. We waved in the mornings, we waved in the evenings. Sometimes she laughed at something I was doing, and I laughed back if I found it funny myself. But mostly it was a silent desire growing between us, an invisible bond of glances and fantasies.
I began to watch her. I saw how she took off her clothes after work, slowly, almost ritualistically, before getting in the shower. I saw her slender shoulders, the curve of her hips, the beginning of her ass, firm and round peeking out from under her bra. Once she lingered longer in front of the window after being naked, and stroked her breast. Her fingers played with a nipple, pulling it until it was hard and pointed. I saw her close her eyes, throw her head back, and her hand wandered lower, between her legs. I could almost hear her soft moans, the wet sound of her fingers sliding into her cunt. I got wet just from watching, and I slipped a hand into my own panties while I watched her, pressing my fingers into my own wet slit, while I watched her pleasure herself, only ten meters away from me.
On a late Sunday in September, around eleven o’clock, the doorbell to my apartment rang. I opened it because I had applied for internet activation the weekend before and was expecting someone.
She stood at the door. She wore a thin, silk dress that reached to her thighs. The fabric clung to her curves, and I could see the shape of her breasts underneath, the nipples showing through. She had nothing on underneath – I saw that immediately.
“Buongiorno,” she said. “My name is Chiara.” Her voice was deep, almost husky, and it sent warmth flowing through my body.
“Anna,” I said. My mouth was dry.
“We know each other a little.” She smiled, and her eyes wandered slowly over my body – from my face down to my breasts, standing under a thin top, further to my hips, to my legs.
“I know.” I felt naked under her gaze. My nipples hardened, pointed against the fabric.
She looked at me, appraising, cautious. Then she took a step closer, and I smelled her scent – warm, sweet, of soap and woman.
“May I come in? I have a question.”
I let her in. She didn’t sit down. She stopped in the kitchen, which wasn’t unfamiliar to her. She turned around, and her dress tightened over her ass, which was firm and round. I could see the outline of her slit through the thin fabric, a slight bulge that drove me crazy.
“Anna. I have a problem with the summer.”
“What kind of problem?” My voice was barely a whisper.
“I’ve noticed in the last few weeks that I cook differently when you’re standing at the window. I’ve noticed that I read differently when I know you’re in the kitchen. I’ve noticed that I come out of the shower and am happy that I might run into you.” She paused. “And I’ve noticed that I get wet when I look at you.”
I nodded. I nodded because I had no words for what she was saying, but I understood her – and my body responded. Between my legs it became damp, warm, and I felt my cunt begin to pulse.
“And I’ve noticed that I’ve been working less for three weeks because I’m standing at the window too often – with my hand between my legs.” She laughed. It was a soft laugh, almost relieved. “I’ve fingered myself while watching you read. I’ve imagined—”
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