Suzy writes:

It's Sunday morning, misty and cold. The streets below are deserted. Most blinds and curtains are closed, but hers are not. I'm shaking a bit, and last night was filled with imaginings and confusing dreams. As soon as I finally woke and I felt myself, I was wet.

But I have made my decision. This moment will be either the beginning of everything or the end.

My heart is pounding. I open my curtains wide enough to stand between them, totally exposed. I know that you watch from that chair. Holding the binoculars to my eyes, I think I see you. The light is all wrong, and I'm not sure. Dressed in nothing but a vast baggy t-shirt that hardly covers my bottom, I step into the opening between the curtains. It's showtime. But I am transfixed with stage fright.

I check, and YES, you are there, and YES, you are watching. And YES, I am lifting the hem of my t-shirt and lifting and lifting.

I hold the hem in my teeth, binoculars in one hand, the other placed on my tummy, way down low. OH GOD... am I really doing this?

I wait. I see you, binos raised. I turn and stand with my back to the glass. Fuck! Knowing that you are looking directly at my bare bottom is shockingly arousing. I wait and wait before turning back.

"DO it, Suzy!" And I do, in full view! I lower my hand and touch myself!

The hem falls from my mouth, I am covered, but my head is spinning. I peek from the edges of the curtain. THANK GOD, you are still there.

Having played my card, I know I must wait. The apartments opposite have a different entrance to my own and another mail-box system. But what would I DO or SAY...

But I DID IT, I tell myself. And that deed cannot be undone. Curtains closed once more, I get back into bed and make love to myself. YOU, of course, are watching!

_____________________________________________________________

Amanda writes:

My breath catches; she's there!

She just opened her curtains, nothing unusual about that. Like me, she's in sleepwear, in her case a nice loose top that I could get my hands inside and stroke her bare skin all the way from her neck down. Except I wouldn't, because I don't fancy her. But I press my eyes harder against the binos, mouth open, breathing hard.

Oh! Oh, fuck! Oh my, she's raising her own binos and looking at me, no she's searching, no she's looking right at me! And moving toward the window. She must know I'm watching and that I can see her. Does she really want me to watch? She smiled at me last night, she knows I'm here, and she's at her window, for me.

She must know what she's doing. Lifting that short hem as I will it higher and higher, exposing her beauty to me. She's utterly gorgeous. If I weren't straight, I'd be in serious lust. My eyes hurt from how hard I'm pressing into the lenses.

I watch her fingers stroke her belly, touch where I want to feel, kiss, smell, lick, and tease gently. (Or would if I fancied her.)

Oh no, she's turning away. I can't hide my disappointment. With sagging shoulders, I almost put the binos down. Almost, but not entirely.

I'm rewarded. She has such a beautiful bottom. I want it, and I know that I want it.

And reward upon reward, she turns to face me again, and her hand drops to ... oh my! To my goal. I want my hand where hers is. I want to kiss her there, inhale her scent, please her. I am in total lust.

The show is over, but I can't leave. I can't clap with my hand holding the binos, I just I love it. But she's gone. I sit back, now upright in my chair. Something significant has just happened. She just gave me a gift. I have to return it, but I don't know how to. The flats around her's are wide awake and open, and they will see anything I do.

What if I move way back from the window and arrange the curtains so that I can only see her window? That way, only she will see me? And if I move some lamps around, I'll be visible and well lit.

It's Sunday. She'll be back. I make my preparations, shower, have breakfast, check her window every ten minutes or so. Surely she'll be back.

My patience is rewarded. I see the movement of her curtains and put my plan into action.

Stepping onto my 'stage' that only her window can see, I desperately hope she doesn't have visitors because I can't see clearly enough into her flat without my binoculars. I have to hope and take the risk, just like SHE took the risk for me.

Facing her, I start to dance a little, just gentle swaying really, the short floaty yellow skirt swishing and emphasising my moves, the white tank top clinging to outline my body which I know isn't as sexy as hers.

In time to the music, which doesn't matter because she can't hear it, I strip off the top as sexily as I know how, up over my head, exposing my bare breasts for her, then dropping it run my hands up the sides of my body. Turning full circle, I gyrate and with my back to her and undo the skirt. Turning to face her again drop it to the floor. I'm naked—my gift.

I turn my back again, and on my bottom, in lipstick, is my phone number. I bend down to touch my toes, feet wide, and run my right hand up and down my moistness, taking my time, hoping she's really there, hoping she's writing down my number, hoping I'm not a total fool.

Standing slowly, I face her again blow her a naked kiss, and switch off the lights. Trying not to run, I grab my binoculars and stare hard. Is she there? Did she see me? Have I just embarrassed myself in front of strangers? But no, this is Lockdown, surely it would only be her.

If she's even there?

_____________________________________________________________

Suzy writes:

The compulsion is too strong. I return sheepishly and try to test the facts as I understand them. You, this lovely girl have just witnessed a display of my almost naked body. I sent out the best signals I new. What happened next would be the confirmation or the destruction of what we were both creating.

I have no regrets, and I did my best. I let you know that I was a sexual being, and I shared your feelings. But what did you think? I have revealed pretty much all of myself.

There is no turning back, but I am powerless except to watch and wait.

Trying to make it seem a natural part on my day but it's much more than that.

From my seat in the corner I watch, my curtains closed. Already, curtains are part of our means of communication. But YOU have taken it to the next level.

You have created something beautiful, with the curtains, lighting, an enchanted space. My eyes cannot leave your little glowing theatre. The anticipation is pure agony.

And there YOU are. So lovely! You are dancing and stripping for me, and only me, no-one else could possibly see. My hand is trapped between my thighs, as my fingers enclosing my moist labia.

This is SO HOT! You are astonishingly beautiful, and now, full nakedness! I realise I am trembling, and my whole body is alive with desire for you.

Oh MY GOD... you are turning away from me, bending over, legs straight and there! On your beautiful bottom, a phone number! My face and neck are burning now, as I scribble down the number. I watch in amazement as you caress your sex. Then you are gone.

Retreating from the window, I strip off and stand in front of my big full-length mirror. Will you want me with my tiny boobs and narrow hips and my pixie haircut. You look so feminine and gorgeous, slim and petite with your lovely long hair.

I am shaven down below, you are not, and I LOVE that. You have a neat triangle, and simply I long to touch, to inhale your aroma.

Enough! Action is required. I find my phone and switch it back on. No missed calls, thank God. Now, should I call you? No, a text message is how to go, I decide - slightly cryptic, mysterious but straightforward.

"Greenwich Park, One Tree Hill, 4:00 pm."

____________________________________________________________

Amanda writes:

Shit! My phone is buzzing. Who would text me at this time on a Sunday?

I don't want to be distracted from my mission. If I could stare any harder through my binoculars, I'd be burning holes in her closed curtains. She's not there. She didn't watch me. Maybe she doesn't want me?

I can't suppress the disappointment, the empty ache inside. What's the matter with me? I don't know her. She doesn't know me. Why would I expect her to come back to her window? She doesn't owe me anything, and I have no right to expect anything from her.

All true. But I'm hurting. Did she not see? Did I time it wrong? Or is she disgusted with me? Have I overstepped in our little game? I know I can get over-excited at times, maybe push too hard in my enthusiasm, get carried away. Have I done it again?

I move back, away from my window in my darkened room, sitting on the floor in a corner-hugging myself. I'm not going to cry, though the embarrassment is something I can feel within my chest. Is that even possible? I took a risk, a big risk, and I fell flat on my face. Thank goodness no-one else saw.

I form a new plan, a new idea. I don't want to lose her. I'll find a way to apologise, say sorry, and make it up to her next time we both have curtains open and lights on. Yes, that's it.

I go get my phone, expecting a message from Mum to drag me back into the real world.

Huh? Not Mum, an unknown number.

I open the message.

"Aagh!" I cry out, squeal, jump, almost have a heart attack, my rib cage about to explode from within.

My hands are trembling, my breathing irregular, my eyes suddenly awash. I panic. Am I in agony or ecstasy? I don't know. All I do know is that this message is precious, a lifeline, a return to .... to what? I have no idea.

My dream is alive. My love is there for me!

My love? How can I call her that? I don't know her, have never met her. Yet.

Whatever happened to me being straight? I laugh at myself, all giddy and happy and ecstatic and euphoric and .. running out of words.

I send back a text. Simple, hopefully expressive.

"Yes."

Then staring at her message, imagining her pretty fingers typing it into her phone, my right-hand dives between my legs right there in my little darkened sitting room, and I do myself fast, hard, hungry until I cry out in triumph and my exhausted, sticky fingers are being soothed in my mouth.

4 pm can't arrive soon enough. Or maybe it's too soon. I need to choose what to wear, how to do my hair, shower again, paint my nails. My nails! They need serious attention!

I get busy, head buzzing with happy thoughts, with anticipation and expectation.

End of Part 2