Espied Pt. 02

Of course, it was something that would happen: it was inevitable she would meet her new neighbour. They lived next door to each other, after all, admittedly in a part of suburbia where the houses were large and the gardens generous. They were not cheek by jowl. Perhaps he had knocked on her door when first moving in: only she had been out. Really, she should have gone around and introduced herself, but she has always been shy, painfully shy. Sal hid behind her glasses and rather too much clothing. Sal had always been like that to the infuriation, really, of her outgoing parents. They were, alas, departed which is why she had their big old house. The house she had always lived in, the house with its big private garden. She had been alarmed when the next-door house had been put up for sale. She did not like change, she had not liked the thought of new neighbours.

The photography club was almost her only real opportunity for meeting people. She found it safe because the same people were there -- the same people, mostly, who were there when she joined all those years ago whilst at school. Sal had been on her way to a club meeting with some new wildlife photographs to show -- not those photographs, not those of her neighbour or herself naked and aroused... or worse -- when she had met the new neighbour outside his house. She had to speak, had to introduce herself.

And, of course, she could not help having in her mind's eye the image of him unclothed, moreover with that large erection she had seen. She knew it was large. Sal might well have never experienced one in the flesh, so to speak, but she was not ignorant -- even of size.

As was her habit, she had trouble looking strangers in the eye, but her downcast eye found itself looking at the bulge at the front of his trousers, the bulge men have and is perhaps most obvious at the swimming pool. Sal did swim. It was a regular habit for fitness, again something dating back to when she was a young girl. She knew the routine. Did not have a problem with that, did not have a problem of walking in, paying her money, going into the ladies changing room, changing and swimming. Nor did she have a problem with looking obliquely at nice men's bulges in their trunks. They were particularly obvious there.

Sal was invited in for coffee by her new neighbour but, of course declined. She was on the way to her club meeting. He then asked about that and she could think of no easy reason, even for her, of declining his further invitation to join him for coffee the next morning. She could hardly say she was going shopping. Obviously she could do her shopping any time.

The photography meeting was a good one. She was a little surprised when Mr. Soames produced a folio of nudes. They were very well taken with excellent lighting and the girl had posed very well. Sal had, of course, been embarrassed by the subject but it was easier to hide her embarrassment by making objective comments. No one there, she thought, would have had any idea of her own nude photography. A much more candid photography of her neighbour and herself. There was nothing sexual about Mr Soames' nudes though Sal did wonder quite how he knew the model.

Mr Soames' work was certainly the main topic of discussion and several members expressed an interest in seeing how well they could tackle nude photography. Of course, the difficulty of finding suitable models was discussed. One or two members saying that they were not too sure their respective spouses would be too happy posing. It was a thought that for a club night they might perhaps hire a model, male or female -- it did not matter.

The appalling idea of the club members taking it in turns to be the model came to Sal's mind. It caused her to shiver. The idea of being naked in front of the other club members quite awful to her. In her swimsuit at the swimming baths one thing - and not actually naked - but nude at a club meeting quite another.

The next morning Sal awoke in quite a sweat. Dreams do seem to pick up on events and concerns of the day before and that had certainly been the case with Sal. She had dreamt of being at her photography club meeting, only, of course, in the way of dreams it had not been at their usual meeting place of the village hall but the swimming baths for no apparent reason, in the illogical way of dreams. They had all, the members of the club, been there in their swimming things and with cameras. They had taken pictures with the slanting light through the side windows of the pool, but the clamour had grown to take photographs of nudes and, in her dream, Sal had volunteered. Again, for no obvious reason.

The awful embarrassment of lowering her black swimsuit down past her chest still lingered in her mind as she lay there in her bed. And then, still worse, taking the swimsuit off completely. Sal could not remember the photographing, but she could remember the bulges in the men's trunks, not just the bulges she normally saw at the swimming baths but the full bulges of retained and contained fully grown penises. The dream had become sexual -- a wet dream. Sal remembered she had dreamt it was Mrs Riley, of all people saying they wanted to photograph copulation and there being a chorus of 'yes, yes, yes, what a challenge.' Sal's protestations were ignored, and she recalled dreaming of Mr Soames coming towards her with erection pointing -- she did not think the dream had bothered with him taking his trunks off. He had just been naked and exposed.

Sal had awoken just as Mr Soames had touched her. She had awoken in a sweat and with herself awash between her thighs. She reached for her glass of water and drank in gulps. Since she had photographed her neighbour and then herself in her garden naked she had been finding sexual thought more frequent. For a moment or two she thought of lying there thinking -- and playing with herself but the sun streaming through the curtains beckoned her outside.

Just descending the stairs naked was not something she would have done before. Certainly, standing and looking at her new and very private photography album with the best of her 'nude' photography (developed by herself in her own little dark room), one handed and with the other touching herself would have been unimaginable outside her bed -- or perhaps in the shower -- before. Her eyes dwelt on the photograph of the ejaculating penis -- her neighbour's penis. He could have no idea she had such an image. It was a large print and filled a whole page. It was very sexual to her. Her fingers played.

Sal stepped out from the French windows into the shade stark naked. The sun was bright, and she squinted. It was a wonderful feeling to be out and naked. Animal like. She thought how good it would be to be away from her garden, perhaps in the forest, on the moor or in the fields naked like that -- and importantly alone. The idea of anyone seeing her too awful to contemplate but the idea of leaving her clothes and just walking like that for a bit, perhaps to sit and... masturbate.

A few more steps and she was actually in the early morning sun. It was warm on her front, warm on her naked skin. Standing and stretching a little she could hear her neighbour next door out in his garden. He was also up and about early in the morning. Was he perhaps naked too? Was she feet from a naked and possibly erect man? She could have scurried up to her balcony and peeped, but Sal was enjoying the sunshine. Wonderful to walk further down the garden. At the bottom of the garden was an old wall with a green painted door in it. The wall was quite high, a good eight foot and stretched three doors down behind other houses, though not her neighbours. Quite why it had been built was unclear. It was Victorian like her house. Through the door was a green lane, an old farm track quite clearly from before the houses had been built.

Sal leant with her bottom against the wall. It had a lovely visual texture, old yellow bricks, and was already warm against the skin of her buttocks. She leant, looking back at the house and its windows watching her, perhaps surprised at what they were seeing. There was, of course, no one in her house to see her and, unless there was some spy hole in fence or hedge, neither of her neighbours could peek at her nudity either.

The idea, though, of a watcher, a secret watcher - as secret as she had been with her neighbour was in her mind. Both appalling but strangely exciting at one and the same time. She looked up at her house imagining perhaps her neighbour or another man standing at an upstairs window, naked and very visibly enjoying seeing her nudity - his penis engorged and standing proud. Sal visible to him but not him to her, she merely seeing the dark window in shade and not the naked man. She so clear to him but he invisible to her.

Sal bit her lip. This was so unlike her, so not her to be in any way happy let alone aroused sexually by the thought of being even noticed let alone observed naked. Yet she was so conscious of just how visible she would be against the backdrop of the sun-drenched wall, her pale skin against the sun brightened old yellow brickwork, the triangle of her tangled bush so striking against her skin and the wall.

Again, so unlike her, she posed with legs a little open and hand between her thighs for the house to see, she turned and showed the curve of her bottom to the house, she bent forward so her ample breasts hung forward and grinned. Between her legs that lovely feeling of gooey wetness from sexual arousal, a certainty that with the right sort of thoughts and agile fingers to her clitoris and nipples she could make herself 'come.'

The photographer in her again exerted itself and all at once she ran to get her camera. Sal ran up the garden as she had not done since little and never with her breasts bounding. What would the watcher have thought? She was sure bouncing breasts would excite a man. In her mind the thought of the man touching himself, stimulating his penis perhaps even 'coming' as she had seen her neighbour come.

A diversion on the way to get the camera found herself on the balcony peering through the wisteria. The thought of a naked man watching her leading to thoughts of watching a naked man.

She was not disappointed. Just as she had been naked in her garden so was he, only he was not betraying sexual excitement. Indeed, he was sitting on a garden chair by a table with his back to her reading a newspaper. She could see his naked left buttock but not his penis. In her heart she disapproved at what she was doing - peeking - but in her state of arousal she did not simply withdraw, rather her hand stole to her sex and she played as she watched. All at once the man stood showing his nice, tight buttocks entire, put down his newspaper and turned. There for Sal to see once again was his genitalia. Her fingers slid into herself making it very clear what he subconscious had in mind but, the man was not at all ready for such a thing. There was no erection rather the penis was as relaxed as relaxed could be, hanging down with its foreskin covered head gently knocking against his twin balls. Sal watched the package swinging as the man stepped towards his house and out of sight.

Sal went for her camera and catching sight of herself in a mirror shook her head. This was all so unlike her.

The camera was set up on a tripod down the garden facing the wall. In Sal's hand a remote as she readied herself to pose. She had seen how Mr. Soames' model had posed and she did the same. Naked flesh against old stone wall. Nude studies and then more provocative poses that had not been part of Mr. Soames' set - though it might have been, and she had wondered, whether he had not shown all that he had photographed.

She photographed herself masturbating, her fingers so clearly at work when she reviewed the photographs later. There were rather a lot of her actually coming. In her paroxysm she had kept squeezing the remote!

As she carried the camera back she wondered if her neighbour was still there at his table, still naked and reading his newspaper totally unaware his next-door neighbour was walking feet away totally naked and - to put it bluntly - very wet.

Eleven o'clock came and Sal stepped out of her front door. With her it was not a casual act. She had not thought five minutes before that she had better change into something better as she was visiting her neighbour for coffee at eleven. She had been fretting and worrying about it since she had come back from her unexpected garden photography session and her shower. What she should wear and what she should say. It was one thing looking at him through the wisteria: quite another having to go into his house and talk.

Worse she found herself sitting in the very chair and at the very table she had seen him sitting at naked earlier that morning. As he went to fetch the coffee she glanced up at the wisteria of her own house and where her vantage point had been. The balcony was completely obscured. It was a relief. He could not see and could not suspect she watched.

Of course, he was clothed. The whole meeting was perfectly normal. There was no need to refer to unclothed bodies at all. Sal certainly mentioned photography as a hobby in response to polite questions about how her club evening had gone. Her neighbour proved reasonably knowledgeable about birds as well.

And, of course, Sal had to invite her neighbour around by way of return and a date was fixed for the week after. Sal, though, did not plan to serve coffee in her garden. She did not want her neighbour realising about the balcony. She should not really have minded had he, as a result of realising she had such a balcony, become more discrete about his apparent naturism, but the awful reality was that she was rather enjoying being able to see a naked man.

Sal took him into her lounge, rather than garden, and left him looking at an album of her better ornithological photographs. She was particularly pleased with her photographs of bitterns. They had been 'booming.'

Sal walked back into the room, a tray with coffee in her hands and stopped, aghast. The man, her neighbour, his back to her, was not now looking at her ornithological album or one of her wildlife albums but another album, another album entirely, the one she had not intended anyone else to see and should not really have even been in the room yet it had been there on the shelf with all the others, the one with the 'other' wildlife photographs, beautifully taken photographs, but of him naked - and Sal as well.

She backed, backed into the hallway. Sal did not think he had seen her. She stood shaking almost in fear and certainly in embarrassment and then her eyes widened. Inside her skirt, between her thighs she could feel a rush of sexual excitement. She was both appalled he was seeing her naked pictures but at the same time becoming excited by it. Sal could not understand this contradiction in herself. He was looking at not just pictures of her but pictures of him unclothed... and worse. But perhaps he had only seen those of her. Certainly, it had just been her on the pages she had seen open before him.

Sal made a bit of a clattering sound with the tray, paused and then walked back into the room. The man was looking at a photograph of a pair of water rats, albeit upside down. There was not the same polite calm about him. He looked flustered and perhaps for that reason did not seem to notice Sal's own confusion. The conversation was a little more stilted than it might otherwise have been. It was mostly about Sal's wildlife photography but even so, Sal knew what photographs he was really thinking about and that he was more than a little aware of just what was contained in a particular volume of photographs on her shelf.

After he had gone, Sal wondered if he would now cease his naked breakfasts or garden nudity. But she did not know if he had seen photographs of himself rather than just Sal naked. Certainly, the pages she had seen open were not simply of her naked but masturbating there on her lawn. Embarrassing... yet rather exciting in a way that he had seen her like that. The thought surprised her. The wetness between her legs surprised her. It was a warm day and Sal went upstairs to put on something cooler, only instead she carried on undressing completely and then slipped out onto her balcony and peered through the wisteria.

She had not really expected to see him, still less naked but there he was in full sight through the leaves of the climbing wisteria, the man only minutes before she had been talking to and drinking coffee with in her house. Not only was he naked but his manly organ, that equipage so different from her own was not only on display but prominent in its display. He was erect. So big! Sal's hand went straight between her legs. So exciting to see, especially when excited herself. She made use of the visual stimulation before her.

He walked a little down his garden and then back again, his head not raised but as if he was deep in thought. About what, Sal wondered, but it seemed obvious from his stand that it must be sexual thoughts, perhaps even about some photographs he had recently seen. He paused for a few moments standing looking at the fence between his house and hers in half profile, the sun coming in from above the house showing him so clearly, and then he walked beyond her vision to his house.

Perhaps he might reappear. Sal went for her camera and was not disappointed. He returned with a magazine in hand, one of those from the top shelf of the newsagent. The sort Sal had never looked at but had seen boys, years ago at school, surreptitiously exchanging not quite behind the bike sheds but certainly reasonably secretly. Pictures somewhat like Mr. Soames had taken but probably rather more provocative, certainly that was what the pictures of the girls looked like from what she could see as he set the magazine on a table and leafed through it.

Seemingly he found a favourite and paused and then, to her delight, began to stroke himself. Sal's camera clicked. More evidence of his wrongdoing? Hardly! Sal had to admit she liked seeing what she was seeing, knew she was enjoying a real picture in 3D of rampant maleness just as he was enjoying a mere image in a magazine in just the same way. It was lovely watching him exercise his so big organ, just as her fingers exercised her own little one. Of course, Sal thought of what she might do with 'it,' what it would be like if, instead of his fingers, hers were doing the stroking. Sal bit her lip, the excitement of making it do that male thing - the so visible demonstration of the male orgasm.

Was he going to come? Sal was torn between the photography, the so unusual subject of the male performing, and pleasuring herself. The thought of again catching the ejaculation in mid-flight using a high shutter speed as if frozen and solid. His body was not moving and so she could use the tripod. She knew her camera like the back of her hand and had it set up focused and ready within seconds. It was good to see him standing there so big, with his proud, it seemed the right word, male organ so stiff and watch him stroking with her naked eye, it was also rather good to lean down and look at it in magnification through the view finder, the lower part of his body and part of the table in crisp focus. Through that she could see the picture he was looking at rather more clearly. A naked girl, a rather hairy girl with her legs spread wide and touching herself - somewhat like some of the pictures of herself taken on her lawn.

Sal looked up from the viewfinder and watched her neighbour. In one hand the remote, in the other her sex, she leant forward with her forehead against the leaves of the wisteria, a real beaming smile on her face. Her sex was awash with arousal. She was really enjoying seeing a naked man doing a sexual act. And then he did 'the' sexual act.