The Girl Who Lived a Limerick

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Harry falls for the sexpot next door: A love story.
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JBEdwards
JBEdwards
2,404 Followers

There once was a girl from St. Paul

Whose relationships went the long haul

But once in a while

With a wink and a smile

She was open to Tom, Dick, or Saul

I knew this girl. She was a peach. She wanted only long term boyfriends, but when she was in between boyfriends, if the stars were aligned just right, or the moon was full, or the tide was high, or something (I never really did understand exactly when or why) she became up for sex with any man who was reasonable. Or so it seemed to me. I'm Harry, the lucky neighbor of this sexpot.

The trick for me was to find her during one of those rare moments, when she seemed to be available to almost anyone who came after her. I really wanted to lay her; she was beyond sexy, at least she was for me. By the way, I'm Harry, and I'm the one who wrote the limerick. Sally did not, and to my knowledge still does not, know about it.

Let me describe Sally, so you can better understand. Around 25 years old, she wore her long blonde hair with a flip at the end, as if she were a star on a 1950s-television show. It worked for her. Her blue eyes melted into her blonde hair, and her pale skin might have given a lesser woman a washed-out look. Not Sally. She was too vivacious, too full of life, to ever be washed out. And then there was her signature bright red lipstick, matching her painted nails, both fingers and toes. Sometimes she would vary it, with purple, or bright royal blue, but the nails always matched the lipstick and the eyeshadow creating a unified effect, which worked well.

The only detail that rang wrong was a tiny butterfly tattoo on her ankle. I figure some college night she got too drunk and visited a tattoo parlor on a dare. As for her figure, God made her especially designed for my taste: She was thin as a rail with two exceptions: large, prominent breasts and the world's cutest little bubble but. Her skinny legs were nevertheless perfectly shaped. Her figure was a subdued hourglass.

Sally's best feature were her eyes. I only got to know them well later. The effect was blue from a distance, but up close one could detect most of the rainbow. Her eyes contained little bits of brown, amber, green, even lavender. Gazing t her eyes was like looking through a kaleidoscope. Sally could change the effect with well-chosen eye shadow or eye liner, and she did, giving her a chameleon effect.

While Sally had a great figure and a compelling face, what defined her was her love of life. She combined her love of life with a spirit that bubbled over with girlish enthusiasm. One would have to be possessed by the Devil himself not to be captivated by Sally. To know her was to love her.

I guess I'm laying it on a bit thick. But dammit, that's how I felt. This wondrous woman was my exhibitionist neighbor. I could not believe it. Life is strange. It throws all sorts of things at a guy, and in my case, it threw Sally. I did not dodge, I let Sally's magic hit me square on. I let it consume me. I was the better man for it.

Sally moved into her apartment only two months after I took up residence in mine. Both are rented, and in the deep East Village, near Avenue B. This neighborhood is called Alphabet City. My bedroom was on a higher floor than was hers, but mine looked down on hers giving me a spectacular view. Of course back then it was just another apartment; I had not yet met Sally.

Sally had blinds, of course, but suddenly after a month of her living there, I noticed she had begun to keep the blinds raised. One day I woke earlier than usual, and took a cup of coffee and the newspaper to bed with me for a little leisure time. I glanced down at the neighbor's bedroom and I thought I had seen a bunch of naked flesh go by.

I sat up in bed, put down my coffee, and stared at that bedroom. A few minutes later I was rewarded by seeing a near naked sexpot of a woman walking around in her bedroom, wearing panties only. I stared at her breasts so intensely, I did not even notice her lovely face!

I was to learn her name is Sally, and she was staring at her window in such a way that I had a full-frontal view of her nudity (save her panties). Her panties were royal blue, by the way, lacy and skimpy. Finally, the sexpot got a spray and some cloth and cleaned away what must have been a spot of her casement window.

Her luscious boobs jiggled as she wiped away the spot. When she finished, I realized that all told, I had enjoyed a full seven-minute display of her body. I was in shock. It was a good shock, but it was still shock. When the show ended, I just remained in place, dealing with my disbelief over what I had just seen.

St. Paul has a long, cold winter. But when Spring rolls around, the women rebel from the cloistered layers of clothes upon clothes, and they show a lot of skin. Sally was no exception. Indeed, she was at the cutting edge of showing skin: short skirts or Daisy Dukes, sleeveless tops, halter tops with no bra, and basically, she had as little covered up as was possible. When she went braless, her nipples would poke seductively from her halter tops and her T shirt tops.

But this was only on the weekend, of course. During the five-day workweek, she dressed for work. She always looked pretty, but just much less over the top risqué. She wore skirts and pretty blouses, primarily. She wore hose, and medium heeled shoes. Work is work, after all.

Sally ended up leaving St. Paul when she got a great job opportunity in New York City. She found a small place in the East Village in Manhattan which even with her hedge fund salary, she could barely afford. I had the good fortune to live next door to Sally. Indeed, as I explained earlier, one of the windows of my apartment had a very nice view of her bedroom.

I lived a couple of floors higher than she did, so I could see into her apartment easily, and presumably she did not notice me doing that. People often look down. More rarely do they look up. Nevertheless, as a precaution, at night I would spy on her with my lights out. Hers were burning brightly, making it easy to have a nice view.

During her periods of, shall we say, high sexual availability, she kept her blinds up, and I suspected she might have some exhibitionist tendencies, because in the early morning (and only in the early morning) she tended to walk around her bedroom wearing only a skimpy pair of panties, often disappearing into her bathroom (where the window was frosted, alas), I assume to use the facilities, to shower, to fix her hair, or to apply makeup and the like.

Sally's shows were early: from around 6am to 7am, so I changed my routine and began to rise early myself, to enjoy the entertainment. When she did shower, she often dried off in her bedroom, and then I got the full show, without even the impediment of panties. She must have known that some of her neighbors could see her. Maybe she liked it?

What I liked most was her breasts. I could not imagine more perfect breasts on any woman, anywhere. Her ass, and her legs, were also wonderful. When the angels passed out bodies, they gave her the best one. No exceptions. God, the woman was perfect, at least for my taste.

Some men might like bigger boobs, or a bigger ass, or a less subtle hourglass effect. Sally could be more voluptuous. She could be even much more voluptuous. She could be a redhead, or a brunette. She could have had a tramp stamp tattoo. Different men have different taste. But for me, Sally was perfection. She was the living, breathing, incarnation of perfection.

Sally's first period of high sexual availability (which I decided to call her HSA periods), occurred a few months after I moved into my own apartment. I was treated to wonderful views of her almost naked body on a regular basis. Then it got over the top sexy, because she brought a man home.

He was older, maybe in his early to mid 40s, and looked distinguished. I gave him a name: I called him Tom. She kept her blinds open, and the lights on. I got to watch him fuck her brains out. I could see her lips move, and I just knew she was moaning up a storm while he pounded away. It was a hugely sexy sight.

I felt a bit like a creep, watching two people have sex, where one of them is my neighbor. I did not feel like a creep when I watched porn, but this was live, with my actual neighbor! Hell, I actually was a creep when I think about how I did that. I should have had the decency to have looked away when it began, and to have given them some privacy. But then, she should have doused the lights, or at least closed her blinds, right?

For me it was like seeing a bad traffic accident on the highway: It's hard not to stare at it for an extended period. And, I admit it: It was hot as all hell to watch the two of them go at it!

In solidarity, while I watched I removed my pants and brought my erection out to play. I tried to time things to explode along with Tom, but alas he did not last long enough. I stopped. I simply waited for round two, which I was sure would occur.

It was worth the wait, as the second time she was on her hands and knees, and I had a beautiful profile view. I watched her body writhe as it enjoyed what must have been extraordinary sexual pleasure. I loved watching her boobs swing underneath her as Tom rocked her body with his thrusts. I really wanted to hear the sound effects.

Sally, I suppose, did not care if I (or anyone else) watched. Maybe she even wanted us to watch? Why else would she have kept the blinds up, and the lights on? As for Tom, who knew? I did not know if they had discussed it. I think he was more interested in laying this sexpot than caring if he were seen or not. I know that would have been my attitude.

Then I caved to my dark side. I dragged out my amplified parabolic microphone from my closet and I aimed it at Sally's bedroom window. Formerly I had used it in the forest to hear the birds and animal sounds. But it was too clumsy to drag around, so now it was forgotten, in the closet. I dusted it off, aimed it at her bedroom window, and it worked perfectly! I also found my bird watching binoculars. I was all set.

I felt pretty sleazy. Her window was less than 100 yards away, so now I could hear the sounds of sex as well as watch the acts themselves. Sally is a moaner. I got so hard watching and listening it was painful. I had to relieve myself, and I had to do it more than once.

Tom was one of several men Sally brought home, one after the other, all within the space of three weeks. No man came over twice. Sally seemed to like one night stands. Then the blinds came down, and the shows were over. I could still eavesdrop, however, due to my parabolic microphone. I had figured out that Sally had a real boyfriend, and this was confirmed when I heard then make love.

Given what I had already seen Sally do with the HSA men, I had no trouble imagining the scene unfolding behind her blinds, as I listened in. The man was definitely not Tom or the other HSA men, who had to have been just passing fancies. When I saw her on the street during her boyfriend period, she seemed happier than usual. She even seemed to me to be very happy.

Sally was always smiling when she was with her new boyfriend. She had a fetching, blaze of headlights smile. It was the kind of smile that would light up a room. The two of them often walked around together, his arm around her, or hand in hand. I liked this woman who had titillated me so wondrously, so I was glad she was happy. I did think she could do better than her current boyfriend. But women want what they want from men, and I am fairly clueless about what exactly that is.

I realized I had not even met Sally, and yet I felt as if I knew her intimately, and I wanted her to be happy. I wanted to see her smile, when by good fortune I would see her on the street.

The next time Sally had an HSA period, about three months later, the blinds came back up, and my private shows began again! This was exciting for me. I enjoyed watching her nearly naked body in the mornings, as she got ready to go to work.

After a week or two of these great shows, Sally brought home a different guy. In my mind, I called this guy Dick. He too fucked her brains out. I knew he was not boyfriend material, just a lover fulfilling her sexual needs. I knew this because once again, everything was on display. I knew her pattern of behavior.

One particular feature of her HSA men, her men for one night stands, was that they were always older men. Sally must have been around 25, and her HSA men were around 40 or even 50 years old. Her boyfriends, in contrast, were around her age, and never older than 35, by my estimate. I found this interesting, but I did not know what to make of it.

Sure enough, a few more HSA men followed Dick in their appearances in Sally's bedroom, and eventually inside Sally herself. It was obvious to me that Sally not only liked sex, she seemed to crave it, and the weirder it was, the better. She was one hell of a woman.

A few weeks later, with a couple more passing fancies under the bridge, the blinds alas came down again. I just knew Sally had found another real boyfriend, instead of just recreational sex partners. I was so disappointed. I liked the idea of her being an available slut. It was easier to maintain the fantasy that I had a chance with her. But I knew I did not. I did not fit the profile of the HSA men, all of whom looked to be older, successful business men. Sally was a classy slut, too. She was way out of my league.

Slut may be a bit harsh, actually. I preferred to think of Sally as a woman in her prime, looking for lasting love. She just made mistakes. She did, however, make a hell of a lot of mistakes. It was sort of like trying out twenty recipes for a cake or something, before one finds a recipe that produces just what one wants.

Lady Luck smiled on me, though, and four months later, the blinds went back up! I inferred that the relationship with boyfriend #2 must be over. Sally was doubtless on the prowl, looking for some rich businessmen with whom she could enjoy some recreational sex.

This was my moment, if I ever wanted to have a chance with this sexpot. And I did indeed want to have a chance: I was intensely attracted to her. I figured out a strategy. On the first weekend after the blinds went up, I was poised, ready to go as soon as I thought she was leaving her apartment.

I rushed out, and "accidentally" crossed her path on the street. I introduced myself, explaining we were neighbors. She recognized me from having seen me around the neighborhood, and I asked her if she would do me the favor of letting me buy her a cup of coffee? She looked at me, puzzled, but then seemed to figure out that I liked her, if you know what I mean, and she quite graciously acquiesced.

I decided to update my limerick, so that I could now optimistically include myself. It now read:

There once was a girl from the prairie

Who looked for a man she could marry

But once in a while

With a wink and a smile

She was open to Tom, Dick, or Harry

Like many women, Sally was gifted at conversation. The two of us talked up a storm. It turned out we had a lot in common, from religion, to educational levels, to what we wanted from life, and even our taste in music. I learned she is interested in sports, especially football, and follows the NY Giants, watching them lose game after game after game. Even if Sally is from Minneapolis-St. Paul, she always gives her football loyalty to the local team. Life is easier that way. The Giants, however, were pushing her limits, as they always seemed to find ways to lose.

At the end of our coffee conversation, just when I had summoned up the courage to ask her out, she preempted me by inviting me to come over for dinner that very night. I had other plans already, but I instantly dropped them. Stupid, I am not.

I came over, and she had invited another couple, too. This was good news, actually: Maybe I was not one of her disposable recreational sex partners, but a candidate for a boyfriend? I would like that. Yes, indeed. I liked the other couple: They too were from St. Paul, although Sally had met them here in New York.

The other couple was a little older, and the wife, who was also sexy and pretty, was quite flirtatious. They seemed thrilled that I was there, and I began to wonder if they were into "wife swapping" or something.

Sally and I were quite far from that stage, not even having kissed yet, so I dismissed the idea from my head. But I id nevertheless enjoy the flirtatious attention of Sally female guess, Georgina.

Sally is a good cook, and we all left, sated and happy, around 10pm. As we left Georgina discretely tapped my ass. I began to have all sorts of thoughts. Did Georgina want to have an affair? Was Sally testing me through Georgina? Were Georgina and Steve seeing if I would come home with them for a threesome? Or was Georgina just friendly, and a kind of touchy/feely person for whom I was inferring much too much? I was flummoxed, and I did not respond. I just ignored the sexual undertones.

I went home, and noticed Sally's blinds were still up. She got ready for bed around 11pm, and I gazed lovingly, and longingly, at her naked body, with her firm buttocks and her luscious breasts. I could not believe just an hour ago I had been sharing an evening with Georgina, Steve, and this vision.

I waited two days, and then I called her and asked her out. She was busy on Friday, but agreed to let me take her to dinner on Saturday. I was thrilled. She was giving me a chance! I still felt I was out of her league, but as long as she was willing to go out with me, I was going to keep pursuing her. We'd see where it went, if anywhere.

Sally's blinds were still always up, and I stayed home to see why she was busy on Friday night. Around midnight she appeared in her bedroom, and trailing behind her was an obvious sex partner. It was obvious because both Sally and the man, whom I decided to call Paul (He did not look like a Saul, and I was not going to call him Harry, since that's my name!), were undressed down to their briefs and panties.

Still, it was obvious the man was an older man, probably Episcopalian (he just looked as if he were Episcopalian - I can't explain it), and he looked quite distinguished, almost like a business executive. He had a good body, and when his briefs came off I became thoroughly intimidated. Nature was kind to him when the powers to be gave out the sex organs. He had a generous endowment.

Once again, I got to watch my dream woman engaged in what I assumed was meaningless sex with yet another seemingly randomly chosen man. And engage they did! This man was especially eager to ravish the beautiful and fragile, fine boned Sally. He did it with what can only be described as rough sex, and all indications were that Sally was loving it. It seemed to me they used every position except the missionary position. Sally seemed up for most anything.

After the first go-round, Sally sucked him hard for round two. She left for a minute, returning with a cowboy hat she apparently used as a prop. She mounted him and fucked him cowgirl style, whipping the hat around as if she were riding a bucking bull in a sports bar. Suddenly I had this image of Sally, naked, riding a bull in a sports bar near Times Square. Of course, that could never happen, but I had trouble getting the image out of my head as I watched the two of them go at it, yet again.

My parabolic microphone was working perfectly. I heard the man asking her if anal sex was okay. Sally surprised me by saying, "It would have been, if you had not asked. Just take what you want. I'm yours for tonight, and never again. But don't ask, okay? Just take. When I say I'm yours, it means that I am: Do what you want with me, or to me. Just no violence. But only tonight. Understand?"

JBEdwards
JBEdwards
2,404 Followers