An Open Window

Joel wouldn't call it being a peeping tom, okay? He wouldn't.

But if he wanted to occasionally check up on his shirtless neighborhood crush while she's waltzing around in her panties through that perfect, square little bedroom window next door, who the fuck is he to look away when he knows he's struck gold?

It'd be foolish, downright idiotic not to admire her while she's taking care of that soft skin after a hot shower, steam smelling like fresh body wash whenever she cracks the window open to air it out. Joel always ducks his head just in time, sometimes nearly falling as he shamefully rights himself and attempts to act busy with the old paperwork still sitting on his desk.

Tonight's been pretty ordinary. No sign of her buying curtains for her room anytime soon.

She stuck to her daily routine and he's watched on from a swivel chair in his home office space. It's gotten to a point where he thinks he almost knows her inside out, knows little things no one else might ever get to see - like how adamant she is about skin care whether she's waking up or going to bed, knows the movie posters she hung up on her wall, knows what she looks like getting ready in the morning, how she'll button her pants while a toothbrush hangs out of her mouth.

How some days she'll stare in the mirror and pick apart her reflection with a noticeable frown, and others she lightheartedly tries out some funky different hairstyles he admittedly has had a good chuckle at.

Joel took note of plenty other things too. Like the color of her panties. How much the style of clothes she wore changed throughout the week. One day she might wear boxers and a wife beater. Another night she'll be in offensively tight fitting cami tops with panties in the prettiest sets of colors he's ever fucking seen.

In all honesty, he understood his amusement in her and every little thing about her wasn't the smartest, nor healthiest. He tries to shove those thoughts away, ignore everything wrong with what he's done. With how much he likes to watch those intimate, personal moments when she's in the comfort and privacy of her own room.

She wasn't much older than his own daughter Sarah, and Sarah barely just started actually talking to him about boys in her class. As much as it kills him.

By the looks of how often his inappropriate neighborhood crush goes to bed alone, and how rarely she's spent the night elsewhere, she must've been shy enough to keep to herself, unlike Sarah. Never took any boys home from her community college she went to down the road. Never got home late and snuck in through the same window he watches her through. Just a kind, innocent girl who doesn't know how much she was admired from afar. Or not so far, he remembers, adjusting himself in his sweatpants as she reentered her bedroom only two walls and a few feet in between.

Judging by that red little bra sitting snug around the swell of her breasts and the matching skimpy panties, she was gonna be home alone tonight. Free to do whatever she pleases without the eyes and ears of her parents. Shit, he's gonna be glued in this twirling desk chair for the rest of the night if he has to. Sarah got ready and washed up for bed half an hour ago, leaving nothing left for him to do except lock the door and get his cream and tissue ready.

Guilt tries to gnaw his subconscious, but the opposing argument wasn't nearly compelling enough to possess him to stop. Not when she struts in and parts her hair to the side, inspecting herself in the mirror. He could tell she felt a little sexier tonight.

It wasn't going to be one of those other nights, ones that make him want to crawl up to her bedroom window and grab a hold of her. Let her weep and rant in his chest until she's all done and he can console her. Go on about how sweet, how gorgeous he knows she is, how ridiculous it ever was that she could see herself any other way.