The New Neighbor (m/m, Voyeurism)

NCbear

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This is purely based on an observation I made as I was pissing with the blinds turned the wrong way--the neighbors could probably see in, if it was nighttime and the bathroom lights were on. So I thought "What would happen if they did see me? Or if anyone could see anyone else in this type of situation?"

The result is the below story. Enjoy!

_____

Way back before the Dark Ages, when dinosaurs walked the earth (which is to say, in the late 1980s ;)), a pair of new neighbors moved in next door--a man and woman in their mid-30s--while I was away at college the first semester of my sophomore year. When I came back for Christmas that year, their house was somewhat conveniently located, as I learned quite by chance one evening after a brief snowfall (which of course is rare for NC). But first let me set the stage . . . .

The nearby streetlights were glowing warmly on the new snow when a car I didn't recognize pulled up at the house next door as my family was eating supper. A medium-height, somewhat blocky man in a parka and boots and a woman even shorter and even more warmly dressed got out and went into their house.

I raised my eyebrows inquiringly, gesturing with my chin.

My mother said, "Oh, them? They're a nice couple. They moved in just after you left for college earlier this semester. What're their names, Frank?"

My father turned around in his chair to stare at the little one-story house next door, now lighting up room by room as the neighbors (presumably) shed their overcoats, turned up the heat, and sat down for some TV watching. It was almost as though he expected to somehow see their names written on the house if he stared hard enough.

"Jeffers? Jeffries? Jenkins? Something starting with jay-eee. I forget their first names. Nice people. Up from Florida, I believe."

(My parents, Frank and Carla, were in their 50s at the time and had obviously decided they were old, complete with the requisite memory loss. :rolleyes: Or so I thought at the tender age of 19.)

"I suppose you'll meet them soon enough, [NCbear]," my mother said, "either now or over the summer break. You'll find out their names then."

These were the first new neighbors in several years, so I was of course intrigued, but only in a low-key kind of way--until I saw, later that night, a memorable image . . . .

I'd cleared the table, put the leftovers back in the fridge, run water over the plates and silverware, put them in the dishwasher, and gone upstairs to my room, which overlooked the new neighbors' house. Before closing the blinds and sitting down with a good novel, I casually looked out the window and down--and my breath caught.

They'd turned the blinds over their bathroom window the wrong way so that I could look down from my second-floor window and see the male half of the couple standing there, naked, toweling off after a shower. He was . . . stunning. I have no other word for the way I felt.

Medium height, he was broad-shouldered and muscular, olive-skinned, and very hairy. Each pectoral was crowned with a large dark red nipple that poked out of a mat of curling black hair covering most of his torso--even his shoulders and back, as I learned when he moved one way and then another to make sure he got dry. He looked like a cross between a wrestler, a bodybuilder, and a dwarf--not in the "genetic anomaly" sense but in the "hero of fantasy fiction" sense. Amazingly, his firm, tight, but twin-bubble-shaped behind was also dark with hair, and his legs were muscular and hairy as well.

But it was between his legs that I saw the real prize: a long, thick, cut cock that bobbed as he dried off, backed by two balls that from my vantage point looked to be the size of turkeys' eggs dangling nearly a third of the way down those muscular thighs.

The absolute best part? When he took some lotion and rubbed it into his dark-red cockhead, which was nearly the size of a tennis ball and shaped like a Stone Age warrior's helmet. He really rubbed that lotion into the glans, let me tell you! Thrusting his hips forward and back a few times as he did so. As I watched, unable to turn away, my pajama pants--insisted upon by my parents once my brothers and I hit puberty--became uncomfortably tight in one specific area.
 

NCbear

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My wife and I had just moved into our new house at the end of the summer. I was enjoying getting to know my new neighbors, especially the ones who lived right next to us, Frank and Carla. Their two-story house was a good bit older than ours, being built in the early 1900s instead of in the 1930s like ours, but it was one of those comfortingly sedate and settled homes that anchor a neighborhood.

We were from Florida, around the Tampa area, and had moved because of my wife's job. Sarah had gotten an offer she couldn't refuse in NC's Research Triangle Park, something to do with biotechnology and rational drug discovery--I don't pretend to understand her work, given that she has a PhD in pharmaceutical biology and I have an MS in sports science. "We just have two different ways of looking at the body, Bill," Sarah tells me. It's true--but conversations with her about her work still get far too technical far too quickly!

In Tampa, we'd both been used to being outside in all seasons, inasmuch as Florida has seasons. North Carolina was different, though. We'd been amazed by the brilliance of the fall colors, especially the twin maple trees in Frank and Carla's front yard, but then as winter had set in, we realized that everything was going to be brown, gray, and black for months unless by some miracle either a snow or an ice storm changed the scenery.


The shorter days were, honestly, somewhat depressing. We got up before dawn, went to work as the sun was coming up, and drove home after the sun went down. It was truly difficult to deal with until a magical snowfall shook its beauty over the dead leaves and bare tree limbs in our yards. Inspired, Sarah and I went to see the Nutcracker at Raleigh's Memorial Auditorium, a treat for the eyes and ears, for a matinee performance one Sunday afternoon. We stayed to eat supper, getting home around 7:00 or so.

I noticed a small older Honda Civic in Frank and Carla's driveway that hadn't been there earlier in the day. That must be the son they'd mentioned, I thought. He must be home for the holidays.

In one of our recent conversations as we raked leaves side-by-side in our respective yards, Frank had said that his youngest, John, was away at college and that I'd probably see him around over the Christmas break. Frank added that John swam a mile every day at lunchtime and rode his bicycle everywhere on campus and in his college town; he mentioned that one of John's three jobs was as a lifeguard at school, and that he also was a lifeguard at the town pool during the summers. Since Frank was tall and slender, as he talked about his youngest son, I pictured a tall, toned guy in his late teens--certainly taller than me--who probably was still suntanned after a long Southern summer lifeguarding outside. I certainly didn't know I would soon see his face!

Well, after Sarah and I had hung up our coats and put our wallets and keys on the side table in the front hallway, we settled down to watch some TV, but soon we both realized that we were ready to go to bed. I always smell a little musky at the end of a long day, given that I'm hairier than a baboon's backside, so I tend to shower twice a day. In I got, not thinking of a thing except how good it felt to be warm and clean, until I stepped out and was toweling off and saw a flicker of movement.

Looking around carefully without seeming to have noticed anything, I soon realized that someone was looking at me from behind the blinds in Frank and Carla's upstairs bedroom. The blinds covering the window in what I immediately deduced was John's room were opened just enough to look down into our bathroom, because our blinds were turned the wrong way (or, rather, the right way for John to watch me).


Now, I'm a short guy, but not a short guy, if you get my meaning. I've been stared at in every gym locker room I've ever been in, considering my hairy chest, stomach, back, butt, and legs and my long, thick, cut cock. Not being shy, and knowing what I have is a good deal larger and more masculine than what most guys have, I typically just stand there and let other guys look their fill. If they approach me and try to touch me or get into my pants, well, that's a different story. But I guess that explains why I just shrugged to myself mentally and toweled off like I normally do.

An imp of perversity must have gotten into me, though, because I did something I normally don't do--I grabbed my wife's lotion and rubbed it into my cockhead. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the upstairs blinds move again; with an inward smile, I thought, Eat your heart out, motherfucker! I know you're not even half as big as this!

And then I saw his entire face at the window, looking down at me, so just to shock him, I got half-hard thinking of a big rack and started thrusting my cock through my fingers in a parody of sex. This is what a real man's cock looks like, I thought toward him as strongly as I could.