First Time, From A Window

You know, I remember the first time I saw you. You lived in my street - you'd only moved in a few months before. I sort of knew you were around, but I don't ever really recall seeing you or meeting you.

For a quiet cul-de-sac, we had more than our fair share of single women living around, and we'd formed into a firm group of friends. The first time I saw you, they'd had a barbecue in Karen's secluded garden. The only house overlooking it was mine – I was watching enviously from my bed, feeling ill and sorry for myself as they enjoyed themselves.

Of course, as the new man on the street, you were very much the object of all our attentions. Tales of your good looks had spilled eagerly from Jacqui's lips, and she had very high standards indeed. So when they heard your car pull up, Karen was out of her seat and down the driveway before anybody could tell her to put something on over her bikini.

I assumed she introduced herself as she said a few words to you and you nodded. Even from my window I could see your wide eyes drinking in her gorgeous figure. You shook hands, and I could see her inviting you to the gathering.

You nodded, smiled, and followed her round into the garden, where the girls surrounded you. They were all a couple of years older than you, and slightly taller. You looked overawed as they fussed and cooed around you, their hands brushing you. Karen said something I couldn't hear, and they all laughed. Somehow the intense flirting assumed a new aspect. I'd never considered them cruel, but today they looked a little mean.

My vantage point was close enough so that by opening my window slightly I could hear every word they said.

Karen moved in for a kiss as the purple-haired Goth women from number 8 held your arms, forcing you to remain in place. Your struggles were somewhat feeble, I thought, but that weakness transfixed me. I enjoyed watching you being held captive by the pale women, taking a dark pleasure in becoming aroused by your ineffectual struggles.