Date: Sun, 14 Jun 2015 09:10:22 +0000 (UTC)
From: fiveholepunch@comcast.net
Subject: Apartment Voyeur

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Apartment Voyeur

Some people don't like the truth. When it comes to sex it's doubly true. I
know most people won't want to acknowledge that this sort of thing happens,
but deep down they know it happens every day. This is what I saw.

I live in a high-rise condominium apartment building.  The building is
basically U-shaped, a large central structure with two wings at ninety
degree angles that enclose a sizable courtyard. My apartment is on the
twentieth floor out of twenty overlooking the courtyard.  It is located in
one of the wings precisely at the interior junction with the central
structure.  A very nice feature of our apartments is the large
floor-to-ceiling windows that face outward from the main living areas
giving an open, airy view; in my case they looked inward towards the
courtyard.

Now most of the apartments are sufficiently separate that you really can't
see inside with any detail using the naked eye; it is over fifty yards
between one wing and the other across the courtyard.  Of course, it
behooves you to close your curtains if you desire complete privacy, which
goes without saying, but generally one doesn't get a detailed view inside
another apartment.  There is one small exception, however and this plays a
part in this story.

This exception applied to those interior apartments located in the side
wings near the central structure, of which mine was one.  It just so
happened that I could look from one of my living room windows and see about
ten feet into one room of the nineteenth floor apartment located ninety
degrees from mine in the central structure.

Was there any reason to notice this room?  No, there really wasn't.  It
appeared to be a nondescript home office; it had a modern desk with a
single swivel chair before it, on the floor lay a contemporary rug in a
delicate rose hue.  Aside from a few papers stacked here and there, only a
computer monitor and keyboard could be seen atop the desk.

I knew, only in the most casual way, who occupied this apartment.  It was a
stylish married couple in their middle-to-late thirties recently arrived
from Europe.  They had a ten-year-old son that I had seen once or twice and
I surmised attended a private school by reason of his attire.  The husband
worked for an international bank in some capacity and his wife had a
related occupation. Aside from an occasional elevator greeting, I knew
nothing of them in the six months or so they had lived in the building.

Well, you might ask, why should one expect anything of interest in this
bourgeois setting?  I would've shared your opinion except for a singular
event that happened on a sunny Saturday morning.

I had arisen late and was reading the morning paper with a cup of coffee in
a chair by the window.  I happened to notice, a little after 9 AM, a flurry
of activity in the nineteenth floor apartment window about twenty feet from
where I was sitting.  The mother of the ten-year-old boy was scurrying
about before going out, probably to the hairdresser given the day and her
manner of dress.  She appeared to be giving some sort of instructions to
her pajama clad boy.  After a few moments, they disappeared from sight and
I gave it no more of my attention as I continued reading.

Perhaps a quarter of an hour had passed and, having finished the paper, I
was giving thought to preparing for my day.  It was then I noticed the boy
reentering the sunlit room below. He moved the swivel chair and, standing
before the desk, turned on the computer. What particularly caught my eye
was the boy was clad in only white cotton briefs.

The morning light pouring through the window gave his skin a milky,
alabaster-like quality.  His body had a youthful muscularity, still
smoothed by the slight presence of remaining, but diminishing, childhood
plumpness.  I would imagine he played soccer given his overall fitness; his
thighs and buttocks were noticeably rounded and full.  He still had the
chest and torso of a boy, however.

It wouldn't be unfair to describe the boy's appearance as cherubic.  His
short auburn locks curled in the manner of a Renaissance Cupid of the
northern Italian school.  Dark of eye, round of cheek, a fullness of lips
pushed forward by the prominent toothsome grin, further reinforced the
boy's angelic appearance, albeit a Caravaggian one.  What transpired over
the next twenty minutes within my view befitted a Caravaggian theme - one
of the decidedly Dionysian rather than the ethereal realm.

My curiosity piqued, I decided to delay dressing for the moment and observe
what sort of Saturday morning activities my youthful neighbor had
planned. After navigating about the computer for several minutes, during
which time I had an aquiline view of the back of the boy bathed in golden
sunlight; it seemed that the necessary preparations had been completed. To
be quite honest, at this juncture in the narrative I thought that our young
friend had either opened a file or a particular website to be used in his
morning entertainment. Later on in my observations, as you will see from
the youngster's actions, I had reason to suspect that, perhaps from the
very beginning, there was another unseen onlooker besides myself given the
exhibition that was to follow.

The boy stood before the desk and tugged his perhaps soon to be too small
white cotton briefs down from his hips with both thumbs, pausing briefly at
the moment when the elastic waist reached the transition from his firm,
rounded bottom to his smooth muscled thighs.  The revelation of these orbs
of perfection in the yellow tones of the mid-morning light began the rise
of my heretofore slightly plumped, but still recumbent member.  The
undergarment continued its downward course, past the slight swelling of the
mid thigh, to the knees at which point the youngster bent at the waist to
pass the loose leg openings down each calf and off each foot in turn.  Now
stark naked, he stepped forward and stood immediately against the front of
the desk.

A minute or so passed with the boy gazing intently at the monitor before
him, still standing pressed to the front of the desk, the edge of which
seemed a height that would rise to a point on the boy's upper thigh, but
still low enough that the boy's genitals would be above the edge. This
convenient height seemed to be confirmed as I observed the boy reaching up
and obviously touching himself at crotch level, although at this point I
had not espied the treasures held so recently in a purse of white cotton.

Hand beneath my silk robe, I lightly fingered the skin above the coronal
ridge of my glans with the pad of my thumb whilst simultaneously caressing
the frenulic vee with the tip of my index finger, its sticky wetness a
testament to my delight in such a callipygian display.

The lad languorously danced, turning slightly in a gentle rhythm, weighting
and unweighting each foot in turn, causing an alternate tension and
relaxation in each smooth buttock as he stood before the desk. I was quite
content with this languid dance, but with a twist of the hips, what had
heretofore been unseen was exposed in a radiant beam of sunlight. I held my
breath in a timeless moment of divine perception.

An upwardly-arced phallus, diminutively adolescent, but proportional, rose
above a tightened pouch, its ruddiness just distinguishable from the
whiteness of the boy's inner thigh. The columnar flesh tilted ever so
slightly to the right as it led the eye upward, its turgidity an
affirmation of boyhood ardor.  At the acme of Eros there was a purple bud
barely revealed by an aslant crowning ring. I felt a rush of lust in my
veins as my heart beat faster.

With a sudden twirl, the curly headed youngster moved to perch, legs
spread, in the high backed leather chair that complemented the modernity of
the room's decor. After contemplative interval gazing at the computer
screen, the subject of our observation leaned over onto the left arm of the
chair and lifted his right leg, placing his heel upon the seat. He
leisurely began his masturbation.

Even from afar, I could see the smile of delight spread across the boy's
face as he began a slow circular movement of his protruding penis. It
wasn't long before the youthful torso began to sympathetically undulate in
the very same rhythm with which he caressed his firm boyhood; his smooth
bottom pressed into the buffed leather upholstery contrapuntally. A tilt of
the head and then a toothy bite to his lower lip attested to the
ten-year-old's pleasure.

There came a pause and another intense study of what appeared, unobservable
by me, on the screen before the boy's eyes. Then, with a change of position
in the chair, he rolled over to one hip exposing the cleft of his
buttocks. Extending the middle finger of his left hand and curling the rest
in classic form, our pleasure-seeker reached down and placed this digit to
his anus. My penis twitched sympathetically as I watched him wiggle it
about trying to insert the dry tip.

The position did look somewhat uncomfortable and after a short interval the
boy stood, turned, and then kneeled upon the swiveling seat.  Holding the
back of his thigh with his right hand, keeping his bottom upturned, with
his left hand he moistened his index finger, running it between his
half-parted lips laving the digit lingually.  Our youthful sybarite then
reached for the slightly darkened area betwixt his spread buttocks, feeling
about for the circular orifice.

Finding the spot, the boy poked with a practiced hand, speedily probing his
receptive portal, first from one angle and then another.  Not a blush, but
a radiance, emanated from the face of our angel transfixed by his
self-directed breach of his heavenly entryway.  My earthly siege engine had
risen, ready to battle, prepared to ram the narrow gate that lay exposed
before my spying eye.

There was a pause from our diminutive hero for another quick moistening
lick, then he relocated his rosebud and fingered it with obvious relish,
all the while lewdly displaying himself before what I began to suspect was
an online onlooker. I know I felt compelled to give stroke to my lengthened
cannon at such erotic combat, I can only imagine that the other observer,
with a far more detailed and intimate perspective of the field, must have
had a greater call to man the ramparts.

After an interval of elevated, but precarious self-involved gratification,
the swiveling chair presenting somewhat of an unstable platform, the boy
decided to halt his circumnavigation of his southern hemisphere and,
standing, pushed the chair back away from the desk.  Pausing to reorient
the computer monitor with its integral video camera to an advantageous
angle, here he moved to floor, alighting upon the decorous, modern rug
mentioned earlier. As he lay upon the rose-hued carpet, displaying himself
in recline, he presented a profile worthy of Titian.

A variety of poses followed, rolling this way and that. He lay upon his
stomach, feet raised, displaying his perfectly smooth untanned
buttocks. From the boy's waist to the swelling of his mid-thigh, the flesh
was a creamy white, unkissed by the Sun. As our model moved about; it
became more and more obvious that our immodest friend was presenting
himself to an appraising viewer, or, should I say more accurately, two.

His exhibition became more obscene, or what would be termed obscene by
those who had no appreciation for the beauty of young flesh consumed by
primal, youthful lust. The boy rolled over and lay upon his back, shoulders
raised, resting on his elbows. His legs splayed, lewdly showing his
engorged prick. My own member stiffened further, throbbing in sympathy at
such aroused recumbence.

Our Cupid rolled yet again, prostrating himself, displaying his buttocks in
such a manner that the electronic voyeur would've had an intimate view
betwixt the tender hills of flesh. I had an opposite view and could see the
boy's face beneath his golden curls. His lips were drawn tight, denoting
his efforts as an acolyte in the rites of Eros. It is such a commitment of
faith that is lost with time, perhaps only reserved to the most perverse
whose obsessive dedications preserve the ardor of Youth.

Lust`s heat cannot be frozen and so it was with our young
exhibitionist. Over he went, then, after a moment, he raised his legs,
spread wide like a whore in the cheapest etching. Arms wrapped around his
rounded calves, the boy rocked about, occasionally plucking at his taut
scrotum.  I strummed my own instrument with an equally rhythmic resolve.

Of course it was only a matter of time before the inevitable reprise. The
boy released his grip on one of his legs and put a finger to his mouth,
wetting it for what was an erotic certainty. Reaching down with his
moistened digit he felt about for his puckered entrance and, after a few
moments, inserted it with obvious delight as the boy's head tilted back in
a state of rapturous anal ecstasy. I imagined the moans from his lips.

It wasn't long before our paedika redoubled his efforts. Two fingers came
up, were licked, and then went south. Legs back as if he were being
sodomized by Pan himself, our boy kicked with abandon, the girth of two
digits stretching his boyish ring.

A minute passed, or more, I couldn't tell as I was as enthralled as our
erotic celebrant, as the boy panted and lolled upon the Scandinavian
textile. Then, to a degree temporarily sated, he sat up. It appeared that
he was giving thought to his next erotic undertaking.

A decision was made.

With alacrity, the lithe sprite took a seated position with his legs spread
equally underneath him, his feet pointed outward. As I gazed down from my
lofty perch, I saw his back arch and his buttocks elevate no more than a
foot above the ruby rug.

The boy raised his right hand, curled into a fist with his thumb
extended. He sucked at it avidly.  Several moments passed before the lad,
like the fabled Jack Horner, withdrew his glistening digit.

His arm fell.

Reaching around and, raising himself slightly, in the space between the
floor and the cleft of his boyish bottom, he wedged the tip of his thumb at
the entrance of his anus. Lowering his hips, he eased the slippery
protuberance in.

Like a rider in a dressage event, or in this case "undressage," the boy
rode the thumb pony, posting up and down with a discipline born of
experience.  His short, muscled thighs were taut as he rhythmically rose
and fell, the intensity of each reversal readily evident in the boy's
expression, his lips pursed into an "O" of exquisite satisfaction. His hips
swiveled languorously as he pleasured his bottom.

Such erotic restraint couldn't last, the eagerness of Youth must be served,
its revels that of unbridled immediacy.  The pony bolted; its mad,
galloping course driven by a waving grasp on the whip of male desire.

Several times there was a lessening of the tempo of satisfaction as boy
looked in the direction of the monitor, then, unable to resist the call of
the flesh, our flushed cherub resumed his frenetic efforts, bouncing
forcefully downward so as to attain ever greater depths of penetration.

As to my state, my member was near bursting, rivulets of silky, glistening
liquid rolled forth, spilling from the vee of my frenulum like the bow wave
before a prow of a sloop. I repeatedly had to slacken the pace of my
personal ministrations, postponing the inevitable dénouement whereas our
hero, on the other hand, seemed able to reach heavenly heights time after
time. Back arched, he threw his head side to side in transports of sensual
ecstasy, the curls of his auburn hair flying about in the glorious rays of
Helios.

Was it just distance that prevented me from seeing the spurt of ejaculate
from the upturned member of our erotic reveler?  I think not.  The
unhirsute nature of the boy and the obvious multiple expressions of
achieving the acme of pleasure mitigated against the emittive capabilities
of our satyr.  Needless to say I did not suffer any shortcomings in this
area, nay quite the opposite, as evidenced by the bespotted nature of the
oriental beneath my feet.

Satiety came to us both.  Suddenly, within the period of the downward arc
of my detumescence, our jockey of Love stopped, dismounted, and scampered
off.

Thus ended this particular revelation of the timeless and ever-occurring
explorations of Youth to the forever-to-be rediscovered New World of the
pleasures of the flesh.

----------

Several days after this uninhibited exhibition of anal revelry, I happened
to ride the elevator with our youthful celebrant.  He gave me a polite,
courteous smile, suited to a casual elevator meeting with an adult, no
more.  I couldn't help but think back at those full lips, parted in the
throes of passion.

Our ride was as silent as an apsidal chapel, befitting my contemplative
devotion.  The boy averted his eyes from my steady observation.  As we
neared the celestial heights of the nineteenth floor, I couldn't resist a
passing comment just before our parting.

"You can often see quite interesting things on computers."

I smiled.

The youth stood, momentarily uncomprehending.

The doors opened at the very moment of his associative understanding.  A
blush of bright crimson lit his rounded cheeks as he hastened away.

Our future transitory meetings elicited a similar sanguine admission for
quite some time, much to my delight.



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