Real life version of “Voyeur”…sort of

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I have a confession: I didn’t write the following post.

However, I wish I did. But things like work and family and life get in the way of my precious writing time. And honestly, I’m over the moon to post the following true story from a lovely and talented anonymous guest blogger. She describes a sexy evening in the Windy City. I couldn’t be happier to have her write this first post for Musings. Enjoy!

I’ll never be able to write smut. I just can’t. To those who can, I tip my figurative hat. I can’t even write the word, “cock,” without blushing furiously and giggling like a fool. You ladies who can? Yes, I read your work and, goodness, but it’s warm in here.

I read Sarah’s work, Voyeur, and I thought maybe I’d be able to share a personal story. I hadn’t thought of this in a LONG time, and I’ve never told a single solitary soul up until about a week ago. I was chatting with a special friend of mine and the subject of Chicago came up. So I spilled.

I often act on impulse. As a consequence, I can get myself into trouble.

This was about seven years ago, so I was pretty young when I visited Chicago. I was fortunate enough to work for a large company that could afford to send me for a week of training. Dinner was at the Chop House and I had too many drinks. I had a good time. A lot of fellows offered me a ride back to the hotel, maybe some sightseeing (uh huh), but I declined. I walked back to my hotel.

I don’t remember the name of the hotel. It was older. Fancy. The hotel had a central courtyard and, if you had an interior room, you could look down into the courtyard, and at all the other interior rooms that looked inward, into the courtyard. I saw many floors, many windows. At night I could see who was in their room, who was dark and, if the curtains were open, you could look right into the rooms if the angle wasn’t too severe.

Alone, young, intoxicated – I was ready for trouble. Did I say ready? Eager.

I saw a pretty brunette a floor up from mine and off to the right. Her windows were wide open. Our ceilings were very high, and with the windows open, the breeze sent the long, elegant drapes fluttering and flying in the windy night.

She wore a red top, black skirt, and black hose. She spoke on the phone, animated, smiling as she paced back and forth. I watched as she walked toward the window, pivoted, walked away. She’d appear in the other window, turn, and walk back.

She plopped down on the bed on her back. I could tell her head was toward the foot of the bed because I saw these long legs propped up against the wall. She’d kicked off her shoes and her feet were resting high on the wall with those black hose legs bare down to the bed. But hey, I like guys, remember?

I’d had a goodly amount to drink (and I’m not using that as an excuse – she was way cute!). The sight of her, smiling, carefree, the legs, was arousing. I figured I’d go introduce myself. We’d go downstairs to the bar and… who knows what the night might bring?

It was easy to see what room she might be in. A floor up, down the hall to the right and around the corner a few rooms. Doubts crowded in. You know how that is. Yes, I chickened out. Not immediately. It took a long time of going back and forth before I decided that even if I did go see her, she’d think I was a lunatic.

I was already worked up from thinking about her, frustrated, and mad at myself for being such a coward. I opened the windows wide, pulled back the curtains, and shut off the lights. I stripped off my skirt, blouse, all my clothes, and jumped into the middle of the king-sized bed. I thought about her. Up there. The wind was blowing the curtains and the breeze caressed me – cool, but not cold. I felt my body and I played out scenarios in my mind. As I played with my nipples I really started to get into it.

Outside my window were dozens of other windows, dozens of possibilities. The wind whipped the curtains, swirling around my room. I looked out my window, up to her room. I was really getting into it and began rubbing myself. It was wild.

Then I saw HIM.

I was watching her. He had been watching me. I saw him clearly in the window frame. His lights were out, but I saw him. Then I knew he could see EVERYTHING I was doing. EVERYTHING!

I wanted to die. I wanted to crawl into a hole and literally die.

Then I realized… I was safe. He couldn’t do a thing. Not a damned thing. He couldn’t even hear me.

For the next forty minutes I made myself his slut. I made myself crazy doing everything I could to give him a show he’d never ever forget. I was trembling, wet, and exhausted by the time I was done. It felt so dirty and so unbelievably hot. I fell asleep clutching my pillow.

Later, I woke to a soft tapping at my door. I looked out the window and didn’t see anyone, so I jumped up and closed the windows and drapes. I crawled back in bed and fell asleep.

I have fond memories of Chicago.

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2 thoughts on “Real life version of “Voyeur”…sort of

  1. Holy crap. Loved this. Loved it!

    Liked by 1 person

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