mf m-solo f-solo series

"Don't forget to pay me on Friday," his housekeeper said forcefully while
leaving.

"I won't. I won't. I'll see you in the morning. I hope."

He shut the door behind her. He proceeded with the nightly ritual. Read the
paper, look at the mail. Eat the stew, stall for time. He went to his desk
and checked his Email, and then tried to write down the little tune. It
would not come.

He was tired. He never wrote well when he was tired. He took the books he
had just checked out from the library into his room, undressed, and settled
into his bed. Across the room, he could see his reflection in the window.
His shock of white hair stood straight up. He had to admit, it looked
strange on a man his age. Thom had had his hairdresser give it a
conservative cut, but the color was a trademark of sorts so it had to stay.
He looked his age, forty. But years of weight-lifting and meditation hid the
hard life he tried not to admit he lived. He was still a handsome man, and
there was more to love about him than simply his money. At least that is
what his therapist said.

He stared a little longer and then he noticed that since the blinds were up,
he could see into the building facing his. The curtains were open in the
apartment across from his, and inside he could see a young woman getting
ready for bed.

Fascinated, he turned the reading light off and went to the window. She had
long dark curly hair. She was wearing a gauzy white nightgown through which
he could see her form. She was not too thin, and she could have been a
dancer had she been taller. She brushed her hair while sitting at the end of
her bed. He could see the dark tips of her breasts through the cloth of her
gown. When she stood to pull the covers back he could see the dark V of her
crotch. Then she went back to the end of the bed and lay down.

He could not see her face. All he could see were her legs open, with her
feet on the edge of the bed. Her cunt was fully exposed and for once in his
long and jaded sexual history, he felt embarrassed to be watching her
unaware of him. But still, he watched as she slipped her nightgown up over
her knees, leaving nothing to impede his view of the woman pleasuring
herself. Her legs opened a bit more as she began the lazy circles around her
clit. One hand went up out of view; he could imagine her touching her
nipples and sighing. She began to undulate and raise herself up off the edge
of the bed, her legs widening. His cock was at full attention, and he
touched it lightly, not really thinking. Her fingers were moving faster, and
one dipped inside. He could hear in his head the noises it made. He could
hear the clicking of her juicy opening, her sighs, her moans, her begging
for his cock. His hand was moving at a quickened pace and he felt his long
sighs escape in an unfamiliar motion. "Uuuuuuhhhhhh." The rush of air seemed
to go straight to his cock, filling it with blood. His body began to rock on
the balls of his feet. He saw himself fucking her, her cunt posed at the
edge of his bed, him guiding his cock into her, the feel as her velvet glove
gave way. He was thrusting into his hand, the jizz was welling up in his
balls, and suddenly he lost control and came all over the windowsill. It
gushed and spurted in great bursts. He made great grunts and breathed great
sighs. It ended with a few gentle thrusts into his opened palm. It had been
years since he had masturbated. He wondered why.

He watched her through the uncovered window as she came. Her head raised up
off her bed and he could see the expression of orgasmic bliss on it. He was
happy for her. He felt really good.

He fell asleep straight away, but in the middle of the night something woke
him. It was the music in his head. He tried to write it down, but still it
eluded him.

Just before Martha came to work, he cleaned up the windowsill. The blinds of
the woman from the previous evening had been drawn and she was cut off to
him.