Date: Sun, 14 Jun 2015 09:10:22 +0000 (UTC) From: fiveholepunch@comcast.net Subject: Apartment Voyeur Please contribute generously to Nifty 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. All Rights Reserved. Copyright 2015.