Second Floor Sex-capades

Another Friday night in the bar, another cigarette break outside. I stood outside in the crisp air downing yet another Camel light. Suddenly I hear a “smack-smack” sound. Being alone on the entranceway to the bar/restaurant I was baffled. “What the hell was that?’ A few more whacks and I decide to wander out to the sidewalk to try and discover the source of this sound. I see nothing in the street and as I turn around to head back in to the bar when something catches my eye. On the second floor just above the bar, there it is! A naked woman pressed up against the sliding glass door of one of the apartments being spanked by one of my neighbors.

I am aghast and dumbfounded. Little was I to know, in the weeks and months that came to pass this would be a regular occurrence. This non-descript 40-something neighbor of mine had a fetish...It was to be watched. He continued his antics in his front window for months. The more people outside watching, the raunchier it got. I swear he held off on his escapades until there was a large enough group of hipster kids out front smoking and chatting to make it worth his while. The doorman at the time (an ex NFL player) even took to hurling rocks at his window in the middle of coitus in a feeble attempt to get this man to stop the obscene displays. It was of no use. Every week, it was a different woman and a different position in the window for all to see. Complaints were filed and management said their hands were tied. What he does in the privacy of his apartment could not be controlled.

This man creeped me out to no end, but he hit his peak one day when I was out front washing my car.  A neighbor came by after her morning jog to catch up on the week’s events. As I talked to her something caught my eye. Sure enough, there he was again in his window, but this time solo and apparently enjoying the view. I never had the heart to tell my jogging neighbor what he as doing as he watched us chat. She would have been damaged for life. I did manage to take my frustrations to the local police, and as luck would have it the sergeant I talked to was a woman. She took my concerns seriously and told me what I had to do to get the situation taken care of on a legal level. I’ve got to give her credit. After our first encounter, squad cars suddenly started cruising by the building at the most appropriate of hours. Alas, no legal action was taken. He finally moved out and oddly enough my underwear stopped disappearing from the dryers on laundry night. Once in a blue moon while standing out front smoking my beloved Camels, he will still drive by in his company car and stare up to his old playground. I guess he really misses those big sliding glass windows.