London, and indeed the whole of the UK is in Lockdown.
Everyone is required to remain indoors. It is now illegal for us to leave our homes without a valid reason. We are caged, held captive, with no end in sight.
It is hardly surprising then that two young women seek ways to reach out in their lust for lesbian love.
You and I have not yet met, but we both live in a modern apartment building near a beautiful park. The building is arranged in a horseshoe shape so that some apartments face others across a vast courtyard.
We are all in Lockdown so apart from visits to the nearby supermarket or a run in the park, we are in our own homes, living our own separate lives.
You have only recently moved in, your first apartment living on your own, and you are fascinated by the scenes being played out on the lighted windows opposite. So, you settle down to watch and create silly stories about the neighbours opposite.
There’s a nice lady with a cute toddler. There’s a man who sits in his underpants at his computer for hours, while his partner watches TV.
Then there is ‘her’. Tall and slim and always alone, she fascinates you.
You order some binoculars on Amazon. Now you can study ‘her’ in detail.
Little by little, in your imagination, a relationship begins to form.
Then one evening, just before she closes her curtains, she seems to be looking directly at you. Your heart misses a beat, and you blush beetroot red.
As her curtains close, she raises a pair of binoculars to her own eyes and smiles at you, no-one else, only YOU.
Now you can’t sleep. All you can think about is tomorrow and ‘her’ and YOU!
I’ve never been caught ‘watching’ before.
My heart lurches, and suddenly I’m scared, lowering my binoculars and looking away, my face burning. I know I have those blotches on my chest and neck.
My hand goes to my throat, where my v-neck clingy green jumper leaves my skin exposed. I look back, knowing I can only be seen from the waist up as I sit in my carefully positioned ‘voyeur’ chair by the window, wondering if she’s still there.
I hadn’t been in the flat very long, only since starting University. I was lucky enough to have parents wealthy enough to cover my rent and so was living on my own, though I thought about getting another girl in to share. It might be nice to have company, drink wine together, have a giggle about things, talk about grown-up stuff now that we were adults and let loose in the world.
But right now I still lived on my own. Alone to indulge my imagination. And watch the people opposite. Especially her.
I wasn’t sure what it was that drew me. She was undoubtedly beautiful, slim and pretty with gorgeous hair, and probably married. Except I hadn’t seen a husband or boyfriend. Was she Les? I wasn’t, of course, which meant that I couldn’t possibly be attracted to her. Of course not. Silly idea. Straight girls, good girls, aren’t attracted to neighbour women, especially those outside their age group, women of experience, mystery, and beauty.
So why did my heart thump every time I saw her? Probably just nervous in case she saw me watching. Yes, that must be it.
But she had caught me.
And I’d been frightened.
And I liked it.
Oh shit! What did this all mean? I didn’t know, but I had to look again, just in case she was still there, looking back at me.
When I saw how the girl reacted as I smiled back at her, and I felt a bit guilty. I hoped I hadn’t frightened her away.
Ever since she moved in, I have been ‘observing’ her. There was something about her, right from the start, that held my attention. Young, and so beautiful. Beautiful in that simple, unaffected way that few girls ever manage to achieve.
It seemed she lived alone. The Lockdown had already begun by the time I first became aware of her. As soon as she moved in, one of the first things she did was put a row of flowerpots on her balcony and fill them with pretty flowers.
I found myself watching her more and more. I was just happy that she was there, so young and fresh and full of life. Inevitably, I wove stories in my head about her life. And inevitably, I created some part to play in that imaginary life.
What started as fantasy became more intense. I bought binoculars and watched as the girl prepared her meals, tended her plants and tidied her apartment.
When I realised that she was observing me too, I was in a chaos of emotions. Here was reality impinging on fantasy. For a few days, I stayed away from my windows, kept the curtains closed, but it was no use.
I longed to see the girl, and I longed for her to see me. To see me in sexy lingerie, or even naked. Now I was dreaming about her and even touching myself as I watched her.
The evening that the inevitable happened was almost too much to bear. Our eyes met through our binoculars, and my spontaneous smile was the very first step into the real world that we both occupied.
Once I closed the curtain, I poured myself a large glass of wine and let the excitement flood through my body, igniting my lust.
It had BEGUN!
Shit! She’s gone. Now I have to wait until tomorrow.
My whole evening is a jumble of nervous soul searching and guilty pleasure. She saw me. She looked at me. She smiled. She had her own binoculars!
Shit! My curtains are all closed, of course, because anyone opposite could see in. But I want her to see me, to notice me. She smiled.
My hand strays to my tummy, stroking in small circles, just comforting. It doesn’t mean anything. I find I’m standing at my curtains, invisible but pretending I’m not. My breathing was getting faster, a little shallow. I’m not going to touch my breasts, I mean adjust my bra, but I know I’m biting my lip. I have to learn more. I get my Apartment Information File and work out her Flat number. Isn’t there a Directory of Residents somewhere? So I can find out her name, age, marital status, orientation, bra size, favourite colour, favourite wine, what kind of girls she likes.
Oh! I quickly drag my hand out of my jeans, my knickers. How did it get there? And what’s with all these questions? Seriously?
I go to bed, but can’t sleep. I force myself to drink a glass of wine, some hardship, huh? Go back to bed. Cross my legs tight and wrap my arms around myself. I can’t sleep.
In the morning, I feel terrible and know I dreamed of her. I resume my watching station in floral PJ top and dark blue knickers, the curtains open, binoculars in hand. I want her to see me. My tummy is doing flippy things, but I want her. I mean. I want her to see me. I don’t care if others notice.
My binos are at my eyes, held in my right hand. My left is in my lap, clenched. I wait. Impatiently, I wait.
End of Part One