Boy Next Door (version 2.0, the one that wasn't in Literotica)
Connor was beautiful. Through the years I have spent living next door to him, I have found no other way to describe him as other than the beautiful boy next door. Yet despite all of my admiration, he never acknowledged or even appear to notice my existence.
His family moved into the house on 87 Stockton Drive in the summer of my seventh grade. I remember watching the movers outside with their bulky brown boxes and color-coordinated furniture from the window in my room. One of these otherwise ordinary boxes caught my attention. It read "Connor's Room" on it in bright red marker.
As a gesture of openness, my parents had invited his family over for dinner from across the imaginary boundary between our properties. From the fuming and mumbling I heard on my mother's part, I took it that they had declined the invitation.
"Don't worry, they're just a bunch of snobs," my dad returned to his all-important evening paper without a second thought on the subject.
I didn't care what my parents thought. I still wanted to see Connor for myself.
People tend to throw around the term "All-American." However, people generally picture "All-American" as being white-bread, cornfed Midwestern farm boy. The way which Connor dressed did not at all match the general image people have of Asians: the mandarin-collared, pajama-like clothes that they see in martial arts movies. Instead, Connor was the embodiement of Asian-American, the fusion between the two cultures: the deep, dark, almond-shaped eyes often exotified in movies and the golden skin which Caucasian America tried to emulate through unnatural tanning; but at the same time, he was taller than most of my male cousins back home and sported the same faded blue jeans and red baseball cap that many American boys do during their adolescent years. He looked just like me, which was something I was not accustomed to from being in predominantly-white classrooms in school.
Perhaps the perceived snub my parents received from his parents hurt that much because my parents were seeking solidarity they wouldn't have been able to find elsewhere other than the pitifully small Asian food store in our town. I couldn't blame them, since I often got tired of answering the same questions such as: "Where are you from?" or "No, where are you really from?" or my personal favorite, "How come you don't have an accent?" Maybe making some Asian friends, or potentially having an Asian boyfriend would help ease my annoyance.
That was not to be, not so much because of racial politics, but the politics of high school. Connor was a great pitcher for the baseball team, and became one of the most popular boys in my class, with people tripping over themselves just to get him to sign their yearbooks. I just stood on the sidelines with my friends, hanging out whenever, all the while silently pining for the beautiful boy next door. During the brief, despite seeming excruciatingly long, period of time I spent waiting at the same bus stop as him, neither of us said a word.
The event most anticipated in high school was hardly a cause for celebration for me, since I didn't have a date for my junior prom. My friends had pitied me and set me up with a guy they knew from another school who would be best described as less than a gentleman.
"What's your problem? I just want to have some fun with you, that's all," Chris put an arm around me, reeking of the cheap whiskey he had smuggled in his coat-pocket flask.
"Well, in that case..." I leaned towards him, unbuckling his seatbelt and pressing myself tight against him.
"Yeah, that's more like it," he closed his eyes in anticipation.
"You disgusting jerk, get the hell away from me!" I opened his door and pushed him out of the car as hard as I could. After slamming the door, I started the car and drove away, leaving him confused and alone in the darkness.
Looking back on it now, the conclusion to my junior prom night was almost amusing, especially since I never even made it to the actual dance. But that night, I snuck into my house, feeling humiliated and not wanting to talk to my parents about it. I stumbled into my dark room and threw open a window to help air out the mustiness around me. I just happened to look up to see Connor sitting in his room. It's funny how you can live next door to someone and not realize that their bedroom faces yours. I was more surprised when I realized what time it was. Court had barely been announced, with Connor crowned king, but he was already at home. I was surprised that he wasn't at one of the numerous after-parties he would have undoubtably been invited to that night.
Out of all of the new discoveries, the look on his face was the most surprising, especially since it looked like he had been crying. He had never struck me as the lonely type, never even struck me as the type who would ever have a reason to be lonely. Yet he was sitting on his bed, staring at the tacky crown awarded to him, smiling wistfully. Of all people, why Connor? What right did he have to be sad? He had everything he could ever want. Then again, I guess you could say that I did too. We were both two kids, living out the dreams of our parents, but it seemed like we never really had time to figure out what we really wanted out of life.
I watched his mother enter his room with a glass of water and a bottle of pills. He took a couple and lay down on the bed after she left. For all I knew they were Prozac, or Lithium, or even just common aspirin or sleeping pills. Still, despite the medication, Connor had a trouble-filled sleep, convulsing and tossing about. He paled in the moonlight, silver beads of tears and sweat rolling down his pallid face. It didn't seem fair. If Conner couldn't be happy, then what odds did the rest of us have?
The mundane routine of school returned on Monday, and it was like nothing had happened. Connor was his sweet, smiling self, high-fiving his teammates on their victory over the weekend. Girls were babbling about who had the cutest dress. I was back to my regimen of class, extracurriculars, schoolwork. For all I cared, junior prom never happened, and my quiet moment attempting to understand Connor was just a dream. During my calculus class, I overheard the girl Connor had taken to the prom talking with her friends about how Connor randomly ran out on her, and cringed at the artificial indignation the girls showed about how much of an insensitive jerk he was.
I figured the only way I could better understand him was just to watch him as I had before. It was innocent enough at the beginning with occasional glances out the window while he studied or worked on his computer. Sometimes he would be working out in the way most athletic teenage males do with his pushups, situps, and weightlifting. No matter what he did, Connor was beautiful as ever, an example of physical and intellectual perfection.
After awhile, it got to the point where I was sitting in the dark with binoculars.
The rest of the year passed uneventfully outside of my nightly observations. Connor and his family went to Florida or something over summer vacation. I had my first taste of "summer romance," knowing full well that it would go nowhere after the email addresses were exchanged on the last day of music camp. I had almost forgotten about Connor until I ran into him again. Literally.
"Oh, I'm sorry!" I winced, barely able to look him in the eye.
"It's all right, I should have been looking where I was going," he smiled and helped me gather the pieces of what sadly was my life, my schedule book, my rough drafts, and my schoolbooks amongst the trampling herd of teenagers.
Before I could utter a "thank you," he was gone, and so was whatever notion I had of being over him.
So, my nightly observations started up once more. From any other point of view, my fixation was either an unhealthy obsession or a careless adolescent longing. I loved him for the same strengths he showed to the rest of the world, but at the same time, I loved him for the weakness he only showed on quiet weekend nights alone in his room. Although we were separated by the distance between our houses and the distance between high school social cliques, I still felt a connection to him.
Senior year was spent writing the typical admission essays and picking up the last few necessary credits and extracurriculars to guarantee as many scholarship opportunities as possible, as well as hanging out as much as possible with the friends I may not see again after going to college. Despite the monotony of it all, the year had passed so quickly that I didn't realize that it was already spring break.
"So, Connor? Are you going to Cancun with us or not?" one of the swarming girls around him pleaded.
"No, he's going to celebrate being all alone in his house with us, right?" his teammate Josh clapped him on the back.
"I don't know guys...the prospect of being alone in a house with you assholes doesn't seem very promising," he joked, stealing Josh's hat.
As for me, I continued my nightly observations and caught up on what I hoped would be the last pointless set of essays I would ever have to write. Connor's routine of working out, reading, and sleeping seemed to stay the same, with an occasional breakdown followed by sleeping it off after some pills.
One night was different. Like junior prom night, the moonlight drifted in as he approached his window. I ducked in case of being spotted, but my window was dark with the curtains partway drawn. I was a little afraid he would close his curtains, but he didn't. Maybe he wanted to be watched.
I could barely breathe as he started removing his clothes. Although I had seen him change in his room, he had never been completely naked, vulnerable like this. His muscles, once tensed, finally seemed to relax as he fell upon his bed. He seemed to like the feeling of the white cotton sheets against his bare skin, bronzed by the afternoon sun of baseball practice.
For awhile, he just seemed to lie there, finally comfortable in his own skin. Then, a casual hand traced down his stomach to a steadily growing erection. I could not believe what I was witnessing. The junior prom king was masturbating, a word I had once thought of as something filthy, but what I was watching wasn't even half as sordid as I had imagined.
My heart pounded in my chest at each stroke, each caress. I wondered what it would have been like if it were my hands feeling him, exploring the immaculate bronze statue of his frame, controlling his delicious agony. I wondered what it would be like if he would touch me. I ached all over my body, longing to find out, longing to reach out to him and scream his name.
I found my own hand tracing a path down my body, the breasts which were barely developed despite my legal status as a full-grown woman, the stomach softened by enjoying too many French fries in the cafeteria and take-out eggrolls with my friends on Friday nights, finally the patch of hair which marked my womanhood. I slipped a curious finger in, grazing the hot button of flesh that I had only read about in magazines, but was never fully aware of until now.
During the day, both of us continued our separated lives, keeping to ourselves, occasionally going out with friends. But at night, I continued watching him, relishing the feeling of being in control of things for a change. The following nights continued in the same way, watching him and finding my own release in my own private way. My favorite part of the evening was watching his face contorting in pain and pleasure at the same time, his eyes closed, watching him writhing, toes curling right before the final release. Depending on how I timed it, I could climax at about the same time he did. Even if he was ignorant of our mutual gratification, for all I cared, the barriers which had previously separated us no longer existed.
One night the impossible happened. It was the Saturday night before we were to go back to school. Things were going as they usually did, with his slow lingering before climax, but what was different about this time was his eyes opening upon the moment of release, locking onto my own in the expansive darkness. He hastily jumped up from the bed, still shining with sweat, with fear and panic in his eyes, and closed his curtains. I was shocked at the sudden barrier. It was the first time I had ever seen the curtains drawn.
A wave of terror washed over me. Was he going to call the police? I was sure that he hated me now. All I had ever wanted to do was tell him how beautiful and wonderful he was, and now I would never get a chance. I started sobbing to myself when the phone rang. Fortunately, there was a phone in my room so I could get to it before my parents could wake up.
"Hello?" I choked, my voice barely recognizable.
There was heavy breathing on the other line, and I was about to hang up when I heard Connor's voice, "Please come over."
"I--" I could barely make a syllable come out anymore.
"Please..." click. Dial tone.
Now I was terrified. Was this a trick? Did he want to hurt me for invading his privacy? He didn't sound all that angry, desperate, but not angry. So, I figured that I didn't really have all that much to lose, so I went next door wearing nothing but my bathrobe and a pair of flip-flops.
I had never been so scared in my entire life as I was when I rang his doorbell. Time froze as he opened the door, a faint creaking piercing the night's silence. He was standing in his boxer shorts. I was overwhelmed by the newly formed proximity between us.
"I didn't think you'd come," he said softly.
"I almost didn't," I shivered as the cool night air blew through my robe.
"Please come in," he closed the door and gestured past the living room, "My room's just down that hall and to the right."
It felt so strange to be in his room. I had seen it all so many times in my nightly observations: the posters of various rock bands and occasional bits of clutter, but to actually be sitting on his bed was almost too much for me to take. The bed was softer than I had imagined, perhaps even more comfortable than my own.
"So, why did you call me?" I asked, breaking the intense silence.
"How long have you been watching me?" his question answered my own question better than any other reply he could have thought of. I knew I had no right to be asking him questions, but I felt so awkward sitting there with his obsidian-dark eyes piercing through me.
"I don't know, since about junior year...if you mean watching you from my window..." I trailed off, breaking eye contact.
"Why were you watching me?" I could still feel his eyes on me as he continued his interrogation, so I felt compelled to look at him once more.
"Well...because any other girl would have," I explained, giving the first answer that came to my head.
It wasn't the right answer, at least not to him, as he looked down sadly "Any other girl?"
"Well, it's just that you're so beautiful," I felt my nerve and purpose returning to me, "I've never known anybody as wonderful as you, yet I don't even know you...it's just that I could never say it because you were so inaccessible, always around your friends or on the arm of another girl."
"Oh..." he sighed. "When you said 'any other girl,' I was afraid that you were like all the other girls. Any time I'm with another girl, they don't know how to react to me, especially when I talk to them the way I do."
"What do you mean 'when you talk to them the way you do'?" I asked.
"It's just that they don't see me," he said, fumbling for words to explain himself, "It's just that they want to be seen with Connor, the friendly jock everybody loves. When I try to explain to them who I am..."
"But who are you?" I asked when I realized that he could no longer explain himself.
"In all truth, I don't even know anymore," a tear rolled down his cheek and landed on the floor.
I reached towards him, and whispered in his ear, "Connor, I don't think that anybody really knows who they are, not now at least. Anybody who tells you that they do know is probably lying to you."
"Really?" he looked up at me with pleading eyes.
"Yes, really," I smiled and placed a hand on his cool shoulder.
"Even you?" he asked skeptically.
"Of all people, especially me," I laughed and asked him, "Why would you think that me, as clumsy and as crazy as I am, have everything together?"
"I don't know, it's just that you've already picked out your college and major," he explained.
"That doesn't mean anything."
"Yeah, but even before that, when I'd see you with your friends, you'd always look like you knew what you were doing. You looked like you were above all of the stupidity around you, the pettiness of high school."
"I'm hardly above it."
"Yes, but that's what it looked like to me."
"When did you see me with my friends?"
"At a basketball game. You know, you're not the only one who watches others."
"How long have you been watching me?"
"Ever since middle school."
"Why?"
"I don't know," he scratched his head, slightly messing up his perfect jet-black hair, "My parents were so weird about moving here. They didn't want me associating with too many people since we weren't sure that we were even going to stay. When we did, everything else fell in place, but I don't ever remember talking to you. All I know is that the first day I saw you standing in your window, I wanted to meet you."
"How come you never talked to me at school?"
"Once again, it's just stupid high school stuff. I thought you'd think I was weird to talk to you since we don't hang around the same people."
"That's crazy Connor, I would have talked to you. I wanted nothing more than to talk to you."
"Well, why didn't you?"
"Stupid high school stuff..."
We laughed it off for awhile. When I opened my eyes again, it was as if we were in middle school again. Connor, the new boy in town, adjusting to his new surroundings. Me, scared and awkward at twelve as I was now. The next thing I knew, we were seniors in high school again, more than ready to grow up and get out of our small town trap. He t0uched my face with one hand and running the other hand through my hair. Connor's eyes penetrated mine, causing my spine to freeze like ice. I was more still than I had ever been in my life. When his lips touched mine, I knew that nothing would ever be the same again.
He drew back from the kiss, "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have..."
"It's all right," I said, "I just didn't know how to respond."
I took the next move after he couldn't find anything to say to me. I leaned towards him, touching his arm gently, and kissed him. He deepened the kiss, the heat growing stronger between us. Once again, he pulled back from the kiss.
"What's wrong?" I asked, wanting him to return to me.
"Nothing," he said, "It's just that since you've been watching me all this time, I think it's only fair that I should get to watch you..."
"In my room?"
"No, don't be silly, right here, on my bed" he laughed, his eyes crinkling in the most adorable way.
After he stopped laughing, I looked into his eyes again. There was something more demanding, more forceful about him than I had ever seen. Not even in the privacy of his room had I seen this in Connor before. I felt entranced by him, almost powerless against his will, but even more willing to surrender to my own.
"All right..."
I licked my lips and slowly untied the string holding my bathrobe closed. I felt self-conscious and was about to close it again when his steely grip held me fast.
"No, please don't. If you're half as beautiful as I've imagined, you've got nothing to hide."
"Imagined? You think about me?" I yelped when I felt my cold, nervous hands on my skin. It was almost alien how my fingers felt inside me when I was in front of someone else.
"Of course. Who do you think I'm thinking about when I'm in my room? Whose name do you think I whisper right before I come?" he whispered with his lips brushing against the outer edges of my ear.
"God Connor...Why do you have to make this so..." I could barely get any words out as I felt his hand brushing against my thigh.
"Easy? If you want, I'll help you, but from the look of it, you know what you're doing," he nibbled on my earlobe, causing me to moan softly.
Connor slipped the robe off of my shoulders, down my back. The whisper of the fabric made me shiver more than the newfound coldness. He kissed me, pressing his body against mine. I felt his need straining in the depths of his boxers, pushing against my abdomen. I reached for him, but he placed my hand back where it was.
"No, not yet. I want to watch you first." he took a chair and sat in front of the window.
I opened my eyes and looked at him again. I felt the heat rising within me again as my climax started to build. Our eyes remained locked perfectly. I could sense how bad he wanted to touch himself, but for some reason, he restrained his hands. All he could do was watch me surrender to my own pleasure.
After I was finished, he returned to me on the bed. We kissed again, a bit more forcefully this time. I bit his lower lip playfully.
"Your turn," I slid a hand into his boxers and felt the smoothness of his length.
"Not yet..." he grinned wickedly and took hold of my wrists.
Connor took a necktie off of the floor and bound my wrists together. He moved me on the bed so he could tie me to the headboard of his bed.
"Connor! What are you doing?" I looked down at him in awe.
"You'll see..." he spread my legs apart with his knees.
I soon saw what he was up to. I was more than ready to go after my first climax. He wanted to be sure that he would provide me with the next one. Connor started off by kissing me at first, my lips, down my neck, each one of my breasts, and then all the way down. I felt his warm, almost rough tongue probe the hot, wet darkness within me. It slid deftly back and forth and side to side, causing me to convulse violently. I wrapped my legs around his head, trying not to hurt him in my involuntary throes. He steadied himself, never breaking eye contact with me. I felt hot all over. I wanted to touch him, but my hands were bound.
My blood boiled as the climax built again. This time, unlike whenever I would do it myself with my hands, the wave was unrelenting. It didn't stop until Connor wanted it to be over. I soon found myself screaming his name, over and over again. At one point in time, I would have been afraid of the whole neighborhood hearing, but now I didn't care. It didn't matter anymore. Connor and I were the only two people in the universe.
I shook awhile longer as beads of sweat rolled down my face. "Connor...that was amazing."
"I'm glad. I was saving all of that for you." he untied my hands.
"Your turn?" I looked at him in anticipation.
He nodded, touching my face and kissing me. I had never tasted myself before, but on his lips, it was wonderful.
His boxers dropped to the floor quickly. I pushed him onto the bed and tied his hands. I had never given a blow-job before, but I had read enough magazines to get a rough idea as to go about doing it. I stalled by just staring at the perfection of his body, each line and curve in harmony with each other, each feature in complete, almost mathematical balance with the next. When I finally touched him, I started off by gently raking my nails against his inner thigh. He laughed softly. I guess he was ticklish. Then I moved in for the kill. I planted kisses up and down the length of his erection. Then I licked it up and down, paying special attention to the head since I had heard so much about how sensitive it was. From watching him, I knew how he liked to go about things. So, I ran my hands up and down, slowly at first, as I took the head in my mouth. I gradually increased speed with my hands as I started swirling my tongue around. I slowed down again suddenly, knowing that he was almost there. I kept tormenting him under my control, stopping when he was right on the edge.
"Please...please..." he begged, his eyes pleading with me for release from his torment.
"Not yet," I mumbled with him still inside of my mouth, continuing to stroke him.
The vibration from that alone was enough to send him over the edge. I felt the hot rush in my mouth, filling me up inside. It wasn't as bad as I had heard. He moaned loudly in pleasure, thrusting deeper, causing his hot seed to rush down my throat.
When I was sure he was finished, I made my way on top of him and kissed him. I pulled back as he tried to deepen the kiss. I used the same technique on him as I had before. Connor was soon at his breaking point. He could take no more of my subtle teasing. He broke free of the bonds I had made for him and pinned me to the bed.
"Connor, you're hurting me!" I gasped.
"I'm sorry, it's just that you make me so crazy..." he moaned softly and started nibbling at my ear again.
"Connor...please..." I sighed, arching my body against his.
"What do you want?" he gazed at me intently.
"Connor, I want you to fuck me." At this point, it was beyond making love. I wanted him. He wanted me. Nothing could be simpler.
He smiled, "I was hoping you'd say that."
He got up and walked to one of his drawers. He fumbled with a condom once he got back onto the bed.
"Let me help you with that..." I gently pulled it down, making sure there was room at the tip.
Connor maneuvered himself over me. From the look of it, he was preparing himself for routine pushups, but tonight had gone far beyond routine. Our hands and mouths explored what had once been unknown territory, now familiar to our travelling senses.
"Are you ready?" he asked, brushing his nose against mine.
"As I'll ever be..."
Connor separated my legs again with his knees and pushed his way in. The full length and width of his cock took me by complete surprise. I was more than certain at first glance that there was no way he would be able to fit it inside me. Not only did it actually go in, it seemed to fit perfectly. I had never had sex before, so I knew that the first time would hurt, but it was a good sort of pain.
"Am I hurting you?"
"No."
Connor quickly caught on to my technique of varied speeds. Sometimes he would thrust hard and fast in rapid succession. Other times, he wouldn't thrust at all and would just hold me close, no space between us so we could enjoy complete contact. His flesh felt cool, yet the blood beneath boiled as much as mine did. Connor and I were bound by this new sensation of fire burning beneath silken-polished bronze.
I felt my inner walls tightening around him as he thrust faster and harder. I wrapped my legs around his waist so I could take him in as far as possible. In that moment, we were the same, collapsing and completely melting into each other, the fire which had burned so ardently now completely spent, years of mundane expectation dissolved away.
Connor and I spent the rest of that night in each other's arms. Neither of us could sleep from the sheer excitement of it all. Or maybe it was because we were afraid of waking up and finding that it all had just been a dream. As the sun rose, we both knew I had to go. Connor loaned me a t-shirt and a pair of his boxers to get me back to my house.
"So, I guess this is it?" I asked hesitantly, opening his front door.
"No, this is only the beginning." he kissed me softly and held me close.
Needless to say, I started sleeping with my windows open. Sometimes he paid me late-night visits. However, neither of us breathed a word of our encounters to anybody. We never even spoke at school. You know, stupid high school stuff.
Connor was beautiful. Through the years I have spent living next door to him, I have found no other way to describe him as other than the beautiful boy next door. Yet despite all of my admiration, he never acknowledged or even appear to notice my existence.
His family moved into the house on 87 Stockton Drive in the summer of my seventh grade. I remember watching the movers outside with their bulky brown boxes and color-coordinated furniture from the window in my room. One of these otherwise ordinary boxes caught my attention. It read "Connor's Room" on it in bright red marker.
As a gesture of openness, my parents had invited his family over for dinner from across the imaginary boundary between our properties. From the fuming and mumbling I heard on my mother's part, I took it that they had declined the invitation.
"Don't worry, they're just a bunch of snobs," my dad returned to his all-important evening paper without a second thought on the subject.
I didn't care what my parents thought. I still wanted to see Connor for myself.
People tend to throw around the term "All-American." However, people generally picture "All-American" as being white-bread, cornfed Midwestern farm boy. The way which Connor dressed did not at all match the general image people have of Asians: the mandarin-collared, pajama-like clothes that they see in martial arts movies. Instead, Connor was the embodiement of Asian-American, the fusion between the two cultures: the deep, dark, almond-shaped eyes often exotified in movies and the golden skin which Caucasian America tried to emulate through unnatural tanning; but at the same time, he was taller than most of my male cousins back home and sported the same faded blue jeans and red baseball cap that many American boys do during their adolescent years. He looked just like me, which was something I was not accustomed to from being in predominantly-white classrooms in school.
Perhaps the perceived snub my parents received from his parents hurt that much because my parents were seeking solidarity they wouldn't have been able to find elsewhere other than the pitifully small Asian food store in our town. I couldn't blame them, since I often got tired of answering the same questions such as: "Where are you from?" or "No, where are you really from?" or my personal favorite, "How come you don't have an accent?" Maybe making some Asian friends, or potentially having an Asian boyfriend would help ease my annoyance.
That was not to be, not so much because of racial politics, but the politics of high school. Connor was a great pitcher for the baseball team, and became one of the most popular boys in my class, with people tripping over themselves just to get him to sign their yearbooks. I just stood on the sidelines with my friends, hanging out whenever, all the while silently pining for the beautiful boy next door. During the brief, despite seeming excruciatingly long, period of time I spent waiting at the same bus stop as him, neither of us said a word.
The event most anticipated in high school was hardly a cause for celebration for me, since I didn't have a date for my junior prom. My friends had pitied me and set me up with a guy they knew from another school who would be best described as less than a gentleman.
"What's your problem? I just want to have some fun with you, that's all," Chris put an arm around me, reeking of the cheap whiskey he had smuggled in his coat-pocket flask.
"Well, in that case..." I leaned towards him, unbuckling his seatbelt and pressing myself tight against him.
"Yeah, that's more like it," he closed his eyes in anticipation.
"You disgusting jerk, get the hell away from me!" I opened his door and pushed him out of the car as hard as I could. After slamming the door, I started the car and drove away, leaving him confused and alone in the darkness.
Looking back on it now, the conclusion to my junior prom night was almost amusing, especially since I never even made it to the actual dance. But that night, I snuck into my house, feeling humiliated and not wanting to talk to my parents about it. I stumbled into my dark room and threw open a window to help air out the mustiness around me. I just happened to look up to see Connor sitting in his room. It's funny how you can live next door to someone and not realize that their bedroom faces yours. I was more surprised when I realized what time it was. Court had barely been announced, with Connor crowned king, but he was already at home. I was surprised that he wasn't at one of the numerous after-parties he would have undoubtably been invited to that night.
Out of all of the new discoveries, the look on his face was the most surprising, especially since it looked like he had been crying. He had never struck me as the lonely type, never even struck me as the type who would ever have a reason to be lonely. Yet he was sitting on his bed, staring at the tacky crown awarded to him, smiling wistfully. Of all people, why Connor? What right did he have to be sad? He had everything he could ever want. Then again, I guess you could say that I did too. We were both two kids, living out the dreams of our parents, but it seemed like we never really had time to figure out what we really wanted out of life.
I watched his mother enter his room with a glass of water and a bottle of pills. He took a couple and lay down on the bed after she left. For all I knew they were Prozac, or Lithium, or even just common aspirin or sleeping pills. Still, despite the medication, Connor had a trouble-filled sleep, convulsing and tossing about. He paled in the moonlight, silver beads of tears and sweat rolling down his pallid face. It didn't seem fair. If Conner couldn't be happy, then what odds did the rest of us have?
The mundane routine of school returned on Monday, and it was like nothing had happened. Connor was his sweet, smiling self, high-fiving his teammates on their victory over the weekend. Girls were babbling about who had the cutest dress. I was back to my regimen of class, extracurriculars, schoolwork. For all I cared, junior prom never happened, and my quiet moment attempting to understand Connor was just a dream. During my calculus class, I overheard the girl Connor had taken to the prom talking with her friends about how Connor randomly ran out on her, and cringed at the artificial indignation the girls showed about how much of an insensitive jerk he was.
I figured the only way I could better understand him was just to watch him as I had before. It was innocent enough at the beginning with occasional glances out the window while he studied or worked on his computer. Sometimes he would be working out in the way most athletic teenage males do with his pushups, situps, and weightlifting. No matter what he did, Connor was beautiful as ever, an example of physical and intellectual perfection.
After awhile, it got to the point where I was sitting in the dark with binoculars.
The rest of the year passed uneventfully outside of my nightly observations. Connor and his family went to Florida or something over summer vacation. I had my first taste of "summer romance," knowing full well that it would go nowhere after the email addresses were exchanged on the last day of music camp. I had almost forgotten about Connor until I ran into him again. Literally.
"Oh, I'm sorry!" I winced, barely able to look him in the eye.
"It's all right, I should have been looking where I was going," he smiled and helped me gather the pieces of what sadly was my life, my schedule book, my rough drafts, and my schoolbooks amongst the trampling herd of teenagers.
Before I could utter a "thank you," he was gone, and so was whatever notion I had of being over him.
So, my nightly observations started up once more. From any other point of view, my fixation was either an unhealthy obsession or a careless adolescent longing. I loved him for the same strengths he showed to the rest of the world, but at the same time, I loved him for the weakness he only showed on quiet weekend nights alone in his room. Although we were separated by the distance between our houses and the distance between high school social cliques, I still felt a connection to him.
Senior year was spent writing the typical admission essays and picking up the last few necessary credits and extracurriculars to guarantee as many scholarship opportunities as possible, as well as hanging out as much as possible with the friends I may not see again after going to college. Despite the monotony of it all, the year had passed so quickly that I didn't realize that it was already spring break.
"So, Connor? Are you going to Cancun with us or not?" one of the swarming girls around him pleaded.
"No, he's going to celebrate being all alone in his house with us, right?" his teammate Josh clapped him on the back.
"I don't know guys...the prospect of being alone in a house with you assholes doesn't seem very promising," he joked, stealing Josh's hat.
As for me, I continued my nightly observations and caught up on what I hoped would be the last pointless set of essays I would ever have to write. Connor's routine of working out, reading, and sleeping seemed to stay the same, with an occasional breakdown followed by sleeping it off after some pills.
One night was different. Like junior prom night, the moonlight drifted in as he approached his window. I ducked in case of being spotted, but my window was dark with the curtains partway drawn. I was a little afraid he would close his curtains, but he didn't. Maybe he wanted to be watched.
I could barely breathe as he started removing his clothes. Although I had seen him change in his room, he had never been completely naked, vulnerable like this. His muscles, once tensed, finally seemed to relax as he fell upon his bed. He seemed to like the feeling of the white cotton sheets against his bare skin, bronzed by the afternoon sun of baseball practice.
For awhile, he just seemed to lie there, finally comfortable in his own skin. Then, a casual hand traced down his stomach to a steadily growing erection. I could not believe what I was witnessing. The junior prom king was masturbating, a word I had once thought of as something filthy, but what I was watching wasn't even half as sordid as I had imagined.
My heart pounded in my chest at each stroke, each caress. I wondered what it would have been like if it were my hands feeling him, exploring the immaculate bronze statue of his frame, controlling his delicious agony. I wondered what it would be like if he would touch me. I ached all over my body, longing to find out, longing to reach out to him and scream his name.
I found my own hand tracing a path down my body, the breasts which were barely developed despite my legal status as a full-grown woman, the stomach softened by enjoying too many French fries in the cafeteria and take-out eggrolls with my friends on Friday nights, finally the patch of hair which marked my womanhood. I slipped a curious finger in, grazing the hot button of flesh that I had only read about in magazines, but was never fully aware of until now.
During the day, both of us continued our separated lives, keeping to ourselves, occasionally going out with friends. But at night, I continued watching him, relishing the feeling of being in control of things for a change. The following nights continued in the same way, watching him and finding my own release in my own private way. My favorite part of the evening was watching his face contorting in pain and pleasure at the same time, his eyes closed, watching him writhing, toes curling right before the final release. Depending on how I timed it, I could climax at about the same time he did. Even if he was ignorant of our mutual gratification, for all I cared, the barriers which had previously separated us no longer existed.
One night the impossible happened. It was the Saturday night before we were to go back to school. Things were going as they usually did, with his slow lingering before climax, but what was different about this time was his eyes opening upon the moment of release, locking onto my own in the expansive darkness. He hastily jumped up from the bed, still shining with sweat, with fear and panic in his eyes, and closed his curtains. I was shocked at the sudden barrier. It was the first time I had ever seen the curtains drawn.
A wave of terror washed over me. Was he going to call the police? I was sure that he hated me now. All I had ever wanted to do was tell him how beautiful and wonderful he was, and now I would never get a chance. I started sobbing to myself when the phone rang. Fortunately, there was a phone in my room so I could get to it before my parents could wake up.
"Hello?" I choked, my voice barely recognizable.
There was heavy breathing on the other line, and I was about to hang up when I heard Connor's voice, "Please come over."
"I--" I could barely make a syllable come out anymore.
"Please..." click. Dial tone.
Now I was terrified. Was this a trick? Did he want to hurt me for invading his privacy? He didn't sound all that angry, desperate, but not angry. So, I figured that I didn't really have all that much to lose, so I went next door wearing nothing but my bathrobe and a pair of flip-flops.
I had never been so scared in my entire life as I was when I rang his doorbell. Time froze as he opened the door, a faint creaking piercing the night's silence. He was standing in his boxer shorts. I was overwhelmed by the newly formed proximity between us.
"I didn't think you'd come," he said softly.
"I almost didn't," I shivered as the cool night air blew through my robe.
"Please come in," he closed the door and gestured past the living room, "My room's just down that hall and to the right."
It felt so strange to be in his room. I had seen it all so many times in my nightly observations: the posters of various rock bands and occasional bits of clutter, but to actually be sitting on his bed was almost too much for me to take. The bed was softer than I had imagined, perhaps even more comfortable than my own.
"So, why did you call me?" I asked, breaking the intense silence.
"How long have you been watching me?" his question answered my own question better than any other reply he could have thought of. I knew I had no right to be asking him questions, but I felt so awkward sitting there with his obsidian-dark eyes piercing through me.
"I don't know, since about junior year...if you mean watching you from my window..." I trailed off, breaking eye contact.
"Why were you watching me?" I could still feel his eyes on me as he continued his interrogation, so I felt compelled to look at him once more.
"Well...because any other girl would have," I explained, giving the first answer that came to my head.
It wasn't the right answer, at least not to him, as he looked down sadly "Any other girl?"
"Well, it's just that you're so beautiful," I felt my nerve and purpose returning to me, "I've never known anybody as wonderful as you, yet I don't even know you...it's just that I could never say it because you were so inaccessible, always around your friends or on the arm of another girl."
"Oh..." he sighed. "When you said 'any other girl,' I was afraid that you were like all the other girls. Any time I'm with another girl, they don't know how to react to me, especially when I talk to them the way I do."
"What do you mean 'when you talk to them the way you do'?" I asked.
"It's just that they don't see me," he said, fumbling for words to explain himself, "It's just that they want to be seen with Connor, the friendly jock everybody loves. When I try to explain to them who I am..."
"But who are you?" I asked when I realized that he could no longer explain himself.
"In all truth, I don't even know anymore," a tear rolled down his cheek and landed on the floor.
I reached towards him, and whispered in his ear, "Connor, I don't think that anybody really knows who they are, not now at least. Anybody who tells you that they do know is probably lying to you."
"Really?" he looked up at me with pleading eyes.
"Yes, really," I smiled and placed a hand on his cool shoulder.
"Even you?" he asked skeptically.
"Of all people, especially me," I laughed and asked him, "Why would you think that me, as clumsy and as crazy as I am, have everything together?"
"I don't know, it's just that you've already picked out your college and major," he explained.
"That doesn't mean anything."
"Yeah, but even before that, when I'd see you with your friends, you'd always look like you knew what you were doing. You looked like you were above all of the stupidity around you, the pettiness of high school."
"I'm hardly above it."
"Yes, but that's what it looked like to me."
"When did you see me with my friends?"
"At a basketball game. You know, you're not the only one who watches others."
"How long have you been watching me?"
"Ever since middle school."
"Why?"
"I don't know," he scratched his head, slightly messing up his perfect jet-black hair, "My parents were so weird about moving here. They didn't want me associating with too many people since we weren't sure that we were even going to stay. When we did, everything else fell in place, but I don't ever remember talking to you. All I know is that the first day I saw you standing in your window, I wanted to meet you."
"How come you never talked to me at school?"
"Once again, it's just stupid high school stuff. I thought you'd think I was weird to talk to you since we don't hang around the same people."
"That's crazy Connor, I would have talked to you. I wanted nothing more than to talk to you."
"Well, why didn't you?"
"Stupid high school stuff..."
We laughed it off for awhile. When I opened my eyes again, it was as if we were in middle school again. Connor, the new boy in town, adjusting to his new surroundings. Me, scared and awkward at twelve as I was now. The next thing I knew, we were seniors in high school again, more than ready to grow up and get out of our small town trap. He t0uched my face with one hand and running the other hand through my hair. Connor's eyes penetrated mine, causing my spine to freeze like ice. I was more still than I had ever been in my life. When his lips touched mine, I knew that nothing would ever be the same again.
He drew back from the kiss, "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have..."
"It's all right," I said, "I just didn't know how to respond."
I took the next move after he couldn't find anything to say to me. I leaned towards him, touching his arm gently, and kissed him. He deepened the kiss, the heat growing stronger between us. Once again, he pulled back from the kiss.
"What's wrong?" I asked, wanting him to return to me.
"Nothing," he said, "It's just that since you've been watching me all this time, I think it's only fair that I should get to watch you..."
"In my room?"
"No, don't be silly, right here, on my bed" he laughed, his eyes crinkling in the most adorable way.
After he stopped laughing, I looked into his eyes again. There was something more demanding, more forceful about him than I had ever seen. Not even in the privacy of his room had I seen this in Connor before. I felt entranced by him, almost powerless against his will, but even more willing to surrender to my own.
"All right..."
I licked my lips and slowly untied the string holding my bathrobe closed. I felt self-conscious and was about to close it again when his steely grip held me fast.
"No, please don't. If you're half as beautiful as I've imagined, you've got nothing to hide."
"Imagined? You think about me?" I yelped when I felt my cold, nervous hands on my skin. It was almost alien how my fingers felt inside me when I was in front of someone else.
"Of course. Who do you think I'm thinking about when I'm in my room? Whose name do you think I whisper right before I come?" he whispered with his lips brushing against the outer edges of my ear.
"God Connor...Why do you have to make this so..." I could barely get any words out as I felt his hand brushing against my thigh.
"Easy? If you want, I'll help you, but from the look of it, you know what you're doing," he nibbled on my earlobe, causing me to moan softly.
Connor slipped the robe off of my shoulders, down my back. The whisper of the fabric made me shiver more than the newfound coldness. He kissed me, pressing his body against mine. I felt his need straining in the depths of his boxers, pushing against my abdomen. I reached for him, but he placed my hand back where it was.
"No, not yet. I want to watch you first." he took a chair and sat in front of the window.
I opened my eyes and looked at him again. I felt the heat rising within me again as my climax started to build. Our eyes remained locked perfectly. I could sense how bad he wanted to touch himself, but for some reason, he restrained his hands. All he could do was watch me surrender to my own pleasure.
After I was finished, he returned to me on the bed. We kissed again, a bit more forcefully this time. I bit his lower lip playfully.
"Your turn," I slid a hand into his boxers and felt the smoothness of his length.
"Not yet..." he grinned wickedly and took hold of my wrists.
Connor took a necktie off of the floor and bound my wrists together. He moved me on the bed so he could tie me to the headboard of his bed.
"Connor! What are you doing?" I looked down at him in awe.
"You'll see..." he spread my legs apart with his knees.
I soon saw what he was up to. I was more than ready to go after my first climax. He wanted to be sure that he would provide me with the next one. Connor started off by kissing me at first, my lips, down my neck, each one of my breasts, and then all the way down. I felt his warm, almost rough tongue probe the hot, wet darkness within me. It slid deftly back and forth and side to side, causing me to convulse violently. I wrapped my legs around his head, trying not to hurt him in my involuntary throes. He steadied himself, never breaking eye contact with me. I felt hot all over. I wanted to touch him, but my hands were bound.
My blood boiled as the climax built again. This time, unlike whenever I would do it myself with my hands, the wave was unrelenting. It didn't stop until Connor wanted it to be over. I soon found myself screaming his name, over and over again. At one point in time, I would have been afraid of the whole neighborhood hearing, but now I didn't care. It didn't matter anymore. Connor and I were the only two people in the universe.
I shook awhile longer as beads of sweat rolled down my face. "Connor...that was amazing."
"I'm glad. I was saving all of that for you." he untied my hands.
"Your turn?" I looked at him in anticipation.
He nodded, touching my face and kissing me. I had never tasted myself before, but on his lips, it was wonderful.
His boxers dropped to the floor quickly. I pushed him onto the bed and tied his hands. I had never given a blow-job before, but I had read enough magazines to get a rough idea as to go about doing it. I stalled by just staring at the perfection of his body, each line and curve in harmony with each other, each feature in complete, almost mathematical balance with the next. When I finally touched him, I started off by gently raking my nails against his inner thigh. He laughed softly. I guess he was ticklish. Then I moved in for the kill. I planted kisses up and down the length of his erection. Then I licked it up and down, paying special attention to the head since I had heard so much about how sensitive it was. From watching him, I knew how he liked to go about things. So, I ran my hands up and down, slowly at first, as I took the head in my mouth. I gradually increased speed with my hands as I started swirling my tongue around. I slowed down again suddenly, knowing that he was almost there. I kept tormenting him under my control, stopping when he was right on the edge.
"Please...please..." he begged, his eyes pleading with me for release from his torment.
"Not yet," I mumbled with him still inside of my mouth, continuing to stroke him.
The vibration from that alone was enough to send him over the edge. I felt the hot rush in my mouth, filling me up inside. It wasn't as bad as I had heard. He moaned loudly in pleasure, thrusting deeper, causing his hot seed to rush down my throat.
When I was sure he was finished, I made my way on top of him and kissed him. I pulled back as he tried to deepen the kiss. I used the same technique on him as I had before. Connor was soon at his breaking point. He could take no more of my subtle teasing. He broke free of the bonds I had made for him and pinned me to the bed.
"Connor, you're hurting me!" I gasped.
"I'm sorry, it's just that you make me so crazy..." he moaned softly and started nibbling at my ear again.
"Connor...please..." I sighed, arching my body against his.
"What do you want?" he gazed at me intently.
"Connor, I want you to fuck me." At this point, it was beyond making love. I wanted him. He wanted me. Nothing could be simpler.
He smiled, "I was hoping you'd say that."
He got up and walked to one of his drawers. He fumbled with a condom once he got back onto the bed.
"Let me help you with that..." I gently pulled it down, making sure there was room at the tip.
Connor maneuvered himself over me. From the look of it, he was preparing himself for routine pushups, but tonight had gone far beyond routine. Our hands and mouths explored what had once been unknown territory, now familiar to our travelling senses.
"Are you ready?" he asked, brushing his nose against mine.
"As I'll ever be..."
Connor separated my legs again with his knees and pushed his way in. The full length and width of his cock took me by complete surprise. I was more than certain at first glance that there was no way he would be able to fit it inside me. Not only did it actually go in, it seemed to fit perfectly. I had never had sex before, so I knew that the first time would hurt, but it was a good sort of pain.
"Am I hurting you?"
"No."
Connor quickly caught on to my technique of varied speeds. Sometimes he would thrust hard and fast in rapid succession. Other times, he wouldn't thrust at all and would just hold me close, no space between us so we could enjoy complete contact. His flesh felt cool, yet the blood beneath boiled as much as mine did. Connor and I were bound by this new sensation of fire burning beneath silken-polished bronze.
I felt my inner walls tightening around him as he thrust faster and harder. I wrapped my legs around his waist so I could take him in as far as possible. In that moment, we were the same, collapsing and completely melting into each other, the fire which had burned so ardently now completely spent, years of mundane expectation dissolved away.
Connor and I spent the rest of that night in each other's arms. Neither of us could sleep from the sheer excitement of it all. Or maybe it was because we were afraid of waking up and finding that it all had just been a dream. As the sun rose, we both knew I had to go. Connor loaned me a t-shirt and a pair of his boxers to get me back to my house.
"So, I guess this is it?" I asked hesitantly, opening his front door.
"No, this is only the beginning." he kissed me softly and held me close.
Needless to say, I started sleeping with my windows open. Sometimes he paid me late-night visits. However, neither of us breathed a word of our encounters to anybody. We never even spoke at school. You know, stupid high school stuff.
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