My Neighbor Jerks Off With His Window Open

*All characters in this story are 18+*

I’ve lived in this apartment for just under two years. First floor, tiny-ass bedroom that doubles as my art studio. The rent’s criminal, the walls are thin, and my window?
It looks directly *and I mean directly* into the building across the alley. Just glass facing glass. A few feet of air between us. If I leaned out far enough, I could probably knock on my neighbor’s window with the end of a paintbrush.

But it’s New York. You get used to the lack of privacy. Most people keep their blinds drawn. You stop caring. You stop watching.

Until today.

I was sitting on my stool, brush in one hand, coffee in the other, half-listening to Cigarettes After Sex and avoiding the canvas in front of me. I was debating whether to commit to color or throw the whole thing into the abstract void when I saw movement.

Across the alley. A guy. Stepping into the apartment that mirrors mine. New tenant.

He walked in like the room already belonged to him; broad-shouldered, tall, wearing a black denim jacket over a white tank that clung to his chest like it wanted to be peeled off. His sleeves were pushed up, showing thick forearms. He carried a cardboard box like it weighed nothing.

And just like that, I was hooked.

I don’t know how I never noticed that apartment was empty before. Maybe the blinds were always down. Maybe I was too wrapped up in my own shit. But now I couldn’t look away.

He was hot. Like, *annoyingly* hot. Messy hair, designer stubble, body built like a guy who never skipped leg day. Gym bro energy with a killer physique. The kind of guy who belongs in some ad for expensive cologne, looking pissed off in the rain.

He set the box down on his bed. Stretched. Rolled his shoulders. And still hadn’t noticed me. But I noticed *everything.* The way his tank lifted to show off the V of his hips. The curve of his ass in his sweats. The way he moved like his body had weight and he knew exactly how to carry it.

I shifted slightly on my stool, brush still in hand but no longer moving. My cock stirred in my shorts. Just watching him unpack. Just watching him exist.

That was my first red flag.

I’m not new to attraction. But this was different. And he was just across my bedroom window. Curtains wide open, like he didn’t give a damn who was watching.

Like he wanted someone to watch.

I stayed completely still. Let the tip of my brush drip violet paint onto the floor. I didn’t care. My eyes were locked on him. This gorgeous hot stranger who had just accidentally walked into my little world and turned it inside out.

He peeled off the jacket next. Tossed it onto the bed. That tank hugged him in all the right ways - tight around the chest, loose around the waist, showing a flash of hip as he moved. My throat went dry. I wasn’t even pretending to work anymore.

He looked around, pulled his phone out, tapped something, then tossed it onto the mattress. Then he dropped his pants.

Just like that. Underneath, a pair of dark grey trunks. Tight. And I swear to god, the outline was unmistakable. My cock pushed up against my waistband. I didn’t move. Didn’t breathe. He didn’t look my way. Didn’t close the curtains. Just sat on the edge of his bed and ran a hand through his hair like it was the most casual thing in the world.

I should’ve looked away. I didn’t. I watched his thighs part slightly. Watched him lean back on his bed, legs still on the floor, arms stretched behind him like he was cooling off. That body? He didn’t get it by accident. He looked like he played rugby. Or maybe boxed. Or maybe he was just born a walking fucking thirst trap.

And me? I was fully hard now. Sitting there in my room, sweaty, horny, and shamelessly staring at this god of a man across the window. My hand hovered over my crotch, barely touching myself. I wanted to see where this was going.

His hand brushed over the front of his briefs.

And he didn’t stop.

At first, it looked casual. A little adjustment. A light touch. But then his fingers lingered.

Curled. Palmed. Slow, deliberate pressure across his bulge like he was easing himself into it. I couldn’t look away. His legs widened even more. He slid down slightly, letting his hips angle toward the ceiling as he kept stroking.

The bulge in his trunks grew. Thick and rising, outlined clearly now as he tugged at himself in lazy, practiced strokes. My mouth was dry. I slipped my hand into my briefs without thinking, wrapped my fingers around my cock, already aching, already leaking.

And then he stood.

Just like that. In one smooth motion. Legs wide, chest rising and falling, broad back flexing as he adjusted his stance.

I held my breath.

His hands dropped to the waistband of his briefs.

And I swear—

He hooked his thumbs in.

Paused.

Then started to drag them down, slow. Inch by inch. Just over the swell of his ass. Just low enough for me to lose my mind. The outline of his cock shifted. Heavy. Thick. Tugged forward by the stretch of fabric.

My heart thudded in my throat.

Was he about to—

No fucking way.

Day one.
The hot neighbor across the window.
And I was about to see his cock.

Hell of a welcome to the building.