When I was a young boy, not even a teenager, a family moved into the house behind ours. They had a young teenage girl. The parents slept in the bedroom at the back of the house and their girl slept in the bedroom on the front that faced the bedroom that my brother and I slept in. I slept in the bed next to the window. One night I rolled over and looked out the window and I saw her lying on her bed in nothing but tee-shirt and panties as she read a book. I watched her for the better part of an hour. This became an every night ritual of mine. It never dawned on me that if I could see her, then she could see me. I was not aware that my bedroom light was on one night as I lay there looking at her. But as I looked in her direction, she arose from the bed and went to the window and closed the shades on her window. And that was the last time I saw her on her bed until several months later. Like many nights prior to that one, I looked toward her house and hoped she would reopen her shades. My heart skipped a beat as I watched her pull back the curtains and go and lay on her bed in her panties and tee shirt as she began to read a book. Then I watched as she slid a hand underneath her shirt and began to squeeze her breast. She began to squirm in bed. Then suddenly she got up and closed the shades again. A moving van appeared at their house the next day and they loaded it with their belongings. As she was getting in the family car to leave, she looked back toward our house and waved goodbye.
