A letter from a friend

The next few days passed in a haze of confusion, shame, and nightly masturbation sessions thinking about how shamefully, confusingly exciting her experience on the balcony had been. Phoebe, of course, had immediately sussed that Rachel had gone naked but she hadn’t guessed what Rachel did next. How could she have? Maybe that was too kinky even for her. As Phoebe smirked in an ‘I knew it’ way, Rachel’s eyes had wandered to the couch corner that she had humped like an animal in heat the night before. Once she’d picked herself up off the balcony and recovered from that insane, intense orgasm, Rachel had checked that corner carefully. She’d had a ridiculous vision of Monica noticing a pussy-juice stain on the upholstery and going into neat-freak meltdown. Thankfully it had dried quickly and left no evidence of her one night of reckless abandon. That was all it was, she kept telling herself, just one night. Then a stray memory of that night would return and ignite something in her that yelled just one night for now.

“’The girl on the balcony’?” Monica said, frowning at a white envelope.

“The what?” Rachel sat up from where she’d been lounging on the sofa.

“It was in the mail,” Monica held the envelope up and sure enough, there it was written in neat cursive. “There’s no way this isn’t something creepy, right?”

Rachel sprang up and rushed to where Monica was sat at the kitchen table. “Oh yeah, nothing good in there. You shouldn’t even open it, I’ll just throw it out.”

Monica looked up at Rachel like her roommate with wide, shocked eyes. “Okay?” She held out the letter, Rachel snatched it, and was already halfway to her bedroom before Monica could say anything else. “Trashcan’s the other way, ****.”

“There’s a trashcan in my room,” Rachel waved her off and rushed away.

Rachel sat on her bed, legs crossed and the letter held to her chest. She was balcony girl. She was the slut exposing herself to strangers. Spreading her legs. Spreading her pussy lips. Fuck, even thinking about it had got her horny again. She’d been called a slut before, plenty of times, but she’d never felt like one until now. It felt good, in a terrible way. She tore open the envelope and pulled out a short letter:

“To the girl on the balcony,

You were incredible the other night. I’ve never seen anything like it. You are so beautiful, even more so when you orgasmed for me. All I’ve been thinking about since is getting an encore. If you feel like giving me one, leave that cushion you were using in your window on the day so I can see it, then come to the balcony at midnight. I’ll be waiting.

Yours,

The guy across the street”

Fuck!

Fuck, fuck fuck, Rachel chanted to herself, one hand holding the letter tight and the other hand at her mouth. This was crazy, now some voyeur stranger knew where she lived. Knew her, in a way few men did. Wanted to know even more. Her panic started to drain as she reread the words again and again, replaced with something else.

“Incredible”

“Encore”

“Orgasmed for me”

Her hand slowly but inevitably moved down from her mouth and to the waistband of her pants.

“So beautiful”

“Yours”

“Orgasmed for me.”

She raised her legs and off went her jeans. She kept the letter in sight as her other hand slipped into her panties. She was already wet, her finger slipped in so easily and she let out a moan. It was loud and she didn’t care. Her friend in the room next door was forgotten.

“Come to the balcony”

“Orgasmed for me”

The fingers slipped out, sticky and warm, and found her clit. She rubbed fast and hard, feeling the urge for something rough and dirty. She wanted to be taken, exposed. Her breathing was ragged, quick and shallow between deep, pleading moans.

“Come”

“Orgasm"

Her eyes closed. Her back arched. Her fingers moved like pistons in her panties. All she could see was a stranger’s hand moving up and down in a distant window. She felt the cold balcony breeze, making her skin sensitive to the slightest touch. Beneath her, sounds of traffic and strangers’ conversations drifting up to where she panted in ecstasy. She let out a strangled “C-cum” and then shook with a climax that ran through her body in waves.
Shakes became spasms and then eventually she went limp, spread-eagle on the bed. One hand lazily played through her pubic hair, sending little aftershocks through her. The other still gripped her new friend’s letter so tight that it was almost crumpled into a ball.

Okay, Mr. Guy across the street, she thought, You’re on.