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The Woman Across the Street

"And I want every speck of dirt off that window. Do you hear me, Isidor? Every speck." "Yes dear." Isidor Rosenberg stood at his 17th floor kitchen window. It was 90° with no breeze, and the apartment was as hot inside as it was outside. Isidor breathed heavily as he smeared Windex ® around the windowpane. His wife, Dara, had been harping at him to clean the windows all day. 90° or not. Those windows will be cleaned.

Isidor stopped and stared out the window. He could see a bit of the Manhattan skyline between the two buildings across the street. He looked down and watched the children run in and out of the playground sprinklers. Their mothers fan themselves as they sat on the hot wooden benches. Other residents sat on their terraces trying to catch some fresh air. The hot, humid weather came suddenly on this early spring day and it would be a full two months before the complex switched over to air-conditioning.

"And don't forget the sills, Isidor. Clean the sills."

"Yes, dear."

Isidor wiped the sweat off his forehead with the back of his hand and continued smearing the Windex ®. He was used to Dara barking orders. She had been doing it for 52 of their 53-year marriage. She harped at him from the time he got up in the morning until the time he went to bed. Sometimes even after he was in bed. Once in awhile, for relief, he would get up, go into the livingroom and turn on the Playboy Channel while she snored the night away in the bedroom. Isidor stopped wiping the window again and stared off into space. Thank God for Mark." he thought. The subscription to cable television was the best present Isidor has had in years. Dara, of course, went berserk.

"What do we need for cable. So your father can look at those dirty movies. Those floozies with their breasts hanging out and God knows what else. It's a sin and a waste of electricity. I won't have it in the house."

Mark convinced his mother that cable was a good thing and that she could indulge herself with talk shows on 83 channels. Isidor thought about cable and smiled. He couldn't wait for nightfall so he could see StripSearch. This week the show's coming from Stockholm. Blondes, boobies and beaver. Isidor felt small stirrings below his belt buckle. Not much, but there was something. A little firmness. Just enough to know that he wasn't dead. He still had it.

The old man snapped out of his reverie and returning to the business of the window. At least the blazing sun was no longer bouncing off his window. It was late in the afternoon and the sun was now shining in the windows across the street. Behind him in the livingroom, Dara was laughing aloud and talking to the participants on the Jerry Springer show. "Oh, if he were my son --" "He'd move." Isidor laughed silently to himself and he bent down to retrieve a cleaner cloth. When he straightened up, about to wipe a small smudge in the corner, his arm stopped in mid-air and froze. Isidor's mouth was open and he stared straight ahead as if transfixed.

Across the street, as the sun shone in the apartment directly opposite his, a young woman walked towards the window. She pulled off her shirt as she headed toward her kitchen sink. She was pretty, the woman across the street. Her small but firm breasts bounced lightly as she retrieved a glass and drew herself some water. Her brown orbs with their puckered black nipples rose and fell as she lifted the glass to her mouth and took a long swallow. The scene repeated itself as she drew another glass of water. He could see the sweat move in a slow trail between her breasts, down to her stomach - the droplets disappearing into the elastic top of her sweatpants.

A small thin stream of saliva dripped from Isidor's open mouth, as the stirrings became just a little more intense. He felt his organ get a little harder. Harder than it did when he watched the Playboy Channel. Much, much harder. The woman splashed water on her face, then pulled a towel from somewhere below the sink. She wiped the sweat from her face and breasts, then bent down. She pulled off her sweatpants and tossed them away from her. He could see her navel. It was deep and --.

"Are you finished in there yet?" Dara barked from the livingroom. "Isidor?"

"Uh-huh." Was all he could say. He still hadn't moved from his spot. The woman had turned. He could just see the top of the crack in her behind.

"Uh-huh." Isidor said again.

The young woman turned again. She walked back toward the window to retrieve something. Then she looked up and saw Isidor standing stock still at his window. They stared at each other for a few minutes. Then realizing that it was too late to do anything about the situation, the woman across the street smiled broadly and waved. She then reached up, dropped the blinds and slowly closed them. They were gone. Those lovely orbs disappeared from view. Isidor stared at the closed blinds for some minutes more.

"What are you doing, Isidor?" Dara barked behind him. "What are you looking at?" The stirrings began to subside and soften. Isidor came back to Earth and proceeded to wipe off the smudge on the window. "Nothing dear. I'm finished." He said with a smile.

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