Erotica, Series

The Leatherbound Diaries, Part 6

Wild Excess: Cathy Seduces a Neighbour with Her Nudity

Each diary entry is an individual story — Find all other entries here…

‘Eroticism shelters in a wildness that embodies an excess disrupting the rules of decency in everyday life.’

I read this in an article today and maybe I didn’t fully comprehend it at first, but I knew instantly it could be the motto of this diary. I’m writing this stark naked at my small desk near the window which overlooks the Innenhof of my block. It’s a warm morning and my neighbours– like me — have opened their windows to let in the fresh Spring air. I know fully that if someone was to look in my direction that they’d see me sitting here with no clothes on.

There’s an interesting paradox regarding my quotidian nudity. On the one hand, I couldn’t care less if anyone notices, let alone what it makes them think of me. On the other hand, it excites me to think that someone does see my nakedness; so I do care. Yes, it’s a little excess that I allow myself to disrupt the social mores. This in itself is exciting, and even though walking around nude in my apartment is natural and relaxing to me, I feel wild and erotic too.

I recently came across a photography website that publishes erotica and nudes and while I was browsing through the pictures from a professional point of view — inspirational, technical and artistically — I noticed I was becoming aroused mostly by pictures of women my age who were in a home environment, doing daily stuff. Naked, of course, completely or partially. It occurred to me that to a certain extent, I was aroused by myself. I feel a stir in my belly and crotch right now as I’m writing this, remembering the pictures and seeing myself in them. I could touch myself as I’ve done frequently during or after jotting down my thoughts and experiences on these pages, and probably my fingers will get sticky from the juices that my cunt produces. But instant satisfaction is not what I want at this moment. I don’t want to come — yet.

I know I have an exhibitionist streak and yes, I admit that before I sat down, I stood at the window, daring the world to look at me. Most neighbours gossip about me, no doubt, but they don’t concern me. There’s this guy — not bad looking — who lives on the right side of my block. He has definitely watched me before. And there’s a woman opposite me who I’ve noticed looking in my direction long enough to know that she’s interested. I’ve seen her on the street — she seems Latin — glancing at me with some reserve. She was there just now and I think she’s hiding behind her curtain, observing me, waiting for me to stand and reveal more of myself than she can see right now.

I will tease her and move a bit to the side so my tits are more visible to her. I imagine this woman holding a pair of binoculars and that she will focus the lenses to get a sharp view of how the breeze coming through the window makes my nipples hard. She might lick her lips or bite them, as her pussy stirs with the desire she has for my body. From the corner of my eyes I keep a close watch on her, and yes, the curtain is definitely moving. I see the glimpse of a hand. Is she touching herself already?

Leyla told me she sometimes asks her lovers to send her dirty pictures of themselves when they think about her. She showed me one snapshot where a woman had shot her knickers halfway down her legs, with a clear wet puddle in the crotch. ‘This is what you do to me!’ the text underneath it read. We laughed but also acknowledged it was pretty hot.

So now I imagine that my neighbour’s knickers are wet too, and she moans the same words into her curtains, ‘This is what you do to me’.

I will get up and fetch a glass of water from the kitchen. I’ll turn my bum towards the window for her to enjoy. I like my bum; I think it’s one of my best features.

I take the filled glass and mindlessly sip it at the window, in full view of my curious, horny neighbour. I pretend not to notice her, complicit in the privacy of her voyeurism. I’m her object of desire, as well as my own. We share an excess, a wildness, but our acts are privy to our particular kinks. Together we create an eroticism that wrecks the decency that limits us throughout the day. We let the fever of sex seize us, recklessly squandering our strength for a passion without purpose. Our pleasure will be a ruinous waste and its climax can indeed be called ‘a little death’. I will lead this venture along the path of sensuous disorder.

I let the water I drank from the glass spill from my lips, trickling down over my boobs. The cold fluid generates goose bumps on my skin and it inevitably will reach my pussy soon. I take a big gulp and this gluttony causes another waterfall like a saturated sponge being squeezed over my naked body.

Yes, my peeping Tomasita will swallow hard as she takes in this bold act of mine. The water cools my heated pussy as it flows over it, but not my desire. I put the glass down on the table and lower my hand to touch my chilled, wet cunt. I slide a finger between its lips to the heat which is still palpable in those folds. The mushy sound of my self-indulgence makes me smile. I am sure that my neighbour’s curtain is but a superficial veil, failing to cover her true audacity. We’ll climax in our own right, but we synchronise our need. I gently circle a finger on and around my clit, with enough pressure to swiftly build an orgasm. I hold my arm over one breast as I cup the other in my hand. From a distance, it might look like I’m covering myself, but the gesture is too erotic to be chaste. It’s a pose that I saw in one picture on that website and it excites me to emulate it.

What takes me over the edge is a fleeting moment of revelation: the woman at the window opposite me peeks around her curtain. I can see just about half of her face, one eye, half of a mouth, its lips parted as if it wants to be fed, its corner curled in half a smile. I press my thighs together, confining my hand against my pussy as the orgasm engulfs me. A faint echo of my groaning bounces off the facades in the courtyard. It will reach the curious ears of my audience, who has concealed herself again.

As I sit down at my desk to continue to write down these words, I smell my sex and I know she smells her own and like me, lets it linger in the room. We want to hold on to what we’ve shared a little longer. In vain, because here’s something else I read recently:

‘It is one thing or another: either desire will consume us entirely, or its object will cease to fire us with longing. We can possess it on one condition only, that gradually the desire it arouses will fade.’

Acknowledgment Quote and references from: Erotism, Death and Sensuality by Georges Bataille–originally published as L'Erotisme (1957); English translation by Mary Dalwood (1962)

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