#WickedWednesday: Wide Open

Every morning she saw him, standing there in the window. It began the day after they met, quite by accident (literally).

She had gone out to post a birthday card and her return journey was thwarted by his rogue bicycle wheel. Somehow, as he flew out of his driveway, his tyre managed to wrap itself in between her own wheel and her mudguard, bringing her clean off her bike and sending her reeling across the pavement, clutching with guttural groans at her ankle.

Apologies fell from him as he clattered his bike down on the concrete and tried to get her to stand, muttering to himself, “What a bloody idiot. Five days in the street and I’m trying to kill the neighbours.” Her winced laugh was enough to shut him up.

When he looked down at her, she noticed the anguished green eyes become brighter as her laugh became a lingering smile. Her stomach did a flip that felt as if it had come from the back of her rib cage, and she could do nothing, either, about the involuntary throb that began at the base of her belly and quickly spread underneath her until it petered out at the top of her thighs, not before leaving her knickers clinging to the now swollen flesh between her legs.

It had been her turn to be apologetic when she saw the state of his bike. She offered to reimburse him for a new tyre; he offered to ring a taxi to take her the X-ray department. In the end, after a whole stream of ‘no’s and ‘it’s fine’, they settled for a ‘no harm done’ on the tyre – ‘I have another indoors’, and that he would bandage up her ankle – ‘my mum was a nurse. I have the proper kit because she never lets me run short, and I know what I’m doing’.

“Wow, we really are opposite, aren’t we?” She peered over his shoulder to see her front door straight through his window as he manoeuvred her ankle onto his knee. She tried not to look at him as she felt his cool fingertips slide over her skin, so softly that being in pain felt nice.

“Opposite is about right. My curtains are hardly ever shut, upstairs, especially. Yours, on the other hand…” His fingers slid against her shin and she let out a little whine. He said nothing; she watched instead as he nipped both his lips together to prevent a smile. “Is it a darkroom, your bedroom, or are you a mass murderer, hiding what you do with the bodies?”

“Well, I’m hiding what I do with my body,” she responded, blushing when his eyebrows nearly ended up at the back of his head and those green eyes held hers.

“You know, I think you should take my number, just in case there’s more wrong with your ankle than you’re letting on. Or maybe in case you need help changing your bandage…” She handed over her phone, letting him add his number.

“Gary, huh?”

“Yep. And you might need to let me know about your bike. Sally-Ann?”

She rolled her eyes and nodded. She hated her name. “I’ll let you know if my frame has any problems.”

“If it does, I can’t see any.”

She’d blushed again.

The following morning, she’d received a text. From him. Wakey, wakey. Are you going to open your curtains? She grinned, peeling them apart to push her torso through, to find him standing in his bedroom window, clad only in boxers and clutching a mug. She stood there gawping like an imbecile in her vest top and shorts, until she realised her chest was pressed against the glass and she whipped back, squawking at the cold and hopping on her good leg.

You okay?

Yep. Window was cold.

So I can only imagine. From here it’s a bit too hard to tell. She felt the heat rising from her neck. She really must stop blushing like this and get a grip.

I doubt it could ever be too hard. She could only hope that the mouthful of drink he gulped was to hide his own response. Unfortunately, the boxers were doing that, although she could make out a shadow of what she hoped was his erection. And she had a desperate urge to touch herself.

They went on like this for weeks. Weeks rolled into months.

She was still lying in bed when she’d received the text a few minutes ago: Open your curtains. I’m naked.

She pushed her head through, her fingers already pressed hard between her thighs, finding her hot, wet folds and thrusting between them. She gasped, not just from the sensation of fullness as her fingers enter her, but from the sight of his cock, hard and held close to the window pane.

I bet you daren’t press that stunning thing against the glass. She typed with her thumb, still feeling her way inside her wetness, the sensations causing her to blow steam on the glass. As he thrust his cock onto the window, she tried to wipe the steam with the back of her hand, her fingers clutching at both curtain and phone as she felt her juices beginning to run onto her palm. Her grip slipped; the curtain fell away, leaving her naked and open-legged. One word appeared on her screen: Fuck.

His hand was around his shaft, sliding up and down with increasing speed.

I am, or hadn’t you noticed? She watched as he glanced down at her text.

Do it harder. Come in the window for me. Oh fuck…

Her body radiated the agony of her orgasm throughout her body and into every limb as she saw him writhe in the window and drop his phone to cup his prize. They both stood there, his cock pointing at her, her breasts heaving in time to his chest, as she slid her fingers from herself and slipped them between her lips. He mouthed, ‘wow’, just before his forehead hit the window.

Half an hour later, her mobile rang. She stuck her hand out of the shower curtain, waggled it on the towel and grabbed the phone. Her chest pounded as she answered.

“You should open your curtains more often like that. Where are you now?”

“In the shower. Naked and soapy.”

“Fuck. I wish that was a shower curtain you let slip this morning.”

She grinned. “Let slip is about right. I’m going to fill myself with my waterproof vibrator now.” He was whimpering down the line when she rang off, her flesh stuck to the shower curtain, her mind whirring.

The next morning, she smiled when her phone binged.

You’ve done it already!

Done what?

Opened your curtains. Damn. I’ve got a surprise for you.

I have a bigger one for you.

She stood at the window, a strange cape tightly around her as she stared straight at him, and watched the realisation dawn across his face. She looked up with a grin at the empty curtain rail. I thought it was about time you stopped giving me orders. And that you opened my curtains yourself.

She watched the clock on her phone. It took two minutes, twenty-three seconds before she heard the knock on the door.

“Come inside. I’m wide open.”

She counted. It took fifteen seconds before he got to see everything that was behind her curtains.


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18 thoughts on “#WickedWednesday: Wide Open

    • Ina Morata says:

      Ive had two bike collisions in my lifetime: one left me with over seventy thorns stuck all over me, and the other left me with four bikes and three people flattening me! Third time lucky…? 😉


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