Johnny Sampson

It was the night I moved into my new studio apartment. It was a pretty sweet setup—with floor-to-ceiling windows facing another apartment building with floor-to-ceiling windows. As I sat unpacking, I looked out and saw an attractive heterosexual couple, naked, engaging in sexy activities. What was this? Did I win the sex peeper lottery? I wasn’t getting internet installed for another week, so I figured, why not? I poured myself a glass of wine and sat by the window, like a creeper, watching. But… they obviously wanted me to… right? Their shades were WIDE open. Anyway, I took a break to smoke a bowl during the BJ—because, boring—and also because the guy did that awful king-of-the-castle, hands-behind-his-head move. They continued their sexcapades occasionally. Once, they even had what looked like a light BDSM session, with a short kitty whip and blindfolds (she was whipping him, which I appreciated). After a while, their sexcapades stopped being as frequent. Was their relationship okay? A few months later, they moved out. Some guy who collects bonsai plants lives there now. “HEATHER,” 28



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