Confessions. Various

      Neighborhood Watch

      Lolita Lopez

      The chirping alarm clock on my cell phone interrupted my study time. A frisson of excitement rippled through my belly as I realized it was time. I set aside my textbook and notes and stretched my aching neck. Becoming a petroleum engineer had always been a dream of mine, especially since I’d grown up in the oil and gas booms and busts of West Texas, but the graduate classes had proven grueling and less than exciting at times.

      Sometimes I needed to blow off a little steam. Some people went running or had a massage or even teamed up for a no-holds-barred game of paintball. Me? I preferred something a bit more wild and risky. All my life I’d enjoyed the attention of others. Pageants, plays, cheerleading – I’d always found ways to feed that need for all eyes to be on me.

      Here in college, I’d discovered new possibilities for my exhibitionist predilections. My poor, Sunday-school-teachin’ mama would have died from a heart attack if she’d discovered what her sweet little baby girl got up to every third Friday of the month, but I just couldn’t stop myself. It was too exhilarating.

      So I pushed up off the couch in my apartment’s small living room and headed toward my bedroom. The skimpy outfit I’d chosen greeted me. I rubbed the whisper-soft silk against my cheek. This was one of my simpler pieces, just a halter-top babydoll made of pleated georgette and silk with a matching thong.

      I stripped out of my yoga pants and camisole and slipped into the flimsy lingerie. I loved the way the fabric clung to my curves. It made me feel sexy in a classy sort of way. The tiny thong fit snugly between my ass cheeks and cupped my already throbbing clit. Anticipation made my belly wobble uncontrollably. My pussy pulsed with need. Slick wetness seeped from my core. I couldn’t wait to get out on that balcony and masturbate for my small throng of enthusiastic fans.

      My fingers found the black elastic band holding my dark hair in a high ponytail. I gave my head a shake and combed my fingers through the waves. Before I left my bedroom, I put on the matching kimono and grabbed the folded towel containing the selection of toys from the end of the bed. I switched off the light in my room and returned to the living area.

      From practice runs and comments from my fans, I knew which lights in the living room to leave on and which to snuff out before I made my way to the balcony. Too much light, and I drew unwanted attention. Not enough light, and the show was too dark for the guys and gals in the opposite apartment building to enjoy.

      Out on the balcony, I shut the glass door behind me and stood still for a moment, allowing my eyes to adjust to the darkness. I cast one quick glance to the balconies opposite mine and noticed the lounging fans. Some were couples, but most were groups of single guys and girls who rented the three- and four-bedroom apartments over there. Our buildings were the last two in the complex and situated just perfectly for my naughty stripteases. We were surrounded by trees and a woodsy area and sheltered from the louder and usually bustling pool, gym and recreational center.

      Though I pretended not to notice my viewers, I trembled just as wildly as the first night I’d done this. Back then, it had been an impromptu decision borne out of pure boredom and desperation. A dry spell between boyfriends and the stress of finals had killed my usually raging libido. I’d tried and tried to get my juices flowing again with vibrators and videos and erotica, but nothing had worked.

      Then, that fateful night in May, I’d been outside enjoying a beer and the quiet stillness of the night when I’d heard my downstairs neighbors going at it like a pair of horny weasels. There was something so illicitly dirty about listening in to their session of bed-breaking sex. In minutes, I’d been soaking through my panties. My fingers had quickly found the right rhythm and, in no time at all, I was coming so hard.

      When I’d finished, I heard the first whistles and applause from the balcony opposite mine. I’d been mortified and felt sure I would die of embarrassment. But then, ever so slowly, I’d experienced the strangest surge of accomplishment and pride. I’d given the guys across the way a nice bow and wave before darting into the house where I’d fallen on to my couch and laughed myself hoarse. Suddenly, I couldn’t wait to do it again.

      Once a month seemed like the perfect balance to the issue of supply and demand for my balcony peep shows. Anything more and I risked the crowds getting too big and someone sending a nasty note to the complex’s office. Or calling the cops. I enjoyed the limelight, of course, but spending a night in the slammer because I’d been caught rubbing my pussy in public wouldn’t look so great on those résumés I was going to have to send out at some point in the near future.

      A flashlight beam clicked on and off twice. I smiled at the silly signal the two original fans from Building F had come up with the second night I’d come out on to the balcony. I picked up the flashlight I kept on the mosaic-topped bistro table and flashed them three times. My fingers pressed play on the iPod stereo system I’d stashed outside earlier. The hiphop playlist

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