Beautiful Pub Lady

This occurred when I was a student some 20 years ago-I was 18 going on 19 at the time.

I was studying at a university in a small town in Wales. I was renting two rooms in a house shared with four other students. Next door to the house was a pub, let's call it the Queen's Arms (it wasn't really called that), and there was a small alley between the pub and the house I was living in. My bedroom was adjacent the alley, with a window at the front of the house and one at the side in the alley. 

As the ground was quite hilly, the pub was slightly up the hill from the house, with the result that there was a small window in the side of the pub, about three feet higher than my bedroom window.

The pub landlord (let's say) Howard, was a guy in his forties. His wife was an absolutely stunning dark haired, hazel eyed beauty (think Catherine Zeta Jones-to my mind in those days she was at least that beautiful). Margaret was about mid twenties, quite a lot younger than Howard. He was widely envied when she came down into the bar at evening times to help with the service. I went in there several nights a week for a couple of beers, mainly to ogle her. 

So I'm sitting in my bedroom one afternoon, wondering whether to have a relaxing wank, when reflected in the mirror on the dresser, I notice movement out the window. I realise there is someone in the window opposite, across the alley. Looking more closely, I realise with a jolt that what I am seeing is Margaret from the pub, sitting next to the window, clearly fixing up her hair in the mirror. Wow.

Watching her in the mirror, I jerk one off, coming pretty quickly with the excitement of her being just over the way there. She can't see me but I can't see much of her, unfortunately, with her window being higher up.

The next afternoon, I check and am buzzed to find that she is there again, oblivious to me and making up, doing her hair etc. 

This carries on for a couple of weeks, and I realise that between five and six most afternoons, Margaret sits in her window getting ready for the evening. A plan begins to hatch in my mind to try to get a bit more daring. 

On Sunday, which was a 'dry' day, (meaning years ago the pubs didn't open in Wales), I rearranged my bedroom furniture so that the bed was aligned in such a way that the lower two-thirds of my body would be visible from the window across the alleyway, if I were to lie down on it.

On the Monday, I was sitting in a state of high tension waiting for Margaret to show up in her window. When she did, I nearly crapped myself in panic. I was a trembling wreck and couldn't follow through with any plan. But I could confirm that she had good line of sight from where she sat to the extent I was expecting, because I'd arranged a shaving mirror on the floor which gave me some visibility up from the floor through the window (I was in full on creative mode here).

The next day I was determined I'd at least just be there to see if there was a sign she had noticed me. Naturally, she didn't appear that day and I was dejected.

On Wednesday I had a clashing tutorial, so couldn't scope out the window, so it was actually Thursday at 4.45 when I made it back to check out the situation. OMG she was there already! 

Feeling excited but very scared, I deliberated how far I can take this at this stage. Deciding to go for a halfway house, I strip to my boxers and a t-shirt; then very slowly I sit on the top end of the mattress, then pivot my lower half down onto the bed, lying on top of the duvet. At this stage, I have a view in the shaving mirror of the front of my boxer shorts down thru my thighs. Above this, I can see Margaret's head and shoulders, side on. It looks like she is practically in the same room. My knees are shaking and my cock is about a nanometre long at this point. I feel sick. I feel scared. 

For maybe fifteen minutes, I just lie there watching in the mirror, getting cramp in my neck and going a bit cross-eyed with the effort of looking. I am just about to give up on the whole deal when FUCK! She stands up and turns toward the window. She looks down. There, about twelve feet away, is my lower body lying on the bed. At this point I am practically in cardiac arrest and feel like vomiting. I have cold shivers and my muscles have turned to jelly. For a good long minute, Margaret just stands there staring. Then she steps closer to the window and leans her hands on the ledge. She stands looking for a a while longer, then turns around and walks away. About thirty seconds later, the curtains close on her window.

I lay there not daring to move for about an hour, until the room was getting dark. Then I went into the bathroom and had a half-hearted attempt at a wank. It wasn't very successful and I gave up after 15 minutes of jerking a floppy semi-on.

On the Friday I just left the whole thing. I had agreed with my mates to meet up in the pub next door for a few drinks, so about 7.30 I made my way into the bar, got a lager and sat over by the jukebox, our usual location. 

About eight, Margaret comes through the door behind the counter and I have a massive shock attack. My face probably goes several different colours in rapid succession, and I try to hide behind my pint mug. She doesn't seem to make eye contact with me though, and after a while and a couple of beers, I am sufficiently over it, to the point where: 'Anyone else want a beer? No? Just me then?' and I walk up to the bar. I'm standing waiting my turn when Margaret suddenly appears and says, 

'Yes? Lager isn't it?'

'Y-yes', I stammer. She gives me the beer, hands me my change, and locks me in eye contact.

'You one of the lads that lives next door, then?' 

Fuck. 

'Yeah, that's right', I manage. 'I'm Steve. Tom and Richard over there as well. And a couple of other blokes.' my face is burning, and she is looking what seems to me like a bit intense, maybe a bit angry. Oh Jesus what am I doing? Her husband is like three of me, and would probably pull my head off if he thought I was even thinking about his wife in anything other than reverential terms.

'Ok then' says Margaret, 'have a nice night', and turns away to the next customer.

I go back to my seat and try not to look at her, but I imagine that she keeps looking at me when I am not looking at her. I don't really enjoy the rest of the evening.

On Saturday, I did some shopping, read a text, wrote up some lecture notes,  did anything but look at the clock. When the tension got to me, I slipped into the bathroom and had a wank. I did this three times. Each time I came pretty hard and was quite impressed with myself. The old glands were in working order. I went back to my notes and made pretty good progress on Homer and the Iliad.

I went to the kitchen for a cup of coffee, and looked at the wall clock. Four thirty. Hm. Maybe just go and have a peek. In a while. After this coffee. 

So at four forty I go up the two flights of stairs, turn left into my sitting room slash study, walk through into the bedroom, stand next to the bed, lean ever so carefully to the right and peek... There's nobody there. I decide to recreate the scenario from the other day, to see if I can rouse the energy for wank number four of that day. So I strip down, same tee, similar boxers (I'd like to believe not the same ones as two days before...) and lie down with a jaunty bounce onto the bed.

I run through the previous Thursday's events in my mind, crafting a more successful outcome and a bit of fantasy into a fairly horny bit of erotic fiction. I am getting a serious boner on, my shorts are bulging and I slide my hand in there to give it a few pulls. I shrug myself a bit further down the bed to get comfortable, I turn my head to the right and look at the shaving mirror, still in place by the wall, and OH MY GOD she is THERE and she is leaning on the window ledge and she is STARING wide-eyed at what is happening probably no more than ten feet away from her.

Bets are off, I have nearly shit myself, the erection is off and I am only just about conscious, when I see her shake her head, like she is denying what she sees, and she backs away and is gone from view.

Another dry Sunday. In every sense.

Monday afternoon is Eng. Lit. Tut. until three and then I am unoccupied for the rest of the day. I got back to the house, ate a sandwich, listened to some music, drank a bottle of cider. 

Four forty-five:

I am crawling on hands and knees into the bedroom. I lie on the floor and readjust the shaving mirror to see her window. Bollocks. Can't get an angle. I raise my head up on a pillow and try again. And I see her.

Margaret is sitting at her dresser as per her normal routine, brushing and patting and powdering (or whatever they do). 

For some reason, I take this as a sign that things are normal. So I decide, actually, I didn't decide, there was no thought process involved, slowly and carefully to get onto the bed and just lie there.

Did I mention I was naked?

So now, fucking terrified and with a shrinky winky, I am lying naked on the bed, I forgot to move the fucking mirror back so I can't see the window and I have no idea what Margaret is doing. This is no good. But suddenly, I start getting the hot flush of excitement and horniness that maybe, just maybe, she is checking me out. And maybe she is liking what she sees. And hey, presto! the little man responds. I start to get hard, little by little, then more and more until I have quite the raging hard-on and I am stroking gently down the shaft, pulling back on my circumcised seven (ok six and a bit) inches (but check out the girth) and feeling pretty good. 

I decide to have a surreptitious look to see if there is anything going on over the way. So I sit up and prop myself on my elbow, then lean forward and chance a head bob to the right, and there, leaning on the windowsill with both hands, staring intensely, is Margaret. She seems to notice something is different, however, based on my change of rythym, and disappears from view.

I went into the pub that evening, my brain having slipped its moorings completely after a mega wanking session, and laughing my head off coupled with making faces into the mirror. Howard, the landlord, said that 'Maggie's having a fit of the vapours or something' and wouldn't be down to serve.

On Tuesday I called in the pub for a quick drink and to meet some mates. No Margaret.

Wednesday I am walking through the door of the bar and I realise that Margaret is already downstairs at six thirty, early for her, and she seems to register my presence without actually looking at me. I order a drink from Megan, the barmaid who works the nights that Howard goes off for his weekly card game with the other local pub owners. She comes back to me, gives me my drink and says, 'Its on the house'.

?

Margaret has gone out back to do some kind of chores.

Thursday has come round again, and I am lying on the bed again wearing only boxer shorts at four thirty, scanning the shaving mirror for signs of life over the way. At about quarter to five, I think I see movement, but can't be sure. Then, unprecedentedly, a light is switched on in the room. Then it goes off. Then on. Then off again. Then I see, very dimly in the background, that Margaret is standing looking from the other side of her dressing table. Only her eyes upwards actually visible to me. She is waiting for the show to start. 

This is now a very horny situation. I get very turned on, I slide off my boxers and wank my cock slowly and sensuously. I am able to drag out the session for nearly an hour before I eventually come all over my stomach. When I look again, there is no sign of Margaret. Slightly disappointing because I don't know how much she watched. 

When I go into the pub that night (becoming quite brazen now) I am kind of confident that things will not result in my near or total death by tearing limb from limb; but still not really sure what the fuck is going on other than I am getting away with being more than a bit pervy. Around eight, Margaret appears. Her face looks somehow different. I can't place it. Her cheekbones have a high pinkish spot that isn't there normally, and her face seems drawn differently somehow. Also, she is avoiding my eye and has a weird staring intensity, like a chicken or something. It dawns on me: she had a wank. She went away from watching me and she fingered herself like a mad thing! I had made a married lady, several years older than me, come...! I couldn't help but smile smugly. 

Then she turned from the till, looked straight at me and went red as a beetroot. She walked out back. I went home.

The same basic plot happened for a couple of weeks. 

I got to thinking that I wanted to push it a bit further. So I decided to go for broke. Rather than Margaret 'sneakily' watching me wank, I wanted to force things to a more open basis. So this was the plan...

It's a Saturday, I haven't seen Margaret since Monday afternoon, and I am standing naked-NAKED-by the dresser in the window, yes the window only about eight feet laterally and two or three feet vertically from where Margaret sits to tend her make up. I have a girlie mag open on the dresser (my 'reason' for masturbating) and I am shitting myself. Every muscle is quivering, I am in cold sweats, my knees feel weak, even my face has strange tics happening around my cheek and lip muscles. I have liberally doused my cock and balls with baby oil and I am stroking it for all I'm worth, barely maintaining an erection. 

It's time for Margaret to appear, but I'm too fucking frightened to look up and see if she is there or not. I stroke and stroke and stroke, I force myself to look at the beautiful and openly revealing young women in the porn mag, I even flip pages to get more material into sight, and eventually I am almost on the verge of coming, when I get a sense that I am indeed being watched. Too scared to even try to verify it, I carry on until yes yes yes here it comes I am about to shoot and I need to look and see I need to look and check that this has been worth it and I start to pump out a massive load of cum and I do look up. 

Margaret is standing, her face flushed pink, her hands pressed to her bosom, and she looks me right in the eye, and she gasps, a little 'Oh', and she rushes away from the window. Gone.

Oh.

Oh shit.

What now?

I lay in my bed for a day and a half. I half expected the police to come knocking, or Howard to come and smash in the door, but nothing. 

Tuesday afternoon, I wasn't brave enough. Wednesday again not a chance.

Thursday and I (or my dick) decided to have another go at the brazen scenario I had tried the previous Saturday. We figured that there would either be no consequences or maybe some good consequences. We were not disposed to pessimism, my dick and me.

So I am standing again, naked, stroking my erect cock all glistening with baby oil. I haven't bothered with the skin mag this time, don't seem to need it, actually, as I am feeling very horny after not wanking for several days. I kind of get lost in a wanking reverie, absorbed at the task in hand, as it were. I become aware of a presence, and I look up. So close I could almost reach over and touch her, there is beautiful Margaret, her hands clutched at her throat in a very melodramatic style, but her eyes glued to my cock. Oh. My. God. I come almost immediately, but with massive intensity, and although I fire out several hard outpourings of thick semen, my hard-on stays firm-Jesus, it is even harder and somehow bigger than ever before, and the head seems to want to explode, so I carry on wanking and she carries on watching, until I come one more time, mostly clear fluid. And when I get my head together to look up, she has gone.

On Friday evening, I was simply unable to go into the bar for my usual few pints. I told friends I felt ill and just watched Rising Damp and ate a takeaway Chinese mess.

On Saturday, my best friend (at uni anyway) had his birthday, so we went for a lunchtime drink and then a swim in the sea. I was feeling pretty relaxed by about seven, and decided to drop in at the Queen's Arms for a couple before bedtime.

So I walk into the bar and Howard is there and he says 'Ok lads see you all it's my brother's birthday and I promised him a session...' and he heads off out the door. Megan is there to stand in. But Margaret will need to serve as well.

I set myself up with a couple of friends and a pint and we put 'Free Bird' on the juke box.

I'm sitting there relaxed when all of a sudden, my eyeline is completely taken up with Margaret. She is radiating this kind of intense weirdness, maybe it's just me picking up on it, and she says, 'Here, on the house', and puts a beer in front of me. She goes away.

About half an hour later, she reappears. She is looking very intense now. 'TIME for ONE MORE??????' she says with an almost demonic intensity, making furious eye contact and with her eyes really wide.

Ahhh.

Twenty minutes later, I am in my bedroom, bollock naked. We have a problem. It's pretty much dark. I switch on the light. Ow. I go and get the desk lamp from my study and plug it in. Set on the dresser, angled to the wall, it throws a nice light that probably makes me look pretty damn sexy...

I look up from feeling smug.

Fucking what the fucking....?

Eight feet in front of me, lit obliquely by the street light, by my desk lamp and by a table lamp in her room, was the most astonishingly beautiful pair of breasts I could possibly imagine seeing. (I was eighteen; I had felt several pairs of teenage boobies by this point, surveyed thousands by way of print media, but not actually seen any first hand at all). 

So I'm looking at a beautifully rounded, full, pert and soft pair of tits, with perfect pale porcelain skin, quite large nipples with a softness and pinkness that will never be equalled. They are suspended three feet or so above me and so close that I can almost taste them. My brains are addled by this point and I have nothing I can do but wank my cock furiously while staring lovingly at the-I realise-NAKED Margaret in front of me. This leads to the obvious sticky conclusion, and we each disappear into the shadows. It's only afterwards I realise that she was masturbating too.

Fuck.

Fuck.

This actually went on, following the same general pattern, for about eight months.

One night, in a fit of passion (because by this point I was fucking besotted with this gorgeous and sex mad wife of a much bigger and harder man who was eight years older than me but fifteen younger than him and she and I were having a clandestine and sensuous affair by proxy and I really really was in LOVE with her) I decided it would be a great idea to write her a love letter.  

'Beautiful Margaret! Bella Margarita! Maggie! 

I have seen your fair face

I have witnessed the rise and fall of your bosom non compareil

I have celebrated I have bathed in the sunshine of your smile 

But the while

I have yet to witness the magnificence of you in toto 

Tutto al nudo

Complete

Sweet

And

In my loving compass

Will this ever

Come

To pass?'

Fuck it. I was eighteen. You write that shit when you're a kid.

That night in the bar, I was there as had become usual. It had become customary for me to be slid two or three drinks, sometimes a whiskey or two, 'on the house'; and I had come to like this. Margaret, dear Maggie, subject of most of my sleeping and all of my waking dreams, appeared. She did not look me in the eye once, not even once that night. But she looked the whole evening on the brink of laughter, like something had tickled her and she was ready to break into a fit of the giggles.

So I am there, ready and lubed up for what has now become a three-times-weekly mutual masturbation session, me here and Maggie over there, not the full franchise I would prefer to be going for, but I was incredibly grateful for what I had (I haven't described the various grubby scrambled sexual adventures along the way with my peers-some of which witnessed and experienced vicariously by Maggie-but these were curiously unsatisfying compared with the detached but intensely compact relationship I had with this other man's wife).

And the light goes on in Maggie's window...

And she appears and steps UP onto something, and for the first time ever I see

Her perfectly rounded, symmetrical and smooth buttocks.

Her generous but not too wide and not too flat hips.

Her flat but not excessively muscular stomach.

And.

Her perfect.

Her thick.

Black.

Bush.

Oh fuck.

Pubic hair.

Remember that?

And she was in some kind of crazy mood and she kind of did a little dance around and around like a music box or something, and she was giggling like a little girl and I realized she was crying as well, and the tears were flowing down that beautiful face.

And I realized it wasn't going to happen.

Two nights later, it was the weekend before the end of term-as in the beginning of the long vacation. I popped into the pub for a quick pint after seeing off an overseas friend for the summer. Howard had a black eye. There was a lot of amusement. I didn't quite understand it, a lot of the banter was in Welsh.    

I didn't catch sight of Maggie again as I was only there another three days before heading off home.

The next term, I went into the Queens Arms and a lot had changed. The pool table and juke box had gone. A wall had been knocked through and there was no more bar-only a 'family lounge' where they served food in a basket. Megan was now full time. Howard had a new 'partner' named Janet. Maggie had gone. The story went that Howard had been seeing Janet on the side and Maggie had found him out. She had gone back to her home town and was divorcing him for neglect, or something like that. 

I still see that perfect and rounded porcelain body, with its rowdy black pubic tuft, pretty much every time I masturbate. 

And I still masturbate optimistically near a window, hoping that one day fate will drop an angelic audience eight feet or so away and that the angels are in the mood for wanking.