I was travelling recently and, as luck would have it, I was upgraded to the top floor of the Quest apartments by the Old Bank in downtown Wellington. It’s a fancy art deco complex above Starbucks. Class, plenty of room to hang out between adventures in the big city, and bonus: I could spy on the goings-on while everyone was none the wiser.
As the sun set I noticed lights flickering on in the apartments across the road. One fit guy caught my eye as he was topless and ironing his shirt. He was in full prep mode, perhaps getting ready for something formal. Not a minute had passed when I noticed him go to the door and let someone in.
Next thing I knew, he lifted his guest up and she was straddling him, things were heating up. As they moved to the bed they were out of sight, until they popped up and rode that white pony back and forth. Then, as if for my eyes only, they we standing up and she was spread starfish up against the widow with him gyrating from behind. Her headlights were on full beam. I could have boiled an egg in the time she shone across the cityscape. Wondering what would be next, I watched as she swung around and dipped down, where I imagined that she was finishing him off, as I could see him, chest puffed out with his head rolling back.
The next movement was him opening the door and she vanished, gone, finito. He got right back to ironing his shirt, topless, and smiling.