I can see into my neighbor's yard from my roof. He gardens naked.
I don't go up there on purpose to watch him. In fact, he kind of offends my sensibilities: he's too skinny and I can see his balls dangle as he bends over his veggies. I like looking out further, from my airy vantage. Tree tops and chimneys. Nothing to distract from daydreams. Until today.
My neighbor may not be my type, but on a rooftop three houses down there appears to be someone smitten. Like me he has a small balcony, but mine is just a smidge higher than his. The potted plants around the edges don't conceal him from me. This guy is so my type. Grey haired and muscular. And, I tell myself, apparently gay. He's leaning over the balcony gazing at my young, nude-gardening neighbor. Below the balustrade, he has his hand on his cock.
Maybe balcony guy is bi. I imagine joining him on his perch. We could watch together. I could add my hand to his, press my breasts against his back. We'd undress each other, losing track of the gardener until our sounds of pleasure turn the tables. Gardener guy looks up and sees us, entwined above him, and suddenly his nakedness is no longer innocent. We're fucking standing up and he can see our strawberries and cantelopes, zucchini and tomatoes. His produce has been corrupted. As we cry out in orgasm, he covers himself with his hands and bolts indoors.
Of course, that's just my vengeful fantasy. I'm pulled back to reality by a whistle. Balcony guy is signaling gardener guy. Gardener guy signals back with a saucy wave. They each disappear into their houses, presumably to meet elsewhere.
All's quiet again on my rooftop. It's back to daydreams for me. There's nothing left to see.