At first I thought Cynthia was sweet, but in reality she’s stunning. Her goodness and inner being show through, making her irresistible. She must be in her late forties but she’s got a better figure than a lot of women half her age, and I should know. I’ve gotten to seeing a lot of her lately; catching glimpses of her walking from room to room at night in her skimpy underwear, putting out the garbage in her pajamas early some mornings, and one day I was rewarded when her skirt blew up as she bent over to retrieve the shopping from the boot.

She was wearing a little thong and she sure has one sexy butt, I can tell you. Every time I’d catch glimpses of her like this I’d find my heart skipping a beat. I knew I was becoming infatuated and there was nothing I wanted to do to stop it.

The first time I got really lucky was when she was changing for bed one night. It was late and she hadn’t drawn the blinds properly. I scooted over there, planted my back against the weatherboards and quietly made my way over to the window. I could just see beneath them as I lay flat on the garden bed, careful not to crush any of her plants. I didn’t want her to know I was out there spying, of course.

I know this seems quite reckless, even rash as being caught never entered my mind, but imagine if I had, how would I have explained myself? I never did this sort of thing when her sons were home, that would have been too risky.

Anyway, that night she’d stripped off her clothes, panties and all, and threw on a skimpy top and boxers. I was disappointed because most of the time she’s had her back to the window. I got a great view of her bum again, a quick glimpse of her pussy lips as she bent over, but I wanted to see what the rest of her looked like.

I’d stayed there even after she’d turned off the light, hoping I might hear something, hoping she’d masturbate and I’d hear her breathing, erratic and frantic as she’d bring herself to orgasm, but unfortunately that never happened.

I’d never seen her with a man, only saw her going on infrequent dates with women. I wasn’t sure of her sexuality and knew that some women turned to other women after a bereavement. I was hoping she was one of them and after fifteen years her time of grieving would surely be over by now.

She’d had a few friends over one afternoon for a barbecue. Her boys were there as well. I couldn’t tell if it was just a social gathering or if there was someone special there with her. She’d invited me, much to my delight. I popped in for a drink and she introduced me around. Everything seemed quite normal, although I had the distinct feeling she wanted me to get close to her son Brandon, who seemed to be my age.

I didn’t know how to tell her I was gay and thought I’d bring it up next time I spotted her out and about. I didn’t want her son thinking he could ask me out on a date, so I needed to put a stop to it immediately.