The girl at the window

When I was eleven, we stayed in a hotel where I had nothing to do other than roam the extensive hotel gardens looking for something to play with. The September evenings were warm, and the sun spread a soft glow over the trees and grassy patches. With no other children around, I spent my time studying insects, exploring bushes, and building a little hut from branches I’d found lying about.

One evening, something caught my eye—a slight movement at one of the bedroom windows. My curiosity piqued. I moved closer to have a better view and concealed myself behind a bush. There, at the window, stood a girl about my age, facing me. She was undressing! I was mesmerised by her. She peeled off each item of clothing, dropping them to the floor one by one, turning her body to show it off, enjoying being watched. I looked around, expecting her to be showing herself to some other boy. No, I was alone. She was looking at me! I froze, too shy to react. 

In the fading light, I squinted to see her body clearer, to see her curves, her flowing hair, and angelic face. I wanted to move closer, but didn’t, thinking I might scare her away. After completely undressing, she turned and showed her bottom, her buttocks soft and smooth. She wiggled them and walked away from the window, disappearing into the gloom of the room behind. I sat down and waited for her to reappear, but only saw her mother draw the curtains. My senses were now heightened—the garden’s scents were more pronounced, the light turned orange as the sun dipped down, all was quiet, and as I sat there in the long grass sucking a stem, her naked body was all I could think about.

The next evening, I strolled to the same spot in the garden, no longer hiding myself. I scanned the windows, unsure which one it was. The girl appeared again. As I watched, she graciously executed her routine again, the sunlight casting a golden glow on her skin. In that moment, I couldn’t help but feel a growing admiration and fascination towards her, to her body. I didn’t know her name or which room she was in and lacked the courage to find out. I hoped to meet her by chance while I wandered around the hotel, or see her in the dining room, but I never did. She only presented herself at that window while getting ready for bed. What did she see in me? We’d never seen each other before. What did she want? 

The third evening it rained, but I insisted on going into the garden. Mum didn’t understand why. I said I wanted some fresh air, too embarrassed to mention the attractive girl at the window. She performed the same routine, and I watched—captivated by her beauty.

The feelings I had those evenings were new to me—I was light-headed, confused, provoked, but also drawn in and curious to see more. I was too shy to pursue her, worried that I wouldn’t know what to say, and that seeing me up close would disappoint her. I’d never had close contact with girls other than my sister and had no idea how to interact with them.

To my regret, we left the hotel the next day, and I never saw her again, although the longing continued in my dreams for a few weeks.

Image of hotel and garden created by CoPilot