Two lonely hearts confess their sensual secrets and find that they’re a perfect, pervy match.

“Watch out!”

The words made me jump, and I practically spilled my coffee. Luckily, I looked up just in time to see two muscled men carrying a wood plank — a plank I’d almost walked directly into. To the right of the workmen stood my savior, grinning at me. He was in his thirties, wearing a suit and a cobalt blue tie. “You were almost beheaded.”

Embarrassed, I said, “My mind was elsewhere. Thank you.”

“Your mind was on that… ” he motioned. My cheeks went hot and pink. I’d been staring at a couple kissing. They kissed at the same spot every day, a small park where I went to drink my coffee — and, yes, watch them kiss.

“You like to watch.”

I was shaking both from my near unintentional lobotomy and at the fact that someone had called me on my voyeurism. The businessman gently led me over to a bench and we sat down together, still in viewing range of the couple.

“Don’t you?” he continued.

I couldn’t believe he was talking like this to me. A stranger, who admittedly had saved my skull, was being strikingly personal. But what did I have to lose? I shrugged as I said, “Yes. It’s my job.”

“I didn’t know people got paid to be Peeping Toms.”

“I’m a photographer,” I explained. “I like to look at people.”

“Did you become a photographer in order to look, or do you look because you’re always framing people through an invisible lens?”

I glanced away from the couple now and at the man at my side. He was bolder than I was accustomed to, but he was also more handsome than your average uptight businessman. Lean and dark-haired with surprisingly light gray eyes, almost silver.

“Both,” I said finally. “I’ve always liked to watch how people act. The camera gives me a reason to intrude.” I gazed back at the couple. They were here everyday. A coffee break for some people equaled a kissing break for them.

“I thought so,” he said. “I’ve been watching you.”

“Watching?”

“They’re here every day. You’re here every day. And I’m… ”

“I get it,” I said.

“My name is James. I work right across the street,” he said. “Fifteenth floor, ad agency.” He pulled out a card from a black leather wallet.

“I’m up there,” I said, pointing vaguely. “Shared studio art space.”

“And your name?”

I ran my fingers over the sharp edges of the cream-colored card he’d given me. “Does it matter?” I asked. “If we both like to watch, what on earth will we do together?”

He grinned. “Take turns.”

That made me laugh. “I’m Sarah,” I said, and I pulled out a pen and reached for his hand. “I don’t have a card.” I wrote my digits on his palm. “Call me tonight.”

He blew my wet ink dry, and as I walked away, I felt him watching me.

For the rest of the day, I was unable to focus.

“What’s gotten into you?” Mel asked. I shook her off. She was busy preparing for her art show in the village, and she tends to tune out everything else around her anyway. I must have been sending off some strong vibrations for her to notice.

“Seriously,” she said, tossing her braided dreads out of her eyes, “what’s wrong?”

Usually, I’m good at focusing. I know everything there is about keeping my subjects clear and precise. But my mind was elsewhere. My mind was on James.

After hesitating, I said, “I met a man today,” and I told her about the situation in the park.

“Watch out… ” she cautioned. “You don’t want to get your heart broken. Again.”

“Why would I get my heart broken?” I asked. “Why wouldn’t he get his heart broken?”

She waved the flyer for her avant-garde collection in front of me — broken heart paintings with sad stories written in marker over each one. The show was called “Your Heart’s Content.” Sure, I was responsible for three of her hearts, but everyone has a history when you reach a certain age.

“All I’m saying is watch out. And don’t forget my show tonight.”

James had given me his number, and I toyed with the card. But I wouldn’t call. He was the one who had been watching me when I hadn’t known. For some reason, that didn’t make me uncomfortable.

I kept thinking about how I could feel James’s eyes on me as I walked away from him. The sensation was arousing, I had to admit. I’ve never been on the other side of the lens before. Who knew I’d like the experience?

That evening, I poured myself a drink and I waited for the phone to ring. I hadn’t acted like this in years. I was almost breathless, overcome with a raw, unexpected need. I stared at the clothes in my closet, and although I could imagine wearing each outfit for James, the important part of the fantasy was how I’d feeling taking each outfit off.

This is silly, I told myself. Some man says he likes to watch you, and now all you can think about is performing a striptease for him.

But that wasn’t the only thing. I found my fantasies were in a race, a filthy sprint to the finish to see which one could end up dirtier. First, I simply pictured James sitting on my gold brocade loveseat, watching me undress. Soon, that wasn’t good enough. I saw him in a position so that he could only look and not touch while I stripped. I didn’t envision tying him down. I thought I’d give him my camera. He would take pictures of me while I posed. Then I started imagining all sorts of other things I might do — we might do.

By the time the phone rang, I was so wet I could hardly string a sentence together. I managed “Hello?” and then fanned myself as James did the talking for me.

“I need to see you.”

I wanted to say, “I need to be seen.” Instead, I said, “Yes.” I gave him my address, and he promised to be right over. The extra waiting was even worse. I put on different outfits and then took them off. He’d been watching me. He said so. But what had he liked? My clothes? My style? My attitude?

I dressed simply — because that’s how I generally dress — a black shirt, black jeans, a black satin bra-and-panty set.

Then I started playing with my camera. Because taking pictures calms me.

When the bell rang, I thought: If we start something together, I will become Pavlovian. I’ll get wet when he rings my bell. I hurried to open the door, and I didn’t care about what Mel had said. I wasn’t going to go slow. Going slow has never gotten me anything. I took James by the hand and led him to the living room. I was nervous, but committed. This man had confessed his fetish to me within moments of our first conversation. I was going to be upfront with mine.

He said, “You’re all I thought about all day.”

“Me, too,” I told him as I pushed him down on the sofa. He was mildly startled by my aggression, but he didn’t seem to mind. I wasn’t going to offer him a glass of wine. I wasn’t going to chitchat about what he did on the job. We were here because he’d been watching me. Now, he could watch me some more. I undid the first button of my shirt. I made the move casually, but I saw James staring at my fingers.

“Thank God for those two men with that two by four. I might never have gotten up the nerve to speak to you.”

“I look unapproachable?” I asked, and I undid the second button.

“You look focused,” he said. “The first time I saw you, you hardly moved for the whole ten minutes. You sipped your coffee — that was the only motion — and you stared at that couple.”

He was devouring me with his eyes. I worked the third button.

“I was envisioning photographs,” I told him. “One after the other. Black and white pictures that told a story.”

“A love story,” he said.

“A lust story.”

I didn’t open the next button. I peeled open the shirt instead so he could see my satin bra and my pale skin. He reached his hand forward, as if he were going to touch me. I shook my head. “You said you like to watch,” I told him.

“Yes.”

“Watch… ” I said, and I untucked my shirt from my black jeans and slowly began to work the buttons from the bottom up. I looked at James. His cock was hard. I could see the outline of his erection through his slacks. He set his hands on his knees and leaned forward.

“So what are the rules?”

“You watch,” I said. “That’s all.”

“Do I get to touch?”

“If you’re good.”

He licked his lips again and breathed in deeply. “What if I’m bad?”

“Oh, James,” I said, “are we there already? You’re going to be bad for me?”

He reached out as if he were going to stroke me. I slapped the back of his hand hard, and he made a noise that was a half sigh, half moan and pulled back his hand as if I’d burned him.

“If you try to touch me before I give you permission, I’m going to keep your hands busy,” I told him. Now, we would see what we would see.

“Is that a threat or a promise?”

I shook my head and headed down the hall to my bedroom. James was a good boy. He didn’t follow. When I returned, I had my camera. This was the do-or-die moment. The take it or leave it. Would he be willing to play the game I suggested, or would he tell me I’d crossed a boundary?

James held his hand out for the camera. I kept it out of his reach. He stared at me, and I smiled. I liked that we were at this point — that I hadn’t needed to go through the midnight cravings ads at the back of the weekly entertainment rag. That I wasn’t jerking off to porn to fill my needs. James was right. I like to watch. But I’d forgotten how much I like to be watched.

“I will put on a show for you. You take the pictures.”

“And then what?” he asked.

“Watch me,” I said, and gave him the camera. I stood a few feet away from him and kicked off my boots. James seemed to know the precise moment to click the camera. That made me happy. My jeans were next, then my silky socks. James clicked away. I could practically feel him touching me with the eye of the lens. Finally, the shirt that was only held together by a single button was open and off.

James stared. I wanted to go on my knees and lick his dick through the gray fabric of his slacks. I wanted to make a big, messy wet spot. But I needed more first. While he watched, I undid my bra and tossed the flimsy piece of fabric on a chair. Then I turned around and very slowly inched my panties down.

James made a low, rough grumble in his throat. The camera clicked.

I looked over my shoulder at him. The camera clicked again.

“What do you think?” I whispered. “Do you like what you see?”

He mouthed the word “yes.” His cock was so hard, I thought he might actually rip through his pants.

“Poor baby,” I said. “Do you need some relief?” I wriggled my panties down my legs and then stepped out of them.

“Please.”

“No,” I said, and I walked in front of him entirely naked. “You get to watch. You watched me for how long before you got up the nerve to approach?”

“Weeks.”

“So now, drink up, James. Watch to your heart’s content.”

Through my mind flickered the knowledge that this was the name of Mel’s show. Each heart filled with the contents of a love affair gone wrong. But we can’t focus only on what might not happen. We can’t live in a world where we’re sure things won’t work out.

“I’m not,” he said.

“Not what?” I taunted.

“Content.”

He was up then, coming toward me. I stopped him with a look, but he didn’t sit back down.

“What is it that you need, James?”

“I need to touch you.”

“Not simply look?”

“No.”

“What will you give me?”

He pondered the question. “Whatever it takes.”

I liked that. His need spoke like my needs. The same urgency. The same desperation. Was he up at night, too? Pawing through the back sections of the local paper? Was he stroking himself while some hot filly took off her clothes in an x-rated video on his computer monitor?

“Hand me the camera,” I said, “and take off your pants.” He gave me one more helpless look, before doing what I said. He kicked off his oxfords, lost his argyle socks and charcoal slacks. I came close and took a photo of his bulge. So beautiful. There was a wet spot on the cotton where he was leaking pre-come. I ran my hand over his ass through his boxer briefs, then dragged my palm along the length of his cock.

This was what I wanted.

He drew in a breath as I slid my hand into his boxers — then exhaled hard as my fist wrapped around his shaft.

“What do you really like?” I asked him.

I knew words would be difficult now. I’ve been with enough men to know the routine, the rhythm and the rhyme. That didn’t mean I’d let him off easy. He didn’t want easy.

“I want to fuck you,” he said, and I grinned. Mel’s show was all broken hearts. I had the feeling that in this case, two hearts were about to come together — all jagged, razor sharp edges.

“That’s not what you want first, though, is it?” I set the camera at my side and pulled his boxers all the way down. He stepped out of them, and I wrapped my lips around his cock and began to suck. He dragged his fingers through my hair as I licked my tongue up and down the shaft before concentrating on the head.

“Oh, God,” he said as I played sultry tricks with my mouth, devouring every inch of his cock down my throat. When I felt his muscles tense, I moved away.

“Take off your shirt.”

His hands were shaking.

“Stroke your cock.”

He stared at me.

“Do it.”

Slowly, he began to manhandle his dick. I picked up my camera again and began taking pictures.

“You said,” I reminded him, “you said we’d take turns.”

He stood up straighter. He looked like a piece of art, all hard muscles and clean lines. His cock was a masterpiece. I took close up pictures of his hand on his rod, then moved back and took a full-length shot before I needed to taste him again. But now he took control. He ripped the camera from my hand and said, “Lie down on the floor.”

“Oh, you’re bossy now.”

“Spread your lips.”

I found that I was the one breathing heavily as I obeyed. He took a close shot of my shaved pussy, and then he set my camera on the coffee table and began to lick me. I closed my eyes and lost myself in the magic of his tongue on my clit, the warm wetness exactly where I desired.

“Please,” I said, pulling on him.

“What do you want?”

“Move so I can taste you, too.”

He understood, and he switched our position so that he was on his back and I was astride him in a sexy sixty-nine.

“But who will take the picture?” he teased before he sealed his lips to my split. I bucked against him, unable to control the sweet vibrations rolling through my body. I managed to say before licking his dick, “You’ll have to woo another party in the park to take our photo.”

Then we were out of words. I sucked his cock and licked up and down the spit-slick shaft as he worked my clit like a pro. He used his fingers, overlapping his middle and his pointer, and sliding them in and out of my pussy. He didn’t pause with his tongue, but his fingers gave me something to contract on. My hands were busy, as well, gripping his asscheeks. Then I ran my thumbs along that special place behind his balls. I knew we were going to come together, and we did. I would have screamed out my pleasure, but I didn’t want to let go of his dick. We climaxed hard with me swallowing every drop of his come, and him not releasing my clitoris until the pleasure had subsided.

I slid off him and turned around to sprawl at his side. He wrapped one arm around me and held me close. We panted there for a moment, staring up at my ceiling, and then he said, “God, that was good.”

“I know.”

“You have no clue how many ways I’ve imagined fucking you.”

“I can’t wait for you to tell me each one,” I said, excited by the possibilities.

“Do you want to try again now?” I glanced over at him. His cock was already hard again. I smiled, pleased, but then looked at the clock over the mantel. “We don’t have time.”

James was confused. “But it’s not late.”

I stood and reached for his hand. “We have to shower first and get ready.”

“Ready?”

“My friend has an art show tonight. You can tell me about the different ways you’re going to fuck me while we drive to the gallery.”

He gave me a look, like he couldn’t believe what I was saying. I was going to make him go out in public with a hard-on like that?

I cocked my head at him, and he stood and kissed me.

“All right,” he said. “We’ll go out. But first I’m going to fuck you in the shower. I’m going to soap you all over, make you stand under the spray, and then I’m going to fuck your ass. And the whole time, you’re going to think of people watching you. Those construction workers today. Your lovers in the park.”

I felt a tiny shiver work through me. This was good. This was going to be so good.

Sometimes lonely hearts come together. Sometimes people do find each other. Sometimes there is a happily ever after. Even with fetishes.