Everybody’s Watching (Part 7 – Don’t Look Away)

Getting the green light to move ahead with the second installment of their documentary – and a short time frame to complete the project – gave Caty and James less time to themselves. Setting up interviews with the watchers proved difficult – it was different than the sound-bites they’d taken from onlookers, these were in-depth, and getting people to talk about the impact watching had on their lives was tricky stuff.

“Oh, nothing much, it’s just been fun,” that was mostly what they all said; maybe “it spiced up our sex life” or “a different kind of date night.”

Were Caty and James the only couple who’d been brought into a world where everything seemed erotic, and they couldn’t keep their hands off each other?

How was that possible?

The weather was almost balmy in London now, green grass and crocuses in Hyde Park, people dining at sidewalk cafes. 

They were on their way back from another run of the mill interview. 

“Maybe we should interview ourselves,” James said.

“I know. Are they all just pretending nothing’s changed for them?”

“It might frighten them to admit,” James suggested.

They both admitted they’d fallen first in lust and then in love with each other. 

They both admitted that they could scarcely stand not to touch each other.

They both said over and over that they didn’t want to stop touching, feeling, being together – what they didn’t want to admit was that their time together, their time on this project, was coming to an end.

They headed for the subway.

It was even warmer underground.

“Let’s forget about all of it tonight,” James said.

Boarding the train, she took off her sweater and dropped it across her lap. The car was uncrowded; both sides of the aisle were empty in front of them. 

James started rubbing her shoulders, then her back, and casually, through her sleeveless blouse, he’d unsnapped her bra. 

Her breath quickened as she, just as casually, rested her hand high on his thigh, high enough that her fingers could graze his balls, tease the hardening shaft of his cock.

He kissed her, and slipped his hand under her blouse, beneath her loosened bra, and brushed her nipples back and forth, back and forth with his palm.

“Are you getting wet?” he asked her.

“I’ll check and see.”

She lifted her hand from his leg, and beneath her sweater, and beneath her skirt. She was not wearing stockings today. She touched her panties.

“Just a bit,” she said.

“We have to fix that,” he replied.

His own hand joined hers under the sweater, under the skirt, and he pressed his thumb up inside her.

She moved against him, enjoying herself thoroughly. With her own hand, she held him there, rocking herself with the movement of the subway.

The train pulled into the state.

“Leicester Square” was announced.

“Next stop’s ours,” James said.

“Mine just…arrived,” she said, feeling herself gush around his hand.

He pulled his thumb from inside her, and trailed her come across her leg.

She kissed him, dropping her own damp hand even higher on his thigh than it had been before. Her fingers brushed his cock, and she felt him twitch, and watched him swell.

“Holburn…” the announcer said.

They made their way off the train and out into the busy street.

“Drink?” he said.


The Ox Bow was wonderfully dark as always. It was their regular spot. They ordered their scotch and sodas at the bar. He stood behind her as they waited for their drinks, with one hand under her skirt, stroking her through her panties, slipping one finger beneath them, his little finger this time. She bit her lip, not wanting to give him away.

She leaned back against him, loving the rush of control she felt at how large his cock had gotten.

The bartender set their drinks on the bar, and when she leaned over to get them she could feel her breasts brushing the dangling loose fabric of her bra.

She handed James his glass, and they went into the backroom, and to the last booth, where they could play again, just the two of them. 

She took a look swallow of her drink, and then unzipped him.

She ducked her head beneath the table and took him in her mouth.

Her tongue circled the head of his cock, teasing him. She licked him and bobbed her head up and down on him, and thrust him deeper in her throat. He groaned.

Faster and faster she went until she felt him tighten, throb between her lips. Then she slowed down, and let him come.

“How did you get to be so amazing,” he whispered.

“I don’t know,” she said, wiping her lips, taking another long sip of her drink.

“Will you take off your panties?”

“I thought you’d never ask.”

She lifted herself off the booth and reaching under her skirt, peeled them off her hips, and down her thighs. She sat again, and wriggled them until they fell to her ankles. She lifted out one foot and then the other.

“Let’s go get another drink,” he said.


He loved watching her walk across the bar, knowing beneath her short skirt she had on nothing at all.

He stood, as before, just behind her, so he could put his hand under her skirt while they waited for their drinks.

Both of them always wanting more. Maybe they’d always known they would never get enough. 

Because maybe they knew this couldn’t last forever.

He didn’t like thinking of that.

“Hey,” he said, whispering in her ear. “I love you.”

She spun toward him. “You know something? I love you, too.”

“Will you show me?”

“Mmmhmm,” she said. “Anywhere, any time.”

It was a signal between them, that they could and would act out the way they’d seen so many others. 

It had started, they agreed as a kind of research – maybe they could get some interesting quotes from watchers if they were the performers, not interviewers. 

But it was more than that. For him it was a public claiming, a ritual, where they both got to claim each other and they were telling the world in a sense “don’t look away.”

But that was too heavy a thought for a warm spring evening with his second scotch and soda in hand and the woman he’d fallen in love with naked beneath her skirt. 


Caty led them back to their booth, but there were others in the room now, and this time there was no circumspection in what came next. They toasted each other. 

He lifted the edge of her shirt slowly, slowly; the bra he’d already unhooked dangled, and he pushed the straps down now, off one arm and then the other. He tossed it on the table.

They moved together in a kind of slow dance they’d perfected – the first time they performed in the pub happened more or less by accident – people walked in on them, and watched; the manager, not objecting at all, gave them their drinks for free. Every Tuesday night now, they came. There were regulars who came, too.

Oh yes, they came, she thought.

They knew just where to stand now, under a small ceiling spotlight.

James rolled her shirt above her breasts, inch by inch, and kissed her from naval to neck.

He lifted first one breast and then the other to his lips, kissing each one almost reverently before taking her into his mouth, sucking one and then the other, circling one with his fingers and then the other.

Leaving her breasts glittering and wet, he raised her skirt inch by inch too, his fingers inching along with it, playing lightly against her knees, her thighs, cupping her buttocks.

He let one hand slip around her from behind, and placed his thumb gently, gently, in her anus. The slight pressure was exciting, and she squirmed against it, just as he began to stroke her pussy with his other hand, rubbing her with his whole palm until she was wide and wet and open.

She gasped as she came the first time. The second time, she let out a little cry. The third, as his thumb moved deeper into the soft flesh of her buttocks she gave a shriek of pleasure.

Now his fingers were inside her pussy, probing and flicking at her clit and moving in and out, one, two, three, yes four fingers this time.

She looked over his shoulder. There was a crowd tonight, twenty people maybe. She grew more excited still, writhing against his fingers.

“Fuck me please,” she whispered.

“The lady asked me to fuck her,” James said.

But first, he pulled her against him, and she lifted his shirt, rubbing her nipples against his chest.

She unbuckled his belt, unzipped his fly.

Somehow his fingers stayed inside her, circling her pussy, keeping her soaking wet.

At last she freed him. His cock looked enormous, the tip already glistening.

He pulled his fingers from her, and licked them, one by one.

She pushed him back to the booth, and against the bench, dropped down on the sticky floor beside him and sucked him for a while. Not too long though, she really, really, wanted him inside her.

When she raised her lips, he sat up, took her in his arms, and lifted her onto the table.

There he spread her legs and bent over her, from the side, a move they’d practiced, yes actually practiced, at his studio in the bathroom mirror – the best way to allow a view.

He licked her thighs and ran his tongue along the soft edges of her pussy, teased her clit with his tongue, moving it back and forth and up and down, then he thrust his tongue inside her, in and out. She was so excited, and she came so hard that she shouted full out.

Above his head she saw someone was filming them now. 

James stood, and lifting her to the edge of the table, she wrapped her legs around him and he at last, at last, pressed his cock inside her. For a moment, neither of them moved. It just felt so good, the heat of him, the heat of her, how dripping wet she was, how her legs felt clamped over his buttocks. She moved just slightly, just imperceptibly, and then they were off, rocking against the table, tumbling onto the bench.

He pulled out and flipped her around doing her from behind doggy style, with her bent over the table, her eyes looking at the melting ice in their glasses.

She hoped she knew what came next.

And it did.

He scooped a cube of scotch-scented ice from one of the glasses, and ran it along her spine. He placed it in her lips, and she swallowed it, the delicious cool of it.

He pulled out of her and turned her to face him again.

Another ice cube, rubbed now across her breasts, and dripping down her belly onto the crumpled roll of her skirt.

Another, rubbed across her pubic hair, making her impossibly wet as the cool water ran down her legs. One last one, slipped slowly, slowly inside her, the hot and cold sensation mixing in a way that took her breath away, and of course, of course, made her come again, with such abandon that she grabbed his cock in both hands and pushed him up inside her again. 

He sprawled on top of her in the booth, never mind the best angles or whatever now, it was all about them, and him taking her, taking her, taking her.

Until he collapsed on top of her, both of them shouting out at once.

That moment of silence, and then applause. 

He pulled down her shirt, she untangled her skirt.

He kissed her, zipped up, buckled up; she put on her shoulder so they’d be fit enough to go out in the street. They lifted what remained in their glasses, toasted each other again, and drank the last of their drinks.


“Here’s the problem,” Caty’s boss Amanda said on their Wednesday morning Skype. James’ production supervisor Maude drummed her fingers on the conference table impatiently.

“Spell it out, please,” Maude said. “This is not the only meeting I have this morning.”

Maude always sounded impatient, James thought, but some of it was because he and Caty, as had become their usual behavior during these weekly, were knee to knee, and his arm occasionally brushed against Caty’s breasts, and her hand occasionally fell into his lap and right against his cock. There was always something about to be sexual in the room, and not just the footage he screened, either.

But at the word problem, both he and Caty quit fooling around and were at immediate attention.

“I’ll start with the good news. The first film had terrific response, and we’ll be running it and syndicating it and selling it to streaming and making us all a lot of money,” Amanda said. “But –”

“Yes,” said Maude, “go on.”

“You two are so sexy. There’s been footage online you know. And I’m not going to say it doesn’t boost viewership, because it does, so carry on while you can.”

James relaxed, but Caty did not.

“Don’t sugar coat please, Amanda,” she said. “We understand if you’re not totally in love with the footage from the current project. It’s difficult to get people to speak about how everything – affects them.”

“I’m not going to bother with a critique, there were other ways, maybe more personal ways you could go with this that I was prepared to suggest. But its over.”

“Over?” James said.

“The execs have pulled the plug on the project. The fad of exhibitionism is fading. The message boards are dying down. By the time we air, it’s over.”

The thing was, James agreed. Walking home from the pub, there was no one giving head in the circle of a streetlight, no one stripped down in the window of a bedding store – and for weeks they’d just stumbled across scenes exactly like that; one of his favorites to film was a couple in a florist’s shop window, half covered in petals and honey. Nothing like that anymore, even though it was warmer now, and more people were out in the streets. 

“We can’t complete it?” Caty asked, astonished. “But you just said the viewers are going crazy for the last one.”

“Not my call, but I get their point,” Amanda said. “So close up shop, be back in the office on Monday; Maude, my people will talk to your people, and we’ll get this all wrapped up.”

Maude seemed as surprised as Caty did. Amanda ended the call and they all sat for a moment, staring at the blank screen on the wall.

“Well,” said Maude, rising abruptly, “I guess that’s that. No more London adventuring for you.”

“We have tons of footage,” James began, “I could cut something shorter, hour-long maybe, just for broadcast here…”

“Not lucrative. If they won’t promote, we won’t promote. And you’ve said yourself – nothing new uncovered out there. Unless you count the two of you.”


They had the weekend, she thought. It was all impossible, she’d had no time to prepare for this.

“I love you,” he said.

“I love you.”

“I love having sex with you.”

“I don’t know how I’m going to survive without you touching me,” she said. She laughed but she meant it, too. It had become like breathing to her. Anytime, anyplace. 

A last hurrah of sorts, they were constantly, consciously indiscreet.

Both of them wearing nothing but raincoats, having sweaty awkward wonderful stand-up sex in a phone booth that they rocked so hard she was briefly afraid it would tip over. On her knees in the soft wet grass in front of a park bench, as he held her head, moving her on and off his impossibly erect dick…and perhaps best of all, he used his tongue and his hands on her as they rode the London Eye, and she looked down at what seemed like all of London glittering around her, with her legs spread wide, and his lips sucking her clit. 

And now she was in the hotel room they rarely spent any time in, packing. Or trying to.

As she bent to fold clothes, he lifted her skirt, pulled down her underwear and edged the vibrator she’d forgotten she’d packed inside her. Which led to them falling down on the bed as she unbuckled his jeans, and an entire afternoon spent in that bed, the suitcase overturned on the floor. 

Both of them naked, sucking and licking and touching and kissing for hours. At some point the sky darkened, and they were hungry, and room service arrived.

She pulled the sheet around her, and James had a towel wrapped around his waist, but the young man smiled and winked at her boldly.

“I’m Peter,” he said, settling the cart, rattling lids. “If you want anything else, just ask for me.”

“Stay and watch for a while,” she suggested.

 “Thank you, I will,” he said. 

“Sit on the edge of the bed,” she said. “There at the bottom.”

James just shook his head, but oh how he took her, propping her up on pillows and throbbing inside her, so that the headboard banged; hoisting her up in his arms half suspending her, while he ate her out. She was trembling she came so hard. He flopped down on his back, spent, but still hugely erect. She crawled between his legs and took him in her mouth.

While she was sucking him, she felt fingers moving across her buttocks, first brushing, then squeezing, then slipping inside her pussy, in and out they moved, one, two, three. 

She would’ve known it wasn’t James touching her even if she wasn’t pinning him to the bed with his cock in her lips. The fingers were shorter and dryer, the touch tentative, but definitely felt, oh yes, this absolute stranger had his fingers in her pussy. She said nothing, just licked and sucked and rocked back on those fingers, and heard both men’s sharp intake of breath when she came. 

Finally, she inched away from the accommodating Peter’s hand and climbed on to James’ cock and rocked them both into a gasping, shouted release.

The room had just gotten about one hundred degrees hotter, she thought. 

From the corner of her eye, she saw Peter had unzipped, and was now tucking his cock away again. 

“Thank you for a very satisfying …visit,” he said, as he slipped out of the room. “I can come back any time until midnight. Just ask for me.” 

The door clicked shut behind him.

“Oh, I bet he could come again,” James said. 

“Did you mind him here?”

“I don’t mind anything you want to do, except leave. If you want to bring the entire hotel staff here, that’s fine.”

They ate in bed, feeding each other with their fingers, cheese and fruit and olives and messy alfredo sauce noodles, and licked each other where there were spills, and fell asleep sticky in each other’s arms.

The alarm went off at 3 a.m., and they took as quick a shower as they could, given that it was them, and there were nipples and a cock and a clit to suck on and an impossibly slippery shower stall to fuck in, one last time.

She barely had time to throw everything in her suitcase.

“Don’t do this,” he said.

He snatched a pair of her underwear and tucked it under the pillow. “I could take all your clothes. You wouldn’t be able to leave.”

“We don’t have time, love. I can’t miss the flight.”

“Why not? Why don’t we just – vanish, just go have adventures all over England.”

She looked at him, those rich golden brown eyes, the taut body, that smile. How she wanted to stay, but if she stayed, where would this go?

“I just want to keep watching,” she said. “Watching you. You watching me. I don’t want to look away.”

“Then don’t,” he said. “Stay with me.”

“You know I can’t.”

“I know you won’t,” he said.


But it wasn’t a sad ending, or even, really, an ending at all. Twice a week, they visited online, watching each other get off to watching each other.

Every other month, he flew to her, or she flew to him. 

Sometimes, they left the blinds up in the windows of his loft. Sometimes, they stripped naked in hotel pools. Sometimes they filmed each other. But mostly, it was just them, watching each other in mirrors and windows and phone screens.

A few years went by that way. 

They saw other people between visits; they tried, anyway. 

Until one day, when they met up, they found they weren’t watching each other at all. They were just feeling, just being, just  — together.

And that was when they both decided to stay that way.