I was bent over, scrubbing the hood of my car with a sponge, the sun warm on my back and the faint hum of music in my ears. The water from the hose had soaked through my loose white tee, clinging to my skin in a way that felt both careless and deliberate. I wasn’t thinking about anything in particular—just the rhythm of the task, the way the soap suds slid down the windshield, the occasional breeze that brushed against my bare thighs. My running shorts were riding up a little, but I didn’t care. It was just me, my car, and the quiet of the neighborhood.Then the sponge slipped from my hand, landing with a soft plop on the driveway. I sighed, bending down to grab it, my shorts hiking up even more as I reached. The cool air kissed the back of my thighs, and for a moment, I felt exposed—not in a bad way, just… aware. When I straightened up, sponge in hand, I turned around casually, and there he was.My neighbor. The one who had moved in a few months ago. He was leaning against his fence, arms crossed, watching me. Not in a creepy way, not like he was trying to hide it. Just… watching. His plain white shirt clung to his chest in the heat, and his joggers hung low on his hips. He had this calm, almost lazy expression on his face, like he’d been standing there for a while and didn’t feel the need to explain himself.Our eyes met, and I felt a flicker of something—curiosity, maybe? I gave him a small smile, the kind you give when you’re not sure what else to do. He nodded back, slow and deliberate, then pushed off the fence and walked away, his pace unhurried, like he had all the time in the world.I stood there for a moment, sponge dripping in my hand, my heart beating just a little faster than it should have. Did he just…? I shook my head, trying to brush it off. It was nothing. Just a neighbor being neighborly. But the way he’d looked at me—like he’d seen something he wasn’t supposed to—stuck with me for the rest of the day.I kept waiting for him to show up again, to say something, to do something. But he didn’t. The hours passed, and I found myself glancing out the window more than usual, half-expecting to see him standing there, leaning against his fence like he owned it. But he never came.The next morning, though, he was there. I stepped outside to grab the mail, and there he was, watering his plants with a hose in one hand, his other tucked into the pocket of his joggers. He glanced up when he saw me, and for a second, our eyes locked again. This time, I didn’t smile. I just held his gaze, feeling a strange thrill run through me. He didn’t look away either. He just stood there, water trickling from the hose, his expression unreadable.I went back inside, but I couldn’t stop thinking about him. There was something about the way he watched me—calm, steady, like he knew exactly what he was doing. It wasn’t creepy. It was… intriguing. And maybe a little hot.A few days later, I decided to test the waters. Literally. I pulled on a white tee—no bra—and a pair of running shorts that were just short enough to make me feel daring. I grabbed the hose and started washing my car again, this time with a little more intention. I made sure to bend over a little more than necessary, letting the water soak through my shirt until it clung to my skin. I could feel the coolness of it against my chest, the way it made everything just a little more… visible.I didn’t look over at his house right away. I waited, scrubbing the car with deliberate slowness, letting the tension build. When I finally glanced over, he was there. Leaning against his fence again, arms crossed, watching me. This time, he didn’t look away when our eyes met. He just stood there, his gaze steady, his expression calm but with a hint of something else—something that made my stomach flip.I straightened up slowly, letting the sponge drip onto the driveway. “Hey,” I called out, my voice casual but with a slight edge to it.He raised an eyebrow, a small smirk playing on his lips. “Hey.”There was a pause, the kind that feels heavy with unspoken words. I could feel my heart pounding in my chest, but I kept my expression neutral. “You always watch your neighbors wash their cars?” I asked, tilting my head slightly.He shrugged, his smirk widening just a little. “Only when they make it worth watching.”I felt a flush creep up my neck, but I didn’t look away. “Is that so?”He pushed off the fence and took a step closer, his eyes never leaving mine. “Yeah,” he said, his voice low and smooth. “It is.”I swallowed hard, my fingers tightening around the sponge. “Well,” I said, forcing a casual tone, “maybe you should come over and help next time.”He chuckled softly, the sound sending a shiver down my spine. “Maybe I will.”

I was bent over, scrubbing the hood of my car with a sponge, the sun warm on my back and the faint hum of music in my ears. The water from the hose had soaked through my loose white tee, clinging to my skin in a way that felt both careless and deliberate. I wasn’t thinking about anything in particular—just the rhythm of the task, the way the soap suds slid down the windshield, the occasional breeze that brushed against my bare thighs. My running shorts were riding up a little, but I didn’t care. It was just me, my car, and the quiet of the neighborhood.

Then the sponge slipped from my hand, landing with a soft *plop* on the driveway. I sighed, bending down to grab it, my shorts hiking up even more as I reached. The cool air kissed the back of my thighs, and for a moment, I felt exposed—not in a bad way, just… aware. When I straightened up, sponge in hand, I turned around casually, and there he was.

My neighbor. The one who had moved in a few months ago. He was leaning against his fence, arms crossed, watching me. Not in a creepy way, not like he was trying to hide it. Just… watching. His plain white shirt clung to his chest in the heat, and his joggers hung low on his hips. He had this calm, almost lazy expression on his face, like he’d been standing there for a while and didn’t feel the need to explain himself.

Our eyes met, and I felt a flicker of something—curiosity, maybe? I gave him a small smile, the kind you give when you’re not sure what else to do. He nodded back, slow and deliberate, then pushed off the fence and walked away, his pace unhurried, like he had all the time in the world.

I stood there for a moment, sponge dripping in my hand, my heart beating just a little faster than it should have. _Did he just…?_ I shook my head, trying to brush it off. It was nothing. Just a neighbor being neighborly. But the way he’d looked at me—like he’d seen something he wasn’t supposed to—stuck with me for the rest of the day.

I kept waiting for him to show up again, to say something, to do something. But he didn’t. The hours passed, and I found myself glancing out the window more than usual, half-expecting to see him standing there, leaning against his fence like he owned it. But he never came.

The next morning, though, he was there. I stepped outside to grab the mail, and there he was, watering his plants with a hose in one hand, his other tucked into the pocket of his joggers. He glanced up when he saw me, and for a second, our eyes locked again. This time, I didn’t smile. I just held his gaze, feeling a strange thrill run through me. He didn’t look away either. He just stood there, water trickling from the hose, his expression unreadable.

I went back inside, but I couldn’t stop thinking about him. There was something about the way he watched me—calm, steady, like he knew exactly what he was doing. It wasn’t creepy. It was… intriguing. And maybe a little hot.

A few days later, I decided to test the waters. Literally. I pulled on a white tee—no bra—and a pair of running shorts that were just short enough to make me feel daring. I grabbed the hose and started washing my car again, this time with a little more intention. I made sure to bend over a little more than necessary, letting the water soak through my shirt until it clung to my skin. I could feel the coolness of it against my chest, the way it made everything just a little more… visible.

I didn’t look over at his house right away. I waited, scrubbing the car with deliberate slowness, letting the tension build. When I finally glanced over, he was there. Leaning against his fence again, arms crossed, watching me. This time, he didn’t look away when our eyes met. He just stood there, his gaze steady, his expression calm but with a hint of something else—something that made my stomach flip.

I straightened up slowly, letting the sponge drip onto the driveway. “Hey,” I called out, my voice casual but with a slight edge to it.

He raised an eyebrow, a small smirk playing on his lips. “Hey.”

There was a pause, the kind that feels heavy with unspoken words. I could feel my heart pounding in my chest, but I kept my expression neutral. “You always watch your neighbors wash their cars?” I asked, tilting my head slightly.

He shrugged, his smirk widening just a little. “Only when they make it worth watching.”

I felt a flush creep up my neck, but I didn’t look away. “Is that so?”

He pushed off the fence and took a step closer, his eyes never leaving mine. “Yeah,” he said, his voice low and smooth. “It is.”

I swallowed hard, my fingers tightening around the sponge. “Well,” I said, forcing a casual tone, “maybe you should come over and help next time.”

He chuckled softly, the sound sending a shiver down my spine. “Maybe I will.”

In "Wet and Watched," a young woman living in a quiet neighborhood finds herself the object of her attractive neighbor's gaze while washing her car. As she begins to notice his intentional glances and lingering stares, she decides to take control and turn the tables, leading to a charged and provocative encounter. The story explores themes of voyeurism, exhibitionism, and the thrill of being watched, as the protagonist uses her neighbor's interest to her advantage.

I caught my neighbor watching me bend over while I wash my car

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