We usually met at his apartment.
Gaining weight after being all too unhealthily employed again, each encounter happened under dimmer lighting than the last. Female pleasure, linked with pride (usually mislabeled prudence), in discontinuance, (no matter whose perspective you choose) as vitality separated from me.
Now affording my own privacy, he came to see me. Ground floor, no curtains, I neglected to keep the lamp on. No foreplay, my g-spot immediately betrayed me while having an out-of-body experience (also short-lived); watching myself shake superficially through temporary alleviation of sexual famine.
Sodomy would have felt more ethereal.
Weeks later, walking just after sunset, I spot a woman on the second floor from the back alley. I see head and shoulders facing the window and moving vertically through opened curtains. Her features hard to make out in much detail in front of the lamp light. She humps faster as I steadily approach my building.
Excitedly, I keep staring but hear no noises as I approach despite the window being open. Consequently losing interest, I stop gawking without considering it much.
In retrospect, I should have served her honourably by paying more attention; perhaps her intensity depended on it.