As I shut the front door, Celia poked her head out of her sitting room at the back of the hall and said, “Care for a drink?”

“That would be lovely, Ms. Zhang. Let me wash up.”

I took off my hat, shoes, and overcoat and went to wash my face and hands. It had not been a tiresome day, but I felt better joining her in her private space after cleaning off the daily grime. She gave me a healthy discount on the rent of her extra bedroom in return for maintenance around her house and other properties. Better, we chatted warmly each day in the living room and kitchen, but otherwise she gave me the same privacy she demanded from me; in the three years I had lived with her, I had been invited into what she called her sun room six times, three times on my birthday and three times on New Year’s as one of a stream of well-wishers, and I had never seen the inside of several other rooms.

When I entered, she handed me a glass of liquor that a whiff proved to be scotch, and as she lifted a glass in salute, I stared at her in shock and awe. In place of her customary dress buttoned to the neck and falling below her knees, she was dressed in a blue silk robe. After she took a deep sip, she sat on the couch and gestured to a chair facing her on the left.

We made small talk about our days for a minute, and then she looked out the window across from the couch. The evening sun shone brightly enough on her that I found it hard to look at her for long, and she couldn’t look into the sun at all that transformed her into a shining vision in blinding blue against a healthy tan that shone against the pitch black of her hair with filigree of silver; her robe came down almost to her knees when she stood, but they were halfway up her thighs when she settled herself.

“You’re a fine young man. Why haven’t you married?”

I had heard this talk from any number of women in their 40s and simply shrugged. “You’re a fine woman. Why haven’t you?”

She guffawed and looked fixedly at me. “You’ve never smuggled a woman into my house.”

“Nor a man. Nor have you, I think.”

She gazed long and hard at me and said, “You must be lonely. That’s not healthy, you know.”

“How was your last checkup?”

She guffawed again and shifted on the couch so that the hem of her robe rose another inch. “Perfect health. Body of a woman half my age, the doctor said.”

“My second opinion concurs.”

She smiled and raised her glass to me, and as she took a sip her hem rose a little more. After a moment she said, “I read once that medieval monks often took their vows of chastity so seriously they basically stopped enjoying life to the full before they were eighteen. That is so incredibly tragic.”

“The past is a different country.”

“A truly foreign country. An almost inhuman one.”

“I’m sure many of them lapsed now and again.”

“Do you think so? I hope they did!”

“It’s the nuns I wonder about.”

She waved her had dismissively. “It’s much more private for women; I doubt anyone noticed.” She had moved so that the hem of her robe was almost at the top of her left thigh and only a little lower on her right, and I shifted uncomfortably in my seat to hide my erection, though to little success.

She glanced at my lap and smiled, “For example, I know what you’re thinking. You have no idea about me.”

“You do seem to have me at a disadvantage, yes.”

She guffawed again, the sash of her robe slipping so that the join on top slid down three or four inches, displaying creamy breast and dark shadow. “Men are so obvious. Always staring or peeking or leering, most of you lot. Looking at women like we’re on display for you.” She took a sip, “Sometimes we are.” She looked into my eyes, “Other times we’re not.”

She had leaned over onto her left elbow, and now she resettled herself so that she rested on her left hip. Her robe showed a great gap at the neck hinting that her breast was fully open to eyes directly above them, and her legs were crossed demurely, except that the hem was raised enough that if only there weren’t shadow, one might hope to make out the color of her panties.

“And men are so rarely on display for us. We so rarely get to possess you with our eyes, watch you as we wish, experience every hint of your arousal. You have magazines, you have movies, you have your ever-present intrusive gaze. Just watching, staring, welcome or no, at a nipple here, a hemline there, a wardrobe failure on a lucky day.”

She shifted her thigh slightly so that I could just see in the deep shadow cast by the sun close to setting that what I thought was black satin was in fact her fur. “You may gaze at me now, take possession of the sight of me now…if I get the same.” She stared fixedly into my eyes and said, “My gift, in trade for yours…”

I stood and stripped as she devoured the sight of each part of me, and soon enough I stood nude and fully erect before her. I watched, blind to anything else in the world, as she languorously undid her sash and let it fall to the couch, her right breast exposed in the blinding sunlight. She then slowly lifted the other side of the robe to fall behind her, lying on her side before me against a shimmering sea of blue silk. She lifted her left knee from the couch so that her thick thatch was less covered at the join of her plump thighs. I looked slowly from her hair to her solid hips, her solid belly, her waist and up her sides to where her breasts sagged one onto the other, then up her solid neck to her face and her shining eyes completing a similar trip over me.

“I’ve seen your magazines in the drawer. I know what you do. But I’m better, as you can see. All real in the flesh. They stared at the camera, I’ll stare at you. I’ll deliver what they only promise. Show me how you need that.” She glanced down at my cock and back up to my eyes. “Show me what you showed them.”

I nodded and reached down to begin stroking. I stared at her breasts, her hips, her triangle, and back to her breasts, excited to greater heights as she moved slightly to show herself to me from one angle or another. After a minute she answered my need, raising her left knee, sliding her foot up behind her left shin to her knee, then shifting her right leg so that she was splayed open to me, legs in a diamond shape.

Her lips were wet and peeked out dark pink from the thick black jungle around them; she tilted her hips so that she was fully open to me, and after a few seconds drinking in my fascinated stare she reached down and ran her fingertips lightly along them, leisurely stroking as I kept a slow, steady rhythm. Soon her fingertips were wet and the squishing of her juices filled my ears. She opened her lips for me to see the tunnel within and then slowly circled just inside with the tip of her index finger as she stared at me.

“I must have twenty years’ practice at this,” she said quietly, “yet I’ve never meant to show it to a man. All those men staring at me, demure and quiet, an inscrutable, simplistic Oriental woman, either a servant or a courtesan or a chaste sexless statue. Does it shock you? Seeing me like this, a real woman, offering her to your eyes, drinking you in, feeding your flames as you feed mine?”

“Shock? No.”

“Surprise at least?”

“Yes, oh yes.”

She nodded. “And you love it, don’t you, a real woman who needs the sight of you as she does what she’s done thousands of times? The first time she intended to share it with a man?”

“Yes. I didn’t think it was possible.”

“For you or for me?”

“Both.”

“Am I as beautiful as you imagined all those times you thought of me, practicing for now?”

“More.”

She smiled, “So you have thought of me.”

“A hundred times or more.”

She pouted, “Is that all? Only a hundred?”

“Or more. I didn’t keep count.”

She chuckled, “Only this one counts.”

By this time she had three fingers deep inside her and her other hand was furiously circling her clitoris. She gasped, “You finish with me. Here.” She rolled over to lie on her back and had me crouch between her knees, her body flat out before me like the mirage of a feast. “Don’t touch, just look.”

I had my cock firmly in hand and stroked at a slightly slower pace than she had set for herself as she turned from a reasonably attractive older woman into the essence of raw female sexuality. Her hips circled as she worked vigorously inside herself, the light of the sun striking us at a lower angle that left sharp shadows on her body. She watched me closely and said quietly, “The sight of you, wanting me so much as you watch me. Come on me, give me your seed.”

She thrust up hard against her hands and moaned, “Cover me with your come,” as I stopped trying to control myself. I gasped and moaned and at the end screamed as my fist flew in a blur. The first spurt shout out of me up to her left breast, and the rest landed on her belly and her hairy mount and speckled her robe. We both stared at the white hot streaks shooting onto her and her release started in the middle of my orgasm. She squealed as she stared unseeingly at me, her hands a blur above her thrusting hips, and finally collapsed as the sunset shone on her glistening sweat.

I moved to lie atop her and she stopped me as her face transformed from post-orgasmic bliss to fury. She said quietly, “No. Do not touch me. Never dream of touching me, you worthless shit. Sit down away from me and get your last sight of the beautiful body you will never have. You will be leaving my house tonight. You are never sleeping in that bedroom again.”

I goggled as I collapsed in confusion at the end of the couch facing her as she stayed splayed open and cum-drenched to tantalize and mock me. She smiled in satisfaction. “You could have asked, you could have seduced me like a civilized man, and I would have been happy to say yes. But staring at me on the sly! A fucking piece-of-shit voyeur! Peeping on me when you had no right, no invitation, just taking what you wanted, watching me like a public show. Typical entitled white asshole ruling the roost like some half-bit cock of the walk, think because I’m a lousy Chinese woman my privacy and my choice are nothing, that you can just ogle my body like a fucking toy.”

I goggled at her. “But…”

“You think I have a thing for you anymore?” She laughed coldly. “You used me, so I used you. We’re even and we’re quits.”

“What?”

“Cut the shit, you voyeur asshole. You watched me yesterday afternoon when I was in here by myself. You know what I think of that.”

“I did not.”

“You were in the back yard yesterday.”

“Shortly after I got home, yes. You know that. Checked the stonework back there. Then I came in after…oh, ten minutes. Then I went upstairs to my room.”

“I heard you at the window when I came. You were watching me. You snuck back out and crept to the window like a snake.  The bushes rustled when you left.”

In shock and woe I said quietly, “No. No, that didn’t happen.”

Just then the sun sank behind the wall and Celia screamed. I followed her eyes to the window in time to catch sight of the face now visible once the bright direct sun had flashed off; its eyes opened wide and the lips rounded in fear at realizing it was suddenly visible, and it ducked away to the right as the bushes shook with a body’s passage. After a second we looked at each other in shock that soon cracked into laughter.

“Who was it, did you see?”

I said, “It was that college girl who lives down the street, the Indian one, I think she is.”

“A girl?”

“Yeah, and not even an entitled white one.”

“Asshole.” She laughed. “Both of you.”

“I hope she liked the show.”

“I think I’ll pay her a visit tomorrow. We’ll have a nice chat over tea while I put the fear of eternal heaven into her.”

“Be nice to your new female admirer.”

She grimaced, “Like hell I will.”

I grinned, “So, I get to keep my bedroom?”

She stared at me in surprise. “No, of course not. You have ten minutes to get what you need and move it into mine.”