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Lucky guy makes love to Laurie at the beach.

I could figure out who you were from the floor and the position of your apartment on the fire exit map on the wall."

"Clever of you."

"I thought so. I know you turned out the lights, but you apparently were not aware that the outside lights reflect off the lens of your binoculars."

This was one clever girl. "So why are you calling?" I asked.

"I've been spying on you as well, and you look like a nice older man who lives by himself. I wondered if you might like to come over and have a glass of wine with me? I have a proposal to make to you."

Was she kidding? I had no idea what she was up to. But what did I have to lose? "All right," I said.

"How about tomorrow at seven? Just buzz my name at the entrance, and I'll let you up."

"Which was?"

"Kathy Walton."

"All right." I could not resist. But what was going on here? Was she a hooker? Was she a serial killer? I had to find out.

The next night, promptly at seven and carrying a bottle of fine Bordeaux, I buzzed her name-and she buzzed me up.

"Hi!" she said when she opened the door of her 18th floor apartment, "I'm Kathy Walton." She held out her hand, and I took it.

My God, I thought, she's even prettier than I had thought. She was about five foot six, was wearing a blue denim dress, and had a chocolate-colored scarf about her neck. Her blond hair, which fell to her shoulders, certainly looked like the real thing and not dyed. "And I'm Donald Shakespeare," I said.

She laughed. "I never met a Shakespeare before. You should be a professor of English."

"That's exactly what I was before I retired a few months ago."

"Then we're in the same profession-in a sense. I'm an elementary school teacher. In the Bronx."

"Good for you."

"Would you like a glass of wine?"

"Of course. And I brought you this." I handed her the bottle of Bordeaux.

"Fine. We'll have that." She took the bottle and went to the kitchen. I sat down at a chair in the living room. She returned a few minutes later with two glasses of wine, handed me one, and sat opposite me.

"Let me get right to the point before I lose my nerve," she said. "First of all: I'm a very good girl, I'm the daughter of a Methodist minister in New Jersey, I've never been married, but as the result of a lapse in judgment, I'm no longer a virgin, and for some strange reason, I guess I'm an exhibitionist, and I like the idea of your watching me," she said. "There, I've said it."

I laughed. "I admire your candor." I toasted her with the wine, and she took a sip of hers.

"I know some people would say I'm insane inviting a strange older man into my apartment. But I've been watching you for awhile, and I think I have a pretty good idea of what you're like: a retired academic-because of your books-a widower and generally a pretty nice guy."

"Which I am."

"So I would like to make you a proposition: Instead of watching me from a distance of fifty feet, how would you like to watch me from a distance of five feet, in my bedroom?"

"You're kidding me."

"No, I'm not kidding you. Here's the deal: I've never seen a man masturbate, and I would like to. If I let you watch me first, then you have to let me watch you after."

I could not believe it. This was the strangest offer I've ever had in my life.

"So we have a deal?"

"Yes...we have a deal."

"Good." She stood up. "Then follow me." She drank the rest of her wine and walked to the bedroom. I followed her. She took a white terrycloth robe out of the closet and turned. "I want to take a shower first."

"Okay."

I sat on the chair she had conveniently placed at the end of the bed.

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