By Tsukki

"Thank you very helping me move these boxes in," I told my new neighbor, Susan.

"Your welcome, Tsukki," she said, butchering the pronunciation of my name and not meaning her reply at the same time. "Phil wasn't doing anything today anyway."

I smiled. Phil wasn't as uneager as she tried to make him sound. The blond man had been watching me from his window when I first drove up and I could see the anxiety on his face when I started to unpack. He couldn't wait to help the beautiful Asian woman who had moved in next door.

"Your husband is very strong," I commented.

Susan snorted.

"What is in all these boxes?" Phil asked. His eyes fell to the opening in my shirt and the pale swell of my breasts. My short nature often allowed men to see down my blouse. It wasn't accidental.

"They hold my paintings," I said.

Susan and Phil looked around them with a start.

"How many do you have?" Susan asked.

"More than I should," I admitted. I touched Phil on the arm and if I didn't have him before, I knew I had him now by the warm flush on his face. "Thank you for your strength this day."

Susan was perturbed and took her husband's arm. "What kind of paintings do you do?"

"Completely inappropriate!" my husband snapped.

He dropped my painting to the floor and I winced as the corner bent. I resisted the urge to pick it up. Instead, I just stood there with my head bowed respectfully.

"Sex! That is all you paint!" my husband ranted. "My position demands a wife who pursues more acceptable pursuits. You are over fifty my wife! Your mind should not be polluted with such base things. Why can't you draw mountains and streams like the governor's wife?"

"Because sex is more beautiful," I replied.

My husband snarled and commanded me to not paint any more lewd pictures.

The next morning I went outside to sweep my sidewalk. Across the street several teenagers stood waiting for the school bus. I knew they were staring at me, and why shouldn't they? I was exotic. I was new in their neighborhood and something they may never see again. My Asian features were inscrutable. I could have been anywhere from eighteen to thirty years old in their minds.

My long black hair was loose blowing in the morning wind. I was also only wearing my lightest of kimonos; a pink robe with yellow dragons. My hips swayed back and forth as I swept and I could feel my kimono opening around my chest as I worked. I neglected to wear a bra this morning, something the boys across the street were sure to notice.

I bent down to pick up something that didn't exist and I snuck a glance at them. All of them were looking at me. At school they will talk about me. At home they will fantasize about me.

They too were now mine.

"Tsukki, I warned you not to paint any more of this filth," my husband said.

"You did," I said respectfully. He discovered that I was not going to the garden shrine every morning to meditate. I found that the mornings were best time to paint for I carried the glow with me all day long.

"You have disobeyed me for the last time," my husband warned. "Tomorrow, they all burn and if I catch you painting again, I will ask the governor to send you to the nuns to clean your wicked ways."

"Of course," I answered, with as much venom as I could summon yet still be respectful.

"You're new here," the older man said. I find that Americans love to state the obvious. A walk around the block had produced quite a few stares but no introductions till now. But then, he was getting his mail and just happened to be by the street.

"Yes, my name is Tsukki," I said as I offered my hand, fingers down.

His face lit up. At his age, it must have been years since a woman offered her hand like a lady. He took my hand gently and gave me a slight squeeze. I liked how delicate he treated me.

"My name is Ned," he said. "I visited Korea when I was younger. The people were very nice"

I didn't tell him my home was Japan.

"I find the people here to be nice too," I replied. "I haven't meet many of my neighbors yet, but those that I have have been pleasant. I think my questions of where the grocery store is and where can I find good paints tend to exhaust their patience."

He frowned briefly. "Well if you need someone to show you around town, you can always ask me. I'm usually home all day. You said that you paint? What do you paint? My son paints houses but I imagine you do something nicer."

"I paint my desires," I told him. The shy smile that came to his lips warmed my heart.

He was mine now.

I gathered my paintings together for one last look before my husband burned them. The variety amazed even me. Where did such carnal images come from? Why did they never cease to excite me? I had paintings of couples, groups and even of people alone, pleasing themselves. They were all beautiful and I hated that they must all perish.

"They are beautiful," a voice said.

I turned to see a strange man. He was tall, almost as tall as the strange barbarians we have heard so much about. His hair was black but his beard was yellow though sometimes when he turned his head, his beard appeared red. An expensive robe adorned him and on it were patterns of tigers and dragons. My cheeks burned when I realized the tigers and dragons were mating.

"You have much talent, Tsukki," he said. "With much practice you will be the greatest artist of all time."

"Thank you," I said. "But I can paint no longer by the command of my husband and I am too old to wait for his death."

The strange man chuckled. "You are old, Tsukki, but that can be fixed. What if I said I could give you the chance to live long enough to paint to your heart's content? What if I could free you from your husband and the chains of any man?"

"I would say that you had to be either a God or an Oni," I replied.

He thought about it. "I am both. I will give you these gifts for a price. Every ten years, I will take your six best paintings. They will hang in my Crystal Palace until the end of all time. Is this offer fair?"

"What is the trick?" I asked.

"No tricks," he said. "Just consider me the best patron an artist could ever have."

I agreed. He approached me and took my wrinkled face in his hands and kissed me. It was strange. I felt two tongues enter my mouth.

"Tonight, sleep with your husband if you wish to save your paintings in the morning."

At the grocery store I couldn't find any of the foods I craved. It was no surprise. I didn't plan to stay in town long, maybe a year or three so I knew I could make do. I would have to dig out my old recipes and make most of my food myself. It would take time away from my painting, but I would live and there will always be more time for my art.

I requested the bagger to carry my food to my car and he readily agreed. He was too shy to speak but I could feel his eyes on my bottom as I walked in front of him. I was wearing jeans, something my first husband would have fainted at if they were invented in his time. My jeans clung to my legs and ass in such a way that nothing was left to the imagination.

"Thank you very much," I said when he dropped my bags into the car. His name tag said he was called Sean.

"No problem," he said quietly and rushed off. When I pulled out of the parking lot, I caught him spying at me from store entrance. There was wistfulness in his eyes I knew well.

There was no doubt that he was mine.

For my husband I painted my face white. I wore my prettiest shoes and my most expensive hairpins. He was surprised when I came to his chambers but his arrogant smile told me he thought this was a bribe for tomorrow's burning. It didn't stop him taking me to his bed.

He made love and I had sex. There was a passionate quality in our joining that hadn't been there before. My thighs clenched around him and his mouth never ceased adoring me. I could feel the magic tingling against our bodies but he was too busy thrusting to notice. When he spilled his seed, his moan was like that of a tortured soul.

The next morning, I was younger. It was only by a year but a woman notices these things. One less wrinkle here, a few pounds missing here and darkening of my white hair told me that the stranger had not lied. I would have years a-plenty.

Also that morning, my husband neglected to burn my paintings. He hinted that he could be distracted from his threat by another night like last night. Because he was a man that thought with his groin and not his eyes; he didn't notice that his wrinkles had deepened and that his hair was thinner.