I walked a few paces behind my wife as we strolled through clothing store after clothing store. She wasn't looking for anything in particular like I would have if I had gone shopping. If I needed a pair of black pants, I'd go to my usual store, grab one in my size, sometimes even try it on, and buy it. I'd do anything to get it over with as quickly as possible. But for her, the search was the fun part. So I tagged along.

The only saving grace, other than making my wife happy, was that she wasn't the only woman in those stores. So while my wife looked at the clothing, I looked at the women. In one store, an Asian woman caught my eye. She had just stepped out from behind the dressing room curtain and was talking to the salesgirl. She was more cute than beautiful, but what caught my attention were her breasts. Not that I'm a breast man, but hers sat high on her chest and jutted out with a wobble that shouted "no bra." To say I was enthralled was an understatement; I bumped into my wife and had to stammer an apology.

I tried not to gawk, but I kept looking at the woman. The top she was trying on was yellow in color and, being summer, was made of a light-weight material. The spaghetti straps were the only ones on her shoulders. I didn't even realize I had ignored my wife until she tugged my arm.

"I said I'm going to try these on," she said, clutching more clothes under her arm than I buy in a year.

I nodded.

When she walked towards the dressing rooms and the Asian woman, my heart beat faster and my step quickened as I followed. The changing area was a long corridor with four dressing rooms running along one side and my wife walked to the farthest one. The Asian woman stood at the first one, the one I was now standing near.

Busy talking to the salesgirl, the woman turned this way and that, modeling the yellow top with the tag hanging out the back collar. I wasn't staring at the tag, but her breasts. Imagine a pear with a wide base. That was the shape. The tips swelled with her puffy areolas and maybe a hint of nipples.

And then the Asian woman flipped the dressing room curtain to the side and disappeared behind it. The curtain widened as she stretched it from end to end, and then it stilled. With the show over, I looked around and sat in the chair next to where I was standing. It was more an ottoman than a chair so I had to lean against the wall for comfort. Bored as usual, I looked around the store for another woman to watch and then glanced at the dressing room area. I noticed a gap between the wall and the curtain.

When I focused on the space, I was looking right at a full-length mirror. And the reflection in the mirror was the Asian woman. It was as if she were facing me, like an eye chart in the optometrist's office. To get the correct distance, the doctor reflects the image that's behind you into a mirror you're facing. To you, it seems like the letters are in front of you. It was the same with the dressing room mirror. It was as if the woman was facing me.

All I saw were two breasts with dark, fat areolas. The image was so clear that I felt like reaching out and placing my hands on those breasts. All of a sudden, fear of discovery overcame me so I averted my eyes. With the brief image of those breasts burned in my mind, I sat on the ottoman staring into the main part of the store.

Unable to resist, I turned back. And it was worth it. Whether I was looking at a reflection or the real thing didn't matter. I was staring at the profile of the woman, completely naked except for a pair of tight, black bikini panties. It was a voyeur's dream to look at a woman only a few feet away wearing nothing but panties and not knowing she was being watched. Nothing but golden skin on a body with great tits that stood out on their own, a flat tummy, hips providing an hourglass figure, round butt, and thighs and calves with just the right definition. And of course the panties that no one was supposed to see. It was like peeking into her bedroom window.

I again chickened out and turned away. I didn't want to, but felt the need. The dread of being caught made me look away. However, my willpower wasn't strong enough so I looked again. She now wore a bra. Her tits were covered, but she was bending over which gave me a great view of the black panties stretched across her ass. I ogled the lush curves of her buttocks and the bit of crack peeking from the top of her panties. When she stood up I reacted and looked away, but not for long. I was drawn back to the gap in the curtain. The woman stood erect, fluffing her straight black hair as it bounced on her shoulders. And then she stared into the mirror as she smoothed her shirt. My eyes dropped to her crotch.

I said earlier that I was not a breast man. I've always been intrigued by the crotch area, and seeing even a glimpse of panties under a girl's skirt was a major turn-on. Maybe it's because it's the area a woman would most carefully protect from being seen. So the puffiness of her tight panties covering her pussy was a real turn-on. My eyes were drawn to it like a paperclip to a magnet. I even leaned forward to be sure that I saw a few dark hairs poking out from the leg band.

A part of me realized I had been staring for a long time so I glanced up. Our eyes locked. There was no doubt she was watching me looking at her. My breathing stopped. My body stiffened. My jaw dropped.

My head spun around to face the main room. My heart beat fast and my palms were sweating. I expected a scream. I expected to be labeled a pervert and ridiculed by everyone in the store. I wondered how I would explain it to my wife. I wanted to bolt from the ottoman and run out of the store and keep running until I was far away. But I couldn't. My wife was still in the dressing room. So I did nothing, except stare forward and rub my palms back and forth on my thighs.

I forced myself not to turn when the Asian woman walked by me. I ignored her when she said, "Enjoy the show?"

I would normally have pretended not to hear her, or make believe I had no idea what she was talking about, but when I looked at her butt, molded in a pair of shorts, and remembered what it looked like in only black, skimpy panties, I said, "I wish I could return the favor."

The woman stopped and so did my breathing. Why did I say that? She would have left the store and I would have gotten away with it. Now I was going to be embarrassed, and what was I going to tell my wife?

The woman looked over her shoulder and studied me. I just knew I was going to get yelled at, and then everyone in the store would know that I was a Peeping Tom. But she didn't yell; she smiled and turned to face me.

"What do you mean?" she asked.

"I'm sorry, are you talking to me?"

"You said you wish you could return the favor."

I didn't know what to do. She was confronting me, but didn't look angry. What should I do? Pretend I didn't say it? That could get her angry.

"I'm sorry, it's just that I felt bad about what happened and thought it only fair that if I saw, um, that it would be fair if you, um..." I rambled and finally gave up without finishing.

"That's so sweet," she said. "I think I'll take you up on your offer."

"What!"

"I think it's only fair for me to see you after you saw me."

I stared up at her like a ten-year-old trying to understand an advanced Physics professor's lecture. She must have seen my confusion because she smiled and said, "Please come in with me."

The woman went back into the dressing room. She didn't bother adjusting the curtain and I could see her reflection in the mirror, standing there, waiting. I stood up and stepped over the imaginary threshold to the area men were not allowed. I looked back into the store. No one was watching so I ducked into the dressing room and spent more time pulling both sides of the curtain against the wall than she had. I even pressed my cheek against the wall, and with one eye closed like I was looking through a gun sight, checked to see if there was a gap. Then I did the same on the other side. When I turned around, I almost bumped into her. The room wasn't large.

"So what did you mean when you said you'd like to return the favor?" she asked.

"I was embarrassed that you caught me looking and felt ashamed for doing it," I said while lowering my eyes. "So I thought if I saw what I wasn't supposed to see, then it would only be fair if you saw parts of me you aren't supposed to. I'm sorry, it was a dumb thing to say, but I was embarrassed and felt bad about spying on you. It just came out."

"Okay."

I looked up. "Okay what?"

"Let me see your dick."

"What!"

"You said that would be fair and I agree."

"Are you trying to embarrass me more?"

"No, I really want to see it."

"Why?"

"Why did you look at me when I didn't have clothes on?"

I felt my cheeks redden. "It was exciting."

"Same for me. You think only guys like to look?"

"But what if someone comes in?"

"No one will."

I studied her face. She was serious. After checking the curtain again, I unzipped my pants and fished out my cock, blushing even more than before. The woman gazed at my cock and smiled.

"Was it hard before?" she asked.

"When?"

"When you saw me naked."

"Yeah, I guess."

"You guess?"

"Yes, it was hard."

"Why isn't it hard now?"

"I'm sorry, but this is kind of embarrassing and--"

"And?"

"Well, you didn't have clothes on."

She pulled her shirt over her head and looked down again with a disappointed expression.

"Well, that isn't it," she said.

"You didn't have your bra on before."

To my utter shock, she unclasped her bra and dropped it to the floor. Those luscious breasts that I saw in the mirror were right before me. Her skin was darker than women I've known and her areolas were much darker. And I was right -- the areolas were puffy, but the nipples were not long, just thick.

I looked up at the woman's face to see her smiling. She was looking down so I followed her gaze to my hard cock.

"So you like my tits?" she asked.

"They're beautiful. Are they real?"

"You bet they are. You think all Chinese women have little tits, don't you? Well, they're real." Her eyebrows furrowed. "Don't believe me? Feel them. Go on, you'll see."

I raised my hands like someone walking in the dark. They hesitated in front of the woman's breasts so she took matters into her own hands, so to speak. She pressed my hands against her breasts. My fingers squeezed and sank into the warm flesh. I had never felt silicon implants, but there was nothing there but firm, soft flesh. I squeezed again. Her breasts felt wonderful, so firm, so warm, so large. Don't get me wrong, it wasn't like palming a basketball, but they were a handful.

"Are these what turned you on when you were looking at me?" she asked.

"Yes. Well, it's what I saw first so I kept looking. And I think they're lovely, but it wasn't what really turned me on."

"Oh?"

I saw the disappointment in her eyes and felt bad. "I mean they're great, but I saw more than your breasts."

"So what part of my body do you like better than my tits?"

"Well, there was something about seeing you in your panties."

"Do you want to see it again?"

"Yeah!" I blurted it out like a kid being told he could go on a ride at the county fair.

The woman unsnapped her shorts and seemed to take forever to lower the zipper. My mouth was dry and my breathing shallow. The shorts were tight so it took some effort to get them past her hips. That only added to the anticipation and my excitement. But once at her knees, she wiggled and let them fall to the floor and stepped out of them. My eyes locked on her crotch.

"So it's not my body you like," she said. I looked up in confusion. "You're not looking at my body. You're looking at only one place."

I blushed.

"Is this what turned you on?" she asked.

She framed her crotch by positioning her hands with her fingers together and extended as if she were going to shake hands. Her palms faced each other, and the pinky side of her hands rested on the leg bands of her panties forming an incomplete vee since her fingertips didn't meet.

"Yes," I said softly.

"So you like looking at my panties more than my naked breasts. Interesting. Or..." she tapped her chin and shifted so that one hip was higher, " ... is it my panties or what's beneath it?"

"Were you completely naked in here?" I said so loudly that I glanced at the curtain in panic.

"Oh, poor baby, you think you missed something? No, I had no reason to take them off."

She giggled when I pouted.

"Would you like me to take them off now?"

My eyes got big and I nodded vigorously.

"I will if you take your pants and underwear off, too."

I shed all my clothes almost before she finished the sentence.

She slipped a thumb into the waistband of her panties and stared at me. Then she stuck her other thumb inside the panties and pushed them down, but only far enough to show some pubic hair. I stood there breathless, panting, waiting. But they went no farther. I looked up at her smiling face.

"Do you want to do it?" she asked.

My hands shook as I reached for her panties. She waited for my fingers to slip under the waistband before withdrawing hers. Now that I was closer, the pubic hairs above the waistband were clearer, more distinct. They were dark and straighter than any pubic hairs I had ever seen. I brushed my thumb over them and was surprised at how soft they were. Not kinky like what I was accustomed to.

I filled my lungs with air and let it out slowly, and then I dragged the panties down. More black hair appeared and then more. Her body heat scorched my fingers as they brushed her skin. I squatted as I lowered her panties, bending my knees more with each downward push. Soon I was on my knees and her panties were stretched across her thighs. The patch of hair was at eye level.

Not able to resist, I pressed my face into her bush and sniffed. Her hair tickled my nose and cheeks, and her scent was a mixture of strawberry shampoo and arousal. She grabbed the back of my head and mashed my face into her as I pushed her panties down the rest of the way. Only then did her hands slide from the back of my head to the top while she supported herself to step out of her panties.

Now that my hands were free, I grabbed her buttocks and pulled her towards me, crushing her pussy to my face. My tongue lapped at her hair and anything it came into contact with until finding the buried treasure, her slit. I concentrated on that area and the woman shifted. Her knees bowed like a bronco rider and her hands were once again on the back of my head. I flicked my tongue. She moaned and doubled over. Her belly rested on the top of my head and soon the weight was too much. We collapsed in a heap of tangled arms and legs.