I almost did not recognize Leila when she showed up.  She had skin like a teenager's. In the bitter cold, she had on nothing below but black stockings, a cropped purple fur jacket on top, and a white V-neck knit beneath it. Her collarbones showed, and even drunk and aching all over, I swallowed hard. In our village, people cared about seniority. I called her Ms. Leila out of respect, although she was only four years older than me. That night, I had no idea how Leila managed to get me home. I was blind drunk and had tangled with some thugs, my face a swollen mess. I might have frozen in the street if it had not been for her. I woke the next day in a haze and found myself stark naked on the bed. Every trace of grime had been wiped away, and even my underwear was gone. Heat rushed to my face. I had drunk too much and blacked out through most of it. All I could recall were flashes of myself clinging to Leila, images I couldn't get out of my head. Looking at my bare body now, I could not help wondering whether I'd forced myself on her last night. While I wrestled with that thought, Leila burst in, flustered and breathless. She barely looked to see if I had anything on, flipped back the covers, and hauled me out. I hadn't expected her to be in such a hurry. Red to the tips of my ears, I covered myself and asked, "Maybe we should, you know, take things slow?" "Take what slow?" She blinked, then understood, and snapped, "You little brat. What's going on in that head of yours?" My face burned hotter. I griped to myself that she was the one who dragged me out of bed like that. I tried to play it straight out loud and asked why my clothes were gone. She shot me a look. "They were filthy. I washed them, but they aren't dry. Get in the closet and keep quiet, you hear me?" I nodded quickly. "Got it."  She let out a long breath, though there was still something in her eyes I couldn't place. Soon after, it sounded like Leila led a man into the room. Kissing and heavy breathing came right through the thin closet door. I could not see a thing, but every sound carried clear as day. It had me wound tight, more intense than peeking. Pure sound alone set my blood surging. The man seemed rough. In those harsh breaths, I heard fabric tear. Rustling sounds filled the room, along with Leila's panting. Soon, they had shifted to the bed. Amid the commotion, I could hear pounding noises and muffled gasps. The man muttered something crude and asked why she was so sensitive today.  Leila seemed unable to form a full sentence, her voice catching.  I knew why. Having me hidden in the closet made her feel mortified. The wardrobe doors barely muffled any sound. I could hear everything happening inside, and my imagination started filling in the details. Why was Leila giving me a live show? Listening to the room come alive, heat rose in my throat. In the dark, I tried to picture her and had to fight the impulse to fling the door open just to steal a glance. When I shifted my hand, my pinky hooked on something soft and silky that brushed my face. I touched it and realized it was Leila's underwear. I hesitated, then a dirty thought crossed my mind, and then the sounds outside quickened. The man was rough and, to be honest, quick. When everything went quiet, I did not dare move. I was terrified the slightest sound would give me away. Damn it, I thought bitterly. I had only spent a night at Leila's house, and somehow it had turned into the thrill of an illicit affair. No one would believe me if I said it out loud.  If I stepped out of that closet now, I would be taken for the other man and beaten to death. I thought I heard Leila let out a small, dissatisfied sigh.  After all, the man really had been quick. He did not plan to linger. He lit a cigarette, got dressed, and I heard the slap of a wad of cash hitting the bed. "Here, use this for now. I'll come back in a couple of days," he said, as casually as if they were talking about the weather. After a brief silence, Leila spoke. "Is your club hiring? I've got a nephew from our village… a college kid. His family ran into trouble. He wants work that pays." "Mm." A single, flat syllable. Then the door opened and closed. Only then did I let out a breath. Fear and desire had left me limp, like I was just getting over a bad fever. The closet door swung open. Leila stood there in a loose blue silk robe, her pretty face flushed. She was about to tell me to come out when her cheeks deepened to crimson. "You..." she sputtered. I realized I was still clutching her thong, and I was rock hard. The scene could not have been more mortifying. "Leila, I didn't mean to. You two were… really going at it." I tossed the thong back into the closet and covered myself with both hands. Explaining only made things even more awkward.  Her fair, delicate face went crimson, and she whispered, "Come out first, then we'll talk." "Okay," I mumbled, and stepped out, stiff as a post. As I came out, Leila never took her eyes off me. I could not tell what was on her mind. She reached out and brushed my arm with her fingers, her breath warm and sweet. "Andy, you're pretty fit."