I was rooming in this boarding house at the time. When I originally moved in there was a reasonable mix of the sexes but for some reason or other whenever someone moved on it always turned out that they were replaced by another woman. After a few months I was the only male in the place. It didn't bother me and it didn't seem to bother any of the women, bar one.
There was this woman staying at the boarding house. She was one of the last women to move in. I'll call her Fatima, even though that isn't her name. She was of unknown age and unknown race, but her cultural background was very much evident. The unknowns were due to the cultural background. She wore a burka and appeared to believe everything she'd ever heard about loose Western morals.
With light brown eyes and a sweet voice she could have projected a nice image and become friends with the other women at the boarding house, but it was not to be. It was obvious from the start that I, a male, was not to be trusted and she always headed elsewhere if she was in one of the common rooms and I walked in. But the other women?
Fatima let them know what she thought of them and their morals. They didn't dress the way she did so their clothing was totally unacceptable. She didn't come right out and say so but she left the distinct impression that the other women were tarts and sluts of the worst type. She suspected that they were non-virgin (which was probably right) and I think she assumed that they got raped daily as a matter of course, but what else could they expect dressed the way they were?
Several of the girls tried to talk her around to a different point of view but she wasn't interested. Any arguments put forth were dismissed, with Fatima kindly explaining that it was a cultural issue and they wouldn't be able to understand. They'd been raised in a morally bankrupt culture so it was only to be expected that they'd dress that way. However she did understand that as the women were dressed to attract men they would just naturally have sex with any man who approached them. Why, even girls of her culture knew that if you deliberately teased a man you would be expected to have sex if the man wanted to.
As you can expect, this attitude didn't go down too well with the other women, and they tended not to talk to Fatima, letting her go her own way.
That was the situation when I arrived home in the middle of the afternoon one day. I expected the place to be deserted and was surprised when I walked into the kitchen to find Fatima sitting there. True to form she gave a little squeak and shot through. I shrugged, had a cup of coffee, and headed down the hall towards my room.
I thought I saw a glimpse of movement down the hall but looking closer I couldn't see anyone. Perhaps a door had been swinging in the wind. As I was passing Fatima's room I saw her door was slightly open, which was a first. Through the gap I could see Fatima's black-clad shape standing in front of her dressing table.
The next thing I saw was Fatima bend down, pick up the hem of her burka, and whisk it right off, the whole thing vanishing in one quick practised move. That was only the first shock. The big shock was the outfit she was wearing under it. It's what's known as skin.
No top, with shorts or skirt. No jeans or jumper. No bra. No panties. Just one hundred percent skin, and she wore it beautifully. I had always assumed that Fatima would be dark complexioned, a brunette. Instead I found myself looking at a fair young woman, ash-blonde, with silky white skin. (Come to think of it, the burka would help explain the white skin. No sun had ever tanned that hide.) I still wasn't sure what nationality she was but I could tell she was about twenty and quite lovely.
I was about to pass on when thoughts that Fatima had expressed regarding her culture sprang to mind. It seemed to me that I should follow up on these observations. I pushed open the door and walked in, closing the door firmly behind me.
Fatima spun around to face me, giving a horrified gasp. She also gave me a full frontal for a few moments before she hastily tried to cover herself with her hands.
"How dare you burst in here," she yelled at me. "Get out, at once!"
"Just accepting your invitation," I said blandly, hands spread in a what else do you expect gesture.
"Invitation? What invitation? I didn't say a word to you."
"Well, no, but standing naked in front of an open door? I know how to interpret that sort of thing. You want some male attention. I've decided you look fine, dressed like that, and I'm going to be quite happy to give you the attention you deserve."
"I had no idea the door wasn't closed properly. I don't want you here. Get out."
Nagging little points were gathering in my mind. Maybe I was crazy but they all seemed to be adding up in one direction. The movement I thought I'd seen; it could easily have been Fatima opening the door slightly and checking where I was. The timing of the strip show; just at the right moment for me to have seen the open door and be looking inside. The killer was her nudity. Somehow I couldn't really see Fatima walking down the street naked apart from the burka. Going commando left too many chances of something going wrong and exposing more than she wanted.
