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I'm a bookseller.
I love books, and I love women and I love women with books; especially
women who know how to love a book. That kind of woman delights
in the smell and the feel of a grand old book with a cover made
for her pleasure. They made books for women a long time ago, but
not any more. Now, it's a use-them-throw-them-away kind of publishing
that's going on. Other bookshops sell those one-night stand books.
I don't, because I know what women like.
Most of the other bookstores on the street have been bought out
by the big chains, but not my shop. I have lots of customers.
Most of them come back to my shop again and again. It's not because
of me. I'm an ordinary middle-aged man, tall and thin; my hair,
what's left of it, is graying; and I wear bifocals and tend to
squint a lot. You won't find me on the cover of one of those bodice
buster romances. It's my knowledge about women and books that
keeps this shop going.
I'd probably be out of business right now if it hadn't been for
Alexi, and what she taught me. That girl opened my eyes. She brought
my dream to life, and she gave life to a dying shop. Alexi made
me see the purpose of my life -- to bring happiness to those women
who need me. Most of them don't realize they need me, but they
do after they visit my shop.
Thirty years ago, I didn't specialize like I do now. I bought
what felt good to me. I've always loved the smell of an old book,
and the feel of the heavy leaves sewn together. Some of those
pages never yellow. They weren't made of newsprint and other waste
papers. No, many of them were made of cotton, and they were made
to last. There's something solid and sensuous about the feel of
those pages between your fingers.
It was a rainy Saturday afternoon when I first saw Alexi. I was
in the back of the shop so I didn't see her as she stepped through
the door. I was rearranging, for the hundredth time, some old
sets of encyclopedias. My favorites are those published in the
late 1800s like The American Educator. It's amazing what's in those books. The whole wealth of knowledge
at that time was contained in as little as four volumes.
As I was saying, I was in back when I heard the bell above the
door ring. I turned, and there she was. She was breathtaking.
The rain had curled and frizzed her long red hair. It stood out
all around her head, and the light from the shop windows was enough
to make it look as if she were on fire. She looked up from the
book she was holding. Her eyes were the purest emerald green;
the kind you read about but never expect to see in real life,
but there they were. I must have been staring with my mouth open,
because her lips did this quirky little dance, which I now know
is her smug smile.
She held an old library copy of Ramona in her hand, and was running her palm over its surface. Those
glorious emerald eyes were closed, and she had this look on her
face as if she were a million miles away. It wasn't a pretty book,
but the binding and cover were hard and smooth, and made to last
a thousand years. I learned later this was her favorite kind of
book, and with good reason. They're getting harder to find, but
I buy a lot of those old library bound books. They get a lot of
traffic in my store.
I moved up to the counter at the front of the store. I knew I'd
be able to watch her from there, and I had every intention of
watching. She was the first customer I'd had in days, and she
was by far the best looking. I sat down behind the counter and
coolly observed her. She was a voluptuous woman with lovely rounded
curves. She wasn't wearing a raincoat, just a blue cotton sweater
over a white peasant blouse. I couldn't quite tell, but it didn't
look as if she had on a bra. I guessed this from the swell and
dip of her large breasts. She wore a simple Indian print skirt
that gracefully flowed over her full hips and hit her about mid-calf.
From what I could see of them, her legs looked as delicious as
the rest of her.
Did I say I coolly observed her? No, I was at full attention.
I felt as if I'd been licked by her red-flamed tresses. I was
on fire as I watched her slowly caress her cheek with the book
she was holding. She ran the book's cover over her jaw and then
lightly over her slightly parted mouth. The pink tip of her tongue
grazed the cover. I'd never been so aroused by anything in my
life.
She put Ramona down and pulled a slightly larger book off the shelf. It was
another one with a library binding, and a sickly green in color.
Swinging her hips, she walked over to a chair at the end of the
shelf range. She propped her left foot up on the chair's seat
cushion. Spellbound, I watched as she ran the spine of the book
up the inside of her leg and under her skirt where it disappeared.
I could imagine what she was doing with it.
Alexi knew I was watching. She enjoyed it. I could tell. When
she pulled the book out from under her skirt and turned to me,
I could see the moisture glistening on the edge of the book. She
smiled and looked at the clock behind me. I'll never forget her
first words to me.
"Shouldn't you be closing?” she asked. “I seem to have stayed
too late."
As far as I was concerned she could stay forever.
"No," I said. "Keep on looking. I'll just close the store and
you can finish." Idiot thing to say, but what else could I say
to a woman who had just turned me on by the way she was fiddling
herself with one of my books? I've thought about this over the
years and I have yet to come up with the perfect answer.
I locked the door to the shop, turned the closed sign over, and
pulled the blinds. When I turned around, Alexi had taken off her
sweater and blouse. She was rubbing the open pages of the green
book against her hardened nipples. It was then I knew that everything
in my life had changed. Those nipples were omens.
"You don't mind, do you?" she said. "I always like to try out
my books first. It makes the experience so much better, don't
you think?"
Alexi pushed her nose into the spine of the open book and sniffed,
then looked up at me with an impossibly sexy smile. I was lost.
As far as I was concerned she could rub her nipples against every
book I had in stock.
I stood there staring. My part in this was nothing. It was Alexi
who was everything. She dropped the book, untied her skirt, and
let it slide down her legs. She wasn't wearing any panties. No
wonder the book had been wet. I'd be too if I'd been under her
skirt with that gorgeous red bush and lovely lips peeking out.
Alexi sat back in the chair and lifted one leg up. Divine, is
what it was. She spread her legs as wide as she could on the chair
and, ignoring me, took a red book and plied the edge of it gently
through her pussy's lips. She fanned the edges slightly and pushed
her swollen lips in between the pages and closed the book. She
looked up, but not at me. Her green eyes were partly closed, not
seeing anything around them as she moved against the book wrapped
around those wet lips. I remember thinking I wouldn't mind having
a bookmark like that.
She wasn't making any noises. Alexi never does. She moved against
the book with her eyes partly open and a smile on her face. She
sure was enjoying herself. I don't think she came, though the
pages of that book were wet by the time she stopped. I couldn't
tell because she stopped too abruptly. She got up from the chair
and moved back by the encyclopedias. She pulled books off the
shelves and laid them out in a straight line on the floor. As
she pulled each book out, she'd run her palm across it and then
touch her cheek with the cover's flat surface.
She pulled out an old college edition of Webster's and, holding it, lay down on top of those books she'd arranged
on the floor. I'd followed her and stood just below her feet.
Looking up at me, she spread her legs and began to rub the spine
of Webster's against her wet pussy. This time she was really moving.
Those beautiful hips were rising up to give full access to that
old book. I knew the book was ruined, but I wanted to see the
volume completely soaked by this woman. I'm standing there, looking
down at her, and rubbing my crotch when the angel on the floor
in front of me opened her eyes, and said the most wondrous sentence
I'd ever hear in my life.
"Fuck me, Bookseller."
She didn't have to say it twice. I fucked Alexi by the encyclopedias,
on top of a bunch of library bound books, and with one she'd put
on her stomach so that it was flat between us as we moved. The
book was cold, but wonderful against the skin. As I said before,
I love books and I love women; and nothing is better than when
you can have the two of them together.
Many of the books in my shop look as if they've been dropped into
a bathtub. I'm careful about mold, though and I've never had a
problem with it. I always dry out the books my customers use.
Sometimes on a hot day you can walk into my shop and you can just
smell a unique fragrance. It is glorious.
I've kept up the practice Alexi taught me. She showed me the signs
to look for in a woman who wants a good book. She's the one who
pulls a book off the shelf as if she's caressing her lover. If
she thinks I'm not looking, she'll run her palm over the book's
cover. Usually she'll smile, and that's about the time I step
in and encourage her to touch her cheek with it. From there it's
just a matter of time until I close the shop for a while and let
the woman have her way with my books, or with me.
Alexi doesn't mind. She says it's my duty to book-loving women
everywhere. She thinks someday someone will write a book about
me, and she wants to be the first to have her way with that book.
I just smile.
Yes, Alexi and I are still together. Today is our twenty-fifth
wedding anniversary. I have a special treat for her. In the shopping
bag by the counter I've packed away all four volumes of my favorite
encyclopedia, The American Educator. Since that first day Alexi walked into my shop and changed my
life, I've saved it for a special occasion. Tonight I'm going
to give the encyclopedia set to Alexi. I think she'll enjoy each
volume, one by one.
I know I will. |
