Dealing with Change Ch. 05

After our return from Boise Rich and I concluded that although we had gone to the Rev's couples therapy with the intention of broadening our sex life we weren't quite ready to go as far as we had gone on that evening, at least not on a regular basis. We had peeked into Pandora's Box, as we referred to the wide universe of sexual activities that were not part of our regular world, and concluded that it was interesting, a little bit scary, and, at least as we had engaged in it that night, not something we were quite ready to engage in on a regular basis. We weren't ruling those things out, but for the time being we wanted to take a more modest approach to change in our lives. I said I wanted to take up golf and Rich said he wanted to learn to cook and spend time with me in the garden. Then we asked each other how we could include sex in those new activities. Golf seemed the most problematic.

As it turned out, the consulting services Rich was required to provide when the buyer of his company took over (which occurred shortly after we returned from Boise) were minimal so he soon had a lot of time on his hands. He found a cooking school, not to become a chef, but just to learn basic skills like how to chop vegetables without cutting your fingers off. As he took over some of my gardening chores, and helped out in the kitchen, I signed up for regular golf lessons. We also both began a training program at our local gym. I won't say the weight melted off, but we both made progress.

Now none of that involved sex but with the children gone and Rich no longer traveling there was time for other changes, the most important one being an increase in the frequency of our sex life. Instead of a once-a-month quickie, the habit we had grown into with teenage children around the house and Rich's extensive travel schedule, we were now having sex several times a week. It wasn't simply a quick missionary fuck under the blankets in our bedroom. We had adopted a habit of regular nudity around the house and the sex might be in any room in the house in any of a variety of positions. Rich's oral skills improved dramatically.

Life had become very comfortable—regular exercise for both of us, shared cooking, gardening, and golf and a good deal of nudity and regular sex. It was almost like being newlyweds again, except we had money. Then change intervened again, not necessarily to our detriment, but not as expected. I received a call from an old friend, Clarissa. Clarissa and I had worked together as rookie teachers shortly after Rich and I were married, and we had kept loosely in touch over the years, usually a coffee or two each year. Clarissa was single now, her husband having died a few years ago. I knew that she had quit teaching, but I really wasn't sure how she was spending her time these days.

"Can you meet me for coffee tomorrow morning?"

"Sure. Where?"

"Umm. How about at our store."

"You have a store? I didn't know about that. Where is it, and what is it?

"It's a bookstore. It's at 4321 S. Stockton. I don't 'spose you know where that is. It's in a little strip mall on the south end of town. My late husband and I bought it years ago and after he passed I just kept running it. It doesn't make much money. Enough to cover the rent and that's about it. But I kept it open because . . . because Sam loved it and because I was an English major in college and I love books. But right now I need some help and since you are a 'used to be English teacher' and you mentioned when we last got together that you have more time since your kids are grown and your husband retired and . . . well I thought I would at least ask. But if you don't want . . ."

I interrupted. "Wait. Let's talk tomorrow. How about 10:00 o'clock. Does your bookstore sell coffee or shall I bring my own?"

"We have coffee. You can't sell books without a coffee bar."

So Clarissa owns a bookstore, I thought as I hung up? I didn't think anyone owned a bookstore anymore. I thought Amazon killed them all. That of course is largely true, but there are a few left owned by die hard book fanatics who cater to other die-hard book fanatics who just can't believe anything could read as well in electronic format as it would in a beautifully bound hard copy or, for some, a well-worn paperback complete with a stained cover and dog-eared pages. Go figure.

I found the bookstore in a tired looking strip mall with a couple of vacant stores on either side. When I opened the door there was a little bell that announced my entrance and that classic smell of aging groundwood papers, binding glues, and inks all melded into one unique smell that only exists where there is a lot of printed material stored. There didn't seem to be anyone around except for a friendly tabby cat that appeared from between two rows of shelves and began to wind himself around my legs as he purred loudly.

"Hello Kitty. You're nice. Where's the boss?"

Moments later Clarissa appeared from between the same pair of bookshelves as had Kitty.

"Joan. Joan. I'm so glad you're here. Come let me make you a coffee and we can talk." Minutes later I was sitting in a comfy but somewhat frayed old armchair with a tasty latte on the table next to me and Clarissa sitting in a similar worn chair opposite me.

"So Clarissa. You said you needed help. What's up."

"Oh yes. I'm sorry to ask but I just can't get around this problem without help. Now you were an English major were you not? So you know about books. Right?"

"Yes, absolutely. And I still like to read. I always have a book or two going on my e-reader."

"Well as you can see we still do real books and there are just enough people around who prefer printed copies that the place at least covers the rent. Of course we also make coffee. You can't sell books without coffee. And, like any good bookstore, we have a cat. You've met Kitty I see. But we don't do e-books."

"Of course," I said somewhat apologetically. "What is it I can do to help you?"

"Well the problem is my mother-in-law. It's odd. I never realized when my husband up and died on me that he would not only leave me more than enough money so that I would never have to work again, but he would leave me with his mother to look after. Just because your husband dies it doesn't mean his relatives disappear from your life. In my case it's his mother. She has recently had a stroke and I need to spend a good deal of time taking care of her."

"Oh. I see. And is there no one else in the family to help out?"

"No Sam was an only child, so it's just me and his ailing mother Sandra. We've lived together for years. She moved in with Sam and I when her husband passed and lived with us until Sam passed. I must admit she was a godsend to me when Sam passed. I don't think I would have survived emotionally without Sandra. She has been a big part of my life for years."

"And she still lives with you?"

"Oh yes. With her husband gone and then her son, Sam, she had no place to go and no money of her own to live on. I wouldn't think of asking her to go elsewhere."

I nodded.

"So the reason I asked you here is to see if you would like a part time job running a bookstore. I can pay you. A little. It's not like this place is a gold mine. And as you know we have a nice Kitty. Plus all the coffee you can drink is on the house. But the best of it is since there is a lot of time without customers you have free time to browse the bookshelves."

"How much time do you need?"

Clarissa sucked in her breath. "Could you do twenty hours a week. Mornings would be best—say from 10:00 to 2:00?"

I thought for a minute. I could get my gardening done early each morning before it got hot and then get my workout at the gym and my grocery shopping done after my shift. And I could get Rich to help out with anything I wasn't covering. Plus he had been encouraging me to find a part time job ever since the kids had left home. I said, "Okay. Let's give it a try."

It only took a couple of days for Clarissa to teach me the fundamentals of running the place. How to run the coffee machine, the cash register, and the credit card reader; how to make the key work reliably in the cranky old front door. She took me on a quick tour of the shelves so I had some idea of how they were organized. And she explained the most important role of all, putting out cream and food for Kitty first thing each morning. Then I was on my own, opening the store every morning at 10:00, making my coffee, and setting out breakfast and fresh cream for Kitty. After those chores were completed I was pretty much free to browse. There was a mixture of murder mysteries, some mind-numbing non-fiction, a bit of science fiction, a section of romance novels, and of course the classics. What would a bookstore be without Louisa May Alcott? In each category there were a combination of hardcover and softcover books, new books, and a lot of used books with lovingly dogeared pages. Occasionally a customer would come in. And one day a customer even bought a coffee and a book. But I had plenty of time to read. And to pet Kitty.

On about the third day I found a section of books in the back that appeared to be pornographic. I asked Clarissa about it when she showed up to relieve me that afternoon. She said, "Oh you found the smut. I guess I didn't tell you about that. Our tour was a little hurried, but I figured you would find your way around quickly enough."

"Yes I guess I did," I said sounding a little surprised.

"I hope you aren't shocked. After all it is the best-selling section of the store."

"Really?"

"So many people come in and browse through the classics and then down to the romance novels but ultimately wind-up thumbing through the smut. People love it. They didn't teach us that when we were studying English Literature in college did they?"

I laughed and said, "No I don't remember a course titled English 308, "Smut in the English Language."

"I hope you aren't offended? It's the main thing that keeps this bookstore going."

"Hardly. I enjoy smut and so does my horndog husband."

Clarissa smiled. "So do I and Sam loved it too."

After a few days of training I settled into a five day a week routine of spending four hours a day at the bookstore. It was usually pretty quiet, but I fed and petted Kitty, made myself a coffee, browsed the bookshelves and did some reading of anything I found interesting, much of which turned out to be the smut. I know I should have been reading the classics, but really; the smut was far more interesting. You have to work to read Dickens, but reading and enjoying smut takes virtually no effort at all, and the bonus I discovered was that I frequently went home horny, a problem my husband was more than willing to assist me with.

There were occasionally days when Rich's consulting arrangements with the buyer of his company drew him out of town for a day or two. The problem was that if I spent the morning and early afternoon reading smut, I went home horny with no horndog husband to cure my affliction. It was a Thursday when I finally gave in to the obvious cure, masturbation while I was still at the bookstore. I had thought about it but I was afraid I would get caught. Someone would walk in to buy a children's book and find me slouched in a chair with my pants open and my fingers rapidly stroking my clit. Not good. Not good at all. But on this Thursday I decided before I even left the house that I was just going to have to take the risk. I was going to read smut, it was going to make me horny, and Rich was out of town. In fact it was the idea of the risk that made it so attractive. To make it easier, I wore a loosely fitting denim skirt that stopped just above my knees. I still wore my customary undergarments, but I had every intention of pushing them aside when the time was ripe. As you might expect, having decided I was going to masturbate at work, I was horny as hell before I even left home. What a decidedly nasty thing to do I was thinking; reading a filthy book and then getting myself off, right there in the bookstore while I prayed that no one would come in and catch me in such flagrant misconduct.

I was so enjoying the tension that I had decided even before I arrived that I would take my time. Sure I was horny, but I wasn't going to just open the store and then immediately get myself off. No, not at all. What I wanted to do was to go about my usual morning routine. Open the cash register and the card reader (just in case a customer came in), feed Kitty, make myself a coffee, and then spend most of the time required to consume the first cup perusing the smut section for an appropriate selection of filth to masturbate too. Smut in hand I would then make another coffee and settle somewhere to read and fondle myself. I had no intention of reaching a climax before, oh perhaps noon. But the two hours leading up to that would be a sinful indulgence in conduct most people would disapprove of—reading smut and slowly pushing myself towards an orgasm.

But not all things go according to plan. I had barely selected my chosen piece of smut and begun making my second coffee when I heard the bell that rings when the front door is opened. I hurried out to the counter leaving my half-made coffee and my chosen smut lying on the coffee counter. The customer was an older lady, tall and skinny with pinched facial features and steel framed bifocals that rode high on her nose. She wore a dress that fit her loosely and came well below her knees. The woman wanted a bible. I took her to the aisle where we had a few bibles and left her to browse returning to the coffee counter to complete my latte which still needed it's steamed milk. Before I could finish my chore the customer reappeared carrying a bible which, to my horror she set down on the counter next to the smut. I saw her pause and look disdainfully at the lewd cover on the smut. Busted I thought. She pursed her lips but said nothing about the smut, asking instead a question about the bible which I was totally unable to answer. After deciding I was useless, and probably a pervert, she decided to buy the bible and walked away toward the sales counter, again looking with disdain at the cover on my chosen reading material. It was a particular salacious cover—a clearly naked woman sitting on the lap of a muscular man who was similarly naked and had his arms wrapped around her with both hands on her cheeks pulling her towards him. Rather than a color photograph of models, the cover art was black and white pencil drawing. The free form approach allowed the artist to create a cover that just screamed, "smut.' You couldn't see what they were doing but anyone with half an imagination would be sure they were screwing. The other thing I liked about the book was that there were more lewd drawings by the same artist scattered about the book. The drawings in the book were far more graphic than the cover. I followed and rang up the purchase, breathing a sigh of relief when the woman left the store.

The unplanned visit by a pesky customer did not relieve my overheated libido. She had frightened me, but nothing bad had happened and now I wanted nothing more than to sit in one of the bookstore's comfortable old armchairs while I enjoyed my second coffee of the day, read my smut, and slowly drove myself to a well-deserved orgasm.

The contents of the book matched the cover. With smut you usually can 'tell a book by its cover.' In the opening paragraph the heroine is lying on her back in bed her legs spread as a lover fucks her with enthusiasm driving her to repeated organisms. By chapter three she has gone to a party with another man she knows after lying to her lover of the morning about where she was going. There are ten or fifteen people at the party and it quickly deteriorates into an orgy. The descriptions of the sex acts were graphic (including some lurid pencil drawings). The overall picture of the party was one of complete debauchery which the heroine was enjoying immensely—just the kind of material I wanted to read. By the end of chapter three, I had pushed my bra cups up on my chest and was fondling my swollen nipples through the lightweight cloth of my blouse. The fourth chapter described in graphic detail a tryst between the heroine and her female cousin in which they are lying naked, their legs spread and their naked pussies rubbing against each other as they reached orgasm after orgasm. By the end of that chapter my blouse was open, my tits hanging out, and their nipples swollen from my fondling. I had pushed my skirt up to my hips and had one leg over a chair arm so my legs were lewdly spread insuring access for my fingers to my dripping sex. My panties were on the floor alongside the chair. I was working hard to delay the fast-approaching orgasm, reminding myself that my plan was to take things slow and easy this morning. Then it occurred to me that it would be two more hours before Clarissa was scheduled to arrive. With eight more chapters left in the book I could easily drive myself to a second orgasm before she arrived. I set the book aside, spread my legs as far as I could and begin to finger fuck myself ferociously with one hand while the fingers of the other hand beat an obscene rhythm on my clit. As I rapidly drove myself over the edge my mind was playing back an image of my laying naked face down on our kitchen table while my husband plowed my dripping cunt from behind with his rock-hard cock. I came with a loud groan that was followed by several lesser orgasms until I was lying slouched in the armchair gasping for breath. My tits remained hanging out of my open blouse, legs wantonly spread, and my arms and hands lying loosely over the sides of the armchair. That was when the bell announcing a customer rang for a second time.

"Oh shit," I gasped. That damned bell isn't like a doorbell which simply announces a visitor's desire to come in, I thought. It's telling me that a customer has in fact come in and is now looking for someone to help them. Jumping to my feet in a mild panic I tucked my discarded underwear into the space between the cushion and chair arm while covering the lacy bit that remained exposed with my smut. As I strode away I quickly buttoned my blouse, making no effort to tuck it into my skirt. I forgot to realign my bra cups so that when I hurriedly emerged into the front of the shop my tits were swinging with abandon. I'm sure my face was flushed and I assumed I had brought a strong aroma of sex into the room with me. My pussy was leaking onto my thighs.

As I stepped out from between two of the bookshelves I discovered to my horror that the intruder was not a would-be customer. It was Clarissa, my boss.

"Oh it's you," I said as I came to an abrupt halt, my boobs swung from side to side as I ceased forward motion.

"Yes, it's me," she replied in a stern tone.

Busted I thought.

Then Clarissa began to laugh. The laugh continued and grew in volume until there were tears streaming down her cheeks and she was leaning against the wall next to her to hold herself up. When she regained her ability to speak she said, "I see you found the smut."

Now I was laughing with her. I responded with a simple, "Yes," followed after more laughter with, "and it's pretty good smut."

"So I see. Care to share?"

"Follow me." I led her back to where I had been sitting and picked up the dirty book. Unfortunately my poor abused panties stuck to it as I handed her the book.

Now it was my turn to be shocked as Clarissa lifted the panties to her nose and took a long smell. "Oh yes, that must be very good smut."

"Uhh . . . It was."

"So you're done?"

"Well I had plans for . . . perhaps a bit more. I have eight chapters remaining, but you have arrived early."

"No problem. You go lock the front door and pull down the closed sign. I'll get some smut of my own and join you." Then she paused for a moment picking up again with, "Unless you prefer to masturbate in private."