In the Stacks Ch. 01

She tapped at the keyboard slowly, picking out just the right words to convey for the story she wanted to tell. Lost in her own, self-made world, she only barely caught the flash of movement in her eye, followed by the gentle ding as the door to her shop struck the small bell that hung over the frame.

Silhouetted by the setting afternoon sun, was a petite figure. A bag, burdened with books bulged to one side and she tottered under its weight. As she passed the stacks and stacks of tomes in the quiet, corner bookstore, she made little to no noise, yet, the bookseller watched her with her peripheral vision intently.

The older shopkeeper quickly hit alt-tab and switched from the window of the writing program she was using, to the main credit and check out form. The petite figure approached her, her load now much larger than she had originally thought.

"Excuse me," the visitor said. "I was wondering if you're currently buying books."

"Well I don't buy just anything, you know," the shopkeeper replied, adjusting her glasses more to the end of the nose to get a better look at her with her own vision. "I have to be somewhat picky; otherwise we get inundated with bad romance novels and cheesy post apocalyptic crap."

That brought a smile to the smaller, younger woman's face and she replied, "No, nothing like that. Mostly textbooks, and some stuff from my personal collection. I just moved here."

The shopkeeper introduced herself, extending her thin hand, "Welcome to Orchards. It's small, but growing. My name is Marilyn, and I own the store."

The younger one smiled brightly and said, "I'm Penny."

She unloaded the books on the counter and shook Marilyn's hand.

"Well you go look around, Penny and I'll see what you've got here, okay?" Marilyn said.

"Well, um, I was wondering if you paid cash?" Penny asked.

"I can, but it's about a half of what you'd get for trade. I can't give out a whole lot that way." Marilyn said. She looked down at Penny who had the look of desperation on her face.

"Well do what you can, I'm kind of running short these days." Penny asked, nearly bleating.

Marilyn nodded, and Penny stood nervously.

Most of Penny's books were well taken care of or new. They had no breaks along the spine, nor dog-ears or tears. In the textbooks, there were no post-it notes, no highlighting, no underlining, nothing like that. Generally, she did not take textbooks, although these were modern enough that they still might be in print, and this gave her an idea.

"Do you know we have a community college here in Orchards?" Marilyn asked.

"Uh, no." Penny replied. Her big, sad blue eyes spoke volumes.

"Clark College, just down fourth plain, you can't miss it. You'll get better money for your textbooks there. These are all pretty recent, and I'm sure a new student could get some get better use of them."

Penny gushed, "Oh thank you! I'm really running low on cash."

Marilyn smiled, knowing she wouldn't be able to move the damn things.

Penny's collection of fiction was eclectic, to put it kindly. A lot of big names, and a few up-and-comers. A large stack of Koontz, assorted King, and Straub. She had a tendency to lean toward horror and fantasy, although Penny had a healthy selection of true crime and forensic studies. The dollar tab rose higher and higher, and after she tabulated their value turned toward Penny.

"I can give you twenty in cash, or forty in trade. That's quite a stack you have."

Penny looked at the stack of them and bit her lips, then asked, "What do you think I'll get for the textbooks at the college?"

"Easy a hundred. You have a lot here, mostly literature, stuff that kids will need. What were you, a history major?"

Penny's eyes bugged out, "Yeah, had to drop out. Couldn't afford it any more."

Marilyn bit her lower lip. She hated to see kids dropping out from lack of money, but she was old, and jaded enough that the possibility of a sob story was not out of mind.

"So you just moved here?" Marilyn asked.

"Yes, from Seattle. I wanted a small community, I'd like to try writing some historical fiction." Penny said.

Marilyn smiled, "Historical romance is always a good seller. I mean, I don't know the writer's end of the market, but I can tell you the little old ladies come in and out of here with boxes of them, day in, and day out."

Penny's eyes lit up, "Wow, really?"

She was so excitable, and Marilyn found that youthful exuberance charming.

"Have you had anything published yet?" Marilyn asked.

"Well not much, I post to a few blogs and do some online things, but nothing in paper. I guess I don't feel its real writing until it's in a book. I like the feel of paper in my hands, there's something cool about that," Penny replied, brightly.

"Well E-books do sell. It's not a bad market for the beginner. They say once you get the first novel down, the rest come along," Marilyn pointed out.

"Wow, I guess I have a lot of work to do then," Penny said. She looked slightly dejected, and Marilyn opened up her till.

"So you want twenty in cash?" She asked.

"Actually, if you think I can get that much out of the textbooks, I'll probably take the trade. I could use some new reading." Penny said.

Marilyn smiled, and filled out a business card with her balance on the back and stamped it, admonishing, "Now don't you loose that."

"Thank you," Penny said, smiling brightly, "I won't. Say, do you know when the college bookstore closes?"

"Same as I do, seven. If you hurry, you might be able to get there, as it's just past six-thirty." Marilyn quickly scrawled out a map as Penny scooped up the textbooks into her bag.

"Thanks again, I'll be back," she said, nearly prancing out the door, heading toward a battered old hatchback, with a University of Seattle bumper sticker on it.

Marilyn turned back to her monitor, the sound of the door's ringing echoing throughout the empty store. She hit alt-tab and the word-processing program she had been using came back into view. Her eyes played along the intricate sexual scene she had been outlining and wondered where it was going.

She poked at the keys lightly, in spurts. She had once timed herself and was able to get six-hundred decent written words per hour, on the days she wasn't interrupted by customer flow or telephone calls. Her peers had told her that that wasn't a bad rate, but she always felt it was horrible, considering she could type at ninety-two words per minute doing straight copy.

She closed her eyes and tried to imagine the two women, one large and submissive, and the other smaller, and dominant. The entire concept of dominance and submission excited her terribly and caused her to gyrate in her seat. She smiled and almost could feel the hot breath of her characters.

The door's bell rung again, this time with a regular customer, Henry. Henry was the owner of the pizza parlor next door. He had a stack of three paperbacks in one hand and smiled warmly at her. Henry had wanted to get into her panties ever since she opened the store, now over ten years.

"Hello, Henry," She said in her silky, almost sultry voice.

He smiled at her and said, "Marilyn how goes it?"

"It's a living," Marilyn replied. "Books come, books go."

He looked at Penny's healthy stack, "Well it looks like you're doing okay."

"Not too bad," she said, and held out her hand for his stack. She looked at him and said, "A buck and a half in trade."

He nodded at her and then went straight to the thriller section. Henry currently was reading Dean Koontz, and selected a favorite of hers, 'Watchers'. He grabbed it, a copy of 'Mr. Murder' and returned, setting them in front of her.

She totaled the bill at five dollars even, and he used the trade he brought in plus some additional trade on another card, and left her with a dollar and thirty-five in cash.

The warm summer evening sun stared to cast crimson and orange streaks and lit up the front of her shop. Henry turned toward her with his head in his dreams.

"Y'know this reminds me when I was a kid. My date and I would drive up into the hills there, and watch the sun set."

She looked at him dryly and said, "Why don't you take your wife? I'm sure she would appreciate getting out of the house."

Henry coughed and looked at her coolly. He opened his mouth up to reply and she merely waved her hand, "Go on Henry. I'll see you tomorrow."

Henry smiled at the thought of a new try on her, and she stepped behind her small counter, her rattan cane in one hand, following him to the door, turning off her 'open' sign and pulling the shades to the store. She locked the door checked it to make sure it locked and set the front door alarm.

She left out the back door, setting the alarms of the back door and drove a few short miles to her small tract home.

***

With nearly two hundred dollars in her pocket, Penny was happier than she had been in a very long time. When she got home, she listened to her voice mail to find out she had an offer for a temporary job, starting tomorrow. She quickly dialed back the office, and got the night operator who then assigned her the job. She had to be there early in the morning, and realized that it was just after eight.

She went to the plain, functional kitchen and rummaged through the cupboards, finding a container of microwave popcorn packets and tossing one of those in. As it cooked, she locked the doors to the dingy little apartment and peeled off her top and jeans. Dressed in only her undergarments, she retreated to the bedroom, to remove those as well. She slipped into a silk kimono, its cool comfort a definite relief to the heat of the July day, and turned on the two fans mounted in windows in her living room.

Her most valuable possession, a laptop computer, she took from its case and set it on the coffee table. She turned it on and then went back into the kitchen for her popcorn. When she returned, Windows had booted and she began to surf the internet.

She lurked on many different forums, reading posts, short stories and writing techniques. She belonged to several writers' critique groups, and while she did not feel good enough to post to them, she was learning a lot. She munched popcorn while she surfed with one hand, not wanting to get the keyboard or touch pad dirty.

As the night wore on, her surfing went from more mainstream websites to websites that are more exotic. She read short stories on the Nifty Erotic Story Archive, and posted a story to literotica.com. She was delighted to find her previous story, the first chapter in a novel had good reviews.

Breathless, and flush with excitement, she began to write chapter two. The second chapter to her story had the inkling of a soft sexual scene between a man and a woman. She wrote for a few hundred words into it, but realized at a certain point, that it was very difficult to write.

She tried to let her fantasy life flow and it became challenging for her. She had dated only a very little bit in college, and while the boys were all over her, she really did not have much interest in them, and had only had sex a few times.

She was making herself frustrated and then decided to surf more. She elected to go into a section of nifty that she had never been in before, and ended up in the lesbian section. She had no idea where to go, so started off in the adult relationships. She found three or four stories of boring trite crap that clearly were written by men attempting to get themselves off, and then found a stimulating piece.

In it, two women who worked side by side had become friends, and one of them announced to the other she had fallen in love with her. A lot of discussions, arguments, and confusion ensued, and at a certain point, they ended up sleeping with each other.

She smiled at the piece. She might not be much of a writer, but she did know good writing skills when she saw it. She was somewhat astonished to find she was slightly wet, and was happy she had no roommate to see this bit of embarrassment. As the night drew on, she read more stories in this section, and then looked at the computer's onscreen clock and gasped. It was nearly ten and she had to be up at five. Quickly she shut the laptop off, and went to bed.

***

Marilyn wrestled with her story over the next few days, working through her writer's block as she usually did, by going around the project. She simply put that story down for a while, and wrote on something else, usually her progressive blog, or some submissions to some publishers she had out, or some of the day-to-day business of the bookstore.

The bookstore was merely a front operation; she was primarily an author, one who specialized in lesbian bondage erotica. She had four anthologies under her belt, and innumerable short stories. She wrote for various websites and blogs. She was trying to break into mainstream literature, but always felt that she was handicapped as the pseudonym she used was being associated with erotic fiction. Still, the checks were good, but she understood Penny's desire, to hold the paperback in her hand.

Thus, she ran the store and wrote while taking in people's opinions about what they liked and did like. She had bought it with some of the money her late husband had left her. She didn't think about him much any more, it had been over fifteen years ago, and her only son was now living in Chicago with another man.

About six o'clock the doorframe bell jingled and Penny walked through. She was dressed in a conservative office dress, and had a big smile on her face.

"Hey Penny," Marilyn said.

"Hi Marilyn." Penny replied.

"You look nice," she said and then inquired, "Job interview?"

"Yeah, I think I nailed it too. It's just a part time gig, but that's all I wanted really. Just enough to pay for the rent, and keep me in popcorn," she smiled, laughing.

Marilyn chuckled as Penny began to fill in the details – she would be working at a legal aid shop printing out papers and helping people fill out forms mornings at the law firm on the other side of the strip complex.

"This means I can come in here and buy more books!" She exclaimed gleefully.

"Well I like that part, certainly." Marilyn replied dryly.

"Hey, I want to know if you've heard of an author. I've been reading some stuff on the web and I've heard she's really good," Penny asked.

"Do my best," Marilyn responded.

"Cat Palifa," Penny countered.

Marilyn gestured with a hand, "Lesbian erotica, BDSM, bottom shelf, aisle fourteen, left side, first set of shelves. I favor her anthology, Slutty Machismo to Fluff & Doc but that's just me."

Penny's jaw dropped.

"You'd better get it before one of the local dykes does. I can't keep it in stock, especially now that she's becoming a he," Marilyn explained.

Penny's eyes grew wide and she scurried for the book. Only one copy, and as she knelt to find it, she felt a darkness cover her, and Marilyn loomed over, the rattan cane with it's silver head in her hand providing her balance. Marilyn's eyes bored into the younger woman's soul and then she asked innocently, "Did you find it?"

"Y-yes, ma'am," Penny said, instinctively.

Marilyn smiled her catty, dominant smile and then spoke softly, "I hope you enjoy it. I know one the authors that contributed to it. She's a friend of mine.

Penny quivered. She her body felt afire, and she had no idea why.

She paid for the book on credit, and had a good sixty plus dollars remaining.

Marilyn watched her walk out to her battered car and licked her lips.

Over the course of a month of Penny working in the legal aid shop, she would come in nearly every day. Marilyn had to admit she had become used to Penny coming in when she got off work, usually about noon time and they would chat for fifteen or twenty minutes. Sometimes Penny would buy a book, sometimes not. On Fridays, Marilyn would close the store for an hour or so and they would have lunch together.

One Thursday evening, as Marilyn began to write a short story about running her hands up and down those thighs, the bell to the shop tinkled and Henry came in, sweating his big beefy man scent. She could smell the liquor on his breath.

He was stinking drunk.

"Well you don't need to worry no more, pretty lady," He slurred.

Marilyn tilted her head, but did not reply.

"My wife left me last night. Damn bitch is gone for good, and I'm happy for it."

Marilyn's face was impassive. It only meant that he would come in here more, she surmised. Most annoying, she really did hate to loose the time.

"So I'm thinking a little you and me might be in order, babe. You're one hot tamale, for an old gal, if you get my drift."

"I'm afraid I have to close early, Henry. Perhaps we should have this conversation later, say, when you're sober."

"What's the matter, babe, got a hot date?" He bellowed.

"I have plans," and she did. It was her intention to prune her roses this evening.

"Ah man, my first free night in twenty-six years and my girl freezes up on me." He declared.

The tic from her accident clenched her face, and her hand wrapped itself around the head of her cane.

"Let us understand something, Henry. I am not your girl."

"Oh hey now, the divorce is coming," He said happily, trying to calm her.

She stood on her stool, looking at him with all of her power, all of her drive, her cool, blue eyes drilling into him.

Henry blinked for just a moment.

She lifted up the rattan cane, and with a single, powerful stroke slammed it into the countertop making a horrific snapping noise. In the quiet of the bookstore, it might have been mistaken for a gunshot.

"Uh, um." Henry said, stammering.

"Unless you're prepared for the yarn I will spill to the police about how you keep coming in here and harass me when you're drunk, I advise you to leave, and come back only to trade paperbacks."

"But baby, I thought we could have a good thing." Henry protested.

"Henry, do us both a favor and go back to your wife and grovel to her to take you back. I may be a cripple, and old one at that, but I assure you this cane will hurt you. Whom will the police believe? A drunken ass, or a little old lady? Hm?"

"Well I'm a business man, I've got connections," he blustered.

"Perhaps I should tell your wife's divorce lawyer that you like to be spanked, Henry."

Henry became pale.

"Maybe I should tell that lawyer that we've been having a long-standing affair. I'm sure I could invent all sorts of little sexual perversions you might enjoy."

She snapped the cane again, causing his half-open mouth to close abruptly.

"Or maybe it's the truth Henry. Is this why you have been chasing me all this time? Just to get a taste of my cane?" She nearly hissed at him in her powerful dominatrix tone.

Henry quivered and she could see it in his eyes. He was a sub of some sort, she sensed. Maybe he would never admit it, but she smelt the excitement of him. Idly she toyed for just that single instant of breaking him. It might be a fun little diversion. Have old Henry on the floor groveling. Could be very, very entertaining.

She pulled the cane back with her hand and put its tip on the floor, and stood.

His eyes affixed upon her, glittering their green little greedy color. He took in her body, slim, trim, with curves in the right places. Perfectly dressed, as usual. His eyes hit her face and when they plumbed the indigo of her eyes, he knew she could see into his soul. She spoke softly, with her smallest voice, forcing him to strain.

"Leave now, Henry. We will forget this ever happened. You just keep bringing in your books and I'll order the odd pizza now and then."

Henry was nearly mesmerized and he pivoted on a foot, turning about ninety degrees.

"I'll see you tomorrow, doll face. We'll grab some grub."

She neither confirmed, nor denied him, her face a mask of stone.