The Bookseller

This story is an experiment with female first-person viewpoint. Hopefully it works.

++++++++++++++++

I whistled tunelessly as I unlocked the door to my little bookstore. The bell rang as I pushed my way in. My hands were full of two boxes of new inventory and my big shoulder purse got hung up on the doorknob. I cursed in most unladylike fashion and freed myself. I let the boxes thump down on the front counter and dropped my bag behind the desk. It was two hours before I opened, and I immediately set to shelving the new stuff. One box contained some pretty cool books from edgy and important authors that have a hard time getting space at chain stores. The other box was filled with science fiction, mysteries, and trashy romance novels--You know, stuff that pays the lease.

On the bottom of the high-class box were two copies of a new coffee table book of classy nudes from a famous photographer. I chuckled at the shrink wrap they came wrapped in, provided by the publisher to ensure they weren't pawed all over before they could be sold. I deliberately peeled the wrap off of one copy and gave the inside a quick look. Yep, it was like a mildly arty oversized Playboy, without the annoying, superfluous articles. I'm not really attracted to other women, but like anyone, I can tell the difference between a sexy one and not. These models were all squarely in the blazingly hot category. I took the two copies of the book to what I call my Perv Bait section. The wrapped one would sell eventually. The unwrapped one would draw in a certain type of man (or woman). They'd browse the store, swing by the Art & Photography section to oggle the open books like this, then buy something else on their way out to justify why they were in my store in the first place. It's like the way my brother always buys seven random things he doesn't need to 'distract' the world from the fact that he is on an emergency run to buy pads for his wife.

It was quick work putting out the commercial stuff. It was all paperbacks and needed no thought. Half of them just slotted in with the rest of their respective series. My eye caught a bodice-ripper from an author I had not seen before. The cover was a bit more lurid than the norm. I paused to appreciate the blonde-haired shirtless hero in the foreground holding the busty heroine in one arm. Her bodice had literally been ripped and much more of her fleshy cleavage was exposed than you usually see on these covers. The hero was glaring off toward the background, where a second, raven-haired, and equally shirtless hunk stood darkly.

Huh. I took the book with me back to the front desk. I had just read one of the few Faulkners that I'd never tried before. About midway through, I had come to realize why I hadn't read it. Still, I soldiered through and had finished it, and my mind figured it deserved some brain-candy.

I barely had a chance to open my new pleasure read when my alarm buzzed and I sighed. Time to open the store. I pressed the Open scene on my smartphone. The customer door unlocked, the electronic sign went from closed to open, and the full store lighting came on. I returned to my comfy seat behind the register and braced for the onslaught of customers. Not. My lease said I had to open at the same time each day, EVERY day. Almost without exception, I would not see a customer darken the door for another two hours, except on weekends. But I had to open the door. I never scheduled any of my staff to come in before noon. I just used the quiet mornings for paperwork, inventory, or on days like today, a little light reading.

From the start of the second chapter, I realized that this book was different from most romances. First off, it was better written and more engaging from the start than most I had read, even by the big name writers. But more to my point, the second chapter kicked off with the first love scene and... wow. This was not some flowery read, full of elegant, indirect metaphors for the characters' actions. This was some high-class, graphically descriptive smut about some very creative sex. And it all was still mostly couched in period vocabulary, which was quite a feat.

I reflected that I was caught up on things, and had plenty of time. I deliberately slowed the pace of my reading to better enjoy the book. I like a good sex scene. I like good sex too, but in the absence of that in recent months, I was going to have to settle for the book.

Of course, I nearly jumped out of my skin when the bell over the door rang.

It was one of my semi-regulars. He was a tall guy and slender, or maybe rangy is a better word. He was always polite at checkout. But we had hardly ever said two words to each other beyond the ritual phrases like, "Did you find everything you need?" and "Thanks. Have a nice day." If it wasn't for the fact that when he did come in, it was always during these morning dead times, I doubt I'd have even known he existed, or at least that he was a repeat customer. But since he only dropped in during usually customer-free times, I was familiar with him.

For instance, he was a regular visitor to the Perv Bait section. I know because I have a few security cameras in the store, and their feeds all display live at the bottom of my register computer's display. It is fixed facing away from customers, so no one but staff knows the cameras are there. I have two placed in sections where I regularly get some theft. I have one set to wide angle in the kids area, so I can see when Mom has abandoned her spawn there and they start chewing on the merchandise. The last is in the Perv Bait aisle. I don't have it there to spy on the men. I just like to know when some twelve year-old discovers the books, so I can wander along and suddenly appear in that aisle to 'shelve some books' nearby. I don't get repeat offenders in the under-age set.

But the cameras do mean that I knew one unusual thing about this customer. He was going to be a while shopping for books he was actually interested in BEFORE he stopped by for some eye candy. I knew I would have a good sale, and that I had plenty of time for my book.

I admit I was getting hooked on this one pretty quickly. The story was already more unpredictable than most. The two men competing for the heroine's affections were both interesting. The best part was, I wasn't certain which was the hero and which was the heel. I know that I was supposed to see Christophe, the blonde holding the heroine on the cover, as the hero, and Stephano, the swarthy one, as the bad guy. But this author had already taught me not to trust her... in a good way. And the heroine was enough like me, red-haired, fair, and slender yet voluptuous, to let me really get into the character.

Okay, let's not get crazy. I am red-haired. I am as pale as a sheaf of copier paper. My waist is indeed quite noticeably narrower than my hips. And I do have a nice pair of girls. But I am no romance novel heroine or other paragon of femininity. And I sure as hell am not the sex bomb described in the book I was reading--just superficially close enough to let me fantasize...

Bernadette gasped at the straining, rigid rod of manhood revealed before her. It entranced her and she found one delicate hand, as if of its own volition, reach out to touch it. Her fingertips traced its apex lightly and it bounded toward her in response. She yanked her hand back with a squeal of terror and delight. Her heart wavered with the deliciously scandalous nature of her position. Deeper in her feminine parts, her fluttering was more urgent and primal.

Christophe's aroma was heady. His lightly-worn but omnipresent perfume was masculine and made her skin flush with each whiff. A terrible thought seized Bernadette and she leant forward to see if that magical staff possessed the same aroma. It did and she leaned further still. Christophe's hands laid themselves gently along the back of her head, caressing her fiery locks. A gentle encouragement from those soft, powerful hands, and she could not resist laying her ruby lips upon the purple helmet of his manhood. Would it be so wrong to taste it? Could it possibly be as wonderful upon her tongue as it was to her eyes and olfactory senses?

Curiosity overtook propriety and she slid her mouth over and down the rampant shaft. It was indeed as wonderful in flavor as it was mythical in scope, and Bernadette's depths throbbed with desire as she pressed her tongue against its underside as she slid it in and out of her lips' embrace. Her hand reached...

"Hello!" the customer said in his usual shy manner. His approach to the front desk where I sat probably hadn't been stealthy, but I missed it completely because of how engrossed I was in my reading. I jumped, and probably blushed as I hopped to my feet. I slapped down my book on the counter. As I did so, I realized that the lurid cover was face up on the counter in front of him, and I tried to casually flip it over. I failed at the casual part, and tragically lost my place in the book.

"Hi!" I said back brightly. He handed me four books: Two sci-fi, a mystery, and an old collection of Far Side cartoons. "Four books! That's more than you usually buy. Thanks." I said in a rush.

"I have a flight this evening," he replied softly. He seemed surprised that I recognized him at all, much less knew his buying habits. That was fair, if he had usually come in at 2:30, I would never have known he existed. This was certainly the most we had ever said to each other.

I kept looking at him, and I suddenly wondered why I had not noticed him before. He was no matinee idol, but his face was very nice, and I felt like I saw some strength of character behind his shy, diffident smile. He handed me cash, as always.

"You know, I've never seen a credit card so I don't even know your name!" I blurted out brightly. Of its own volition, my hand extended to him. "I'm Gerry!"

He smiled a very pretty smile and replied, "Hi Gerry, I'm Roger--uh--Rog. I go by Rog." He took my hand and shook it firmly like a businessman would. It was just an ordinary social handshake, but my groin just exploded for a moment. I actually shifted my footing to keep from squirming. All I could think of for moment was how BIG his hands were. They dwarfed mine. I am NOT the kind girl who is always evaluating dudes' hands and feet for size, but that damn book I was reading had my mind and body both on red alert!

I handed him his change a little wobblily and he waved meekly as he left. I watched him go. He had a nice ass, too. And it was an objectively nice ass, I realized. I would have thought that at any time, not just then in my hyper-horny state. I just had never actually looked at it before now.

With him gone, I heaved a sigh and looked down in relief.

And groaned again. My nipples were showing. They must have been showing the whole time--big and proud. I was mortified. And it was not as if I was some braless floozy with a tight t-shirt. I had a bra on. And my shirt was my usual white, button-down blouse. Sure, I wore it tight a little tight over my breasts, but damnit, I looked good that way. The point was, it was not a get up designed to show off pokies. But today of course, the girls would not be contained....

Damn. He hadn't seemed embarrassed, or turned on, or anything. But he HAD to have seen them, right? I mean they were practically waving at him to get his attention. Maybe he was completely clueless? A girl could always hope. Maybe he was gay?

I shoved the book in my oversized purse and went off to do some work.

Early the next week, I again had been open less than an hour in the morning dead time when I ran out of actual work to do. I plopped down at the front desk and could not help but reach of the book. I had devoured a couple of chapters over the weekend and it just kept getting better. And dirtier. I was convinced now that it had been written as one of the thousands of industrial-grade spank books Amazon publishes on the Kindle, but the publisher had realized how good a story it really was and took a flyer.

I had ordered five more copies and had already made up a shelf tag that said, "WARNING! For Adult Readers Only!" I was betting that I'd be re-ordering in two weeks.

So far, it had become clear that Stephano was indeed the bad guy, but he never seemed to do anything terribly unforgivable, and I wondered if the book was setting up a redemption arc for him later on. Regardless, Bernadette was in his clutches at the moment. She had turned the tables on him in the prior chapter, and I was watering at the mouth to get on with the next chapter, where I suspected she was going to redeem his brains out.

Why, yes... it had been a while for me. My last boyfriend was a year in the rearview mirror, and my last date that ended 'really well' was several months back.

I settled into my comfy chair at the checkout desk and dug into the book. I had barely read far enough to determine that, as I had suspected, Stephano's rather courtly, even gentlemanly imprisonment of Bernadette was going to take on a rather more exciting character due to prodding from Bernadette's insatiable... curiosity, when the bell on the door rang and Roger (Rog, wasn't it?) walked in. I smiled and called a breezy cheerio to him, with a bit too breathless a voice, due to the heat already coming from this chapter. I winced when he almost shied away from the undertone in my voice, but he waved and headed off toward the Fantasy section.

Shrugging, I returned to the book.

Stephano stood before Bernadette, looming over her where she sat on the edge of the overlarge white bed, with its plethora of pillows and soft, goose-down cover. Bernadette clasped her unfastened gown haphazardly to her bounteous womanhood, the disorganized fabric only partially covering and even less partially concealing her soft womanly curves. He was angry with her, as was usually the case, and his massively thewed frame took her aback. Yet she sensed a hesitation in him, especially now that he encountered her in such disarray. There was within her a power, a power over Stephano--A power she felt an uncontrollable desire to exert over him and his arrogant bluster.

"See here, sirrah!" she scolded hautily, like a woman of far higher birth than hers of a simple country lord. "To come upon a woman in such a state of undress and lecture her on your boastful plans is unseemly!" she leaned forward, letting her tangle of clothing slide further down and around so that Stephano was presented with a vast vista down her chest between her fulsome ornaments. She spied his gaze riveted upon the sight she presented and felt a further surge of her power.

"My eyes, good sir, are up here," she snapped, and Stephano's gaze swiftly rose to meet hers. He flushed at being called out and attempted to return to his own agenda.

"Nevertheless, milady Bernadette," he began again.

"Nevertheless nothing, Stephano," she interrupted. "It is bad enough that you stand with me in your full view as I struggle with my damaged garment, but you do so with full evidence of your lustful desires available for all to see!"

"I... what? I am not..." he stuttered, now utterly taken back upon his heels.

"You sir, are, if a lady may use such a word, engorged!" she snapped. Stephano's eyes widened in affront layered with guilt. "I shall demonstrate," Bernadette uttered sternly. With that, she briskly, and with both a fury and confidence she did not feel in her heart reached out to the massive man's trousers. They were indeed over-full to plain sight, but she wanted to make her point utterly clear. She briskly unbuttoned them before Stephano could react and the front fell open, revealing a truly impressive male member, grown to the full extent of its function.

Stephano was dumbfounded at her forwardness. Bernadette was likewise dumbfounded, no longer at her own audacity, but instead at the shaft of glory before her. Her hands clung to the front of his trousers on their own accord, as it reluctant to loose their grip lest they slide away from its magnificence. Her own garment fell completely away to her waist and Stephano's eyes were fixated at the paired perfection so revealed.

Neither could speak.

Leaning forward as she was, Bernadette was overwhelmed by the aroma of the big man. Unlike Christophe's elegant, gentle perfume, Stephano's scent was natural. It was clean and yet overlaid with the fresh aroma of manly pursuits. Bernadette was as mesmerized by his redolence as Stephano was by her revealing disarray. Her hands released their hold on his trousers and clasped his regal shaft, at first hesitantly, then as her knowledge of her power over the ordinarily brooding man reasserted itself, she clasped it firmly at the base and traced the long blue vein that ran up its considerable length.

She could not help herself and took the swollen, obviously aching helm between her lips. Stephano moaned in...

I was so absorbed in the book, I too was making involuntary movements. My right hand clutched the book in its lightly sweaty grasp, but my left had at first begun stroking my right breast's inner curve and was now massaging my left boob, the fingertips still caressing the right. Holy shit, had I UNBUTTONED an extra button on my shirt? I had!

And Rog was somewhere in the store. Fuck.

Not wanting to draw attention to myself with any sudden moves, I left my hand in place. Keeping my head down over the book, I sneaked a look at the camera monitor. Thank God, he was over by the Perv Bait. I told my hand to slowly release myself, but my lower-level brain changed the order to instead give my breast another good grope while he was still busy. I kept an eye on him for when he started moving. He had the new book I got in last week. The women in it were amazing, and I hoped he'd be busy with it for a while. Maybe I'd move my hand lower...

While I considered that, I stared at Rog in the monitor. Something was off. The book was open, but he wasn't looking at it. His eyes were fixed and unmoving on the shelving front of him. The shelves in my store are higher than in a normal store, nearly ceiling height. I had bought them used from a library. They are metal and there are no backs, so if there are gaps in the stock on the shelves, you could see through them to the other side.

Rog was staring through the shelves straight in my direction. Fuck.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

Roger was standing in my store, watching me feel myself up. This was so embarrassing. This was also... He was standing there, with beautifully shot, clear, well-lit, naked pictures of the hottest women in the world right before him, and he was looking at me. I may have frozen at the initial realization that I was being observed, but my hand had never left my breast. I could not believe I was doing it, but I slid my hand forward under my shirt and into my bra to grasp my right boob and squeeze it gently. Sweet fuck, did that feel good.

At the same time I was on the verge of panic. I had to stop, or I'd lose it. I slid my hand free and cleared my throat. I popped my bookmark in the book and set it down on the counter, cover side up deliberately this time, and looked around casually. I heard the big coffee table book slap closed, and I saw Rog in the monitor, quickly shelving it again. When he turned, and started moving, I hastily rebuttoned my shirt (I found that I had actually unconsciously opened TWO extra buttons!).

He considerately cleared his throat loudly before he came around the end of a row of shelving and into view of me at the register, but I was already completely tidied up and was sitting there serenely, smiling politely at him as he approached. Rog also seemed casually unaffected--almost too unaffected for my taste.

"Didn't find anything to buy today?" I asked in gentle, and genuine, surprise.

Rog's eyes bugged out and his surface calm dissolved. "Oh! Crap! I put them down to look at another book and forgot them," he called over his shoulder as he turned and rushed back to the Perv Bait aisle to get his intended purchases. When he returned he was still a little confused.