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The sound of the door opening intruded on my reading. A young woman bundled in a black parka shook off snowflakes and made eye contact. Wavy red hair–not a natural red, but rather something more on the order of a cherry red–flowed from underneath a green stocking cap, falling past her shoulders and framing a cute face with straight nose and full lips. A quick smile flashed almost as bright as the cornflower blue eyes that held my gaze.
“It’s nice and warm in here,” she said, her voice lower and throatier than I would have expected. I wondered if she had come into my store just to escape the snow flurries outside.
“I try to make it cozy,” I shrugged, pondering why I had picked ‘cozy’, as I could not recall the last time I might have used that word.
“Well, success,” the young woman grinned. “I especially like the electric fireplace.”
She pointed to the reading area, which included the fake fireplace, three overstuffed armchairs, a loveseat, and several small tables. The fireplace emitted a flickering glow, the illusion enhanced by the heat coming out of vents above the not very artfully produced flame effect.
“Thanks. We can’t have a real one in the store,” I said, cursing myself for the banality of the small talk. I had become the captive of the young woman’s shimmering eyes, and I did not at all desire freedom.
“Of course. Do you have someplace I can hang my coat?”
As she asked, she unzipped her parka and slid it off. A tight sweater, dark green like her stocking cap, clung to the curves of her torso, highlighting a high, prominent bosom of significantly larger than average size. Below the sweater’s hem, which fell to her hips, back jeans seemed to form a second skin over shapely, supple legs. I did my best not to stare at the newly revealed shape of my bookstore’s only patron, but I knew only failure. I could not recall ever seeing, in the flesh, so slender a woman with such large breasts.
“Uh, yeah. There’s a coatrack by the fireplace.”
She looked sharply to the reading area and sighed. “How did I miss seeing that?”
“Maybe you were mesmerized by the fake flames?”
“Maybe,” she chuckled, eyes sparkling.
“I can take those for you,” I said, moving from behind the counter.
For a heartbeat, I thought I saw the red-headed woman’s eyes scan down and then up as she looked at me, but in the next instant, I chalked that up to imagination. Although I am a bit taller than average and in good shape, I also must have been around ten years older than the young woman, who looked to be in her mid-twenties at the oldest. And I had no delusions about my facial features–regular was the best that could be said about them, although more than one woman had told me I had cute dimples and a charming smile. So, serving as the object of attention of such an attractive woman as my patron was not something I suspected would be the case, and I dismissed the notion that she might have been examining me the way I had examined her.
“Thank you, kind sir,” she said, her smile larger than ever as she handed me her parka and then the stocking cap, the removal of which left her hair tousled. The effect lent an air of sexuality to her cute features, and I just repressed a sharp intake of air.
“You’re welcome,” I told her, taking her cap and coat to the old-fashioned coatrack. “I didn’t expect to see anyone this afternoon, given the weather.”
“I’m staying at the Courtyard across the river. I saw this place yesterday and wanted to come over. I love used bookstores. Always so many great treasures to find.”
The hotel was a full three-block walk away from my store, including a bridge over the river. In nice weather, it was a pleasant, scenic stroll. In the snow, it was an unpleasant slog, one I had made many times a couple of years back when the parking on the street outside had been closed due to construction. I could not imagine anyone making it voluntarily just to visit my bookstore.
“Well, feel free to browse as long as you like. And of course, use the reading lounge.”
“I thought the sign on the door said you close at 5:00,” she replied, a look I took to be mischievous brightening her already luminescent eyes. “What if I want to keep browsing after that? Would you stay later for me?”
“You don’t have to answer. I’m teasing.”
“Oh,” I mumbled, and from the heat in my cheeks, I was sure my face must have been reddening. I had been on the verge of agreeing to keep the store open as long as she liked.
“Where are your romance books?” she asked, batting her eyes in the way I thought only happened in cartoons and bad movies. A surge of disappointment radiated through me. I could not have said why, but I expected the young woman with the cherry red hair to want something of more intellectual interest than romance novels.
“Right side of the store, second row from the wall,” I pointed.
“Thanks. I’ll be sure to stay away from them.”
She graced me with another smile before turning and heading into the shelves. I stared after her, amazed how tightly the bottom of her sweater molded itself to a yalova escort nicely rounded derriere, which complemented her toned legs. I could not recall ever being so intensely attracted to any woman.
“You have a great psychology section,” the redhead announced as she made her way out of the shelves to the reading area, a stack of books in her arms.
“Do you work in the mental health field?” I asked her as she put her books on one of the small tables and dropped into an armchair. “Or study psych?”
“I study people as a hobby,” she replied. “And I was working on a psych degree, but I never finished it.”
“I minored in psych,” I said, wondering why the young woman had not finished her degree. “My major was history.”
“Well, that’s probably why you have a whole bunch of history books, isn’t it?”
“Yeah, I guess.” I wanted to keep talking to her, but the words would not come.
She smiled, chose a book from her stack, settled back in the big chair, and started reading. I said nothing more, resuming my seat and picking up my book. But I could not concentrate on the words on the page. I read and reread the same paragraph several times yet still had no idea what was being expressed therein. My eyes drifted to the reading area.
The young woman, oblivious to my gaze, chewed on her bottom lip as she read. I do not know why, but I found myself mesmerized by her actions, and maybe even a little aroused. That she could lose herself in what she was reading to such a degree appealed to my mind as much as her physical appearance appealed to my baser desires.
I forced myself to stop staring, to at least make an attempt to return to my book on Roman construction techniques. But the subject, which no doubt most people would find unbearably dry but had held my interest before the redhead’s arrival, proved to be less stimulating than the scene in front of me. I often glanced up. At one point, about half an hour before closing time, I looked at the young woman at the same time that she stretched in the chair, arms above her head, chest protruding in a manner that caused the sweater to pull even more tightly than normal across her full breasts. Her eyes met mine, and for what seemed like forever, she held my gaze and her pose. A slight smile crossed her face, and she lowered her arms. For a heart-stopping moment, I was possessed by the wild notion that she intended to run her hands over the swell of her bosom, but then they dropped to her lap, where the book she had been reading lay. Yet she did not immediately resume reading, even after she again held the book. Her smile widened a little, or at least I thought it did, before her eyes broke away.
“I’ll take these,” she said, putting three books down on the counter. “Is it okay to leave the others on the table, or should I take them back where I got them?”
“I’ll re-shelve them,” I said as I examined the books on the counter. Two were psychology textbooks a few years out of date. The third was a book on human sexuality, specifically addressing the nature of promiscuity versus monogamy. I recalled, from looking through the book when I had obtained it, that the authors fell on the side of humans not being naturally monogamous, and I wondered what my attractive young customer’s thoughts were on the subject.
“Okay. How much do I owe you?”
“$34.72,” I told her, doing the math in my head like I always did. And as with many of my new patrons, this trick, which came very easily to me, surprised the young woman.
“You did that in your head?” she asked, the half-smile on her face making her seem even more alluring than she had been when chewing on her bottom lip while reading. I suspected she was a naturally curious person, and I knew from experience that such an active mind was more appealing to me than physical features alone.
“Yeah,” I nodded, scanning the books with the code reader. I would have preferred not to use the computerized cash register at all, but not only was it more convenient for those paying with a card, it made inventory easier as well. “And see, the computer agrees.”
The redhead did not even look at the displayed amount. Sparkling blue eyes on mine, she swiped her card in the card reader, looking down only to sign the screen. Making myself look away from those captivating orbs, I grabbed the receipt and found her name at the bottom: Kaitlin Dennison.
“Here’s your receipt, Kaitlin,” I said, handing her the piece of paper.
“Everyone calls me Kat,” she replied, holding out her hand.
“I’m Nathaniel,” I told her, my skin tingling where her fingers brushed mine.
“But not Nate, I would guess,” she grinned. “You don’t seem like a ‘Nate’.”
“No, although some of my friends call me Nathan.”
“Nathan it is, then. It’s very nice to meet you.”
“It’s great to meet you too, Kat. Please come back anytime.”
“Even after 5:00?”
“Still teasing. But I’ll be back. I love your store.”
Cold and clear, the next day elapsed with no return of the lovely Kat Dennison, as did the following day. By midway through the yalova escort bayan third day, I suspected I would never see her again, despite her assurance that she would return. However, a little after noon, the young woman strolled into my store. Like before, she wore the black parka as protection against the cold. But this time, the stocking cap on her head was a light blue. Remembering that the green beanie she wore before had matched her sweater, I wondered if today’s would also match her top.
“Hi Nathan,” she said, unzipping the coat. “It’s still nice and warm in here.”
“Hi Kat,” I waved, walking into the store’s lobby to take her coat. “It’s nice to see you again… back in the store, I mean.”
“Well, like I said, I do love used bookstores,” she grinned, handing me her coat, which I dropped. My earlier guess as to the color of her top proved wrong–it was a dark gray, not light blue like her cap–but that was not the primary thing I noticed. Her cleavage took that honor. The long-sleeved shirt did not fit as tightly as the green sweater had, but whereas the sweater had a high neck, the gray shirt fell in a deep V shape. Smooth, rounded, creamy flesh captivated my sight and my thoughts. I tried to make myself apologize for dropping her coat, but my dry mouth could form no words. It was all I could do to make myself look away and meet her eyes, which seemed to shine with what I thought to be amusement.
“I’ll get it,” Kat told me, squatting down to pick up her coat. My eyes followed her down, my heart hammering as I looked down her shirt, the large opening of the neck giving me a glimpse of a pink lace bra. And when she glanced up at me, her gaze holding mine for several seconds, my manhood responded. A vision of looking down on the lovely redhead as she knelt before me, pleasuring me with her mouth, filled my mind, and my breathing threatened to grow as rapid as my heartbeat.
“Sorry,” I mumbled, taking the coat from her successfully this time.
“No problem, Nathan,” she said, fingers touching my hand in a way that did nothing to help my physical state.
Not able to articulate any words, I nodded, although it did not seem like the right gesture for the situation. Kat grinned again before turning and heading toward the bookshelves. Her shirt fell just to the waist of her pale, hip-hugging jeans, which held only a hint of the blue they had probably once been. The thin denim concealed her bottom only in the sense that it hid her skin. The shape of it, the way it bounced when she walked, the perfection of it–those all were on prominent display, without the trace of a panty line to be seen.
“Holy fuck,” I breathed, surprising myself by saying the words aloud, even softly, as well as the swear word itself. I rarely used profanity, but it seemed right in that instance.
Kat again brought a stack of books to the reading area, and I again attempted to read my own book while she perused her selections. I had moved on to an exciting historical thriller set in the Byzantine empire, but it held my interest no more than the history of Roman construction had done a few days earlier. Kat, this time sitting on the loveseat with her legs curled up beneath her, chewing on her bottom lip as she read, owned every bit of my attention, even when I did my best not to give in to the temptation to stare at her.
At ten ’til five, I wondered if I should let the redhead know I would be closing soon. But a couple who had come in the sore about twenty minutes earlier brought their selections to the front counter, and I rang them up. After they left, Kat approached, empty-handed.
“Sorry, I lost track of time,” she told me, sweeping her long hair back as she spoke. “Would it be okay if I left those books there and made my choice when I come back?”
“I can wait a little bit if…”
“That wouldn’t be fair to you, Nathan,” Kat said, grabbing my hand and squeezing it, her touch electrifying my skin before she withdrew. “I don’t want to take up too much of your after-work time.”
“It’s no problem, really.”
“Oh, I ‘m sure it would be. And besides, this gives me a reason to come back.”
“But it won’t be tomorrow. My shooting schedule will take all day.”
“Shooting schedule? Like for a movie?”
“You’re an actress? Or maybe a director? I could see that.”
“Actress, although I want to direct.”
“Oh, probably nothing you’ve seen, Nathan,” Kat laughed, and again she touched me, this time on my forearm. “All low budget, the kind of stuff they cast me for my boobs and ass, not my acting.”
“Oh, I… um…”
“But I’ll definitely be in on Saturday. I promise,” Kat went on, saving me from whatever it was I might have said after her comment about being cast for her body.
“I usually close at 3:00 on Saturday, but I could stay open longer,” I said, glad to have something more comfortable about which to talk.
“I’ll be in early. Have a good night, Nathan,” she said as she donned her parka and knit cap.
“You too, Kat,” I told her, and our eyes met for escort yalova a moment before she walked out of the door.
I spent the evening looking for Kat Dennison on IMDB and social media sites. The closest I came was a brunette actress with a similar name, and I wondered if my Kat used a different stage name because of how close it was to the moderately famous brunette actress. But try as I might, using variations of Kat and Kaitlin, as well as similar last names to Dennison, I came up with nothing. I pondered asking her when I saw her on Saturday, but I worried that had she wanted me to know, she would have told me.
“Not that it matters anyway,” I told my reflection after I brushed my teeth. “She’s not thinking about me in the same way I’m thinking about her. She can’t be.”
Various images ran through my head then, of Kat taking off her coat to reveal the low-cut top and the abundance of cleavage, of her looking up at me as she squatted to pick up the coat I dropped, of her touch and the tingles it sent along my skin. In no time, these memories left me aroused. I resolved to take a tepid shower to attempt to cool myself down. But once in, I turned up the heat, both literally and figuratively. I recalled the play of thin denim across her toned derriere and the lack of visible panty lines. I pondered her comment about being cast for her breasts and bottom and wondered whether she had ever done nude scenes. I fantasized about what she would look like naked, wondering what color her areolas and nipples would be, whether she shaved her sex, and what color her pubic hair might be if she did not.
Without consciously realizing it, I started stroking myself, slowly at first, but faster and faster as my mind replayed my interactions with Kat and filled in the unknowns concerning the redhead’s body and sexual proclivities. In almost no time, I exploded, the release relaxing my body but not my mind. Even after drying off, putting on pajama pants, and slipping into bed, my thoughts raced along on their own, allowing me only sporadic and fitful sleep.
Friday seemed to stretch into eternity. Despite Kat telling me that she was working all day, I hoped with each opening of the front door that the object of my sexual fantasies would walk through. And given that it was a warmer day out, and thus busier than I expected, I had ample opportunity to hope in vain. I also had ample opportunity to deride myself to reducing her to a sophomoric fantasy. I knew from our brief conversations and the books she chose that she was a smart young woman who was more than her body. But I could not help thinking about the physical bounty of her form and wondering to what extent she might be revealing it as she performed in front of the camera.
My evening was a repeat of the night before. I spent the early part searching the internet for Kat but still found nothing. In the later part, I took a long shower. This time I held back, took things slower. Once I finished, guilt flooded me. But thankfully, the drain of the day, plus the different kind of drain I had experienced in the shower, left me tired enough that it overcame my mixture of guilt and anticipation at seeing Kat the next day, and I slept much better than the night before.
I woke to an almost painful erection, likely fueled by half-remembered dreams about Kat, one of which involved her running from zombies, her clothes shredded. Unable to think my way out of my aroused state, I ventured into the shower, even though I had taken one the night before. Under the hot water, I took care of myself until I found the relief I needed.
That unanticipated shower time threw off my morning routine, and I did not make it to the store until about a quarter ’til ten, which is when I open on Saturdays. To my surprise, Kat stood waiting at the front door, her cherry-red hair blowing free in the slight breeze.
“I’m sorry, Kat,” I told her as I fumbled with my keys. “I’m running later than normal.”
“Why’re you sorry?” she asked. “I’m early.”
“I just hope you haven’t been waiting long. If I had been here, I would’ve let you in as soon as you arrived.”
“I just got here a couple minutes ago, Nathan. It’s no big deal,” she assured me, her fingers caressing my forearm.
Even through layers of clothing, my arousal flared at her touch. Hoping she did not notice my growing erection, I ushered her into the store. On seeing that her books were on the table where she had left them, Kat beamed at me and squeezed my hand. I turned away to where I hoped she might not be able to see my physical reaction to her presence, but I thought I saw her eyes drop, resulting in a quick smile I can best describe as knowing.
Moving to the reading area, Kat removed her black parka and hung it on the coatrack. Her jeans were just as tight as the previous pairs she had worn, but these were a medium blue and thick enough material that I could not tell whether she lacked panty lines. Her long-sleeved knit top was a form-fitting pink one, and the color clashed violently with her cherry-red hair. A scoop neck revealed only a modicum of cleavage, especially compared to the gray top she had worn two days earlier. And yet, despite the color choice and the relatively less revealing attire, as far as I was concerned, I had never seen a sexier woman in my entire life.
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