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