The Booworm

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This story is purely a work of fiction.

All characters are 18

+

.

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The Bookworm

For those in their late teens, learning about themselves and the ways of the world, the summers seem endless. One day merges into the next, and today is not much different from the previous. Times and dates become a homogenous blend of uneventfulness. Still, others become landmarks and turning points, remembered and reflected on. Amanda was about to experience some of those landmark moments.

Her parents were at the cabin, and she had the house to herself--a novelty for her, to be unsupervised. She lay by the pool in her shorts and T-shirt, reading most of the morning, enjoying the independence and serenity. She closed the book and slid it onto the side table. She took a sip of her protein smoothie, rubbed her eye with her index finger, then slid her glasses up, along the bridge of her nose. She squeezed her dry eyes shut several times before Mr Robertson came into focus.

He was sitting under a beige sunbrella on his deck, wearing his usual, faded red New Jersey Devils' cap, savoring his coffee, and flipping through Safeway's Weekly Flyer. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Amanda putting her book down and tossed her a wave.

"Morning Amanda!"

"Morning Mr. Robertson, I'm sorry, I didn't notice you come out earlier," she smiled and waved back.

"Yeah, no worries. I saw that you were busy reading. How's my favorite bookworm doing today? Did you finish another one?"

"I did, yes," she said with a smile of achievement.

"What's the book count this year?"

"Seventeen... seventeen books!" Her smile grew wider as she pumped her palms in the air with victory. "Woot woot, woot!"

"Good job Amanda! Bravo!" He clapped his hands, nodded with a smile, "what was that one called?"

"Dostoevsky, Notes from the Underground. It was fascinating, kind of a social tragedy."

"Hmmmm... never heard of it. Sounds Russian. Is it a love story?"

"Oh no, not at all, quite the opposite, a real heartbreaker. I couldn't put it down."

"Well, that's good to know. Maybe I'll read it one day."

"If you like stories of regret, despair, and the dark side of human nature, then... you'd probably like it. To be honest, it's a bit disturbing... you can borrow it if you'd like!"

"Thanks Amanda, I just might do that," he trailed off as he took a sip of coffee and went back to his page-turning.

Amanda looked at the time before scooping up her book, towel, and smoothie.

"I gotta go Mr. Roberston. Enjoy your morning!"

He glanced up and nodded, "You too dear."

Amanda lived there her whole life but Mr Robertson didn't usually have much to say, not to her anyway. He was friendly with her mom but he was somewhat standoffish with Amanda, a generational divide perhaps. He was a widower, retired, and old enough to be her father.

She stepped into the house, through the patio doors, across the family room, abandoning her towel on the sofa before heading upstairs. She took a quick shower, then chose an outfit for the Book Fair at the Mall. She wasn't an attention seeker and usually wore something understated and amorphous: baggy shorts, a sports bra, and a Montreal Canadiens hockey sweatshirt two sizes too big. She had a slim figure, like a ballerina, so her clothes hung off her like a scarecrow.

The garage door rattled open while she strapped on a DOT-approved helmet and straddled her Vespa Scooter. She saw women riding them when she was in Italy and she thought they looked quaint, yet practical. She enjoyed the wind on her face, the putting sound from the 49cc engine and she could park almost anywhere.

The automatic doors swooshed open as she walked to the main entrance of the Mall, a blast of cool air washed over her along with the sound of the mall's bustling atmosphere. The smell of perfumes waft through the air as a Sales Rep spritzed customers with their latest designer colognes and body mist.

"Welcome to the Outlet Mall, would you like to try our new summer scent?" The Rep asked, her voice cheerful and inviting.

Without making eye contact, Amanda politely declined, smiled, and shook her head no as she looked down, trying to be invisible. She walked past the smells of the Food Court; freshly brewed coffee and baked goods hung in the air, making her stomach growl. Briefly, she considered stopping but she was in a hurry to get to the fair before the books were all picked over.

An endless array of novels and books were laid out on at least a dozen tables. New books, old books, First Edition collectibles, used books, and some that were better suited to a garage sale. She moved from one table to the next, scanning the selection. They all looked the same; brown books, beige books, Hemingway, Steinbeck, Orwell, Dickens... then a pink binding jumped out at her; Xaviera Hollander! She never heard of that author.

Such an exotic name,

she thought,

I wonder if she's European.

Amanda's eyes grew wide when she picked it up, she quickly glanced around with embarrassment when she read the title, "The Happy Hooker." Her face grew warm with a mixture of embarrassment and curiosity. Her first impulse was to get rid of it, slip it back among the chestnut novels. She glanced around again, noticed a few people browsing, but no one seemed to pay any attention to her as she stood there, unassumingly blending.

A tall slender man with a ponytail, blue pinstripe shirt, and a red bowtie, stood behind the table unboxing books, seemingly more interested in organizing his display than the young girl browsing.

She carefully opened the book, fanned out her fingers to hide the title, her eyes scanning the pages, taking in the provocative content. The words danced on the paper, explicitly describing sensual experiences in vivid detail. Amanda's heart raced as she read, her mind whirled with thoughts she couldn't quite process.

Momentarily lost in a graphic sex scene, her hip nudged the edge of the table, causing a row of books to teeter precariously. There was a sudden landslide of novels, several books tumbling onto the floor with a boom that echoed through the mall, for what seemed an eternity. Everyone within 10 meters turned to see what caused the commotion.

"Oooh my gosh! I'm sooo, sorry!" Amanda said, looking at the vendor's red bowtie as she clutched her treasure to her chest with one hand and tried standing books back up with the other.

Her face flushed with embarrassment as she started putting things in order. She quickly scooped a couple of books off the floor, nervously shoved them onto the table, accidentally tipping over a display of bookmarks in the process. It came crashing down like an old tree, bounced off the table, and then scattered across the floor. The sound of the bookmarks clattering against the tile drew even more unwanted attention. A middle-aged woman at the next table ticked her tongue and rolled her eyes, which drew a fiendish snicker from the vendor two tables down.

Amanda crouched on the floor and clenched her jaw in humiliation as her glasses slid to the end of her nose. The title of the book, still clutched in her hand, "The Happy Hooker", seemed to mock her as she crawled across the floor picking up bookmarks. She hastily hid the pink novel in a stack of classics on the table and sheepishly pushed her glasses in place.

"It's okay, it's okay... Don't worry about it..." Said the vendor with the red bowtie as he came around his table, eager to put the young girl at ease.

"It happens all the time... It's not a party until something gets knocked over, am I right!?" the vendor said smiling endearingly at Amanda as he helped her collect the bookmarks before he narrowed his eyes and furrowed his brow to scold the middle-aged woman next door.

It took them less than 5 minutes to rearrange his table.

"Again, I'm sooo sorry. I hope I didn't damage anything," Amanda said as she looked timidly over his display.

"Naah... It's all good... no harm at all, I'm thankful that someone helped me clean up, that's very kind of you young lady, very kind indeed," he added as he stuffed the pink novel into a brown paper bag, handing it to her as a peace offering.

She blushed as her eyes darted from his bowtie, to the bag, to his bowtie, then the bag once more, not sure if she should accept it. Her hand trembled when his fingertips brushed hers as she took her present with some apprehension.

"Thank you," she said in a bashful tone, never making eye contact with him.

Her cheeks were burning as she whispered a hasty "Thank you" once more before turning to make her escape.

"Enjoy!" The vendor's voice followed her, a low, knowing timbre that made her heart flutter.

As she walked away, she could feel the warmth of the book in her hand, it seemed to grow hotter, and she thought it was about to burst into flames. She scampered through the crowd, dodging shoppers like it was an Olympic event, her eyes fixed on the escalators.

She was filled with a sense of relief when she felt the ball of her foot touch the first step, jerking her forward. She turned her head slowly, looking back at the vendor still smiling at her. Before she sank out of sight, she smiled back, tucked the book under her arm, and made a heart sign with her fingers toward him, the distance providing her comfort.

As she descended the escalator, the gentle hum of the conveyor and the soft whoosh of the steps created a soothing melody in contrast to the turmoil brewing inside her. Amanda's heart still racing, she clutched the bag containing the provocative novel, her fingers instinctively clinging, afraid she might lose her grip. The vendor's tender smile and the low, husky tone of his voice lingered in her mind, making her skin tingle with a mixture of gratitude and curiosity.

Amanda burst through the garage door and plunked the book down on the kitchen island. Frantically rummaging through the junk drawer, she brushed pens and markers and bobbins of thread aside, searching.

There you go!

She thought to herself,

Scissors, Scotch tape... That'll do it.

Amanda gently withdrew her consolation prize, being careful not to damage the bag, ironed the paper out flat with the novel, and began snipping... a nip here, a tuck there, a fold here, and a fold there! She taped the improvised camouflage to the book and then sighed with relief.

Success! No one will know the difference, it's just another book now,

she thought, admiring her creation.

She read most of the book that night. Amanda's eyes lingered on the words as she read the last sentence of the chapter, her mind replaying the explicit scene she had just devoured. The uninhibited lust transferred from the page, across her fingertips then swept through her. The room seemed heavy with an unspoken promise of pleasure as she shifted slightly on the sofa, the creak of the springs echoing through the silence. She felt a swelling sensation in her breasts and between her legs. Letting her novel fall to the floor, she closed her eyes, unbuttoned her nightshirt, and slid a hand over her breast, her fingertips circling her erect nipple.

Her fingers drifted tenderly over her skin, sending a shiver deep inside. She gently pinched her nipple, rolling it between her thumb and index finger, gently tugging. The soft groan of the sofa seemed to echo through the stillness, a reminder that she was alone, free to abandon her inhibitions, the lust coursing through her veins. She slipped her panties over her hips and down her thighs to her ankles then flicked them over the armrest, tucking the towel under her ass before plunging a hand between her legs. As she continued to caress herself, her breaths became deeper, and her eyelids grew heavy, she tilted her head, her gaze drifting downward, to the book lying on the floor.

Her mind wandered as she crossed her ankles, clenched her young thighs tightly, and teased her clit with her middle finger before opening her legs for her imaginary lover. The soft fabric of the sofa squeaked as she flopped one leg over the backrest and planted her other foot flat on the floor.

Her middle finger danced over her clit, teasing it with a gentle feathery caress. Amanda's eyelids drooped, her eyes watching the hand between her legs. She felt a surge of excitement course through her body, her breasts full, her nipples tightening. She held her breath as she slipped two fingers into her wet cunt, wiggling them slowly, the heel of her hand dabbing her swollen clit.

Amanda's breaths grew deeper as she thrust her hips gently to the rhythm of her hand. She could feel the pressure building deep inside her, the sensation growing stronger as her pussy contracted around her fingers. She clenched her ass and pushed against her hand, her breaths coming in short, sharp gasps. Her body tensed as she reached the peak. Driving her hips upward, her body shuddered with intensity, her pussy wept, she groaned softly.

As the waves of pleasure receded, Amanda slowly opened her eyes, she felt the dampness between her legs and a wet spot under her ass. She looked down at herself, her nightshirt crumpled under her arms, her pert breasts pointing upward, her legs open and inviting. A sense of peace and contentment had soothed her spirit for some time, her gaze drifted from her breasts, to the book lying on the floor, then to the patio, and back to the book.

Startled, she looked back to the patio after catching a trailing glimpse of her reflection in the glass doors, lying naked on the sofa, bare-breasted, her legs spread wide, her mind reeled. She was exposed completely, naked, and vulnerable. The curtains were open and the glow of the reading lamp highlighted her figure in the darkness. She was gripped with fear, frozen for a moment, before she frantically closed her legs, covered her breasts, and fumbled for the light switch as if someone had fired a starting pistol.

She crept along the wall on tiptoes to the patio doors. She peered out from the corner to survey the yard, watching the moonlight dance across the water illuminating the pool house with ribbons of wavering light.

The moon cast an eerie glow over the deserted landscape. The pool house stood as a silent sentinel, its windows like empty eyes, staring back at her. She felt a chill, wondering if anyone had witnessed her salacious display through the open curtains. She held her breath, her ears straining to pick up any disturbance. The only sound she could hear was the distant mating call of a cricket and the soft lapping of the water against the pool walls.

Her heart pounded in her ears when she caught a circular reflection of light from Mr Robertson's house. Her eyes fixed on the faint glimmer from his kitchen window, she shuddered as she wondered. The light seemed to pulse with the rhythmic intensity of a beacon. She gasped, her mind racing with the possibilities, her heart pounding. The sound of the cricket and the gentle lapping of the water against the pool walls faded into the background when she became preoccupied with the light source.

She stood there, frozen with uncertainty, the circular beacon flickered once and then twice before a Moonlit silhouette emerged from the shadows of the room.

Her heart raced when she realized that it was a man, binoculars in hand, studying the windows of her house. She was frozen in time as she watched. She remained hidden, her eyes fixed on the figure in the window.

The specter disappeared into the darkness for a moment before his kitchen flooded with light, a figure reappeared and she could see him clearly. It was Mr. Robertson, his hair disheveled, a look of wonder on his face. She felt a mix of fear and embarrassment as she sank to her knees, her back to the wall, her mind racing.

She tucked the nightshirt under her ass and began buttoning the front with trembling hands as she stared blankly into the abyss. Her fingers trembled as she fumbled with the buttons, the air was thick with tension for what felt like an eternity. The only sound was the soft hum of the refrigerator and the distant mating call of the cricket.

When she finally managed the last button, her emotions ran wild. She was mortified, then angry, then embarrassed before she was overcome with a sensual thrill as her eyes settled on the lunch-bag-bound novel on the floor. A surge of excitement washed away her fear, he pulse quickened, her nipples began to swell once more, her hand wandered over the soft fabric of her nightshirt, settling on her firm breast. How many times had he watched her in the stillness, undressing in her room, reading by the pool, swimming, or in the hot tub? Did she excite him? Did he fantasize about ravaging her? Did he masturbate secretly watching her?

Her fingers lingered on the soft fabric of her nightshirt, tenderly caressing her breasts. The sensation gave her goosebumps, and she felt her face grow hot with arousal. She couldn't help but wonder how long Mr. Robertson had been monitoring her, his eyes fixed on her with lust. The thought of her voyeur sent a thrill through her, her heart raced, her mouth went dry as she panted.

She knelt in place, sitting on her feet, her back against the wall, she began spreading her knees, her nightshirt rode up her thighs. She felt the darkness caressing her as she exposed herself to purgatory, she shivered, her pink nipples puffed, pressing against fabric of her shirt.

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, her hand still gripping her breast, her fingers tugging at her nipple. She could feel her body responding to the idea of Mr. Robertson ravaging her with his eyes, her heart beating faster, her breath becoming shallow.

She slowly opened her eyes and looked down, spreading her legs. She furiously bunched her nightshirt up around her waist then plunged her hand between her thighs. She furrowed her brow and let out a soft moan, as she violated herself, dipping her index finger into her wet cunt. When the arch of her palm brushed her clit, she started scrubbing it with yearning before she withdrew her finger and replaced it with two more.

Her fingers slid in and out of her slick pussy, the sound of her own wetness echoing through the darkness. She sucked on her lower lip and pulled at her nipple, a welcome addition to the chaos swirling inside her. She was on her knees, rocking her hips, grinding against her hand pinned to the floor. Her thrusts became faster while her fingers curled inside her as she searched for the familiar spot that would hurl her over the edge.

The tension in her body began to build, her toes curling, her back arching. The sound of her own ragged breathing and the soft squishing of her fingers moving in and out of her cunt filled the room. A symphony of lust reverberated through her body as she frantically humped her hand.

Her body trembled, her fingers probing. The air was heavy with the scent of her desire, and she could feel the sweat beading on her forehead and trickling down the small of her back. The sound of her ragged breathing grew louder, a primal groan escaping her lips and she grunted. Her hips lurched forward then back, a wave of pleasure crashed over her, before she slowly bowed, resting her head on the carpet, consumed by her own lust.

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She lay in bed the next morning, somewhere between sleep and wake with fuzzy images of a sexual encounter, playing over and over in her mind's eye. After rubbing her face with both hands, her eyes sprung open, fixing her gaze on the ceiling when she realized that it wasn't a dream