The bookstore was crowded with last minute holiday shoppers. I stood in a long checkout line and finally worked my way up to the front and was able to pay for my items. I was purchasing a few last minute presents, as well as, a book for myself. The checkout girl scanned the bar code on my book, then looked up at me with a knowing smile after noting the title of the thick volume.
"Are they interesting?" She asked as she completed the sale. "I've never read erotic stories."
"Oh yes. You should try reading some good sexy stories sometime; they can be quite stimulating." I told her with a sly little smile and I noticed she was starting to blush.
As I was about to leave the bookstore, I decided, on the spur of the moment, to get a coffee at the attached coffee shop.
As crowded as the bookstore was, the coffee shop was jammed. It was so crowded that I almost changed my mind; but once the thought of coffee was in my head, I just had to have one. So I suffered through another long wait in line, which I made tolerable by starting to read the first short story in my new book; then after ordering, I had to wait for my latté. I collected my coffee and squeezed through the throng of shoppers to find a table where I could sit and enjoy my coffee and continue to read my book. As I wormed my way through the crowd, turning sideways to squeeze past the shop's patrons, I felt fingers cop a feel of my left breast as I passed. Surprised and infuriated, I turned to confront the creep but saw only the back of a gray haired man retreating swiftly through the crowd.
When I finally got clear of the cluster of people around the cash register I was disappointed to see that all of the tables and seats were taken. It occurred to me that I should have known, before I ordered my coffee, that this would happen since the shop was so packed with holiday shoppers. I really did not want to leave and go sit in my car to drink my latté; but just as I was resigned to that fate, I saw a table along the wall with an empty seat. A young couple was sitting on the opposite side of the table on the upholstered bench that ran the length of the wall. I do not normally impose myself on strangers but I really did not want go out in the cold and sit in my car, so I made my way over to the table. As I approached I saw that the two young people were obviously very much in love; they could scarcely keep their hands off each other. Their heads were together and they stole kisses from each other completely oblivious of the many coffee shop customers. When I reached the table I even noticed the young man had his hand up the girl's short skirt and she had her hand resting in his lap. Well, 'resting' isn't precisely accurate; suffice to say they were being very intimate.
"Ah hum ... ah, I hope you don't mind if I sit here. There doesn't seem to be any other seats available."
Both the guy and the girl where startled that someone was addressing them; both removed their exploring hands quickly as they turned to regard who it was that was interrupting their romantic interlude. The guy sort of glared at me, but the girl looked more like she'd been caught with her hand in the cookie jar, when in fact her hand had been somewhere far more damning ... that is, if, like many in our culture, you're a prude; which I am certainly not.
"Oh ... please, go right ahead." The girl said. Her boyfriend didn't look at all happy as she extended the offer.
I set my book and small shopping bag and coffee on the table; and I hung my purse over the back of the chair. As I sat down, I took in the two kids I'd just imposed myself upon. I made them both to be early twenties; most likely students at the college in town. They were both good looking young people in a pierced and tattooed kind of way that you see so much of these days, though not to the extremes you sometimes see – neither had purple hair. Both had multiple ear piercings and she had a tiny little bauble in the side of her nose. He had a couple small tattoos on his arms that were visible. I could not see tattoos on the girl, though I would have bet money that if she were stripped naked, you'd find art work on her somewhere.
Aside from their body adornments, they were both quite handsome specimens of youth. The girl even reminded me a bit of my own daughter, who the girl looked very much like; though my daughter was perhaps ten years older than the girl. The girl was petite and had brown hair with bold blond streaks in it; she had a cute little upturned nose and, unlike my daughter, she was blessed with a very ample bosom made obvious by the large amount of cleavage she displayed in her very low cut tight sweater which so many women are wearing now – I confess, I myself wear such blouses too, from time to time, though I don't have quite cleavage as the girl. The guy had very dark hair, which was disheveled, and a dark complexion; he sported a rather sparse and closely cropped bread, had dark eyes, and fine facial features. I thought he looked really cute. I am sure the girl must have considered him gorgeous from the way she looked at him with adoring eyes.
"Thank you so much. I really hate disturbing you like this ... I mean, I never do this ... you know, barge in like this." I apologized. "But there was just nowhere else to sit and my feet are killing me." It was true, my feet were sore. I always wear heels when I go out and the pair I wore that day were not my most comfortable; but they went nicely with my skirt and blouse. I know... most women today are more sensible and wear sneakers everywhere, except weddings – if they're a bridesmaid, that is. But I like to look and feel feminine so I wear skirts and dresses and high heels - always.
"Hey, that's OK ... no problem, right Paul?" The girl said. Paul just nodded his head, not really paying attention since his eyes were riveted on my book. I had not thought to discretely place it on the table with the front cover facing down, so its title, which was printed in a rather bold font, was easy for anyone nearby to make out.
"So, I take it you're both students at the college. It looks like you're heading home for the winter break." I said, alluding to the two large and overstuffed back packs sitting on the bench seat next to both of them; and, I was hoping to distract Paul away from being dumbfounded by my predilection for a certain genre of literature.
"Oh ... ah, well ... ah ... sort of, but not really ... I mean, we don't' know where we're ..." The girl stammered, obviously uncomfortable with my seemingly innocent question.
"I'm sorry. Did I say something I shouldn't have?" I said; a little confused.
"Oh no ... it's not you. We just don't know where we're going to go. They shut the dorms down at school for winter break and unless you're a foreign student, you have to go home ... we just don't have homes to go to." The girl said.
"Oh? I don't mean to pry, but why is that?" I asked.
"Well, Paul's parents both died over a year ago in a car accident." She started to explain.
"Oh my, I am so sorry, Paul." I said to Paul, almost instinctively at hearing of such a tragedy. Paul just looked down at the floor. "I'm sorry I interrupted." I said to the girl.
"That's OK. Paul has been living with his uncle since then but it hasn't been working out. His uncle hates Paul and they had a huge fight during summer break, just before Paul came back to school – his uncle called him a freak and accused Paul of doing drugs, which neither of us has ever done ... well, we did try marijuana once at a party, but that's it." The girl explained. Paul was so quiet I was beginning to wonder if he was a deaf mute.
"His uncle said he didn't want that kind of influence around his own kids; so Paul told his uncle he was never going back there, and he hasn't. Have you Paul?"
"Uh ... yeah, that's right." Paul said, sounding somewhat embarrassed, but, finally finding his voice.
"Well, couldn't he spend the holidays with you and your family? My daughter often brought her boyfriend home from school when she was in college." I said, being a bit presumptuous that it would be alright with her family.
"Ah ... that's a problem, too. I'm not going to my home either." She responded. "My parents are getting a divorce. It's been dragging on forever, and every time I stay with either one of them, all they do is try to convince me what scum the other one is. So, I had it out with my mom last time I was home and told her I was sick of it – sick of both of them trying to make the other one out to be Attila the Hun."
"Oh my." I said softly.
