You are browsing at the bookstore. You feel rather bored, and are not pressed for time. You pass attractive men, strangers. Intriguing daydreams wander in and out of your imagination.
You are wearing a light colored sundress. You browse and select a book. It is interesting, and so you sit cross-legged on the floor, with your back against the book stacks, with the book resting on your lap.
Several minutes pass when you notice a tall man is browsing in the same aisle. He is broad shouldered. His demeanor is also unrushed and casual. As he slowly searches through the books along the aisle, he is moving gradually in your direction.
He moves closer, selecting a book now and then.
You glance briefly in his direction. His hair is light brown, a bit longer in the back. Day-old, well trimmed stubble. Inside you feel a tingle of chemical attraction to this complete stranger.
Every few minutes he moves closer. Soon he is next to you, browsing and reading. With him so close, you notice his pleasant scent. The hairs on the back of your neck seem to stiffen.
He seems completely comfortable, so you find yourself also at ease. You wonder if he finds you alluring, or, is he just pausing nearby to examine an interesting book?
He is so close. Just a few inches away. Nothing is said. You hear him sigh softly.
You look down to see how much of your cleavage is visible to him... you lean forward so he can see a bit more.
He shifts his weight on his leg and takes in a sudden breath. You hear him whisper something -- you are not sure what it was... Was he reading to himself? What did he whisper? Did it sound something like "oh my... lovely breasts." Or, was he reading to himself? You are not sure; is your imagination playing tricks?
Then he reaches for a book, one very close to you behind you in the stacks. His hand gently brushes against your shoulder as he removes it. The slight touch felt like a bit of electricity passed between you. Was it intentional, or accidental?
He stands nearby and reads for awhile, then he sits down almost directly across from you in the aisle, mirroring you as you both sit crossed-legged. You notice his muscular legs, but you try keep your eyes on the print before you, and, every so often, you turn a page.
Minutes pass by slowly, silently. But the silence is full of anticipation. He glances at your legs every so often from under his sun visor as he turns a page. More minutes pass. Silence. Other people come and go.
He quietly sighs. You sigh. You turn a page. He turns a page. The minutes tick. Anticipation grows, then ebbs. And grows again.
You glance at him, but his eyes are hidden below his visor. Is he admiring your legs? You decide to slowly and seductively caress the skin of your leg with a slow, light finger touch.
Does he react? He does. He notices. You hear him take in a slow, deep breath, and you see that he shift uncomfortably. You slightly rock your leg. He slightly rocks his. He turns a page; you turn a page. You refocus on your book; he does, too. Waxing and waning, arousal growing and ebbing. Communication without sound.
He whispers again, but you cannot make it out. He seems to be reading softly to himself. Or, is he whispering to you? What is he saying? Only a few words come across... and even those you are unsure about the meaning or intention.
Time passes in his presence, in such close proximity to him. Nothing said. Overtly innocent to others, but, covertly incendiary. There is a nonverbal sync, a palpable chemistry.
You shift your position so that your dress pulls up your over your knee. Now he can "accidentally" see a tantalizing glimpse of your smooth inner thighs. He shifts his position, again, uncomfortably. You are intrigued to see that he finds you alluring. He seems to try to focus on his reading.. You very lightly caress the skin of your leg while you read.
More minutes pass, and you turn a page, then another. Then you pull your knees up slightly, with your book in your lap. You pull down your dress modestly, but you know he can see under your dress.
He reacts. He is tenting. Your head lights turn on. He notices, and reacts.
You both pretend not to notice. But you do. After a while of tantalizing him, you change your position to cool him down.
This waxing and waning cycles for some time, yet no one else can see the nonverbal communication.
You are intrigued by the idea of teasing this attractive stranger. You adjust your top to make sure too much cleavage isn't showing. You modestly pull down your dress, only to accidentally allow him to see your inner thighs again. Heating him up, then feigning modesty, and cooling him down. Only to repeat it again. And again.
He tries to hide his arousal with his book. You try to hide your arousal by covering your breasts -- your nipples are pressing out against the fabric of your top... clearly visible now...
Finally, it seems as if he can take it no longer.
"This print is so small," he whispers.
Was he talking to you, or to himself?
"I can barely make this out."
"What's that?" you ask.
"Oh, this print. It is so small. I can barely read it."
He comes over next to you and whispers: "Would you mind reading a bit of this aloud to me?"
You are taken aback, and say nothing for moment. Then you muster a response.
"Oh... sure."
"I can barely make this out..."
"Oh, small print?" you stammer. "Sure... let's see..." You can feel your heartbeat in your chest.
It is a large book, and he places it over your lap.
"Oh, might you start reading here?" he says, pointing to the paragraphs with the small print.
You begin reading it aloud to him. He has moved close to you. In fact, his knee is touching yours.
You begin reading aloud.
"Oh, maybe you should whisper," he says, "so we don't disturb others..."
"Oh, yes, of course..."
You read quietly in a whisper. And he is so close. Your voice is a bit breathy at times, but you try to control its tempo and tone.
He helps turn the page. As he does, the back of his hand brushes across your nipple.
"Oh..." you whisper involuntarily.
"Here you go," he points to the text on the page.
You continue reading to him in a low whisper.
You read a few sections aloud. Your voice is getting breathy and choppy at times, and you pause every so often. You continue to read in a whisper. But, under the book, you notice that his finger is touching the skin of your knee, just under your dress...
You stop reading.
"shhh... whisper..." he says. Others are nearby, but don't notice.
"oh..." you pause.
"shhhh... please keep reading..."
You do. but your voice is getting breathy and unsteady. You have to pause occasionally. No one else can see... it is a large book covering your lap.
You feel his touch, tracing lightly on your skin, under the book. your voice is unsteady, breathy, and you have to pause occasionally... It gives away your faux protestations...
"Please... oh, no."
You read a few sections aloud. Your voice choppy at times, and you pause to take in a breath every so often. You continue to read, as best you can, in a halting whisper. But, under the book, you notice that his finger is touching the skin of your knee, just under your dress...
You stop reading.
"Shhh... whisper..." he says. Others are nearby, but don't notice.
"Oh..." you pause.
"Shhhh... please keep reading..."
You do. No one else can see... it is a large book covering your lap.
You feel his touch, tracing lightly on your skin, under the book. your voice is unsteady, and you have to pause occasionally... Your voice betrays your arousal, contrary to your faux protestations...
"Please... oh, no."
Finally, his finger is exploring under the seam of your panties. Warmth and wetness. You feel his finger circle your clit, lightly... slowly.
Your mouth is dry... it is hard now to breathe normally.
He presses down, harder.
"Oh! oh!"
"Shhhh...." he says.
With his other hand, he tursn the page, rubbing against your hard nipple.
You continue reading aloud, in a breathy, in an entirely out of rhythm whisper.
