the throbbing was noticeable through my jeans. This, in turn, caused my cheeks to flush and my breath to quicken even more. Only a blind person would fail to see what was going on with me.
Over an hour had passed since I’d entered the store, and this man, who’d previously walked right by me, and who couldn’t have been older than thirty-four, now seemed to be looking at me with Bambi eyes, waiting for me to speak. Had I changed? Can one get over libido-loss so quickly? Was I giving off some kind of pheromones after my erotic read? I wasn’t completely sure what pheromones were or if I was emitting any but I liked the idea that I had some to which I could attribute the cute man’s return.
“Yes, I am. Thank you,” I said, trying to appear nonplussed. But then feeling the need to elaborate. “See it’s my turn to pick the next book for my book club so I’m checking out a few things.”
“In the children’s’ section.” One side of his mouth was lifting, which told me he wasn't buying it.
“Well,” I proceeded confidently, “I found myself in the children’s section but I have books from several sections, actually. Don't worry. I’ll put them back.”
“I’m not worried.” Now he was smiling at me. “That was a good one.” He was pointing to Justine in Paradise , still shielding my throbbing vulva. Clearly he must have been watching me for some time.
“Oh? Well, I’m supposed to pick something sexy.” I casually tossed Justine into my shopping basket with the other titles whereupon I stood up so as to appear in control of the situation.
He eyed my stash. So far I’d perused the classics, The Story of O (too much bondage) and 100 Strokes of the Brush Before Bed (needs 101?). Both had contributed nicely to getting my fantasy juices flowing but neither was quite right for the Muffia. Nor was Fifty Shades of Silly because, well, that book was so silly it didn’t even seem relevant to anyone over 24. “Oh My!” Says heroine Anastasia Steele about 300 times. That book did help me realize, however, that though my search continued it was no longer necessary for a book to possess artful syntax and word selection to make a girl feel horny.
“Ah, that explains it,” he said, returning his gaze to my face. “Those are all good. I think I’ve read most of them, at one time or another, but it’s been years of course.”
“Of course.” Weren’t these books for women? Maybe he was gay after all. But he seemed to be making a pass, though it had been so long I wasn’t sure if I’d recognize a pass unless it was labeled. My own flirting techniques were decidedly rusty.
“So, are there any newer titles you can recommend?”
“Sorry, but I’ve been into political non-fiction pretty exclusively for the past seven or eight years. If you wanted to get the latest take on religion in politics or swine flu as a means of mind control, I’m your man. But I think you’d be making a good choice with any one of those.”
“I just thought you might have heard something, you know, since you work here.”
“Actually, I don’t work here.”
“Oh.” I didn’t know what else to say. Had he been watching me?
“My name’s Steve.” He offered his hand.
I took it. “Hi, Steve.”
“I don’t want to appear too forward but would you like to get a cup of coffee?”
Why was he paying attention to me now when I hadn’t existed before? Was it the books in my basket? Did it matter? I wondered if his fingertips would send electrical charges across my skin, what his hands would be like on my buttocks. Could he be my zipless fuck—an erotic encounter with a stranger that renews a woman’s faith in the satisfaction of her abject lust?
He gazed out at me through soulful brown eyes, his hair falling around his face most appealingly. I could feel his animal intensity boring into me, which alone probably could have made me come if I’d looked into those big browns long enough, but I broke contact when I
Over an hour had passed since I’d entered the store, and this man, who’d previously walked right by me, and who couldn’t have been older than thirty-four, now seemed to be looking at me with Bambi eyes, waiting for me to speak. Had I changed? Can one get over libido-loss so quickly? Was I giving off some kind of pheromones after my erotic read? I wasn’t completely sure what pheromones were or if I was emitting any but I liked the idea that I had some to which I could attribute the cute man’s return.
“Yes, I am. Thank you,” I said, trying to appear nonplussed. But then feeling the need to elaborate. “See it’s my turn to pick the next book for my book club so I’m checking out a few things.”
“In the children’s’ section.” One side of his mouth was lifting, which told me he wasn't buying it.
“Well,” I proceeded confidently, “I found myself in the children’s section but I have books from several sections, actually. Don't worry. I’ll put them back.”
“I’m not worried.” Now he was smiling at me. “That was a good one.” He was pointing to Justine in Paradise , still shielding my throbbing vulva. Clearly he must have been watching me for some time.
“Oh? Well, I’m supposed to pick something sexy.” I casually tossed Justine into my shopping basket with the other titles whereupon I stood up so as to appear in control of the situation.
He eyed my stash. So far I’d perused the classics, The Story of O (too much bondage) and 100 Strokes of the Brush Before Bed (needs 101?). Both had contributed nicely to getting my fantasy juices flowing but neither was quite right for the Muffia. Nor was Fifty Shades of Silly because, well, that book was so silly it didn’t even seem relevant to anyone over 24. “Oh My!” Says heroine Anastasia Steele about 300 times. That book did help me realize, however, that though my search continued it was no longer necessary for a book to possess artful syntax and word selection to make a girl feel horny.
“Ah, that explains it,” he said, returning his gaze to my face. “Those are all good. I think I’ve read most of them, at one time or another, but it’s been years of course.”
“Of course.” Weren’t these books for women? Maybe he was gay after all. But he seemed to be making a pass, though it had been so long I wasn’t sure if I’d recognize a pass unless it was labeled. My own flirting techniques were decidedly rusty.
“So, are there any newer titles you can recommend?”
“Sorry, but I’ve been into political non-fiction pretty exclusively for the past seven or eight years. If you wanted to get the latest take on religion in politics or swine flu as a means of mind control, I’m your man. But I think you’d be making a good choice with any one of those.”
“I just thought you might have heard something, you know, since you work here.”
“Actually, I don’t work here.”
“Oh.” I didn’t know what else to say. Had he been watching me?
“My name’s Steve.” He offered his hand.
I took it. “Hi, Steve.”
“I don’t want to appear too forward but would you like to get a cup of coffee?”
Why was he paying attention to me now when I hadn’t existed before? Was it the books in my basket? Did it matter? I wondered if his fingertips would send electrical charges across my skin, what his hands would be like on my buttocks. Could he be my zipless fuck—an erotic encounter with a stranger that renews a woman’s faith in the satisfaction of her abject lust?
He gazed out at me through soulful brown eyes, his hair falling around his face most appealingly. I could feel his animal intensity boring into me, which alone probably could have made me come if I’d looked into those big browns long enough, but I broke contact when I
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