It was an old shop in a new part of town. An anachronism, a dim and musty place of knick-knacks and old things. I loved the place, I liked the atmosphere, and I loved browsing its shelves and old artifacts. I also liked teasing and flirting with the owner's wife. Her husband was as old and fusty as the shop it's self; his wife was, well unexpected. For a start she was from the Continent, Dutch, if the accent was anything to go by. He was in his sixties if not seventies, she was much younger, perhaps late forties. No matter, she dressed old style - it fitted better with the tourists the shop 'fleeced'.
Oh boy did they fleece the tourists! This was a tourist town - the Castle, a part-time seat of the Monarchy was only just up the road and everything about this small town was about parting the Tourists - the "grockles" in local parlance, from their money. Trouble is they were good at it, extracting the money that is, very good. As a local, well from the next town anyway, I had to bargain pretty hard to get the odds and ends that I wanted at a sensible price. It helped to speak in a local accent to be sure, but even then you needed to be quite persuasive.
I visited the shop for the second time in a matter of a few days, I had spotted a rather nice rose quartz Bhudda and I had come back for it, that and another chance to tease Jo. We had been on first name terms for some months, a fact that left her husband less than pleased. He just called me 'Mr.', a term, that in this country, borders on close to being insulting in some eyes. Me I couldn't have cared less. If he only knew I would have put up with a lot more than that, minor insult, to chat up the vivacious Jo.
That wasn't really her name, more just the opening few syllables, but the rest defeated my tongue, so Jo it had become. She, like everyone else just called me Sven. I called her vivacious, she was but in an older, more comfortable way. Her family had grown up, I think she had a son and a daughter, and had left home. I believe I had seen the daughter in the shop once. There is a joke about inheriting Father's looks and mother's brains - she certainly had her father's looks. If she had her mother's brains she was lucky. Jo was sharp - by that I mean quick. Quick witted, quick in business - she was the boss. But she was clever, the old man thought he was in charge, and she was content to let it be that way. She was also 'comfortable'. She didn't worry about her figure, but neither was she unattractive, just comfortable. Nicely in proportion, not thin, in fact unremarkable.
But enough of the gossip, my purpose had been not so much to buy the Bhudda, which I had in mind to do, but rather to see if amongst the other detritus there was a second one. Mind you if I did find it, Jo would know the greater value of the pair and she'd have a damn good go at fleecing me.
So I was enjoying myself, completely oblivious to time, the weather (it had been damp and drizzly, with a little fog or mist off the river when I had come in earlier) and the gathering dark. I was at the back of the shop, well away from the front and to be truthful, part of my mind was still taken up with the sight I had been presented with about half an hour earlier. Jo had been behind a display case when I had asked about an item that was close to my edge. She had leaned over on tip-toe to get a better look and I had been gifted with the most wonderful close up of a chest that stretched to breakfast time. She was wearing a loose blouse and, as I now knew, no bra. Nothing! Zilch! As she leaned forward the most beautiful pair of breasts were there, exposed to my gaze, nipples a little firm from the attention of the blouse, but totally magnificent.
She had noticed that I simply stopped speaking and was stood with my jaw dropped. I mean, flirting was one thing, but this, well, hells teeth we were both married, my wife was two doors down, talking to her boss, hers was - well, he wasn't here! Jo looked at me and burst out laughing - "You men, you're all the same - a flash of tits and your mind is a blank." I'm afraid all I could do was splutter at the same time as going all colours at the red end of the spectrum. She stayed, toying with my mind for several seconds more and then moved back to a rather more decorous position. I had totally lost the plot and gave up, I have to say rather embarrassed and moved off to the back of the shop. Jo was still giggling some time later.
.... There is more of this story ...