Tuesday, February 10th 2009, Chicago, Illinois
1 Chez Paris Lingerie Emporium 2:30 pm
"Can I help you?" There's a friendly, almost sweet, teenage lilt in the voice that wafts over my shoulder.
"I'm browsing," I answer as turning, I look up from the frilly panties in my hands into the eyes of one of the most beautiful girls I've ever seen. An almost overpowering erotic innocence seems to be emanating from her. "Brrrr ... ooow ... zing," I stutter as my eyes finally break contact with hers and slowly move down and across her ripe young body.
She smiles sweetly and allows my inspection without a word of complaint — it must be a common occurrence for a beauty like her in a store like this. Finally, after I've completed my examination she asks, "For someone special? For Valentines Day? Your wife?" There's a saucy, knowing smile on the lips that have asked me the questions. It's almost a sexual leer but not quite. She's too nice. She knows I'm not shopping for my wife.
"No ... I'm just..."
"Those are French ... haute couture ... from-"
"They're beautiful. So soft ... sexy," I murmur but my attention is only for this girl, not the soft cloth between my fingers.
"I know," my angel enthuses with a giggle. "Do you know how much they cost? The set I mean. With the bra."
I shake my head no even though I had glanced at the price tag when I'd picked them up. She leans over and whispers in my ear, "Over Twooo huuundred dollaaaaaaaars. Plus tax." And as her mouth breathes the words into my ear a breast, a soft but firm teenage breast, a breast that I know without doubt is capped by a perfect pink nipple, gently pushes against my arm.
"Actually I'm here doing research."
"Are you?" The words gurgle happily from her lips, her disbelief clear as she arches her eyes upward. I can tell she thinks I'm shopping for a secret girlfriend. Again her young breast nudges into me.
"I'm a writer," I say but leave it at that as I'm in no rush at all to end our encounter. In fact I'm quite prepared to spend the rest of the afternoon in this beautiful young woman's presence. My cock, sleeping peacefully just seconds before her arrival, is lurching awake.
"I want to be a writer some day," the girl muses as her fingers trail over the lace trim of the panties she's holding. ""I'm taking an introductory writing course at the university," she adds.
"Uh huh," she answers as she lifts another hanger from the rack and holds it up so I can inspect a set of black, lace trimmed lingerie. "What do you write?"
"Short stories," I answer as I touch the soft lace in the crotch of the panties she's proffered.
"That's what I'm hoping to write some day," she says. She watches my fingers as they trail lovingly across the delicate cloth.
"Erotica," I add, then watch as her eyes grow wide.
"What? Erotica? Seriously?" She can't hide her surprise, or her interest.
"Some prefer to call it porn. That's why I'm here. I have to research the latest styles, the latest colors."
"Hah! I bet you're shopping for a secret girlfriend," she accuses, clearly not convinced. "A girlfriend your wife doesn't know about." I sense immediately that she's hoping her guess is correct.
"No, seriously, I'm shopping for the clothes for the heroine in my next story," I insist as I reach for another hanger.
"What's it about then?"
"It's about beautiful young, women who works as a salesgirl in a lingerie store."
"Ha, I bet," she challenges but it's obvious she's enjoying the conversation. "If you're really a writer what's your name? Where can I buy one of your books?"
"StoriesOnLine, I say quietly and I can't help but see that this young angel recognised the word the second it left my mouth. She knows exactly what I'm talking about.
"S ... O ... L. No way!" she exclaims. I nod my head yes.
"What's your name?" She challenges.
"Jim," I answer.
"I mean what name do you publish under?"
"I'm not sure I should discuss it with you. I'm afraid it's not a site for sixteen year old girls, it's not the type of reading an innocent young virgin should be doing," I admonish. She can hear the teasing tone in my voice and see the grin on my lips but still she breaks immediately into a teenage girls pout.
"Hah! I'm nineteen," she answers huffily and as she does she arches her back and draws back her shoulders. And as she does her ripe, tipped cones stretch the ivory colored fabric of the soft, v neck cashmere sweater she's wearing to its elastic limit. Her baby blue eyes bore into mine, challenging me not to look down.
"Nineteen?" I question in my most dubious tone. My eyes are like lasers as they settle on her tautly stretched sweater. Her nipples, clearly now erect in excitement, poke out. I lick my lips.
"I've been married two years already," she adds as she holds up her hand and displays a sparkling diamond ring.
"Impossible!" And at that exact second I realise that I'm going to fuck her. Husband or not!
"I am so." I continue to look dubiously at her. I wait.
"Are you really a writer?" I nod yes. "Do you really have stories up on S ... O ... L?" I nod again.
"That's why I came in today. To brush up on the latest in woman's underwear," I say as I lift another panty-ed hanger from the rack.
"They're just panties," she throws back at me but I can see I've captured her attention.
"What color is this one then?" I ask as I hold out the hanger.
"That's chartreuse cherry," she answers after checking the tag.
"And this?" I point to another.
"That's Neon Scuba," she says to the next one I hold up.
"What? Scuba?" I continue to lift hangers from the rack.
"Coral cobalt ... Pink flirt ... wildflower..." She rattles off the colors.
"Those aren't colors," I protest. "How would any reader know what I was talking about if I wrote that my sister's panties were neon scuba?"
She can't mask her excitement or stop her next words, "You write inceeeeest?"
I smile back at her but ignore her question, instead I ask, "And how would you describe this one?"
"It's a cheekie." And then I point to others.
"A brief ... a thong ... hiphugger ... a bikini ... Boyshorts ... a v-string." She's grinning as she staccato like identifies the latest styles of panties.
"That's lace ... fishnet ... scalloped ... a skirted thong..." She continues to identify every piece of cloth I hold out to her.
I hold up my hands in mock surrender. "And that's my problem."
"What is?" she wants to know.
"How can I describe something like this as a scalloped, fishnet, lace up, cheeky panty in neon scuba?" I ask. "My readers won't have any idea what I'm talking about."
"You work in the store. Of course youuuuu'd know..." I answer sarcastically. But I'm grinning.
"You need a teacher."
"Uh huh. What's your name?"
"You won't recognise it."
"Stiiiiiiill..." Her still is murmured softly in invitation.
"James R Scouries," I answer after a moment's hesitation.
"SCOURIES! Noooooooo waaaaaaaay!"
Christ, she's somehow recognised my name!
"You wrote "Allison's Ankle". And "Charlie's Naked Proposal". And I loved "Valentines Siblings".
I'm shocked and I know my face shows it. I can't help but wonder why this young beauty is reading my erotic stories. She should be home in bed living her own stories. Who is this girl married to? And why incest stories? And why brother/sister stories?
"You're my favourite author."
"Uh huh. I've even sent you e-mails. And you wrote back."
"What's your e-mail address?" I'm instantly curious, wondering if I'll recognise the name.
"My first name at gmail-com."
"And what's your first name?" I ask as I go to put my hand on her shoulder. She dances back out of reach.
"You'll have to buy me coffee ... my break's at four," she answers mischievously as she slips away.
2 Coffee Shop 4:00 pm
Of course I'm waiting for her when she slips out through the front door of the shop at 4:01. "I've only got thirty minutes," she says as she takes my hand and starts to lead me down the street. 'There's a coffee shop just down the block."
"We open up the boutique at ten each morning," she explains as she leads me. "Gladys opens up then and I start only at noon. I get a half hour break at four."
I'm hardly listening; instead my eyes are concentrating on the body pulling me along in its wake. The beautiful breasts dancing under her sweater. The tiny waist. The flaring hips. The long legs that are hardly concealed by the pleated yellow mini skirt that dances off her thighs as she walks.
"Gladys leaves at six and I stay until eight when I close up."
"You're all alone at night?"
"Today I am. Usually Madame Benoit, she's the owner, is there but she had a conference today. She'll be back tomorrow," she says as we sweep into the coffee shop. She leads me to a booth at the back as she calls out a greeting to the two women standing behind the counter.
She's recognised immediately by the waitress and a 'Hi Angie' echoes back through the shop.
"Angie? Like in Angela?" I ask as we sit down facing each other. Our knees bump together awkwardly. My cock gives a start in response.
"So you're married," I say as I place my hand on top of hers and cover the ring. Our waitress has just delivered our coffee. We each order a Danish to go with it before she leaves.
.... There is more of this story ...