Follow by Email

Inspirational Reads

Tales of the Bookstore, Chapter 3

July 27, 2010

About a month after I got my big promotion--from "bookseller" up to "assistant team leader"--we had to hire some more help for the store. Coincidentally, that is about when college started, so we needed some warm bodies to fill the void left by the student summer help.

We hired three pretty good workers--Jessica, Cathy and Sheri.

Sheri was and older woman, blond, perhaps in her mid- to late-forties. She had a soft accent that was a mixture of West Virginia hill country and the slow drawl of the South which mixed together to give her the voice of a phone-sex operator. She was prone to wearing skirts and blouses where the buttons would work themselves free. Behind her glasses were a pair of big, grey-green eyes.

In short, Sheri was a MILF definitely and a Cougar, if you allowed the definition to be bent around a woman who was married and not on the prowl for something younger.

Shane and I had many discussions--only some of them drunken--about Sheri and whether or not it was okay to want to fuck her.

"She's older," Shane would offer.

"But more experienced," I would counter.

"She's got at least one kid," he'd spout.

"And you'd have no problems fucking either one of them," I'd offer, moving him into verbal checkmate.

"You're right," he'd say after a couple of moments, taking a drink from his cranberry and cheap vodka. "Goddammit, you're always right."

And I was right. Sheri had an excellent, curvy body. She had great legs and, when she wore skirts (which was often), she would wear heels, making her legs just that much better. Throw in the smoky, sultry voice and this was a done deal.

I had dreams about Sheri. Nasty, terrible dreams about what I would do to her up behind the cashier's station. Unfortunately, they always ended with daylight ruining the fantasy. But, I had them, often, which is why I was able to negotiate Shane into a corner between admission and guilt, both painted with a heavy shade of sexual frustration.

Sheri also had a daughter, Heather, who was...*kisses fingertips and makes an okay sign with my hand* Instead of Sheri's light blonde hair, Heather had brown hair, green eyes, a complexion that tanned nicely and--as Sheri informed me one day--size E breasts.

I hadn't noticed they were that huge until Heather came in one day sporting a top that she probably should have given to Goodwill in the third grade. And yes, they were as advertised. Sheri often talked about how Heather had back problems, and I once offered to be Heather's personal bra, that my hands were large and made for cupping breasts gently yet firmly, so that they would cause her no more problems.

The thing poking her in the lower back, however...that, I couldn't control.

But, we're not here to discuss Sheri's daughter's impressive rack, no matter how magnificent they were. And, believe me. They were.

We didn't sell just books at the bookstore. No, we also sold magazines. As such, we sold the softcore porn mags. Playboy, Playgirl, Penthouse, Hustler. We kept them all up behind the counter so that teenage boys couldn't get to them, rip them open and jerk off to them in the young adult section.

Apparently, no one thought to do this before there was an incident.


That was it, however. We didn't go into anything more raunchy than that. Which sets the stage for today's story.

Sheri was manning the cashier stations and I was behind her, calling the special order people to let them know their books had arrived and that we would hold them for two weeks. Now, while Sheri was easy-on-the-eyes, she was also a little...let's just say preciously naive. She wasn't dumb, but she also wasn't going to be outshining the rest of the bulbs on the Christmas tree. It was part of her charm.

Enter Earl and Randy. One of them bore an uncanny resemblance to Larry the Cable Guy, just dirtier and with a mullet. He had the requisite t-shirt with the arms ripped off, sun-faded baseball cap from a feed store, and an aroma about him that was part diesel fuel, part cowshit, and all down-home. The other one looked...also like Larry the Cable Guy, but he was without the mullet and wore a flannel shirt with the arms cut off over his t-shirt with the arms cut off.

The approached the counter. I had my back to them, willfully throwing Sheri under the inbred moron bus. I would have felt bad, had the following conversation not, actually, taken place.

"Do you have adult magazines?" Billy One drawled. Billy Two just giggled.

"Why yes, sir, we do have some. We keep them behind the counter," Sheri responded, her voice chipper, perky, ready to please.

"We have a buddy whose birthday is coming up, and we wanted to git him a special present," Billy One continued. Billy Two giggled some more.

"Well, what would you like?" Sheri asked, "We have Playboy, Penthouse--"

"Do you have 'Beavershot'?" Billy One asked. More giggles from his counterpart.

"Um..." Sheri turns to me. "Do we carry 'Beavershot'?"

I have to keep my back turned to the pair because I am about in tears trying not to laugh. I put my head down and shake it. I've never even heard of 'Beavershot', though I do not doubt that there is such a beast.

"I'm sorry," Sheri offered back, "We don't carry 'Beavershot'"

"What about 'Cuntstain?'" Billy One asks, a bit more desperation coloring his question. Billy Two continues with his high-pitched gales of giggles.

I am about beside myself at this point and am trying not to laugh as Sheri turns to me and asks, "Do we carry 'Cuntstain'?" Again, I have never even heard of this periodical. I compose myself with a mighty sigh and turn to face Earl and Randy.

"For something like that, you're going to have to go to a more adult-themed shop. We only carry the more softcore stuff here. I would try downtown."

"Alright," Billy One said, and they turned, as one, to head toward the door. He turns back toward Sheri, winks at her, points his left hand at her like a gun, and makes that clicking sound in the side of his mouth.

That was too much for me, and I had to excuse myself to the back in order to laugh myself breathless. Finally, after composing myself, I returned to the front where Sheri remained, unflappable despite the heaps of pornography that have just been thrown upon her.

She looks at me as I return and she offers, "Well, they seemed nice."


Bev said...

HAHAHAHA!!!! "They seemed nice?!"

That's awesome. I like this Sheri.

Scope said...

No words can express the perfectness of "They seemed nice."

Ed said...

You should have bent them both over the sales counter.

Not Earl & Randy, sicko.

The mom and daughter.

Sully said...

I think I'm in love.

Wynn said...

If you had actually tried to seduce her with Naked Man or something, trying to sensually lick your finger, leaning a little relaxed against the cash register, I bet she would just "Oh, do you think it's hot in here? Should I open a window?"