The Bookstore - Sex Stories

The Bookstore

She had always loved to read. Even as a kid, she always had her nose in a book. She’d read while walking to school, while brushing her teeth, she used to ride to the library and come home bowed under the weight of her book bag. She was voracious about it, she devoured novels, she worked her way systematically through the library. When her mum and dad went to shopping malls on the weekend, they often left her in a book store while they got groceries or ran errands, it was easy, she’d just sit in a corner and read and read and read. She couldn’t quite remember when she first discovered the adult books section. She’d been young, she knew that much. Maybe 11, maybe 12. Every bookstore has one, Borders, Dymmocks, Angus & Robertson - it’s a thin slice of shelf, usually somewhere in between Self Help and Health. She was a kid, she was curious. She’d already found her mum’s copy of the Joy of Sex, she’d felt that hot guilty pressure in her lower stomach, she thought there might be more where that came from in this new genre, this new frontier, ADULT NOVELS . She stood in front of books about portion size and the optimum amount of daily steps and darted her eyes left. Hand outstretched, shaking, trying desperately to seem casual. Slipping out that first volume. Hurrying away to a corner and devouring it in hot, hungry eyefuls; feeling swollen, feeling distended and not knowing why. Clenching her thighs together. Peering around to make sure no one was coming. She wouldn’t want to get ...

... caught by her parents. Not with this. She did that for the next four years. By that time, she could go to the mall by herself. It became a habit, she had to get her fix, the words that made her feel so filthy, made her heart pound, reading them before she even figured out how to masturbate. She always left the store feeling shellshocked, blinking at the fluorescent lights, mind filled with cunt and suck and fuck. Always frustrated that she had to leave. Buying the books that she pored over was out of the question, it’d be so embarrassing and she’d be stared at, she couldn’t shake the idea that those porn books (the word erotica had not yet presented itself to her) had an age limit and that the cashier would alert the police. Why couldn’t she just take them with her.. Then one day she just did. It was easy. She went home that day and climbed into bed and wallowed in it, gorged herself, pain and humiliation, a girl being rutted into like livestock, medical stories with bladder control and restraints, stuff that made her shudder, stuff that opened up a dirty festering shameful hole in her brain. She needed to fill it, she couldn’t get enough. She stole enough books to fill a bookcase. She never got caught. She was invincible. A hand on her shoulder. She jerked, spinning around, eyes wide. It was the owner of the bookstore, he’d always been nice, he brought out stools for her to sit on and always waved goodbye when she left. Now he was looking straight down at her, his eyes set ...