The Bookstore


 “When words are scarce they are seldom spent in vain”

-William Shakespeare-

It’s strange: I see a couple in a bookstore. A girl who is dressed and pressed, even in this terrible weather. Which, by all standards, made her look a little superficial. She was drop dead gorgeous. That’s why the boyfriend fell out of place, next to her radiance. But he looked well natured an not completely un-intelligent. I figured that he must have dragged her here to fill the beauty with something worthwhile. Imagine my amazement when I saw him yawning as she started taking down books from shelves.  I grinned to myself as she dumped a whole load of these books on a table and started to skim read some of them. The boy just stood there playing with his umbrella. I felt like such a dick. I had to go over and apologize.

And so I did, and the next 2 weeks we spend multiple nights together talking about words and books and stories in between passionate coitus. I was amazed that woman this beautiful could not only be charmed by words but was so turned on by them. As we lay panting and sweaty on her bed she looked at me and wrapped her voluptuous naked body around me. “I am so tired and yet not ready to go to sleep. Would you please quote me to sleep again?” I grinned and kissed her. What will I get in return? She went along with my game and looked at me abashed. ” After the mind numbing sex I just gave you, I think you owe me” I laughed out loud. “You gave me!?” I spluttered, “Was I not a little bit evolved too? And if I am not very much mistaken you were not complaining anywhere.” She looked at me with her puppy eyes and hugged me a little tighter. “That’s right, so maybe just because I said please then?” I smiled and kissed her back. “Fine, what will it be tonight?” She looked very pleased and happiness seemed to radiate from her as she nestled herself against me and rested her head on my shoulder. “I think only the bard himself can make me happier than I am already.” I did not speak for a moment and lay there in total happy amazement. Then I brushed her hair out of her face and whispered:

“When my love swears she is made of truth, I do believe her though I know she lies…”

She fell asleep halfway through the poem but I did not want or dare to stop because I was afraid that she might wake and I could never cut a sonnet like this short.

“Therefore I lie with her and she with me, and in our faults by lies we’d flattered be.” I finished and looked at her happily sleeping face. I lay awake for minutes that might have been hours. Looking at her wondering in full amazement why it was possible for her to be this perfect.


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