I noticed him the moment he walked in the door. He was average height but there was nothing else average about him. He was intelligent, quick witted, and confident. He commanded attention when he entered a room, and I admired that. I wanted him. I needed him to want me.
He scanned the room, as if he was looking for something in particular, not just browsing. With so many of us here, how could I get him to notice me?
He HAD to choose me. As he looked my way, I silently begged him to take a step in my direction. He did. I couldn’t be sure that it was me he was walking towards, but as long as he was coming this way, I had a chance.
His eyes moved discerningly, up and down, quickly moving from one to the next. He stopped in front of me. I was frozen. My heart raced.
I wanted him to touch me. Pick me up, take me home, lay me in his bed. I wanted his eyes to pour over me hungrily, drink me in, run his fingers down my spine, hold me close until I laid down on his chest and we faded to a satisfied slumber. I wanted to be the last thing he touched before he slept, the first thing he reached for when he awoke.
He looked down at me and a slow, sexy, sideways smile appeared. His eyes flashed. I tingled. I knew this was it. I held my breath.
As he reached down and grabbed me playfully, my spirit soared! I was definitely, almost assuredly, going home with him!
He carried me off. But wait. Where were we going? This was not the way to the exit! We were going deeper, sinking, suddenly surrounded by other hopefuls. I gulped, but held my head. He’s just taking a last look before committing, I told myself. He wants ME. He chose ME. Not the others.
But yet, here we were. He looked around. He seemed to find something else that captured his interest, and we walked forward. He lingered, the fingers of his left hand tapping my upper spine, the fingers of his right hand on his cheek. He was contemplating something.
Suddenly I was sitting. I’m on a chair. Who put me here? Well HE did, of course! I wouldn’t go here on my own!! He’s still nearby, but he’s let go of me. Maybe he’ll come back. Maybe he’ll… ooh, he’s coming back! I squinched my eyes shut and whispered “oh please oh please oh please!”
I watched him walk past me. Hopelessly, helplessly, I shrunk into my chair. He has already forgotten about me, about our connection. We could’ve, SHOULD’VE, spent endless days snuggled up in bed, with his tongue wetting his fingers before he turned me over… *sigh*…
As I watched him walk out of that bookstore with that hussy Essbaum’s “Hausfrau”, I cursed his good taste. Then waited for the clerk to find me and bring me back to my table in the Bargain Books section…