Mia works in an independent bookstore in New York City, a small shop lined floor to ceiling with books. Nothing about the place is neat, but she knew where everything was placed. She's quiet, intelligent, friendly enough with the lunch-time crowd that filter in through the doorway. No one noticed the beauty of the shop, the flaking of the paint from around the windows, the way the tiny purple flowers came up through the cracks in the sidewalk underneath the boxes of books lining the front of the store outside. Lunch time was busy more often than not and when they made the most money.
It was almost the end of lunch when Mia brushed a bit of hair back behind her ear, closing the book she was reading and looked up, seeing the man in the suit, sitting in one of the old leather chairs in a corner. The air was hazy coming in through the windows outside. It illuminated the side of his face slightly, one book in his lap. She watched him a second before going to help a customer. When she returned to put her book away, he was gone. He would return daily, sit in the chair and read, drink coffee he brought in with him, or just watch her. She never approached him, but knew from that first day on when he was in the store. One day he took matters into his own hands. He had decided what he wanted.
What I'm looking for in your character for this role:
In the months after she graduated from college, Mia changed her schedule to take on more of the opening shifts at the bookstore. It was a little hole in the wall piled from floor to ceiling, every nook and cranny filled with books. Her shifts changed from slow night time closings to morning openings, working through the busy lunch time rush. It was an independent bookstore in Manhattan, one of just a handful left in the city. She loved her job. She loved the smell of the books, the yellowing of the edges on the older books, the threads that would show through on some of the older, rarer spines.
She fit the bookstore well – had worked there going on five years now. She knew where everything was in the cluttered little shop. She had been told she even looked like she belonged – the librarian. Never without a book when off from work – on the subway, the bus or sitting out at the park. The owner of the shop, a kind older Jewish man, who had essentially given over the running of the shop to his daughter and Mia, often prodded her to eat whenever he was in. Her lithe figure always seemed to look ‘too thin’ to Mr. Cohen. Sometimes she was just too busy and forgot to eat, but the truth was she had curves, rounded angles hidden behind those carefully chosen clothes. She sometimes noticed how men would watch her up on the rolling ladder or bent over a pile of books. She had to admit it occurred to her sometimes how intimate those looks were, as if they already had their hands sliding up along her taut thighs, pushing her skirt upward or tearing at the buttons of her blouse to grasp a cinnamon tipped breast in their palm while they pressed up behind her...Daydreams and interpretations…
There were little reading nooks throughout the store – leather of fabric covered chairs, some plush, some decorative, hidden among the stacks making semi-private little alcoves. She talked with customers about fiction, romance, history, science, psychology and sociology – her major in college. She loved watching people more than talking to them and it was often commented that she was so very quiet…
She brought out boxes of books to set on the table outside of the windows that lined the front of the shop. The panes were flecked with paint chips from the flaking wood and there were little purple flowers sprouting up through the broken sidewalk beneath where the boxes of extra books gone on sale were set out to be displayed for sale. The click of her heels sounded on the concrete as she walked back in. A pot of tea put on in the back room and she was ready for the morning.
The morning was always a light few hours – women with no place other than shopping, lunch dates and late tennis practice would come in, looking for something for the nanny to read to the child(ren) left at home that they barely ever took the time to look at. Knuffle Bunny was still a favorite for some odd reason. She found it odd they would pick that books. Perhaps it was the illustration. Shoes scuffed, shuffled, clicked and thudded on the old wooden flooring. The building itself was old and the creaking and unevenness of the floors let you know just how old. She brought the cup of tea to pale seashell pink lips as she glanced around the store, a soft smile turning the corners of her lips upward. She did enjoy working here, but she would need to start looking for a second job. Student loans would come knocking soon enough.
Mia had been working her way through a book while bent over the counter, her black stockinged legs hidden behind the counter, but at the right angle one could see the curve of her bottom perfectly in that black pencil skirt. The buttons on her soft cream blouse were unbuttoned just enough to provide a glimpse of the swell of pale breast held by white lace cups. With the approach of a customer, she set the book off to the side of the counter, a little velvet ribbon with tarnished and scuffed silver and crystal dangles attached at both ends holding her place. She chatted with customers, offered up advice and recommendations, guided customers through the maze that had been her second home for five years now. As the hours passed, into the lunch hours, the crowd picked up – men in business attire sometimes stopping in, women in skirts and silken blouses, a jogger or two, college students and high schoolers hoping to lose themselves in the shop while skipping class for a little while.
It was that afternoon…her tea half-finished on the counter when she heard a question from a customer. She closed the book after replacing the velvet page holder, looking up but seeing him…In the leather chair down one aisle, the light filtering in through the thick-paned glass, illuminating him slightly. He seemed to be watching her, a hand on a book in his lap. He wore a nicely cut suit, expensive looking from what she could tell. She hadn’t seen him come in…”Miss!” It was the customer calling her again. She tucked a bit of unruly long dark brown hair not captured in that thick braid back, behind her ear before tearing her steely blue eyes from him. “Yes…I’ll be right there…” Her heels sounded on the wood floors and she walked toward the customer, the long length of her hair brushing at the base of her back.
I'm looking for a Dom - a businessman, or someone who would be wearing a suit on a daily basis during the day. Appeal to her intelligence, appeal to her innocence. She's early twenties, just out of college, long dark hair generally kept in a braid or bun, blue eyes. She's worked at the bookstore for years, she comfortable in the shop, even if she's a bit shy. She's out of her shell when talking about books, about history, about science, psychology and especially sociology. She's more the type to sit back and watch than approach to interact. I'm open for this to be a one-on-one with a possibility of his sharing her with you either playing all parts of the guys or us bringing in a third.
I expect you to actually want to write. I started this thread with someone else just yesterday who told me to actually cut back on my writing. I won't do that. Elliquiy is a place for people to write. All my posts will not be as long as the intro, please understand that. I'm not looking for anyone to give me one-liners either. I want this to be as tactile a story as possible. I would love it if you were able to smell the vanilla scent of old books, see the cracks in the sidewalk and the filtered light through the old windows. Feel the fabric of the suit and the silk of her stockings.
If you want to know more about what I'm looking for in a partner, who I am, etc, please see my original request thread (for which there is a link in my signature area). We can work on more when I receive your PM if you're interested.