I fumbled through the many books on Poe. ‘The Gold-Bug’, ‘Morella’ and even the elusive ‘The Masque of the Red Death’. At last, I said to myself. After years of evasion, I finally found it. I quickly brought down the leather bound copy from its lofty pedestal, and thumbed through the pages. Yellowed paper, musty smell, fine leather, it was a perfect collector’s copy. As I flipped through, a postcard came to view, lying soft in the midst of the typed letters. It was a black and white picture. A picture of a young girl, sitting coy on her bed, with the bed sheet draped suggestively around her bosom. Her jet black hair (you can still make this out even if the picture is not coloured) were sitting loose on her slender shoulders. There was a closed window to her left, and the room seemed dismal and grey. She was an object of art in the centre of the setting, posing in a sensual off-handish manner, like she did not realise her own beauty or worth. Her eyes stared straight at the camera, boy, the photographer must have had a hell of a time getting this done. Those eyes, those wonderous large, passionate eyes were like the ocean of life and death at the same time. I stood transfixed at them, gulping at the decadence of the picture, till in a split second moment, her eyes blinked and the bedsheet slipped to reveal her taut nipples for a moment. I was taken aback. What the heck did just happen?
“Is there something wrong Sir?” I nearly jumped out of my skin.
“I said Sir, is there something wrong?” She stood just ten feet away from me. How in the blinking world did she manage to get so close without me realising. The floor boards creaked for Pete’s sake!
“I thought you asked for help Sir,” the little Missy said, as she sashayed towards me. She looked beautiful, now that I could see her up-close. In the midst of a mind-baffling turn of events, I quickly shove the book back in its place and picked a random book from the shelf below.
I did not recognise the title. The leather cover screamed of the words – The Midnight Rendezvous. “I’ll take this one please.” What the heck. I just wanted to slip out of there.
“Very well Sir, please follow me,” she said. As we walked towards the billing machine, I noticed how thin her shirt was. Sheer, I think is what they call it. She had no bra on. That was certain. Oh how I would have enjoyed trailing my tongue between those arched blades, and with this thought drifting in my frazzled brain, I left.
Participating in Half Marathon Blogging Challenge – Day 6 – with Blogchatter.