A rare book dealer teaches one of her customers about the erotic power of the written word.

Weirdly squeamish was how I felt when I went into the store and requested the dirty book. That was ridiculous, of course. The establishment was run by a respectable dealer in rare editions. I was there to pick up a volume of adult literature that my employer, a corporate exec, had been trying to locate for years.

But I was as nervous as a youngster buying his first smutty magazine.

It didn’t help that the woman who ran the store was conspicuously attractive. She had hair as dark as a raven’s wing and eyes that smoldered. Her face was sculptural, with high, elegant cheekbones and elfin features that somehow managed not to appear delicate. She wore a loose button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up and... Read More