David, my husband, came into the bedroom and stubbed his toe against a pile of my books on the floor. I was the first to admit my novel acquisitions were out of hand. I had “to be read” stacks all over our home, along with shelves stuffed with volumes I’d already devoured.

But David was in a bad mood — trouble at work — and he let loose a flurry of complaints. But the thrust of it was: Why the fuck did I need so many books? All this stuff could be electronically stored on a tablet, which would take up a hell of a lot less space. Blah, blah, blah.

I let him have his say because he wasn’t wrong. I did buy too many books, though there were far worse habits to have. However, I rarely got on him about all the sports gear he had around because I knew he loved racquetball and tennis and all the other stuff. He needed it to balance out his stressful job.

Books were the same for me. I’d read voraciously from a young age, and the habit had carried over into adulthood, getting more intense if anything. Books opened up exotic worlds, explored deep human emotions and thrilling adventures — as well as some sweetly rendered erotic moments. A few sex scenes I’d read had seared themselves into my mind, almost like they were personal memories.

David finished his diatribe and stomped out of the bedroom, and I brooded. For some reason his crack about a tablet got to me. I liked paper. The feel of an actual book in my hands was like nothing else. So what? I recycled diligently and drove an electric car.

Later, he came back and apologized, and it was sincere enough that I tugged him onto the bed and we screwed. His sports enthusiasm had given him a perfectly toned body, and we certainly knew each other’s desires after several years of marriage. It was a nice, mildly joyous bit of lovemaking.

But the next day I was still stewing a little. David was at his office, but I had a day off. I went out for a walk, feeling strangely philosophical and wondering about the nature of my marriage. I didn’t regret marrying David, but I thought about how my life might have played out. You know, the roads not taken.

Walking the streets, I thought of my favorite college lover, René. Calling him a boyfriend would be overstating it. We did fuck a lot but were never exclusive. We often talked about literature, and those sessions were almost as intense as our sexual interludes. René was intellectually driven, challenging and, yes, probably more than a bit of a poseur. But he’d really gotten my motor running back then.

He was also the diametric opposite of David, who read marketing reports and saw the world with admirable clarity.

I realized I was on a city street I’d never been down. My breath caught when I saw a sign for a bookstore. It was a basement place with dark windows. Like a moth to flame, I descended the stairs and entered.

Instantly the smell of paper and ink hit, a pure aphrodisiac to a book lover like me. The place was cramped but in a delicious way. Shelves were bursting, floor to ceiling. The light was warm but not too bright. Floorboards creaked beneath my feet.

“Let me know if you need help,” a voice called out from an aisle or two away.

“Thanks. Just looking,” I said. But I knew I would be buying, too.

My gaze traveled the spines. Everything was neatly organized. I recognized many titles, each one touching a memory. Finally, I gasped and seized a particular novel, yanking it off the shelf. It was a copy of a book René had once given me, the very same edition. I’d lost it during some move, but still recalled almost every page of it.

“Find something you like?” the same voice asked. I presumed it was the owner, but he stood closer this time, just behind me in the aisle.

I was still mesmerized by the paperback. My hands trembled. “I just found a long-lost friend,” I said.

René had read passages of this novel to me as we lay naked and temporarily sated with bedroom curtains rippling in the breeze and golden light spilling through the window. Those were glorious memories. I shivered with excitement as I remembered René’s cock growing hard again, him setting down the book and me climbing onto him.

I turned and stopped short. The bookstore’s proprietor wasn’t the spitting image of René, but something in his facial structure, his frame and even his confident posture reminded me sharply of my handsome bygone lover.

“I’m happy for your reunion,” he said with a smile, before turning to lead me to the cash register.

His pants were snug, and I noticed his backside flexed nicely as he walked. I felt my pussy growing helplessly damp. It was an almost ridiculous state of arousal. When he rang up my purchase, I put money in his hand, then let my fingertips brush him. He smiled again, but his lips quivered this time.

“This has got a great sex scene in it,” he said.

I knew exactly the one he meant. I leaned across the low counter to whisper, “Yes, it does.”

I brazenly kissed his lips. I wouldn’t have been surprised if he’d yelped and thrown me out. But instead he took the happier road and kissed me back. Our lips melted together, and our tongues tangled. I was groping his strong shoulders. A moan rumbled deep in my throat.

“Hold on,” he said before hurrying away. As I heard him locking the door, I stripped, leaving my clothes on the floor. When he returned, he looked up and down my naked body as his hard cock tented the front of his pants.

He got undressed even faster than I had. He picked me up — with his fingers sinking enticingly into the flesh of my ass — and set me on the countertop. We resumed our kissing with heat rising from our bare skin. As we made out, I enjoyed the mild burn of his stubble. My husband was always scrupulously clean-shaven.

The shopkeeper’s hand closed over my breast. I sighed as he squeezed my boob, and I reached for his hard cock. He pinched my stiff nipple, and my pleasure increased. I pumped his shaft, liking the feel of the firmness of his girth.

He bent to lick my neck, then he suckled my tits. As he moved lower, I opened my legs wider. With my ass perched on the edge of the counter, I trembled with anticipation and my cunt was slick with need.

His hot breath grazed my wet pussy lips. That was followed by furious swipes of his tongue. Bliss radiated outward from my pussy, zipping toward every extremity. My toes tingled, and my fingertips buzzed. His lovely tongue flicked against my throbbing clitoris. I laced my fingers through his hair and mashed my pussy hard against his face. My pleasure soared as he energetically ate my cunt.

When my squealing climax came, he kept his mouth in place, drinking down my orgasmic juices.

But he wasn’t done with his oral onslaught. His hands closed over my hips, and he rocked me back until I was resting on my elbows. Then I felt his breath again, this time against my asshole, which was already slick with my overflowing pussy juice.

When his tongue touched me there, in so intimate a place, I sucked in air through my teeth. It had been so long since I’d gotten this particular treatment. He licked me energetically. His tongue tip circled my ring again and again before dipping inside. New pleasures bloomed within me. I shook on the counter, knocking a few stray items onto the floor.

When he finally stood, my pussy and ass were both buzzing. His cock stood out straight and needy. In a raw voice, I said, “Fuck whichever hole you want.”

He met my eyes and said, “First one, then the other.”

I leaned back hard on my elbows as he stepped into position. I felt him swirl his luscious cockhead over my pussy lips. Electrical thrills danced throughout my body. He put himself inside me, just his swollen knob. I writhed around the lovely intrusion, wanting more, needing all of him.

He accommodated. Looming above me, he leaned forward and the length of him slipped into my cunt. A surprised cry escaped me when he fully shoved in his shaft. I felt fully impaled. It was a lush sensation, like being touched at one’s core.

I lifted my legs and planted my heels on the counter’s edge. He gripped my knees and started plowing into me. His every plunge went all the way, stoking the flames of my ecstasy. His rhythm was steady, his lunges strong.

All that time, I was breathing in that pervasive book scent. With it came memories of erotic passages in fragments, along with actual real-life sexual encounters. Books increased life’s pleasure, even a pleasure like this.

That was when I recalled that the sex scene in the novel I’d just purchased took place in a bookstore. I wanted to bray with laughter. Instead, my breath heaved and my tits jiggled as a ferocious orgasm overtook me. I shook and shuddered and felt my bliss powerfully.

He slowed, then stopped. But we weren’t done. As promised, he shifted his footing and pressed his slick cockhead against my asshole. I readied myself to take him in by relaxing my muscles. He pushed against my snug ring, which easily opened for him.

He slipped inside, but moved much more gently than when he was hammering my pussy. Like anilingus, it had been a little while since I’d taken a cock up my ass. But there was nothing but pleasure as he slid deeper in. I lifted my hips higher, encouraging him to go all the way.

Finally, his balls were pressed against my backside. I had all of him. He set about fucking my asshole. When I groaned to indicate how good it felt, he increased his efforts. Soon he was stroking away in my rear passage.

New waves of pleasure filled me. Nonetheless, I was still aware of his movements and knew when he was about to unload. I clenched my ass around him just as he let go and filled me with hot spurts of his jizz. It was fantastic.

Later that night, I stayed up and read that book from cover to cover.