The woman with her silver hair neatly pinned up stands out with her voluptuous breasts’ curves as transparent as her glasses. The taupe jacket and mauve skirt alone press her round contours modestly, yet as her fingertips glide over the bookbinding cover, I yearn for her to organize the warm heat of my desire instead of the dry leather spine. When a faint smile spreads across her lips, creasing her skin, trust builds without words, and I find myself wanting to adorn that smile with a page of my own joy.