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Wanted: a girl who loves books, coffee shops, intelligent older men m4w Ive always imagined that the quintessential forbidden affair between a er woman and an older man should start in a used bookstore. Better yet, a used bookstore with a coffee shop. Does such a place even exist in the District? Well, as they say, a fantasy is a story that can occur only in your imagination.
Im a part-time college instructor. Tall, lanky, forty-something. For the sake of this fantasy, youd have to imagine me with dark-framed glasses, thick brown hair, a white dress shirt, open at the neck, a black corduroy blazer, dark jeans, and black leather shoes. And Id be sitting in a comfortable chair in the aforementioned bookstore/cafe with a small pot of tea on the table next to me, reading something vaguely pretentious yet impossible to put downperhaps something on the order of Gustave Flaubert, Anais Nin, or Nabokov.
You would come around the corner from the stacks, engrossed in page three of a book you had just found, as you made your way somewhat absentmindedly to the cafe counter where you would look up from your book only just long enough to order something hot to drink.
Of course I would have looked up from my book the moment you came around the corner, and my eyes would have followed you as you moved across the room. I would be mesmerized by your beautiful yet no-nonsense appearance: your intelligent face, your slender build, your hair arranged in a simple but practical way that speaks of care but not vanity. You would be quite a bit er than me because thats the way it always is in the classic novels; and in contrast to me, you might not have a ring on your finger. Of course youd have to be a lifelong lover of books, bookstores, and cozy coffee shops.
Your drink now in one hand, book in the other, you would scan the room, looking for a place to sit. Your eyes would meet mine, and we would both be briefly startled by the unexpected spark in each others eyes. You would look away, slightly flustered, and youd quickly find a seat on the opposite side of the room.
Nothing would happen for the next minute or so, during which we would pretend to be engrossed in our respective books. But after a while, we would begin to glance up periodiy whenever we thought the other wasnt lookingplausibly disinterested, yet surreptitiously examining each other from afar. Inevitably, our glances would meet again, and this time just the hint of a smile would form on our lips.
But what then? Would one of us stand up and walk over to the other, or would it end up as yet another missed connection on slist? That would be a shame.