Her at the Library

She came to my library. I felt my pulse quicken as she made her way toward the reference desk.

The library wasn’t busy. Finals ended the day before. Even our staff holiday party was over. But there she was, dressed like Audrey Horn from Twin Peaks. Knee length plaid skirt and crisp ivory blouse. Her feet were hidden from my view, but I’d bet she had one saddle shoes.

reading

I knew she was trying to tease me, and it may have worked if I hadn’t expected this, eventually. She’d spent far too long telling me all about her sexy librarian fantasy for me to be surprised. She reached the reference desk, and gave me a sly smile.

“How can I help you,” I ask before the bored student worker had a chance to ask.

She licked her lip-glossed lips, “Where would you have Sarah Waters?” she asked, as if she didn’t know me.

The student librarian barely glanced up from his phone. After all, I’d initiated contact with the “student” – let him think I was bored or antsy. “I can show you,” I said rising from the desk. I grabbed the book I had stashed on the desk and walk out from behind the desk. I noticed her eyes widen just a bit as she took in my outfit.

I’d been wearing my sexy librarian clothes all week. I even had my hair up in a bun. I could feel her eyes on me as she followed me. I lead her behind one of the stacks, one I knew that lacked any security cameras.

“What are you doing…” My question was cut off when she kissed me. It was a long, slow kiss. I knew she wanted to take control. So I broke the kiss first. When she started to speak, I shushed her in my best librarian voice. I knew exactly what she was going to get from this adventure.

“You’re in my space,” I whispered sternly.

She nodded, with a surprised smile. I opened the books and flipped through the pages. “Turn around,” I whispered to her, “face the shelf.” Her smile changed to delight.

She was quick to comply. I couldn’t help it, I ran my hands over her skirt, and she noticed that she was wearing heeled saddle shoes. I slid my hand under her skirt, and found that the she was already wet. “Bad girl,” I whispered in her ear. “You’ve come in here to tease me haven’t you?”

She nodded, and said “Yes,” at full volume.

I shushed her again. “There’s no talking in the library.” I drew my hands away from her. I laid the book next to her on the shelf, and started whispering the words in her ear

“Coming together

it is easier to work

after our bodies

meet.”

I put my hand under her skirt again, reading the words – drawing out the images and passion of the piece. My fingers slid under her panties. “Shhh,” I whispered in her ear, “Don’t make a sound.”

I saw her clamp her lips closed. I continued to read,

“but as your body moves

under my hands

charged and waiting”

night 1

I murmured into her ear, my fingers sinking into her wet warmth. I heard her stifle a moan. I stroked my fingers in and out, matching the slow rhythm of the poem. I pulled my fingers out, and found her clit. I rubbed softly, still whispering the words of the poem “Touching you I catch midnight/as moon fires set in my throat/I love you flesh into blossom/I made you/and take you made/into me.”

I felt her shudder on my hand, but she didn’t make a sound. I pulled my hand out from under her skirt, and straightened the fabric. “That was very good,” I whispered in her ear. “I could barely hear you.”

“Is this the book you’re looking for?” I asked, louder than I’d been before, loud enough that student worker could have heard me.

She replied, “No, I think the one I want is over here.” Her voice was breathy, and she reached a hand toward me.

“On your knees,” I whispered at her.

She sank gracefully to her knees, her skirt flaring around her.

“Is it here?” I asked, raising my skirt?

“Oh yes, that’s it” she said, her fingers slipped into my panties.

I bit my lip to keep quiet. As usual her fingers knew my body. I was already so aroused by her, by the poem, and by the risk of this at work. She opened the book, and began whispering the lines of a poem to me. I could just hear her over my own heavy breathing.

Haven’t they moved like rivers—

like Glory, like light—

over the seven days of your body?

And wasn’t that good?

Them at your hips—

library 3

As she slid her fingers inside me, she pressed up, finding that spot inside that always pushed me over the edge.

These hands, if not gods, then why

when you have come to me, and I have returned you

to that from which you came—bright mud, mineral-salt—

why then do you whisper O, my Hecatonchire. My Centimani.

My hundred-handed one?

I grabbed a stack of books from the shelf and dropped them on the floor. The thud, covered the small moan I couldn’t hold back.

She wore a wicked smile as she licked her fingers clean and rose to her feet. She picked up the fallen books. I grabbed her for another kiss, as she set the books in the shelf.

She kissed my neck and whispered “Shh.”

Poetry used:

Recreation By Audre Lorde

These Hands, If Not Gods by Natalie Diaz

9 comments

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s