We went up two flights of stairs; I tried hard not to watch your hips sway as we walked up. I was sure you caught me looking. I saw you smile when you did notice me watching; we went to a locked gate that needed no key. You just lifted the gate an inch, and it unlocked.
Going down a long hallway on the other side of the building, we’ve not seen or heard another human this whole walk, nor after the gate, I had yet to see another CCTV camera.
I say. “I see. Is this area 51 you are taking me to?”
I notice many places to get lost in, but you are someone other than some scary guy. I feel threatened in a new way. I need to find the courage to find out why. “You lose people going to the copier. What do you folks use, a Saint Bernard with brandy or a trail of bread crumbs and young kids once a week?”
Mary held her hand over her mouth to keep from laughing. “We use the number of times a new hire gets lost as a measure of his mental skills, and we might have a betting pool the worse person we had got lost a few times every day for a week quit or is still wandering around in the stacks were not sure.” I laughed; it was funner than my jokes, but I am not telling you that.
An older copier sat near the wall at the edge of a long bookshelf; it blocked a part of it like an afterthought closest to a wall plug. I handed you my flash drive, and you were shocked by my touch; a static charge popped you, and you dropped it; we watched it bounce under the damn bookshelf.
“Crap, Crap, crap, excuse me, I got to print off that, or I won’t pass my classes. I’ll have to repeat my senior year; it’s not been the greatest. Please trust me when I say I’m scared.” I gasped in fear.
You get down flat on the floor, looking under the bookcase, not a thought about your clothes. Your desire to help was charming no way your hands would fit, but you tried anyway. You sit on your knees and try to see around the copier. I turned off the copier, unplugged it, and moved it away as you were on your hands and knees, now moving closer.
I join you on the floor behind you to help, and I grasp out loud to the view of your underwear. The static charge held your dress high on your waist, showing me your sexy black sheer underthings from behind.
I say. “Excuses me, Ma’am, I don’t even know your name yet, but it has to be one of a Greek goddess, Aphrodite perhaps, or Athena? I can die happy just seeing your derriere. May I fix that for you? Your hands look busy?”
I thought you hit me, but you shook your ass instead of trying to un-stick your dress, not that it helped. I pull your dress away to the sounds of crackles of electrostatic charge, and I pull it back down, taking no liberties.
You had gotten your hands to fit under the space too small, and now you’re telling me. “I’m stuck I can’t pull my hands out without getting scraped.” I hold your back so I can squeeze by you and see you scraping both your wrists, trying to get them unstuck. I chuckled but went to work. I take the books off of the next shelf above you. I take the shelf off, and with the books, I build a lever and fulcrum using the shelf as a lever, and books I start to use them on the bookshelf.
I say. “Wow, a gorgeous sexy woman helpless in front of me, totally exposed as it were; pretty sure this is a porn fantasy thing now. But let me get you unstuck, dear. I tell my Mom everything, and I will not tell my Mother I took advantage of you like this. She kill me and would let you help, maybe even have you help hide the body. I’ve not stopped talking because I’m nervous. I keep seeing what I saw; I didn’t know you could be so sexy without being vulgar.” I laughed, almost a giggle, as I lifted the bookcase enough to free your hands.
I rubbed your wrist and checking how bad they looked. Then, I open my backpack, take out a tube of Bactine lotion, and put some on you. “Thank you, that is awful sexy underwear for a librarian. I had no clue you be my first Librarian. Do you know what to do with such sexy black knickers, Ma’am?”
You looked at me like you were sizing me up either for a strait jacket or what comes next and say. “Thank you for getting me out. That was fast thinking, your pretty young to be so bold. You talk to all women this way, young man and knickers, where you hear that we do not call panties that in twenty years?”
I say. “No, ma’am, I would normally let my kisses do my talking for me. But, after talking you into kissing, My Granddad called them that in mixed company, and we can’t get any more mixed than us two. I mean, don’t get your knickers in a bunch. I’d love it a lot if I could kiss you right now, but I’ve never taken. I only give got that from my Mom. You never did answer the question, Ma’am; I’m Dan Allen Bogart; by the way, I’m nineteen, and you are?” I asked.
“Mary Ann, I’m thirty-four, but you have great blue eyes and an odd, charming way about you. Stepping into the desk protecting me, I could not tell if you were bluffing. You must be good at poker, but you need to work on your jokes.” You tell me.
I lean halfway to you and say. “I am going to die if we don’t. My jokes are bad because I adore poker and make people moan. Oh wait, you mean cards not that big of a fan; I don’t care to gamble. May I Miss Mary Ann? Your lips look so kissable; is that even the right word?”
I heard a. “Yes, the right word, it can’t be any worse than my last boyfriend.” You say.
What made you want to kiss me, the fact you had not done much of it? Or was it just my kind blue eyes, my youth, was it a joke, or my rough, bad-boy edge? Our kissing was hot, hotter than my last two girlfriends combined. It went from mild to eleven in just seconds; talk about hard not grouping you. But you have not told me or shown me yes yet, but your kisses are turning me on. Sitting on the floor, books stacked around us, we kissed for a few minutes; the heat we started was sexy. Maybe the difference was you wanted to. I gave back every move you used on me, and you moaned deeply when I used a few tricks on you; there is more to come.
You sigh, leaning your head to mine. “I see what you mean; you’re quite skilled at kissing. I’m still a virgin; why am I even telling you this? I guess it’s your eyes; it’s weird; why do I even trust you? I had planned on saving myself for my fiance and our wedding night, but then he cheated on me with my best friend on the night of the rehearsal dinner years ago. So now I’m a thirty-four-year-old virgin with regret; men my age treat me like I’m weird as hell with something catching because I am still one. If we ever got to that point in our talking, that is. I’ve given up trying; most men I get a vibe they only want me for sex anyway and nothing else. Some were unwilling to take me to the movies or dancing.” Mary asked with an odd look; why she was even bothering to talk to a damn kid.
“I could fix that for you I know the women I date are like that. Sex it’s why there are books in the world, right? Most books start because of love or lust, don’t they? I am not a shiny new virgin; I lost mine over a year ago now to someone much more skilled than I am. Hell, I’ve had a dozen girlfriends so far this year alone. They weren’t looking for Mr. Right; they heard from a girlfriend who told them I was a Mr. who could do it right now and as often… Well, you get the idea. I guess all the details aren’t needed to paint a clear picture. Being from the wrong side of the tracks has hurt my dating badly, as is being jobless. My Mom and I share a four-hundred-square-foot studio apartment. Sometimes the stove works, one bath hot water was hit or miss, no AC, and section 8 housing way out by the airport, my Mom’s bed is just a few feet away from mine.” So I said, my voice getting softer. I knew my voice would be stern about my so-called ‘dates’.
“Girls at my school just want sex from me; they’re not into anything else. They won’t even see a movie with me; they’re ashamed to be seen with me being poor white trash, I guess, but not too ashamed to get my hot big hard… Well, you know what am I saying, right? I wish they pay me that way. I don’t mind being a slut. I’ll at least be able to pay for copies, and I could help my Mom out; she works way too hard.” Although shocking as what I said we looked at each other, it felt nice.
The flash drive was still out of reach, but Mary Ann thought fast on her feet as we pulled the rest of the books off the next shelf above, and we could reach behind the shelf for the flash drive from the back.
Mary kissed me again and says. “I’d go with you to a movie Dan if you show me how to learn what I been missing out on all these years. You’re a wonderful kisser, and you are indeed kind. But, unfortunately, I share a house with my half-sister, so we will have trouble finding places to be alone in Dan.”
I say. “My place is rough, but my Mom works many double shifts; the site is hell on earth. I don’t see you coming over; it’s unsafe. My Mom has to carry a gun to feel halfway safe.”
A double wall of bookshelves stopped a few feet before the wall leaving a space big enough to walk in. Looking up on the bottom shelf getting the drive out, I saw what looked like a doorway in the shadows down to the left. Looking upside down again as my eyes adjusted to the dark, I asked Mary. “Why is there a door here? Does it open up to a secret passageway to your dungeon where you keep all your sweet young virgins, dragons, treasures, and such?”
Mary says. “Dragons? Doorway hell Indiana Jones where are your damn Hat and Whip? What the hell are you talking about, Dan?”
“I heard tell that Librarians were into them kinks full on Ladies at work and leather, whips, black lace undies, and naughty toys after work. But for real, Mary, I have fond memories of this place; my Mom has brought me here for your Reading Rainbow since I was ten. Do you know that stairway downstairs that stops at a dead end at a mural with the priest on the hill on the way to a village? It’s a doorway to a hidden castle where you keep your dragons. I’m not into ropes, but I dig reading; guess that makes me weird?” I said, going on and on.
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