There he was, coming through the front entrance of my large suburban public library, almost strutting through the lobby, pausing only briefly to check out the new book display before heading to the reference desk. He was that patron my colleagues whispered about in the backroom. They didn't quite know how to handle him, something about him seemed to put them on edge. As a result, those same librarians seemed to magically disappear whenever he came to the desk, but not me. That something the other librarians didn't know how to handle, was the same something I craved and made me look forward to his visits.
Today, as the other librarian wandered away from the desk for some made up reason, I watched him stride confidently towards the desk, admiring his stature. He was older and attractive, his silver hair trimmed neatly and dressed casually, his intelligence making him more handsome each time we interacted. His questions challenged me and I got the feeling he enjoyed putting me to task finding answers to questions he couldn't find easily himself. It felt like we were playing a game to which only he knew the rules - as I presented my findings, he would alter the question. Instinctively I wanted to please him, to find him whatever he sought. I would blush as I asked the myriad of questions needed to pin down what exactly he wanted and, upon returning with an answer that wasn't quite what he needed, feel like I disappointed him in a way I couldn't quite understand.
Typically, patrons would follow us as we go to the stacks to retrieve materials for them, but he never would, instead preferring to be served, he waited and watched at the reference desk until I returned with books in hand. Maybe this is why the others cringed when they saw him approach the desk and my heart would beat a little faster as the blush rose up my cheeks.
Before I knew it, there he was, standing before me, towering above me as I sat at my low desk, forced to look up at the man who made the heat rise in my body each and every time he spoke. Alone at the desk with him again, nervous as always in his presence, I asked, "Hi, how may I be of service, Sir?"
He spoke gently as he smiled, "Hi, Eileen. How is my personal librarian today?"
I couldn't help myself. His question made me grin and I thought to myself, "Yes, I would love to be his personal librarian", and I felt my nipples harden. Instead I said, "I am well. How are you, Sir?" and wondered if he could see my nipples rise through my thin bra under my flimsy, low-cut dress.
His eyes broke contact with mine and traveled south towards my cleavage, my cheeks growing hotter as I bit my lip and looked down at the keyboard on my desk. "Good, good," he said slowly before raising his gaze. "I have a different type of task for you today. I'm looking for something new to read for pleasure. Does the library carry books like "Story of O"? I read it many years ago and would like to read something like it but more contemporary. And not "Fifty Shades of Grey". I heard that book is crap."
I responded, "Yes, Fifty Shades is more like double crap, Sir."
He laughed as he spoke, "Holy crap! An honest review," and I knew that he had given that book a try.
"Yes, Sir. We do have contemporary fiction like "Story of O". Are you only interested in fiction?"
His eyes twinkled at my question, "Good girl. No, I am interested in real life too. What do you have as far as non-fiction in that area. That sounds more intriguing to me right now."
"Sure, I can show you what we have in the library right now. Would you like to come with me to the section?" I stood and rounded the desk to stand before him.
