For a day that completely changed my understanding of sexual ecstasy, it began innocently enough. I was attending the American Library Association's annual conference in Cambridge, Massachusetts. The keynote speaker on the opening afternoon talked about the virtual libraries of the future and what role librarians would have in them. Afterwards, his audience met in small breakout groups. I found myself sitting next to an extremely attractive guy who was one hundred percent eye candy, complete with bright, carrot-colored hair and deep blue eyes. He appeared to be in his mid-thirties and proved knowledgeable and charmingly funny whenever he spoke. At the end of the session, we walked out together, introduced ourselves, and discovered that we were both staying at the Charles Hotel on the river, a very upscale accommodation that only convention rates made affordable. Neither of us had plans for the evening so we agreed to go dutch at the nearby Legal Seafoods for drinks and dinner at seven.
It was a memorable meal, set against the backdrop of a light fluffy snow falling on Cambridge, making the city look like a scene from "A Christmas Carol." A perfect martini, generous piece of broiled scrod, and a shared bottle of white wine all helped jump start an easy conversation which revealed that we were about the same age, both reference librarians at large college facilities (he in Minneapolis, I in the Chicago area), both loved to visit the East Coast but preferred to live in the Midwest, both liked to read Hilary Mantel novels, and both were single, largely because we'd never met the right person despite extensive dating.
It must have been the wine, but by the time we got to coffee, I was feeling a little more daring than usual. "Our library," I said, "puts a special emphasis on validating every research request and helping all students, particularly the younger ones, to feel comfortable asking for assistance on any topic. What's the most unusual research help you've ever been asked for?"
"That's easy," he beamed. "I was working the lobby reference desk about two months ago when a senior girl sat down. She was pure Minnesotan. You know the type: really pretty with a perfect complexion, radiating innocence. Her question, however, wasn't innocent. 'I'm doing research on ancient Greek vases,' she explained, 'and trying to find a book titled Desire: A History of European Sexuality by Anna Clark, but it isn't in the online catalogue.' 'Well,' I said, 'we have some excellent books on Greek vases. I'd recommend...' 'You don't understand,' she broke in. Then, as casually as if she explaining why she had ordered a mocha latte at Starbucks, she continued. 'I was sitting around with a group of girl friends last week and we discovered that four of us had fwabs.' 'What's a fwab?', I asked. 'Oh,' she replied, 'I thought everyone knew. You've heard of friends with benefits, haven't you? That's a couple who hook up to fuck any time they feel the urge. There are tons of couples doing this all over campus. It's great for study breaks during the week and on Saturday nights. No commitments, just really good sex. Well, a fwab is a total upgrade from that. It's a friend with ass benefits or, if you're being polite about it, a friend with anal benefits. When a girl has one of these, she's hooked up with a very cool dude. He knows what he's doing and never hurts her so she takes him up her ass any time either of them feel like doing it because it feels so good. When my best friend, Amy, who used to be Ms. Modesty, admitted she had one, I had a brainstorm. My parents used to make fun of "it" as something only guys who were "light in their loafers" did with each other, but now "it" is everywhere. So I'm going to write my honors thesis on a history of anal sex and why societies accept or reject it. I'm starting with the Greeks because what we'd call married men and women apparently ass fucked all the time in ancient Athens. Somebody wrote in Wikipedia that this book had good pictures of the vases that show it.' Staying calm, I cleared my throat, flipped my monitor to WorldCat and told her that Purdue had the nearest copy, If she filled out the Interlibrary Loan form on our website she'd have it within seven to ten days. 'That would be great, thanks so much," she replied and off she went, wiggling her butt across the lobby in a way that suggested that her fwab was one lucky stud."
"Wow," I gasped, "that was totally professional on your part. If that had happened to me I would have been so embarrassed I wouldn't have known what to do."
It might have been the wine talking in him as well because then he added "what I wanted to say, because it's the truth, was 'you can't shock me and you're making a mistake if you think I'm some stereotypical nerdy librarian. Maybe you should interview me instead of looking at pictures of Greek vases. I've been a butt fucker for almost twenty years, ever since a girl I was dating taught me how to do it the right way."
Now I was blushing. "I've had plenty of experience in bed," I confessed, "but I've never had anal sex."
"Maybe," he suggested, starring at me with those beautiful big blues, "I could be your fwab. We'd both have a good time and you could expand your knowledge base. My philosophy about sex is the same as it is about life: don't leave anything on the table."
If ever there was a time for a "no thanks" line this was it. The next words out of my mouth should have been "It's been great having dinner with you, but I've got to prep for tomorrow's presentations. See you at the conference." Yet I was very tempted. He was gorgeous, funny, honest, and the type of guy with whom I felt absolutely comfortable. Besides, the thought of losing my anal cherry to somebody at an A.L.A. convention who had just announced that he knew "how to do it the right way" was intriguing. It was also snowing and somehow that seemed important. As the old adage went, weren't we supposed to "seize the day," or snowy night?
"I don't know," I heard myself say. "Wouldn't it hurt the first time?"
"Not only will it not hurt, you might have the best orgasm of your life. If it makes you feel more comfortable, I promise that the only clothes I'll take off tonight are my jacket and tie. I won't unzip my trousers and my dick will never leave my pants. As a matter of fact, you won't ever see it. That's too bad because I've been told it's extremely cute."
"If you promise," I mumbled, caving in to desire.
