From time to time he returned to it. He was always somehow comforted by its steadfast austerity. In the fifteen years since graduation the world as a whole had gotten faster. The outside had changed. But here, inside, things were mostly the same. Sure, the old card catalogs were gone, replaced by the sleek kiosks of the electronic information system. And a few years back there had been some minor furniture changes. But for the most part, it was the same and he depended on its sameness.
In his day there had been three librarians at the circulation desk and so there still were; an additional librarian, it seemed, had been stationed at an information desk. This was new; he'd been there just the month behind and the information desk wasn't there. He tried to remember what it had replaced. A seating area? Potted ferns? No matter; in a library, except for the books, one thing was the same as another. He scanned the circulation area again. One of the librarians who had been a middle-aged woman when he was a freshman was still there. She was no doubt ready for retirement, though she showed just as much calm pleasure in her job as she had when she was helping him and his classmates use the card catalog. Her hair was white now, but she was essentially the same. The other two librarians at the desk had appeared the way new librarians do, quietly and seamlessly absorbed into their new post. The fourth, though, was a mystery. Only the desk showed itself.
Out of habit he went to the periodicals, where the newspaper sat unmolested on its shelf, passed over by the students for sports journals and fashion rags. He wondered idly when the last newspaper would be printed; even he, not an old man but certainly more dedicated in many ways to tradition, caught his news on TV or from the internet. He picked up the paper and shook it out, then spread it carefully on the table in front of him. He's gotten as far as the front page fold when he saw her.
She looked out of place in the library the way a peacock looks out of place on a farm, though she was very clearly a librarian. But she was younger than the others, considerably younger, perhaps late twenties or very early thirties. She was smartly dressed, wearing a skirt, which delighted him (good-looking women always seemed to wear pants to work these days, which was a shame) and a cardigan with minimal jewelry. Her shoes were not a librarian's shoes -- no fashionable shoes could be considered such. They were sleek Mary Jane pumps, with a heel just high enough to give her calves that lovely stretch he looked for, and modest enough.
But her hair was a sonnet to sin. In the natural sunlight of the first floor it blazed, making her the focal point. It was a cascade of curls, the kind that can't be brushed out, burnished copper, and fell nearly to her waist. She had it tied back, of course, but he imagined it loose and just that brief flash in his mind had him hard as a schoolboy.
From his vantage point he could keep an eye on her while he pretended to read the paper. He felt a bit like a stalker -- truthfully, he always felt a bit creepy being back at school, although the amount of begging the alumni association did for his hard-earned cash gave him the right, he felt, to visit as often as he wished. Still, he hoped she wouldn't notice him, not today.
He breathed deeply, his erection subsiding a bit after she strode out of sight. He couldn't get her out of his head. His pulse quickened and he thought madly about when he could get back there to see her again. He didn't want the library to close. He didn't want to leave his table. She strode back into sight and he was transfixed, his cock aching in his khakis. He watched her smile graciously when the young man she had helped carry a tower of books bowed his head respectfully to her, thanking her in his heavily accented voice. Her smile was all dimples and a flash of very white teeth. His eyes followed her movement back and forth to the circ desk and over to the reserve room and back again, her calves flexing and hips swaying as she walked and just the slightest jiggle as her ample breasts bounced beneath her clothes.
He had an insane urge to grab her, to take her to some secluded place in the stacks and just bury his face in those tits. He hardened unbearably as he imagined them -- pale, translucent globes with small, pale pink nipples. Small nipples, small areolas, and perhaps just the lightest sprinkling of freckles across her chest.
Christ, he had to stop. He was pleasantly horny, maybe more than he had been when he'd watched girls from a distance there as a young and inexperienced boy, but he couldn't enjoy it with all the bored nineteen-year-olds milling about. He daydreamed that it was closing time, that she locked the doors and they were alone. She dimmed the lights and did a slow striptease for him in the periodicals. He envisioned her shaking out that scandalous hair, then slowly unbuttoning her sweater to reveal those sumptuous breasts clad in a lacy bra. She slid the straps down her shoulders, first one, then the other, and then reached behind her back to release the bra. Her gorgeous tits swung free, and she reached up to caress them and pinch her nipples while she looked into his eyes...
The fire alarm broke his reverie. For a moment he was too confused to do anything, until he saw students grabbing their laptops and backpacks and watched the librarians mobilize, efficiently herding the wandering students out the various exits. He shuffled along himself and made a point to go through her assigned door, hoping he could get a closer look at her outside.
His hope was realized and he openly ogled her on the lawn. She wasn't paying any attention to him, clearly concerned with the fire alarm and her own protocol. From just a few feet away he drank in her porcelain complexion, her startlingly clear eyes, the spattering of gold dust across the bridge of her nose. She was tall, especially with the extra inches the shoes gave her, and while no one could rightly call her a slender girl, she was soft, well-padded in all the appropriate places, rather than heavy. Her ass was positively squeezable in the navy pencil skirt, and for a delirious moment he thought of walking behind her and copping a feel of that glorious backside, though he came very quickly to his senses.
