I look up from my laptop and look outside. It’s the end of a long day researching for my thesis, gathering books, scouring archives. It’s almost closing time. There are windows everywhere in this library. During the day you can see out across downtown, but now the windows are like mirrors because it’s so dark outside.

I see you in the reflection of the window on the other side of the room, You’re moving books around on a desk, cleaning up, putting things away. I should look away, but I’ve been not looking away since I first saw you this morning. In between research and writing, I’ve been a learner of you, watching you move: file, walk, carry, talk to other people. I’ve slowly become an expert. At first I thought you didn’t know I was watching.

You must know what you’re doing because you’ve adjusted your habits over the course of the day. You’ve taken just a little longer to cross that corner, bent down a little lower as you pick something up, bit on that pencil for just a little too long. Right now you’re bending over just a little too low, and the fabric of your skirt is stretching against the curvature of your ass. You are such a tease. I laugh a little, out loud though I didn’t mean to. It echoes through the empty library and you must’ve heard; I think I see a smile.

Yeah, you know. You pick up several books and they push against your breasts but they also hide my view, and you walk around the corner from the stacks. I chuckle again. You’ve been doing this to me all day. Earlier in the afternoon you were shelving books on tip-toe, just around the corner from my desk.

You must have known what I could see, what I couldn’t. Maybe you’ve teased other people, sitting in this same seat, because you knew my view. Just, but not enough. Either a glimpse of your ass in that knee-high skirt, or if I shift, a glimpse of your breasts, pushing against the blouse. But not both at the same time. Damn.

I shake my head to clear it of the fog of your body and start to pack up. I push my chair back from the desk and stand up. Fuck, I’ve been sitting all day. I need to get out of here. I turn around and start putting my laptop away and clearing the books. Clear my mind. It’ll be good to get home.

“You find everything you need?” You startled me. How did you approach so quietly? Librarian secret power I guess.

“Yeah,” I stumble as I turn around, my voice cracking like I’m a teenager again.

Oh shit. You smell like cedar, with a hint of freshly cut grass. It’s not strong but it is pulling me in. I want to breath in more but it’d be too obvious. You look good up close. You’ve unbuttoned your blouse just enough. Oh god you know you look good. That’s the worst part. You can tell. You’re confident. You don’t need anything.

“I love coming here. So many great sources. So well organized.” What the hell was that. Nerdiest comeback ever. I am so fucking this up.

It’s hot in here. “It is a little warm up here on the ninth floor though,” I say, because I have nothing else to say.

You smile. Fuuuuuck. The smile. You’re laughing at me but your smile makes me want to laugh at me too.

“Looks like it,” you say, and you - what the fuck - nod to my pants? I look down, thinking maybe my zipper is undone.

Oh shit. Nope. I have a huge hard on pushing up out of my jeans. And at the top of my dick is a big precum wetspot. How did I not notice that. I feel like I’m in middle school again. It’s like the temperature just went up another twenty degrees. I am red as a tomato. And what do I do? How do I play this off?

Like a nerd. “Yeah, huh, it’s super hot. It feels like I’ve been running all day.” Wait what. Running all day?

You smile. You are oozing confidence. It’s a smell, blending with the cedar and freshly cut grass. If I wasn’t so wobbly, I might think I’m smelling something else of yours. But no that can’t be it.

“Well, let me know if you need anything.” You smile that fucking smile. And holy shit I know what you’re about to do and you do it. You fucking do it. You bend over and grab the stack of books from my desk. You dirty, hot fucking, confident, beautiful slut.

Time slows down. I can see right down your shirt. In that moment I am thinking so many dirty things. It’s like a wall of pure sex. Like I just opened up a closet of sex thoughts and they poured over me. I want to exist in your breasts. I want to dive in and lick your nipples until they turn to stone and then twist them off and shatter them. I want kneed your big tits like I do pizza dough every Saturday. I want to reach you from behind and grab them, and use them to pull you closer to my throbbing dick. Oh my dick. I was red, embarrassed, but if you’re watching me I’m sure my face has gone white. It feels like all the blood went from everywhere in my body to my dick. Dick alert! I am my dick. My dick wants to live in the universe of your huge, milky, veiny, tits. Any sense of morality or common sense has gone out in the window. I’m just a dick and you’re just tits and I want to fuck your brains out until we don’t exist.

But then the Matrix-sex slowmo moment is gone and I sigh out loud and that’s when you pick up the books and the stack push against your breasts again. Mother fucker it’s like round two knockout. Oh fuckkkkk.I wish those books were my hands. I wish those books were my chest. I wish those books were my tongue. My tongue could push that hard against your breasts, that’s how I feel in that moment.

The books and the breasts are straining the fabric of your blouse. It’s a lovely blouse; hip and chic, but it was not meant for this. It’s downright unfair what you’re doing to that clothing. All that stress. And if I got my hands on that shirt with your tits in it, it would be gone so fast. I hope you didn’t pay too much for it.