The Libary – An Erotic Short Story
Of all the places you dream of finding a lover, the local library is surely nowhere in the top ten. It’s probably not even in the top fifty.
When you want to meet a guy where do you normally go?
A bar? Maybe.
A nightclub? If you’re kind of desperate.
Perhaps you shop online for men nowadays. It’s all the rage, apparently.
Talking of shopping for men, even the supermarket is probably way up there in the finding a date stakes. Spotting hot guys buying meals for one, then accidentally bumping trolleys before bumping hips. It’s almost a sport. Not that I’m into sport; well maybe if it involves sex.
But the library? Who in their right mind goes there to pick up guys?
I’ll tell you who. Me. That’s who.
Now let me tell you why.
It was Saturday, and I was wandering around town doing a bit of window shopping. The weather was warm and the sun was just the right temperature for my delicate skin; I was happily meandering in a short skirt and a thin top, my pretty bra just visible through the material. Catching guys staring always gave me a little thrill and I often deliberately passed men just to get a reaction.
I’d bought an ice cream from the local Thornton’s and was planning on a spot of lunch, then maybe buying a new skirt or some shoes before heading home. That was one of the advantages of being single; I didn’t have any demands on my time.
I was absentmindedly finishing my cone and eyeing up some guy parking his bicycle next to the bank when my mobile rang. It was in my bag, and as I got it out I remembered I had a book to take back to the library for mum. She’d asked me to do it for her as she was away for a few days and had dropped it off at mine before she left.
“Hello,” I said, taking the call.
“Hi, it’s me.”
“Oh, hi mum. How was the journey? Did you manage to get there ok?” As I spoke to her I continued watching the guy with his bike. He crouched down to chain it to a bollard and I could see a bit if his back and the top of his underwear where his t-shirt had ridden up. His skin was nicely tanned and he had a seriously nice butt.
“Yes it was fine,” said mum’s voice in my ear. “I was lucky. I managed to get a double seat all to myself the entire journey.” She’d gone whizzing off across the country on a National Express coach to see her sister, and she’d been worried about it being an uncomfortable ride. She normally caught the train when she went away, but the price was getting too much for her these days so she’d opted for a cheaper alternative.
I’d been on one of those coaches before, and there was never quite enough leg room. They were also especially uncomfortable if you tried to sleep. I was in my mid twenties and it was bad enough for me; I couldn’t imagine mum, who was in her late fifties, enjoying it very much at all. I could almost feel my back aching in sympathy.
“How’s Aunty Barbara?” She was mum’s sister. They were close, speaking on the phone several times a week for as long as I could remember, but they only saw each other a few times a year. More since my Uncle had passed away, but still not enough for mum’s liking.
Bicycle guy had stood up and turned towards the bank entrance. As he entered he caught me staring at him. He did a double take and smiled at me, before awkwardly going inside.
“She’s good. She sends her love. She said you should come and visit her sometime.”
“Tell her I will as soon as I can.” I loved visiting my Aunt’s house. It was in the beautiful Norfolk countryside and so peaceful, but I was always so busy with work or caught up with friends that I never quite got around to going.
“Did you remember to take my book back for me?” Mum was a stickler for never letting things become overdue.
“I’m in town now,” I said. “I’ve got it right here.”
“Don’t forget will you?” she said. I could hear the nervousness in her voice. The thought of a fifty pence fine would be gnawing away at her until I reported back with the news the book had been safely returned.
“I won’t,” I said. “I’ll go there now and drop it in.”
“Thank you,” she said.
We spoke for a little longer; I heard all about Aunty Barbara’s bunion, what they’d eaten for lunch, and what they were planning for dinner. Somewhere amongst it all I think mum took a breath. She could talk for England, my mum. I loved her dearly, though. As we spoke, bicycle guy reappeared. He seemed to hesitate for a moment, looking at me shyly and perhaps wondering if he should, or even could, ask me out for lunch. He was kind of cute, and I pictured us laughing over a Panini. A little bit of cheese pinged back and stuck to my lip as I took a bite, and he reached out his hand and dabbed it with a napkin. Our eyes met and I blushed, hoping the next thing to touch my lips would be his…
“…are you listening to me?” said mum.
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