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The Bibliophile
by Eolake Stobblehouse

So I was sitting in the library, reading an Iain Banks book, and enjoying a cup of coffee. The library of the city just had the bright idea of installing soft chairs in the main hall, next to the big windows overlooking the lake, and a more perfect setting for relaxing you’d have to look a long time for. I was not sure, to be honest, if I was permitted to bring my coffee from the cafeteria there, but I was not about to ask...

I live these days in the more cultured end of town, and the quality of everything, including the women, showed it. Well-dressed, well-groomed, often beautiful, and proud of it. Absolutely great.

And just as I was putting the final adjustment of the sugar level into my coffee, a movement from above caught my eye. I looked up. I was sitting under the mezzanine, on which was part of the music library, and the magazine section. A young woman was sorting the incoming CD’s, shelving them alphabetically.

I don’t know why it is, but in my experience the young girls they get to help them in libraries for filing work are almost always really cute. This one also. She wore black bootlets, a sleeveless frilly white shirt, and a red bow in her short black hair. And a black rifled leather mini-skirt. Like, really short.

And I was sitting just under her. She did not even have to bend for me to see that her panties were not considered as a part of the rest of her outfit. They were small and white, with little blue hearts that matched neither the black nor the red of the rest of it.

Ask me if I cared!

No need to, I didn’t. They did not take up much geography anyway, and I thought the total effect was quite stunning.

After what might have been ten seconds, and might have been a minute, I realized that I was sitting in a public place, and looked down just in time to see one of my friends coming up the hall. This was Belinda, a sweet and intelligent woman I see once in a while when I am lucky.

“Hey, Stobblehouse!” said Belinda, and sat down across the table from me. “How’s it going?”

So we chatted along happily, since it had been a while since we last met. And when I tilted back my head emptying my coffee cup, I looked up again. Oh, it was hypnotic. Those long, tan legs. Real beauty. I just stared.

I remembered Belinda and looked down again. She was looking at me. “What are you looking at?” she asked. Belinda was under the mezzanine, she couldn’t see it.

“Oh, nothing... it’s... nothing,” I stammered, all smooth and masterful as usual. And I couldn’t help but look up quick again. “Bullshit, you just did it again,” Belinda said. I coughed into my hand, and I could feel the blood running to my face.

Belinda said: “OK, tell me what it is.” I briefly thought about talking about some imaginary painting on the mezzanine, but gave up the idea. I muttered: “Oh, I just saw something... pretty, is all.”

Belinda rose and came out from under the mezzanine, and looked up. When she saw the long legs and the mini-skirt I had been looking at, she spontaneously laughed out loud. And the girl heard it.

She looked down, and saw me sitting, and Belinda standing, and both of us looking up at her. Confused, she looked around to see what had made Belinda laugh. And then she saw the look on my face, and realized how short her skirt was. And blushed deeply. Belinda said to her: “You are very pretty.” The girl blushed even more, but smiled also, it was clear that she kind of liked it. Still it was a bit much, and she quickly pushed away the cart with the CDs.

And me, I had not blushed so much since the time in school when I accidentally farted when the headmaster was talking to me in front of the whole class. I actually put my face in my hands, and wished I was home in my bed and had been there the whole day.

But Belinda put an arm around my shoulders and kissed my cheek. “Don’t worry,” she said. “She was very pretty, and it was a great sight. I would have looked too.”

“You would?” I said. “You don’t think she hates me?”

“Do you think she would wear a skirt as short as that if she was not proud of her body?” Belinda asked.

But I didn’t feel completely at ease until after we left the library. We passed the girl on the way out, and she actually smiled at me. A bit shy, but still.

I bought Belinda dinner. Or pretended I did, she always refuses to let me pay.

Eolake Stobblehouse

[This was a rerun of an oldie, hope you liked it.]

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