It was at the library of all places when it happened. I was waiting for my hairdresser and wandered into the library (Hubert’s always late, sucking up to the clients for more tips). As I opened the massive oak doors, the familiar aroma of musty books and old wood filled my senses. It brought me back to my youth; a calmer less complicated period in my life. My friends and I would ride our bikes to the library and sit for hours scouring the shelves for hidden literary gems. As we got older, libraries we replaced by boyfriends, girlfriends and other distractions of puberty.

I entered and stood in the foyer. Books were everywhere. I hadn’t seen so many books arranged like this since college. Of course, in college the library was used more as a tool than enjoyment much less, entertainment. I strolled to the computerized library catalogue and punched in my favorite author: Nancy Friday. “All copies on loan.” Was the response. Hmmm, must be some ladies are learning about their hidden desires.

I looked at my watch, still half an hour or more to go before my appointment with Hubert. I headed over to Human Sexuality, where else was I going to go? I picked up a copy of A Short Discourse on Sexual Intercourse “Quite a title.” I thought.

Standing between the shelves of books, I started flipping through the pages. “Damn! No pictures.” I muttered. I was rather disappointed.

“Maybe you should read this one.” A sweet but firm voice shattered my solitude and I jumped dropping the tome. We both bent over to pick it up and smacked our heads together. Stars filled my world as I pitched forward and blacked out.

I woke up in a elegantly furnished office. “You don’t have to call the ambulance. She’s up.” Someone yelled.

“Miss Turner, your mugger is awake.” Another voice chortled.

‘Miss Turner’ entered the room and closed the door. “How’s your head?” She asked.

“Sore. Where am I?” I queried as I sat down.

“In my office. I’m Paige the Head Librarian.” She replied in a matronly voice that matched her style. She was in her fifties if you looked hard and very attractive. “I was merely trying to see if you needed any assistance. I was going to recommend this book for your reading pleasure.”

I looked at the book she was pointing to Sex for Working Professionals – or – How to Incorporate the Egg Timer into Your Lovemaking. “Funny lady. How droll, why don’t you try reading Don’t Sneak Up on People and Scare the Shit Out of Them - for Dummies.” I thought.

“We do have some new books on Human Sexuality. They’ve just come in.” She continued. She opened a box filled with new books and took them out.

“Take a look at this one.” She said knowingly as she handed me one. The Economics of Sex – Are You a Bull or a Bear. Quite bestial come to think of it, not my cup of tea.

A Cybernaut’s Guide to Developing Lasting Relationships. A very thin book indeed.

Learn to Get the One You Desire Into Your Bed in 22 Days- by Q Books. I couldn’t get over the test at the end of each chapter. However, I did make a mental note to take out Learn to Pleasure Yourself in 22 Minutes.

Twelve Steps to Sexual Gratification. I curiously opened this one and read the Table of Contents. Only eleven chapters? I guess the book doesn’t cover orgasms. I flipped the book back on to Paige’s desk.

“Why isn’t you head hurting?” I inquired rubbing my aching head. “We bumped our heads quite nicely out there.”

“Due to excessive blows to my skull in my formative years, I have developed quite a solid melon.” She rapped her head with her knuckles making a sound that was akin to knocking on a ripe watermelon. “I have in fact cracked five boards with my head in Karate class.” She handed me a trophy from her bookshelf, I read the inscription: “To Paige Turner – In Recognition For Cracking Five Boards With her Head - January 30, 2003”. Pretty blunt message.

“A tough lady.” I thought. “Wouldn’t want to partner with her in Karate.”

“Oh, don’t worry, I do have a softer side.” She assured me. “For instance, as a librarian, I do read voraciously. Erotic books and web published erotica are my faves.”

“Was she coming on to me?” I thought. She was in fact stunning. She had glasses, salt and pepper hair that was stylishly coiffed and was wearing a matching blazer and skirt that probably cost as much as my car.

I quickly changed the subject but was not taken aback by her blatant advance. “How hard is it to learn the Dewey Decimal System?” I ventured lamely.

“Not as hard as you think, dear. Everything is in a central database these days; we just catalogue them and retrieve them for the public. Stamp ‘em and bag ‘em.” She answered dismissively. “For instance,” She continued, “Circling Your Isle of Lesbos can be found in seconds.” She tapped on her computer and said dejectedly, “Out again, it’s always on loan. Never mind, I show you again. I find you a copy of Breast to Breast – Intrepid Ballroom Dancing. There. Second row, first shelf.”

“Really, I shouldn’t…” I started, but a stabbing pain in my head stopped me and I buried my head in my hands.

“Oh, my poor dear.” Paige sympathized. “I’ll get you an aspirin.”

She returned with the pills and a bottle of water, which I took. She massaged my temples and said, “This usually works for me. Close your eyes and relax your headache will be gone in no time my dear.”

As Paige firmly rubbed my temples, the pain did seem to evaporate and I was becoming strangely aroused. Her scent from her perfume enveloped me and a desire for her gripped at my core.

She recited a verse as she caressed me tenderly: