The Sexy Librarian: A Lesbian Romance

by Nicolette Dane

  “I don’t think this will be the last time I come in to read it,” I said. “I’ll have to think it over for a bit and then come in for a reread. So many questions in my mind.”

  “We could talk about it sometime,” said Esme. “I’ve read it about a dozen times already so I could help you work through any questions you have.”

  “Oh,” I said, feeling that familiar sense of embarrassment rear its ugly head, the increasing palpitations of my heart, a little bit of sweat accumulating on my hands. “That would be cool,” I said finally, a tender smile washing over my face.

  “What did you think about the encounter with her professor?” asked Esme. “Do you think that the professor was being… “ she said, pushing one lip over the other in thought. “Hmm, predatory?” she said. “Or do you think the advance was welcomed?”

  “I don’t know,” I said. “That was one of the bits that was confusing. Purposefully so, I imagine.”

  “Right,” said Esme. “You’re very sharp.”

  “Thanks,” I said, slightly blushing.

  “Do you live in the city?” asked Esme, relaxing into her chair, crossing one stockinged leg over the other.

  “Yeah,” I said. “I live in Logan Square.”

  “Me too,” said Esme with a coy grin.

  “You do?” I asked. “Really? Wow, that’s a coincidence.”

  “I live in one of the old mansions off the boulevard,” she said. “The house has been partitioned off into condos. I really love the vintage charm of it.”

  “I’m by the square,” I said. “Just off of Milwaukee. Not in an old mansion, though,” I said with a nervous laugh.

  “You should totally come over sometime,” said Esme. “I have a first edition of Beauchamp’s The Flesh Tribunal,” she said. “It’s a really cool old book.”

  “Wow!” I exclaimed. “I would love to see that. But I can’t promise I won’t try to steal it.”

  “I won’t let it out of my sight,” said Esme, laughing softly. “Much like that binder in front of you.”

  “What binder?” I said, casually but quite obviously slipping the binder with Beauchamp’s novella down under the desk and into my lap.

  “You’re funny, Amelia,” said Esme, wagging her finger. “If that story leaves this library under my watch, the university will give me the ol’ heave ho!”

  “Aw, okay,” I said, bringing the binder back up and replacing it on the desk. “It was worth a shot.”

  “Listen,” said Esme, straightening up, pushing her knees together and placing her hands on top of them. “Why don’t you come over tonight for a glass of wine?” she said. “It’s rare that I meet someone who has similar tastes in literature as me and I have some books that I could turn you on to.”

  “Oh,” I said, confused and anxious, yet eager for Esme’s invitation. I felt so mousy next to her. She was a total redhead bombshell. Trim, yet busty, well-manicured, a lissome body and a pretty face with slight features. “I mean, that sounds great,” I said. “I’d really love to talk about books more with you.”

  “Terrific,” said Esme. “Pop out your phone.”

  “Okay,” I said, reaching down into my bag and taking out my phone. Esme began to give me her phone number.

  “Now text me,” she said, after I’d completed creating a contact for her. “Once I get back to my desk, I’ll text you my address.

  “All right,” I said, tapping into a text message ‘Hi, this is Amelia’ and sending it to her. “Sent,” I said.

  “Splendid,” she said, standing up and stepping toward my desk. Reaching down, Esme took the binder from in front of me and slipped it under her arm. “Do you want to say 8PM?”

  “That works,” I said.

  “A little bit of wine,” said Esme, bobbing her head along with her voice. “A little bit of literature. It’ll be fun.”

  “Great,” I said with a smile. “I’ll be there.”

  “See you soon, Amelia,” said Esme, winking at me as she opened the door to the reading room. Her lovely alabaster face offered me a joyful smile as she slipped out of the room, closing the door behind her.

  Sighing happily, I slid down in the chair where I sat and folded my hands across my lap. I didn’t know what to expect for our little date this evening but I was excited nonetheless. Would it be just a friend thing? Just a little evening discussing books? Or would it be more? Esme’s beauty intoxicated me in a way I’d never felt before. She was mature, yet young and playful. She was older, yet slim and fit. And although she had the look of a stern librarian, she was happy and excited. I wanted to be sure to give off the right impression.

  I was certainly interested.

  *

  A light snow fell from the darkened sky as I walked up the stone staircase to the front door of Esme’s building. It was a beautiful house that I had taken note of before, a large mansion that once housed a single family but had since been broken up in partitions and sold as condos. Out front on either side of the stoop were small stone lion statues and the main entrance was two large wooden doors each with a glass panel running through the middle of them.

  Near the front door, I looked to the buzzer panel in search of Esme’s name. The mansion contained eight units by the look of the buzzers and it wasn’t long before I found the one labeled “E. Strong.” I pushed the button, inciting a loud noise, and waited there, rubbing my gloved hands together to keep warm.

  “Hello?” came Esme’s voice from the box.

  “It’s Amelia,” I said.

  “I’ll buzz you in,” said Esme. “Come up the stairs to the third floor, my condo is the last one at the end.” With that, I heard the door begin to emit an electric whirr, signifying it unlocking, and I gingerly pushed it open and walked inside.

  A beautifully ornate runner carpet lead me up the stairs, while a low orange light hung overhead. It was a very comfortable interior, appointed with fancy vintage wood moldings and an amazing wood bannister. The place obviously belonged to someone very wealthy at one point and these design details that they had commanded still lived on to this day. I was impressed that Esme could live in such a nice place as I held the railing and moseyed up the stairs. Little bits of wet snow dropped off my boots and onto the carpet behind me as I walked.

  Walking up to Esme’s door, a beautiful lightly colored wood that matched well with the rest of the wooden embellishments throughout the hallway, I softly rapped on it with my knuckles and then stepped back from it. After a moment, Esme pulled the door open and smiled at me. Her beautifully auburn hair was undone from the bun I’d seen earlier, flowing down over her shoulders. She wore a tight pair of leggings, colored a brown herringbone, and a white tank top that showed off her trim arms, her purple bra strap, and the light freckles on her shoulders.

  “Amelia!” she exclaimed happily, stepping forward and slinging her arms around me as though we had been friends for ages. “Come in! Oh! But please take your boots off first.”

  “Sorry,” I said, looking down to my boots. “I wasn’t sure if I should take them off down by the door or wear them up here.”

  “Up here is fine,” said Esme. “You can put them over there,” she said, pointing to a mat off to the side of her doorway. I leaned down, untied my boots, and then stepped out of them, standing there in my thick wool socks and black tights as I placed my boots where she had directed. Esme beckoned for me to enter with a wave of her hand and I impatiently scooted into her condo.

  Her place was decorated with antique fixtures and had an overall vintage vibe to it, much like the rest of the house from what I’d seen. Wood floors, a wooden hutch built into the wall, and ornate molding along the top of the walls around the ceiling. The condo, however, had obviously been redone at some point, allowing for a beautifully modern kitchen with a granite topped island, looking straight over into the small living room. One entire side of the living room was a monster of a bookshelf, completely stuffed with books from floor to ceiling. She even had a cute rolling ladder
that allowed her to reach the books at the top.

  “That bookshelf is amazing,” I said, my gaze locked on it as I slowly removed my coat. Esme stood next to me, taking my coat from me as I slid my arms out of it. She hung it on a hook near the door.

  “I knew you’d love it,” she said, smiling confidently. “It’s my favorite part of my house. It’s totally vintage,” she went on, walking away from me and toward the kitchen. On top of the island counter was an open bottle of wine and two fresh glasses. “I got it from an estate sale from an amazing house in the Northern suburbs. The owner had died and the kids didn’t care to keep it. It was super expensive but so worth it.”

  “I imagine it would be tough to move,” I said, wandering away from her and toward the bookshelf to get a closer look.

  “Uh, yeah,” said Esme. “I hope to never have it moved ever again.”

  “Wow,” I said, marveling at the bookshelf. Reaching out, I removed a random book from it and looked. It was Virginia Woolf’s To The Lighthouse, probably my favorite of her novels. I smiled and then slid the book back from where I took it, turning around and grinning at Esme. “Sorry,” I said. “I’m just over here being amazed.”

  “Wine?” said Esme, beginning to fill the glasses in front of her.

  “Sure,” I said, sliding across the floor in my socks. “This is a really comfy place,” I mused. I approached Esme in the kitchen and she handed me a wine glass. I took a small sip and smiled at her.

  “Cheers,” said Esme, lifting her glass in my direction. We clanked glasses and then each took a sip.

  “Thanks for inviting me over,” I said. “It’s nice to make a new friend, especially one who works at a library,” I said with a grin. “Does friendship with a library come with cool benefits?”

  “You bet it does,” said Esme, taking another sip from her glass. “Let’s go have a seat and get to know each other.”

  *

  After we emptied our wine glasses, refilled them, and emptied them again, we laughed together on the couch as we each became more comfortable with one another. Esme sat cross-legged on the couch, facing me, looking as though she could get into a full lotus yoga pose easily. I relaxed deep into the couch cushions, one leg over the other, slouching slightly, just about melting into the comfortable seating under me. The wine was making me feel slightly buzzed, as I wasn’t a very frequent drinker.

  “So you don’t feel weird making a friend who’s more than a decade older than you?” asked Esme, somewhat shyly, a tone she hadn’t yet taken with me. Up until that point she had been quite confident, but I could tell that our age difference gave her a bit of uncertainty.

  “No, it’s not weird,” I said. “You don’t look older than 30. I mean, I don’t really think about it like that.”

  “Good,” she said with a reassured smile. “That makes me happy.”

  “Hey!” I exclaimed suddenly. “Let me see that first edition you have.”

  “Oh yeah!” said Esme, her face lighting up. Pushing herself up with her hands, Esme came out of her cross-legged position and stepped off the couch, ambling over toward the bookshelf and shaking one of her legs out. “Pins and needles,” she said absent-mindedly, implying that her leg had fallen asleep.

  Esme thumbed through the bookshelf, tilting her head just slightly, until she landed on the book she wanted to show me. Eagerly pulling it from its home, she turned around and sauntered back toward me. After handing the book down to me on the couch, she lingered above me, watching with an anticipatory smile across her lips.

  “Wow,” I said, opening the hardback cover of the first edition of a book I had read many times over. The pages had yellowed and the book gave off that familiar musty aged smell. I looked to the copyright page and happily read the information therein, seeing that it was indeed a first edition. Closing the book, I stared down into the cover. In a simple font, reminiscent of the 70s, emblazoned on the cover was The Flesh Tribunal and the image of a busted up wooden chair.

  “Isn’t that cool?” said Esme, watching me look over the book.

  “I’ve seen pictures of it online,” I said. “But never in person.”

  “I got it at a vintage book sale in Ann Arbor, Michigan one time,” she said. “They do this annual book fair at the university there. Really neat stuff for sale.”

  As I flipped the book over and looked at the back cover, Esme slipped around in front of me and sat down next to me on the couch, her leg pushing up against mine. I looked over at her leg and noticed that it looked small, slender, thin, but pressed up against my own leg it felt warm and inviting and comfortable. Esme sat by me and leaned her shoulder against mine, reading the back cover of the book silently as I did the same.

  Looking up from the book, I tilted my head to the side and caught eyes with Esme. Her pale skin glowed and the little freckles under her eyes were so pretty. She had such a cute little nose, kind of sharp and pointy, but petite and small. Her lips were very light pink, no longer covered by the red lipstick she wore when I’d seen her at the library, only the smallest bit of makeup on her face for our little evening get-together. Esme was a natural beauty, buoyant and girly and dazzling without being, you know, sickeningly so. She was earnest and full of life. I was drawn to her.

  “Hi,” she said to me after we looked at each other in silence for a few moments. Her green eyes flicked back and forth with mine, searching me for some sort of invitation. I could tell that Esme had a yearning inside of her as she leaned in close to me. Her chest heaved up and down, her breasts full and billowy and barely contained by her tank top. I could feel my own breath quickening, my heart rate increasing, and the subtle, almost indefinable arousal that I had felt since meeting her growing in intensity.

  “Hi,” I said back to her, entranced by her flickering eyes.

  “Is it okay if I kiss you, Amelia?” Esme asked tenderly, her head tilting to the side just a little bit.

  “Mm hmm,” I agreed, eager but nervous, excited but uncertain. Never had someone so beautiful been so forward with me and it made me feel as beautiful as I felt Esme looked.

  “Okay,” said Esme. Reaching out, she took the book from my hand and gently set it on the coffee table in front of us along side our empty wine glasses. She then slowly leaned her face in toward mine until our lips met, wetly melding together in a soft and deliberate kiss. Esme placed her palm on my thigh and pushed up against me, firmly to exert a bit of control, a passionate guidance, but not so much that I felt trapped or cornered. Rather, our kiss simply made me feel wanted.

  I could feel a kindling inside me and a moistness between my legs as Esme and I kissed. A remarkable joy welled in my heart, little butterflies flitted in my stomach, and my mind was intoxicated with a sexual lust that I couldn’t ignore. If you’re a bookworm like myself, becoming intimate with a sexy librarian is a requisite fantasy. I mean, I couldn’t count how many times I had dreamed of getting lusty with another book lover. I’d even dreamt about getting — ahem — sexual in the library stacks. And there I was, locking lips with one of the hottest librarians I’d ever seen.

  After a few more moments of sensual kissing, the smacking of our lips and our soft moans the only sounds, Esme pulled her face back from mine in a slow, thoughtful movement. She smiled at me as though she were in a daze and I too felt that same daze. Esme then lowered her head slightly, grazed her forehead against mine and took my hand in hers.

  “I think you’re really pretty,” Esme said to me sweetly, planting another gentle kiss on my lips. I was floored by her admittance, usually considering myself to be kind of ‘Plain Jane’ or otherwise just normal. I mean, I don’t have image problems or anything, I’m totally fine and comfortable with who I am, but hearing someone call me pretty, especially someone as pretty as Esme, was a bit of a shocker and something that made me feel undeniably good about myself.

  “I think you’re pretty,” I said. “Like, really pretty.” I couldn’t believe these words were exiting my mouth. I felt embarrassed
by myself and softly blushed.

  “As soon as I laid eyes on you this morning,” began Esme, her palm coursing back and forth over my thigh. I could feel the warmth of her hand through my tights and I wished that the fabric barrier between our flesh was removed. “I was entranced,” she said. “I’m so happy that you came over tonight.”

  “Oh Esme,” I cooed. “You’re kinda embarrassing me,” I said, looking awake from her. I felt a sweet, subtly moist imprint of her lips on my cheek. I bristled inside, feeling the familiar heat between my thighs grow in fervor.

  “Do you want to see my bedroom?” asked Esme with her lips close to my face. Her hand moved up my thigh, closer to my middle, caressing me and causing my heart to beat in double time.

  “Yes,” I said. “I’d like that.”

  *

  With me sitting on the foot of her bed, Esme stood in front of me and without a word she took hold of the bottom of my sweater and pulled it upwards. I raised my arms to allow her to pull it off and over my head, leaving me in just my grey camisole with the built-in bra, shaking my head back and forth a couple of times to straighten out my messed up hair. Esme then took her own tank top up over her head and let it fall to the ground next to my sweater. Standing there in her purple bra and brown herringbone tights, she grinned and threaded her fingers into the waistband of her leggings.

  “Wanna help?” she seductively cooed.

  “Okay,” I mused, hypnotized by her magnetism. Esme reached out and took my hands, bringing them up to her waistband and nodding her head softly. I pushed my fingers into the elastic, taking hold of the fabric, and carefully sliding it down off of her ass and hips. The fabric clung to her legs as I peeled it off her thighs, pushed it down over her knees and then let it fall to her ankles. Underneath she wore a matching pair of panties, light purple and frilly and ornate. In the low light of her bedroom I could see a small wet spot where the fabric covered her mound. I cautiously moved my eyes upward from her panties, over her slim stomach, up to her voluminous chest, and then to her smiling face framed by that stunning fiery hair. Esme made a kissy face down at me.