What The Fuck Is An F Bomb?

You said I should stop dropping F bombs in this library. I said Shhhh. You just pretended to be annoyed and rolled your eyes.

I was kidding. We kissed in the stacks, back by the philosophy section, when no one was looking. I sneaked another one right on your sensuous lips when you weren’t looking. You laughed. Your eyes were closed, as though you were anticipating it. I said so, and you just smiled and looked back at the shelves.

Science! You came up behind me and put your hands over my eyes and said Guess who? I guessed everyone but you, until you insisted I guess by feel rather than sight. I told you I would guess by scent. You were my favorite librarian, and I would know your perfume anywhere. I opened them and your lips were this close to mine, close enough to taste. I tasted them, my tongue flicking first the top one, then the bottom one, then both of them, before pressing my lips against yours. I pushed you against the stacks, eager to meet your tongue with mine. I opened my eyes, and you were holding The Disappearing Spoon. You said this was me and you later. I laughed in spite of myself. You were stealing all my best lines.

We agreed that the best philosophy was buried in science fiction and fantasy novels, disguised as entertainment, rather than being just shoved in your eye like an epee. We talked about that as you put books back on the shelf. Every so often you would throw a book at me, and then say I’m going to prison. I know you just wanted to use your new handcuffs, and I said so. You said you were the judge, because you’re the one throwing books.

I took a random book off the shelf, which happened to be The Boomer Bible, and swore an oath that I would uphold your body with my body to the best of my ability. You said even upside-down? I told you I would try my best. In a few minutes, if you were willing.

I don’t smoke, but I could have used a cigarette after the look you gave me.


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