From the Stacks
- Thread starter ms_tiff
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Lancelot2688
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ms_tiff, you have exquisite taste in sexy imagery
ms_tiff
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L
Lustful_Intentions
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I continue to enjoy your writing, for what it's worth. This thread is also exquisite.
Lancelot2688
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I love the story and the sensuality of this one
Lancelot2688
Experienced
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I love the story and the sensuality of this one, leaves so much for the imagination to extrapolate
ms_tiff
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Lancelot2688
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I agree. The image does bring to mind many naughty ideas and possibilities.
I do love possibilities, especially those that stem from naughty ideas... usually turn into my favorite experiences.
wickedpen
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Quite a collection
You have a wonderful eye for the female form. I too love books and erotica. I often go to libraries in strange cities when I travel with my husband. I too watch the people. I love the hidden tables in sections only uniquely odd interests visit. Places where a sigh or moan might go unheard as the dust rises. In a palace of time and place travel physical forms take on new meaning. The mind can go anywhere and bring back such delicious ideas. Ideas of your own conjured by writes long dead or ideas of long dead writers still able to enchant.
Light and shade, water and air, flesh and lace make for good scenery and props but what of the souls, what of the breath? What of the pretty girl in her twenties behind the check out desk as the sun streams in the old windows, fading the book spines where it falls. Does she know how many young men feign interest in the stacks of books only for the chance to look upon her, to speak to her, even if only to ask where something might be found.
"Could you show me?" he asks gentle enough, earnest enough to want "The Sun Also Rises" and dumb enough not to have read it in high school. He might do. His lean body under a baggy oxford. His jeans worn and hanging just right. His long mop of dark hair trying to hide his sparkling brown eyes. He smile as you weight his request for help.
I have watched this and even followed a pair back to those hidden sections where strangers can become acquainted. Their kisses muffled by the dust on the shelves.
She smooths her skirt as he pauses and watches her return to her work. Her sweet taste on his lips and the memory of her back imprinted on his hands.
I have been the eyes on the far side of the stacks. I have seen young lovers forget the books and their work and the world, the worlds around them, giving in to the primal desire we all hold. In the library, where silence is a virtue and anything is possible.
You have a wonderful eye for the female form. I too love books and erotica. I often go to libraries in strange cities when I travel with my husband. I too watch the people. I love the hidden tables in sections only uniquely odd interests visit. Places where a sigh or moan might go unheard as the dust rises. In a palace of time and place travel physical forms take on new meaning. The mind can go anywhere and bring back such delicious ideas. Ideas of your own conjured by writes long dead or ideas of long dead writers still able to enchant.
Light and shade, water and air, flesh and lace make for good scenery and props but what of the souls, what of the breath? What of the pretty girl in her twenties behind the check out desk as the sun streams in the old windows, fading the book spines where it falls. Does she know how many young men feign interest in the stacks of books only for the chance to look upon her, to speak to her, even if only to ask where something might be found.
"Could you show me?" he asks gentle enough, earnest enough to want "The Sun Also Rises" and dumb enough not to have read it in high school. He might do. His lean body under a baggy oxford. His jeans worn and hanging just right. His long mop of dark hair trying to hide his sparkling brown eyes. He smile as you weight his request for help.
I have watched this and even followed a pair back to those hidden sections where strangers can become acquainted. Their kisses muffled by the dust on the shelves.
She smooths her skirt as he pauses and watches her return to her work. Her sweet taste on his lips and the memory of her back imprinted on his hands.
I have been the eyes on the far side of the stacks. I have seen young lovers forget the books and their work and the world, the worlds around them, giving in to the primal desire we all hold. In the library, where silence is a virtue and anything is possible.
