Barbara didn't recognize Michael at first. He backed into the library, pushing the door open with that cute little behind of his. She soon saw why. His arms were piled high with his latest selections in comic books and graphic novels.
"Hi," Michael said, somewhat breathlessly, as he set his load down on the counter in front of Barbara. Except for his wire-rimmed glasses, Michael didn't fit the stereotype of a comic book fan. Tall and muscular, he had feathery brown hair and great taste in clothes. His turtleneck sweater - new, Barbara could tell - brought out the blue in his eyes.
"Done with those already?" Barbara asked, reaching for the stack of books. "Weren't you just in here a few days ago?" Michael smiled nervously. "I'm a fast reader," he said. He walked away, headed for the graphic novels section, his usual destination.
She looked down at the Spandex-clad superheroine on the cover of Michael's comic book. She chuckled to herself. That skinny she-dog has nothing on me, she thought. I have a secret identity, too. But instead of running around kicking bad guy butt, she runs around fulfilling secret naughty-librarian fantasies that hot guys would never admit to having. Never admit, that is, without a little persuasion . . .
>>>Barbara took a quick, discrete look down. Her white blouse, the top two buttons undone, was modest enough, except when she bent over a certain way. Then the cups of her supple, leather and lace bra peeked out. The leather held her bust in comfortably, supporting her while letting the fullness of her breasts spill out over the top.
She checked in the books, and then turned to finish mending the bindings of a stack of dictionaries. As she worked, Barbara let her mind wander. She imagined what would happen if the library were closed, if she somehow, miraculously, found herself alone with Michael. She would find him sitting at his favorite table, his nose buried deep in a book. He wouldn't notice her at first. She would prop her foot up on a convenient step-stool, and discover that her practical white sneakers had been replaced by something wilder. Maybe a pair of Shiny red stilleto pumps with ankle straps. Or, better still, a pair of thigh-high, black patent leather boots that clung to her curves. Michael would have to peek underneath Barbara's pencil skirt to see where the patent leather met the silky skin of Barbara's thighs. Perhaps, if she played her cards right, that could be arranged.
At the thrill of looking down and discovering the patent leather boots, Barbara would let out an amused giggle. Michael would look up from his book, and look her up and down. "Barbara," he would say, breathlessly. "I didn't see you there."
"That's too bad," she would say. "Because I really wanted to show you something." Michael would clear his throat, anticipating. From her tone, he couldn't possibly think she wanted to show him something in the pages of a comic book. He had to know that he was about to get a glimpse of her secret identity. She would reveal herself slowly, opening her demure white blouse one button at a time, from the top down. With each button, more of her leather and lace bra would be revealed. As her leather-clad breasts emerged, Michael would squirm in his seat. She would take off the blouse with a flourish, twist on her patent leather heel, and toss it to him. He would be too mesmerized to catch, though. The white blouse would drape his head before he snatched it off, afraid of losing the view.
"What do you think?" Barbara would say, striding gracefully toward Michael. She would stop just out of his reach.
The only word out of his mouth would be, "Wow." But his face would convey the message, loud and clear.
She was roused from her daydream to see Michael standing in front of the desk, holding a small stack of comic books. His head jerked, so that their eyes met. She knew that he was looking at her breasts.
Barbara carried the dictionary she'd been mending and set it down on the counter in front of him. She moved slowly, deliberately, trying to catch Michael's eye. It worked. Subtly, almost imperceptibly, his head jerked quickly in her direction before he looked away.
But he'd definitely looked. His blue eyes were glazed with the kind of admiration that only a woman's soft curves can inspire in a man.
"Did you find what you were looking for?" she asked him. He looked at her over his wire-rimmed glasses. She smiled as he set the comic books down in front of her. "Yeah," he said.
She sat up very straight, dropping her shoulders back so that the buttons of her blouse strained to hold the leather bra back. "You know," Barbara said, "I think I know your taste. I could recommend a few books, if you have the time. We could go out for coffee . . ."
"Or dinner," he said quickly.
Barbara smiled. "Dinner would be nice," she said. "Thursday night?" She scanned the last comic book and shuffled the stack. "Great," he said. He took the comic books from her hands. "Is seven okay? I could pick you up."
She picked up a bookmark, flipped it over, and wrote her number on the back. "Call me and I'll tell you where."
He smiled, nodded, and was out the door.
I am a superheroine, Barbara thought.
By: Erin O'Riordan
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