http://www.writing-in-shadows.co.uk/
I silently slid a book from its position on the shelf and gazed at the sight before me - two female students kissed each other at a leisurely pace. One swept her hands beneath the band of the other's cropped top, and my own dust-caked fingers inched over my small breasts - I had been shelving books all morning, and the paper had dried my skin, bleaching it from dark brown to parched gray. I mirrored their movements as I spied on them - a single row of accounting books, my only defense from being caught in the act. The couple's breathing became more ragged as they enjoyed themselves, and soon they were tugging open buttons in an attempt to enjoy more in the confines of the library. I glimpsed a flash of flesh before they abruptly stopped. Alexia, my fellow library assistant came into view, oblivious to the charged tension she met. She ignored the glares from the two students, and then she started putting books on the shelves, before the couple walked away. I held my breath until she was done, and felt like a pervert.
It was summer vacation at the University, but the campus library was still open, running a minimal service five days a week in the sweltering heat. Most of the students had gone, with only a few souls remaining who were re-taking their exams, or carrying out research. Watching the overheated students getting down and dirty amongst the tall shelves of books was a good source of entertainment during this time, and apart from stacking books, it was also the only thing to do.
I'd only worked at the library for a week, when Eneko had told me about the resident ghost - an Edwardian specter who was supposed to haunt the marketing section right at the back of the library. I had laughed at his tale, thought it was something he'd made up to scare the new girl, but as the hot and humid days rolled by sluggishly, I found evidence - books on advertising that I had shelved now lay scattered on the floor, my trolley was repeatedly hidden upside down in the silent study area, and books on public relations lay in a messy pile against a wall - if it wasn't a ghost doing this, then it was one sneaky sod.
I don't like fiction - I like facts, and a ghost was an unknown idea that I grappled with; an impossible element in my otherwise ordered life. I like predictable and safe - that's why I had wanted to work here. Numbers, figures, equations, that's all there was in this library... except for the students, of course. The nineteen year old undergraduates with tight, revealing clothing and too much attitude made the long, hot days stretch with an endless parade of G-strings peeking out of low-slung jeans, ultra short skirts and fake tans. The older, sleeker postgrads were a different sort altogether, but no less tantalizing, with confident good looks, and an easy-going sexuality that made me put my brightest smile on, whenever they would come near.
However, none of them seemed to notice me. I suppose they were too busy judging books by their covers to give a skinny black girl a second glance. I have flat tits, just about got hips. I'm tall and lean; my curves are subtle, but they're still there. If I were being generous and pretentious, I'd say that I was an Art Deco woman, but without all that fancy bronze stuff going on.
That afternoon I was busy putting books back on the shelf in a quiet section at the rear of the library. I wiped perspiration from my eyes and tried to breathe normally in the hot, dusty atmosphere. Accounting, economics and business were the only subjects we covered, and these books tended to be thick and very heavy, so I was becoming rapidly exhausted. I had just put the last weighty book down when a sharp noise made me start. A fat book lay on the floor beside me, but as I reached to pick it up, another one joined it, and another, and another. I looked up in wonder as a dozen books were swept invisibly off the shelf to land on the floor with low thuds.
I held myself still as I felt a strange presence behind me. My flesh became raised with goose bumps, and, as my skin altered and tightened, I felt other things tightening too. My nipples protruded through my thin T-shirt, and I shivered, suddenly cold in the overpowering heat. Finally I managed to shuffle around, and, as I turned, I saw a shimmering woman holding an accounting book in her hand.
"All these books on numbers and not one speaks of love," she sighed, before throwing that book down to join the rest on the floor with a bang.
If called myself Art Deco before, then this woman was pure Art Nouveau. She had delicate, swirls of honey-brown hair that curled around her freckled shoulders, an elegant poise that made her full, curvy breasts strain against the delicate bodice of her beautiful, ivory lace gown. The impressive antique dress swept along the floor as she moved, and I was mesmerized by the shimmering length of cloth that trailed behind her. The intricate beadwork looked like it had taken a lifetime to sew, and the glittering costume made tiny clinking sounds whenever she moved. I gaped in wonder at the sight, until she stood on tiptoes to reach another book on the top shelf.
"Wait!" I breathed before coming to my senses. "Don't go throwing books about in here. I've got to clean up your mess."
"You're new here, aren't you?" she asked, fingering a book on macroeconomics. I nodded, still trying to wrap my mind around the fact that I was talking to a ghost. "Well, I've been here for a very long time," she continued. "I've been looking for something special; have been trying to find it for so many years now. I cannot and I shall not leave, until this library starts stocking decent books."
"Decent?" I gasped.
"Yes. I mean, dear girl, are there no romances to enjoy? Where are the passionate stories of danger and excitement?" she asked, and waved another large economics book at me.
"This is a business library. We don't have any of that here."
"Well then, until I become a patron of this establishment once more, you cannot expect me to follow your rules." She turned and began to shimmer, her form fading in a wobbly haze.
"I could get you something," I called out to the mirage.
"Ah, that would be interesting." She became solid for a moment and walked to the edge of the shelf, then she gazed at me and smiled. I felt my nipples harden once more and I unconsciously took a step back. "What is your name child?" she advanced on me with glittering sea-blue eyes that held me hypnotic.
"Hannah. Call me Hannah." I tried not to stutter.
"My name is Marjorie. I look forward to meeting you anon." She nodded once, regally, and then simply disappeared.
****
The next morning, I bought a paperback romance from the one of the newsagents at Liverpool Street train station. The man and woman on the front cover were dressed in a similar way to how the apparition had been, and they held each other in a passionate embrace. I thought of Marjorie's lush, swelling curves restrained in that amazing dress - the word 'bodice-ripper' came to mind, and I licked my suddenly dry lips.
A shimmer later and Marjorie was before me once more. I handed over the book, and she took it in her gloved hands, turning it over slowly.
"What, pray tell, is this?" She held it up as if it were a dead mouse and scowled.
"It's a romantic novel."
"No, dear girl, what we have here is nothing but cheap trash." She dropped the book and dusted her hands slowly.
"It seemed okay to me." I guessed I should have had a quick read-through first, but weren't all those love stories basically the same?
"There's no passion, no longing," Marjorie's insistent voice made me jump.
"I thought you'd like it. You said you wanted romance, and that's what you've got."
Marjorie held a lace handkerchief to her temple and glared at me.
"I have not spent the better part of a century in this monolith, waiting to read petty rubbish."
"You've been here a century?" I gawped, and she stepped up to me, looking incredibly pissed off.
"I was here when they established this library. I was here when the Suffragettes finally gained a vote for women. I saw the city of London bombed from above, and the streets outside ablaze. I was here when all the young men disappeared, and girls had to find comfort in each other's arms." Her lady-like voice had vanished, and she practically snarled at me. "I saw such wonderful and terrible things, and I waited, just biding my time until we could find comfort, not for the lack of men, but for the excess of women." She was inches from my face now. "There aren't enough women in that book. I want to see more women!"
"So you want some gay stuff then?" I finally realized what she was after. "I can do that."
"It can be as fancy and gay as you wish, but it must have passion." She waved at me dismissively as she faded away once more. Obviously the word 'gay' had changed its meaning over the last hundred years.
I made a detour on the way home, popped into one of the many alternative bookstores in the West End of London, and purchased something that she was certain to like.
This time when I presented the anthology of lesbian erotica to her, she grinned at me and held the colorful tome to her beaded brocade chest.
"Now, this is more like it," Marjorie purred and opened a page. After a few moments reading, her eyes grew wide, and her mouth popped open. "This is much more to my taste!" she gasped quietly. "Tell me Hannah, do you ever... partake?"
"I've never done anything with a woman," I said, a little sadly. "Always wanted to, but it never worked out. Anyway, you make it sound like lunch." I grinned.
"The physical romance between women is more than lunch, dear girl; it is a banquet of the finest fare."
"So you've had a nibble then?" I couldn't help myself, but stopped chuckling as her face fell.
"Sweet Rebecca, I lost her to influenza before I could show her how I truly felt." She looked down and sighed. "I was so afraid; I thought I was the only one who desired such a thing, that I was alone. I was a foolish girl when alive - how could I ever be alone if I had my sweet friend?"
"I'm sorry," I said, grateful for this reminder to make the most of the present, and all the freedom that Marjorie had never known. "You've been on your own trapped here all this time - I don't know how you managed," I continued.
"Oh, I'm not alone here. There are the young students that populate the halls of this library, and there is Harold -- he has been here longer than I." She gestured towards the wall.
"You mean there are more of you in here?"
"There's only Harold, and he is a very melancholy soul. His desires are stranger than mine, but he is a perfect gentleman - he never presses me for a physical connection," she spoke in a confidential tone.
"Well, I'm glad you've got company. Enjoy your book," I turned to go, a little reluctantly. I was supposed to be on the issue desk in a few minutes, but I would rather have stayed with Marjorie. As if she had read my mind, she reached out and stroked a cool, gloved hand over my cheek, tilted her head until she met my hesitant gaze.
"To live in a world like this, how I envy you Hannah. I could never leave this place; I only stayed as an observer of history, and as a connoisseur of fine writing." She raised her book, and grinned at me.
"I'm glad you like it," I said softly, happy to have helped the strange woman. I didn't want to move from her hold - her gloved hand was refreshingly chilly in the otherwise intense heat of the library. Besides, I liked the way she was currently stroking my face.
"Dear girl, let me thank you properly," she said, with an odd light in her sparkling blue eyes.
I was about to open my mouth to say something deep and meaningful to her, but I found that I was frozen where I stood. This time when Marjorie shimmered, the whole room seemed to join in. I felt myself lifted from the floor, and Marjorie propelled me with an invisible force backwards until I lay over a vandalized study desk against a wall.
From the corner of my eye, I saw a thick book raise itself from a far shelf, and it raced through the air to where I lay. I could see the title and even the small print of the author's name on the spine as it filled my vision, and then it slammed against my chest, making me puff out a gust of surprised breath. Another three books joined it in quick succession - they all looked ancient and covered in dust. I managed to lift my head a fraction just before they impacted with me, and the yellowed curling pages ruffled with the force of the landing.
Marjorie smiled cruelly as I was pressed against the desk, and she walked slowly to me, enjoying the sight of me struggle futilely with the weight of the publications. It wasn't just the books that were keeping me down - my hands felt stuck to the surface beneath me, and I could barely move my body from the waist down. I didn't have a clue as to what this woman was capable of, and I began to tremble with fear, the closer the apparition came.
Marjorie flicked open the cover of the topmost book, thumbed open a page of the dog-eared volume and grinned down at me.
"I'm a quick study Hannah. Let me demonstrate what I've learned so far," she whispered, and I broke out in a fresh sweat of nervousness. If this was her way of thanking me, then I didn't want to see her upset.
Chilly hands stroked my face and then lower to my shoulders, beneath my T-shirt. Such simple actions made me gasp - it had been so long since anyone had touched me. Marjorie adjusted the books a little, so she could gain access to my chest. Leather-clad fingers stroked my skin, and ran rings around my suddenly swollen nipples. Then her wet, cool mouth and sucked vigorously on each of them until I jerked on the desk, grunting into the sparkling air. The books on top of me threatened to topple over, but I was past caring.
Marjorie's brief read of the erotic stories had done her the world of good. She ran kisses over my flat belly, shoved my jeans down around my knees until I could barely wriggle, and then she knelt astride me and I lay trapped happily beneath her luscious frame. Marjorie pressed her full lips to my slim hips, licked around my thighs, and finally, wedged her face between my legs to devour me whole. She alternately grew solid and faded in vision as she made love to me, and I began to feel as if the whole thing was a heat-induced fantasy.
I was grateful that the library's security cameras were currently not in operation, but I was still aware of the very public place this library could be. If Alexia or Eneko decided to do some shelve some books, I would be finished.
My thoughts were interrupted as Marjorie sucked my sensitive clitoris deep into her mouth. The icy feel of her lips made me grunt and pant . I bit down on my tongue to stop myself from yelling, and then my tongue was busy with other things, as she swept the books from my chest, and then rose up to kiss me. Her kisses left me just as breathless as the books - being a ghost, she had no need for oxygen, and I think she'd forgotten that I definitely did. Her fingers found my short hair, and she grabbed a handful, angled my head back further, and deepened the kiss. Marjorie's free hand had disappeared beneath the ruches of her dress, and she ground against herself with abandon, making desperate noises.
I looked up as a whoosh sounded out - a multitude of books had dislodged themselves from the shelves, and they flew around crazily above me. The amazing sight continued as I felt Marjorie stiffen, clenching her teeth with a grimace and a long groan. After a moment she fell limply on top of me, and that's when all the flying books suddenly came crashing back noisily to the ground. My orgasm hit me like a blow. The lack of oxygen, coupled with the intensity of our lovemaking, finished me off. As I shuddered with the force of it, the sparkling room grew dim, and finally dissolved to black. My head landed against the study desk with a thud, but the bliss that flowed through me, meant that I just didn't care.
When I came to, I was laying unceremoniously on a pile of books on management skills. My face was pressed against a copy of, 'Essentials of management information systems.' Marjorie had her nose pressed to her erotic lesbian anthology and she seemed lost in reading it.
"Ah, so you're finally awake." She gestured to me. "This is a truly enjoyable collection, but tell me dear, what is a... here have a look at this word, it is unfamiliar to me."
I clambered up, still feeling woozy, and I peered over and read the word 'transgender'. I hadn't realized that the book had transgender stories in it, but was glad that it had. It seemed as if Marjorie would have to be brought up to speed with the modern world, but I knew that I was no expert on the subject.
"I think it's basically when a person identifies with a gender other than the one that they were born with. There are women and men who identify with both or neither of those sexes," I finished with a shrug, but promised myself that I would find a better definition for Marjorie. When I glanced up from the book, she looked at me with knowing eyes, and nodded slowly.
"I think it is time I introduced you to my friend," she whispered before reaching out her hand to brush the wall. "Harold? Harold dear, won't you come out and meet Hannah. She has the most wondrous thing to tell you."