ONE
At the circulation desk she accepted his card and the items he intended to borrow. Their order and relation gave away nothing. But then, he had nothing to hide. She pursed her lips; perhaps it was more of a smile than he realised, though a dour one. She recorded each item carefully, looking up at her screen after each scan. She re-stacked them neatly and, looking over her glasses, pushed the stack of books toward him, rotating them so they faced him. Returning his card separately, directly to his hand, she instructed him to enjoy them, and informed him of their return date. He noticed that now there was a distinct smile, no longer questionable in its sternness, but inviting, and that she looked directly at him, as if waiting for a reply.
He felt the slight tremor in his chest, that instant of excitement that occurs when two people connect. The feeling upset his composure. He wondered where it had come from. He had seen her, talked to her before, albeit briefly. It had been purely business, as now. But today her chemistry had overcome him, had taken hold in that moment of her presence.
"Thank you." It was all that he could manage, as he collected his books from the desk, and smiled back.
She sat peering from behind her square, librarian-style glasses. He broke her gaze and turned and walked toward the exit, allowing the next patron her full attention. But he felt her eyes following, and turned slightly as he walked out the doorway, to be certain of it. She looked on as he left.
He thought much about the encounter over the next few hours- to him it had become an encounter. It was no longer just a simple, everyday interaction. The following day he tried to let it pass, thinking he had made too much of the moment. He wondered if she too had let it pass.
When he returned his books over a week later, he saw her at the desk just as he expected. His intention had been only to return the books and leave. As he dropped them into the return slot, he gazed at her pleasant figure behind the desk. At a glance he saw the short, dark hair pulled back, her bookish face behind the simple, linear glasses, her dark sweater covering the nondescript gray shirt. His interest in her renewed, he decided then to walk past her to the stacks, to find a title he could feign needing. He passed by, seemingly unnoticed.
He browsed the stacks not knowing what he was looking for. He felt a tinge of excitement knowing that he was merely killing time, and that he would speak to her again very soon. His immediate goal was to allow enough time to pass so that, had she seen him pass by, it would not appear that he were there with her as his purpose. He found himself among the fiction, and seeing a volume of Dickens he considered using it as his cover story. Checking his watch, nearly ten minutes had passed. He pulled the masterpiece from the shelf and walked toward the circulation desk.
He carefully, slowly rounded the corner to the entrance and the desk where he hoped she still sat. Quietly he walked forward as she finished with the present patron. He heard her distinct "thank you" as the woman in front of him turned and stepped away, and instantly his gaze was fixed upon her inviting smile.
"Hello again," she said.
There was a pause as again a tremor of excitement rippled through his body. He felt his heart skip witnessing the smile he regarded as fully intentional, given especially to him and at the word 'again', acknowledging his return.
Trying to act the part of a normal patron he said hello and slid his book toward her, so it faced her, while his other hand reached for his wallet. "How are you doing?" he added.
"Just fine, thank you," she replied. "And how have you been?" He felt relief now that he'd spoken to her, that she had advanced more words than were necessary to simply borrow the book.
"Dickens? Not your first time reading this one I suspect?" She advanced her theory in a quiet voice, but in the exacting, self- assured tone one might expect of a librarian, at least the stereotypical librarian.
"Good guess. I've been meaning to re-read it for years."
"Great Expectations. Everyone should read it." She paused. "If only we could all have them."
She had started a dialogue, leaving open endless possibilities. As she spoke he noticed her voice again, the pleasant yet confident tone. But there was more in the way she spoke- her speech was quiet, direct, with a deepness in her voice. Was this how her self-assuredness manifested itself? Through the tone of her voice? It was one of the ways, to be sure.
"We all have them- great expectations I mean. It's just that some express them through their actions, while most don't." He waited to see if she'd open herself further and challenge him.
"And what expectations do you have of this moment? Are they great?" Her reply was not only challenging, but also bold.
A man with an armful of books and two eager children approached, and he knew he would have to relinquish her attention to another. Their second encounter had come to an end, and abruptly. He accepted the book and his card directly from her, thanking her as he did. "I'll save my reply for my next visit."
"I'll be expecting it," she said, the sternness having returned to her tone. "Goodbye for now."
TWO
It was a week before he returned to see her, and she was why he returned. He entered the library expecting to see her at the desk, but instead found someone else. He couldn't ask for her; he didn't even know her name. He began milling about, perusing the shelves of new arrivals that were kept close to the circulation desk. From here he could see to the librarian's offices beyond the desk. He peered back, hoping to see her. He recognised others in the staff, but did not see her. He decided to wait.
It was only a minute before he heard her voice. He looked up and could see her figure through the office doorway, her back towards him. He could see her short hair, pulled back again. The sweater had been traded for a man's suit jacket. She wore pants- loose fitting- not revealing much of her figure. But he could see she was slender, and taller than he'd pictured, her willowy figure pleasing to his eye. She turned and walked in his direction with an armful of books. For the first time he noticed her breasts- the shirt she wore today was tight fitting and even under the jacket, he noticed they were small He imagined they were firm, and lovely. She saw him and walked directly to him. "I've been waiting for you to return."
The bodily vibrations of excitement returned to him as she spoke. "I am very happy to hear that." A wide smile broke across her face.
She began to re-shelve and arrange the books, slowly and intentionally, as she seemed to do everything. They talked now, about Dickens, about the classics, about their fields of study and interests.
He watched her as she worked. He watched her hands; he decided he liked her hands. She had long, slender fingers, matching her figure. Her nails were short, smooth and unpolished. She wore rings on both hands, five total, all of silver.
They agreed to meet for coffee after she finished her day, and set the time and place. As he readied himself to leave, she reminded him of their earlier, interrupted conversation and asked again of his expectations of the moment.
Although he felt like kissing her, and wanted to tell her, he said that their later meeting for coffee had been it.
"Come on, is that all?" she asked.
"Well, of course there's more." But he did not go any further. He wasn't about to divulge his desire to kiss her, to feel the smallness of her breasts in his hands, to see her slender, naked body, to feel and smell and taste her, to feel himself inside her. These thoughts raced through his mind and he felt himself blush, fighting back his arousal.
She noticed his discomfort, and smiled at it. "You're not going to tell me what 'more' is?" "I guess taking action will be up to me then." With that she reached over and grasped his arm, pulled him close, and kissed him on his mouth. He didn't resist, and it was clear to her that her forwardness was not lost. She could see the pleasure of her kiss in his eyes. "I'll see you at seven."
They met as planned and spent the evening together. Their conversation flowed freely and easily. She was her relaxed, confident self he had already come to expect. He watched her closely while she talked. He followed her hands, her gestures, and movements. There were times when their hands touched. Once she reached for his hand and held it, and he became aware of the strength in her grasp, gazing at her long fingers wrapped around his own.
The night grew late too quickly and they planned to meet again the next day. He would return to the library late in the day and they would have dinner together. They walked to her car and as they said goodnight their hands met again. This time he took the initiative and drew her close. Bringing his lips to hers, they exchanged a brief, passionate kiss. But it was not without her propensity toward domination being expressed again- he felt her tongue darting into his mouth and was pleased again with her forceful nature. He grasped her waist as they kissed, and as her arms wrapped around his neck, he could feel the strength of her body. His hand found the soft skin of her back and caressed her there, as she drew closer to him. He felt a shiver run through her body as he stroked the smooth, bare skin. "Tomorrow," she said.
THREE
He arrived at the library early the next evening after a day of thinking of little else. She was not at the desk when he walked in, and it gratified him to ask for her by name. She was in the lower level, sorting books for an upcoming fundraiser. He found her in the back of a dark, basement room stacked high with boxes. They met with a kiss and smiles for each other. "I still have a few boxes to sort before I can leave," she told him. He offered to help.
As they worked together he saw that she had worn a skirt- it was the first time he'd seen her in one. But her legs were still covered, now by thick, black stockings. Protection against the early spring air he decided. He watched her closely as she worked, as he liked to do. Once, as she bent to pick up a box of books he could see that her stockings ended just below her thighs. He imagined a garter belt held them. The thought of seeing it pleased him, excited him, and at that moment he thought her irresistible. Dropping his books into a box, he rose and moved towards her. She turned to face him, looking into his eyes as he reached his arms around her body and pulled her close. "I need to kiss you," he said. Without hesitation she kissed him first, wrapping her arms around his body, moving her hands wildly across his back, into his hair, and moaning as the passion that had welled up inside her escaped.
As they kissed, he moved his hand from her waist toward her breast. There was an audible sigh as he did, even as their mouths were closed on one another. He cupped his hand over her breast, feeling the nipple through the thin, silky material of her bra. This brought another, deeper sigh. She stopped him, and reached down into her shirt to unclasp her bra. She took both of his hands and pushed them up, under her shirt, placing the over her breasts. "Feel them," was her command. "Tell me that you want them. Tell me that my little breasts are perfect, that you love them."
"Oh, they are." Nearly gasping, he was mesmerized by their softness, by the delicate, erect nipples he felt under his fingertips. "I want to taste them." She raised her shirt and cupped one small breast in her hand, offering it to his mouth. He complied by kissing it, and then taking it in his mouth as his tongue played with the tiny nipple, causing her body to shudder. "I want you," he whispered, and reached a hand downward, across her firm stomach, towards her center.
As he moved his hand lower he felt her body tense. "No, I...I can't." She stopped him, grabbing his hand and forcing it away, holding it with the strength he had felt before. "I can't." She turned her head away.
"But.... Oh. I understand." His speech trailed off as he tried to hide his disappointment. He moved his hand away. "I can wait."
It took her a moment to understand his reply, and it caused her to chuckle. "No, it's not that." "Look, there's something I need to tell you." She was elated that her secret had not escaped, but at the same time very frightened. She'd been in this position before, and had sworn to herself that it wouldn't happen again. But it was exactly the same, and she recalled the outcome: the raised voices, the fear, and the pain that was with her for so long.
What was her secret? In the brief seconds that passed he envisioned countless possibilities. She saw the confusion building in his face, and resolved to tell him the truth. "Am I a woman to you?" she asked.
"Of course. Of course you are." He tried to sound confident in his reply, but the question did nothing to allay his confusion. "Why would you ask such a question?" He waited for her to continue, to clear away the fogginess that had obscured the joy he felt just minutes earlier.
"Well," she continued- the moment had arrived, could be put off no longer- "I am a woman, but I wasn't always." She had said it, and was at once relieved and fearful. She closed her eyes tight, waiting for his reply, for the anger and yelling and even the blows that might come. She was terribly frightened, shaking, but thankful they were in a public building. She hoped this would help protect her.
"So... this means you had a sex change?" His voice was soft and quiet, caring. There was not hint of anger. She felt him place his hand back on her waist, and she opened her eyes with a deep sigh of relief. He was calmly looking into her eyes, waiting for her story to continue.
"Well, no, not exactly. I haven't had an operation. I still have...." But she couldn't finish. No matter how many times she'd tried to explain it, no matter how often she had practiced, it never happened how she planned.
"So you have a penis?" He finished for her.
"That's about it," she said, trying to hold her smile, and telling herself it was okay. She felt only relief now, tremendous relief. Someone else knew her secret, and she felt good about that. She was elated with his calm reaction- his arm was still around her waist, his hand gently stroking the bare skin of her back. And now his free hand reached for hers.
"So you have a penis, and everything else about you is a woman. Your skin, your face, your voice, the way you walk and act, the way you kiss me, and your breasts. They're real, right?" He knew the answer, he had held them, tasted them.
She laughed out loud now, and smiled wide. "Of course they're real."
"So, how?" he really wanted to know, to hear it from her.
"Science," she said. "Hormones, very simple."
"Okay." He shook his head in agreement, but said nothing more. An eternity passed.
She broke the silence. "What do we do now?" They still sat close, their faces almost touching. His arm still wrapped her slender waist, his hand held hers.
"The fist thing I'm going to do is kiss you," he answered. "And then we'll see if the evening meets my expectations."