by Emily Bingham
(05/02/07)
It's Friday night and I'm re-reading for the seemingly millionth time a passage in the New Testament for my dissertation. Next week the powers that be want some proof that I've been actually working on this drivel. What a way to start the weekend.
This isn't a very well-traversed corner of the library, so I'm doubly surprised when a photo of Clark Gable falls into the pages in front of me. I come out of my Bible-induced haze in time to see an impeccably dressed male form just as he turns the corner around the nearest stack.
It Happened One Night is scrawled in lavish penmanship in the back side of the picture. Nearly eighty years old and still my favorite flick. Not only does he have a perfect ass, but outstanding taste in film.
I get up to follow him.
He's leaning coolly against a shelf when I find him amongst the labyrinth that is the general history section. Turning his head my way, he grins only slightly, unsurprised by my presence, utterly unperturbed, as if standing in the library with a hard-on were the most natural thing in the word. He doesn't say a word.
If that's how he wants to play this, I'm more than glad to return the favor. I shake my head at his overly cocky demeanor and walk right up to him, grabbing the front of his shirt.
Now I have his attention.
Our faces are so close we should be kissing. Instead, I let loose his now wrinkled shirt and press my body roughly against his, his back shoved uncomfortably against the books behind him. The cross hidden against my chest pokes sharply into us both. Our cocks jut against one another.
"Get on your knees. You get to be Claudette Colbert tonight."
