Bonnie Goodwater pressed the time-worn date stamp into the moist pad of red ink and gently rocked the due-date into Connie Benk's book.
"The Berenstain Bears Go Anal!" remarked Bonnie. "That's one of the new ones. Enjoy your book, sweetheart!"
Bonnie Goodwater derived great personal pleasure from being the Head Librarian for the Websterville Town Library. The solitude of the building, the need to control the coming and going of the vast amounts of information and adventure spread out in each and every book, periodical, and pamphlet created a thrill and satisfaction that she kept well hidden in her young body.
"Excuse me, Miss. I would like to check out this book."
Bonnie Goodwater was yanked from her reverie by a voice of liquid molasses. Deep, dark, verbally musky and rife with a nearly-infrasonic vibration, it drew her attention as a fly to potato salad. She turned toward the source of the voice and was dumbstruck by the discontinuity of imagination versus reality. The owner of the voice stood six feet tall, had long unkempt dark hair, wore a pair of dirty coveralls, and smelled of gasoline and Lava soap. In his hands was a book entitled "Chilton's Guide to Subarus." On the front of the coveralls was an oval around the name "Skip."
"Skip? That's a name? I thought it was a verb." she mused.
"Ma'am, are you OK? Why are you staring at me?" he asked as young Miss Goodwater voicelessly tried to make sense of what she was feeling. Once again his voice, like vibrating airborne velvet, caressed her ears with subtle tenderness. From the top of her head to the base of her spine, Bonnie Goodwater felt a rush of warmth.
"Chilton's? Why am I getting so aroused over a Chilton's manual?" she thought to herself.
"The Berenstain Bears Go Anal!" remarked Bonnie. "That's one of the new ones. Enjoy your book, sweetheart!"
Bonnie Goodwater derived great personal pleasure from being the Head Librarian for the Websterville Town Library. The solitude of the building, the need to control the coming and going of the vast amounts of information and adventure spread out in each and every book, periodical, and pamphlet created a thrill and satisfaction that she kept well hidden in her young body.
"Excuse me, Miss. I would like to check out this book."
Bonnie Goodwater was yanked from her reverie by a voice of liquid molasses. Deep, dark, verbally musky and rife with a nearly-infrasonic vibration, it drew her attention as a fly to potato salad. She turned toward the source of the voice and was dumbstruck by the discontinuity of imagination versus reality. The owner of the voice stood six feet tall, had long unkempt dark hair, wore a pair of dirty coveralls, and smelled of gasoline and Lava soap. In his hands was a book entitled "Chilton's Guide to Subarus." On the front of the coveralls was an oval around the name "Skip."
"Skip? That's a name? I thought it was a verb." she mused.
"Ma'am, are you OK? Why are you staring at me?" he asked as young Miss Goodwater voicelessly tried to make sense of what she was feeling. Once again his voice, like vibrating airborne velvet, caressed her ears with subtle tenderness. From the top of her head to the base of her spine, Bonnie Goodwater felt a rush of warmth.
"Chilton's? Why am I getting so aroused over a Chilton's manual?" she thought to herself.
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Anchorage
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