I Fell for a Librarian Bk. 02

We watch movies or TV shows on my laptop; if we need to watch shows, I use a USB Digital Video Tuner and an antenna. Mom gets a beer, pops it, takes a deep drink, hands it to me, and I take a sip. Mom rubs her feet; your face is not happy. I run hot water in the sink, put the plugin, and fill the sink with hot water.

I walk over to you, stand you up, and look into your eyes with my thumbs. I slip inside the waistband of your jeans, taking them off you, and my fingers roll your pantyhose off you, leaving your panties on. I have done this many nights for you. Most nights, you're too tired to move; you would sleep in your clothes if left alone.

Picking you up, I carry you over and sit you down on the counter next to the sink, one foot in hot water slowly. When it's done, I do your other. I'll give you your beer. "Mom, my bike is not the only thing I have, and I love Mom."

I wanted to say I love you, but this was close enough. Little did I know all you needed from me was my love; maybe growing up, I can say it one day.

I take the Joy dish washing soap and put it on my hands as I rub your feet to what started as a grasp to moans as I massage your feet, taking your aches away.

I say. "Mom, it makes it sound like I'm your lover. It's very intimate, that's hot, Mom, you know, Mom, your still an attractive woman. It hurts me to see you not living life. You never go out; you never have time for yourself. You have given your all for me, Mom. Thank you."

"That's OK, baby. I don't mind. I wish I could give you more; how you treat me is better than your dad ever did when we were dating. You make me feel loved and desired. If you weren't my son..." My Mom says your voice was dropping off desires better left unsaid.

"Mom, I got a job today. I can help pay my way more, Mom, we can move someplace nicer, and you won't have to work so hard. I met a woman today. Mom not a girl; she told me the same thing about how I treated her better than her boyfriend. As I said, we have been on our first date; she is not my age at all, Mom; that's all your doing; it's your fault." My Moms face beamed with pride.

I drained the sink, washing your feet in freshwater as I dried your feet for you, picked you up again, and took you to the bed a few feet away from the sink, and I asked, walking. "Mom, you want a shower now or in the morning?"

I hear. "Morning." My Mom says.

I lay you down and unbutton your dress the rest of the way, and you roll over, and you help me get it off you as I slip my clean Tee on you, and you do that magic trick that ladies do where you take your bra off under your shirt. I bring a wash rag over, wash your makeup, and add some cold cream. I kiss your forehead like I have done this a hundred times and say. "Night, Mom, I love you, man your sexy; I don't care if you are my Mom. Is that sick, Mom? Should I not say things like this?"

My Mom says. "Maybe it's not right, baby; nothing weird, baby, but let me hold you till I fall asleep again, please."

I do, but Mom cries as I hold you; we do this almost every night. Then, when Mom is asleep, I sleep on the couch. As much as I love holding you, it's awkward in the morning, my hard cock buried in your hot butt cheeks throbbing. Neither of us has yet been willing to cross that line; like I said, Awkward with a capital A hard dick.

I woke up on the pullout couch to the sounds and smells of breakfast, coffee, Spam, and eggs; I'll get a second for lunch on a white bread sandwich, maybe an apple. Man, I kill for real food. I start to get out of bed, but my hard-on is up and more than ready for the day.

Mom Says. "Sorry, your running way too late you have to get moving. I'm fixing your coffee. I'll bring it to you in the shower; now move your cute butt, Babycakes." Mom turns her back to me. I run to the bath, and I can't pee till I get softer, and Mom is coming with my coffee now.

I jump in the shower, start the water running, and lean forward peeing like a racehorse in the tub. Mom stuck her head around the clear curtain as I finished and told me. "Your Dad was not blessed like you are; sorry about everything boys should have space to care for things you boys have needs."

I say. "Mom, this is not my idea of a great time to be talking about my needs as I'm naked as I'm washing my needs. But, Mom, I can deal with my needs. I am not a virgin, after all. You, Mom, what about your needs we neither have much in the way of space, but Mom, I am not deprived by any stretch of the imagination, and I know for a fact you are; Mom, your bed is across the damn room you can't even breath hard in a dream without..." I said, stopping getting close to that damn line again. I have seen your sleep, whether from dreams or your nightmares. I hold you on those when you wake in a panic.

Mom leaves the bathroom with a sigh, and I dry off, and Mom leaves me clean boxers and a new Tee to wear. I slip them on, drying my hair. I come out with the towel, finish my hair, and say. "Mom, if I'm late, you are to write me a note for being late, and I will run you over to work."

I ate my Spam and egg sandwich as Mom got cleaned up.

You come out in a clean bra and panties, putting your makeup on as I brush your hair for you and put your slip over your head. I help your arms into your work dress. As you finish your war, paint. I button the top part of the dress and put my jacket on you as you finish the note. We motored off to the day.

"Mom, I love you; see you after work, no clue when, but I got my phone." So there I said it is, dropping Mom off at the Diner. A typical day when we were late. We are not bashful around each other, but I know it is weird for me to want my Mom.

I want to so she feels my love to pay her back for everything she does to try to make life livable. But, hey, I know the name they call that. The school was nasty; no one talked to me again today. Do I have the damn plague? I am alone in my thoughts as I act like I am reading, but I am thinking about books right, truth time, or at least a librarian hot book.

The teacher passed out the grades in class. I passed, damn it, I passed. So I sat at lunch and ate my cold fried Spam and egg sandwich and an apple.

One of my so-called hot Friends With Benefits stopped by to ask me. "If my Mom had a double shift tonight?" Her friends see her talking to me, and she leaves without waiting for my answer; damn, that hurts.

She asked me later in my next class. "If we could, you know?" Her words, you know, for sex primarily for her pleasure, not always for mine.

I answered. "No, thank you; what's the matter? Can't your boyfriend make you come? I made two woman moan last night, you know. I did not need you to, you know, just lay there since that's all you seem to be able to do, you know, you're not anything like them. I more than like the women I'm with. Thanks." I felt good about that all day, not good enough to date me, then not good enough to fuck.

I rolled to the Library and saw my cute Librarian; I nodded. Hello, I say. "Hello, I'm Dan Allen Bogart. I'm here about the part-time job Ma'am; you don't need to fill any openings?"

My smile was wide, and I suddenly felt oddly exposed as you looked at me coldly, as if you had changed your mind overnight.

You wink at me and smile; it gets warm, then you say. "Come on, Dan, let me get you to the break room; you do great work there."

You take me to the break room that's used now. I whispered to you after glancing around to see who might hear first. You nod to me that you notice I looked first. I wink back at you and bow to you, and I say. "May I be your Padawan? I know a master when I see one; you got me good." You laughed as you took me to a table.

I used a table to fill out the form; you take it to HR to return to get me. You make eye contact and say. "You get lunch around six, and we lock up at eight." As you glance up toward the CCTV cameras and smile at me.

I glance at the CCTV and back to you and say. "I've had a Social Security work card since I was sixteen, and I worked for my Grandfather working on refrigerators before he died last year."

You showed me our time software on an I-pad that was mine to use in the building, clock in with, and map where books go. I looked; it had the photos of the first building and this one's blueprint and old pictures and some done in the last year or so.

Before the second remodel and after, they put in Central Air, and they did not add it to the old break room; that must be why they closed it off no air, just a ceiling fan, high windows and curtains, and old steam heaters.

I snapped at how much sense it made how to catalog books as I was putting them up; what was once all on index cards in a large room is now a room full of PCs and monitors.

Everything is now online, and the i-Pads are used to find where all the books live. Yes, I thought it was where a book lives; all the books I've read lived in me as they took the horrors of life away, even briefly as I read them.

One night years ago, my Mom held me as screams and gunshots filled the night outside our windows, reading to me; we both shook so badly as the book took us away to a faraway land where Horton hears a Who and not a damn 9MM.

Today the only book in my backpack is Catcher in the Rye, yellowed dog-eared the dirty words marked in red ink by some unknown hand; the words speak to me across the years. The notes asking questions in the margins they asked the right ones they bring to light J. D. Salinger was trying to tell me by reading his work, it talked to me as did most books I read.