Welcome distraction
In the library checking emails/other blogs after a hard 5 hour stint doing...more of the same, when a beautiful, gorgeous smelling specimen of the male species saunters in behind me to take a seat two computers to my right.
How the hell am I supposed to do any work now?
Just checked, and he is as adorable as first suspected.
What is it about sitting in the library for hours on end that turns one's attentions somewhat impatiently over to the opposite sex? In fact, I challenge anyone to prove me wrong that after the first hour, no, twenty minutes, eyes aren't frantically flitting round in search of a little piece of eye-candy to indulge upon in one's inbetween-words fantasizing time.
For example, I got to the library about 4 hours ago, and since then I have spotted 5 potential Hotties. Before I carry on, you must be fully aware as I am, that after long enough in confined spaces filled with books and mutants, one tends to lower one's standards quite significantly. A library-based hotcake is by no means of the same calibre as one you might find sauntering about the Northern Quarter, or even sitting at a Fallowfield bus stop. However, this only adds to the perverse, and dare I say it, kinkiness of the pleasure derived from locating one. A model fit for one's eyes to rest upon while you think about your next word or paragraph and perve freely, under a delusional cloud of 'Like they're ever gonna say anything'. Just as long as they're not drooling and have matching shoes on (I'm fussy, and what?), anything goes.
Myself and the fella to my left are both dancing about happily to the tune of Let's Have Covert Eye-Sex With Each Other, and I'm loving every second of it. The well-aimed glance. The well-timed smile. Oh, doubt it not, every move is important. You don't wanna fuck it up and be left sitting next to Can-You-Smell-Me-Yet?-Man. No, I want full on, visual penetration.
The thing is with Library crushes, is that they don't have to lead to anything serious. It's purely so that you can put a face to the body you imagine pressing, rubbing, breathing against yours when the Biblio-Horn takes over. (Biblio-Horn (n): desire for sexual intercourse whilst immersed in a studious environment.) You know, when you start wondering how you'd have to angle yourself if you wanted some action in the aisles; how you'd have to stand if you wanted to get carnal in a toilet cubicle; how silent you'd have to be to get away with a bit of touching under the tables - don't act like I'm the only one.
Everyone looks for distractions, but fantasizing about sex somehow seems more legitimate. It's not like you're imagining what it'd be like to fly, you're focussing on something that could potentially happen. Call it forward planning.
Right now, my Biblio-Horn's got me planning how I could 'accidentally' rub my leg against his, initiate some more eye-contact, maybe a smile or two. Maybe eventually lure him into my Special Collections Unit...
Best just get on with this essay.
How the hell am I supposed to do any work now?
Just checked, and he is as adorable as first suspected.
What is it about sitting in the library for hours on end that turns one's attentions somewhat impatiently over to the opposite sex? In fact, I challenge anyone to prove me wrong that after the first hour, no, twenty minutes, eyes aren't frantically flitting round in search of a little piece of eye-candy to indulge upon in one's inbetween-words fantasizing time.
For example, I got to the library about 4 hours ago, and since then I have spotted 5 potential Hotties. Before I carry on, you must be fully aware as I am, that after long enough in confined spaces filled with books and mutants, one tends to lower one's standards quite significantly. A library-based hotcake is by no means of the same calibre as one you might find sauntering about the Northern Quarter, or even sitting at a Fallowfield bus stop. However, this only adds to the perverse, and dare I say it, kinkiness of the pleasure derived from locating one. A model fit for one's eyes to rest upon while you think about your next word or paragraph and perve freely, under a delusional cloud of 'Like they're ever gonna say anything'. Just as long as they're not drooling and have matching shoes on (I'm fussy, and what?), anything goes.
Myself and the fella to my left are both dancing about happily to the tune of Let's Have Covert Eye-Sex With Each Other, and I'm loving every second of it. The well-aimed glance. The well-timed smile. Oh, doubt it not, every move is important. You don't wanna fuck it up and be left sitting next to Can-You-Smell-Me-Yet?-Man. No, I want full on, visual penetration.
The thing is with Library crushes, is that they don't have to lead to anything serious. It's purely so that you can put a face to the body you imagine pressing, rubbing, breathing against yours when the Biblio-Horn takes over. (Biblio-Horn (n): desire for sexual intercourse whilst immersed in a studious environment.) You know, when you start wondering how you'd have to angle yourself if you wanted some action in the aisles; how you'd have to stand if you wanted to get carnal in a toilet cubicle; how silent you'd have to be to get away with a bit of touching under the tables - don't act like I'm the only one.
Everyone looks for distractions, but fantasizing about sex somehow seems more legitimate. It's not like you're imagining what it'd be like to fly, you're focussing on something that could potentially happen. Call it forward planning.
Right now, my Biblio-Horn's got me planning how I could 'accidentally' rub my leg against his, initiate some more eye-contact, maybe a smile or two. Maybe eventually lure him into my Special Collections Unit...
Best just get on with this essay.
posted by KJT at 8:37 pm
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