I don't mind a bit of casual fun. On the contrary, I’m all down for a good time when done properly—but nobody gets my beautiful books dirty or damaged.

And cum stains and books do not go together.

I make my way over to them just as he lets out a final guttural grunt. I clear my throat, giving them my best typical librarian glare. The female student stiffens before quickly covering her breasts with her arms. They turn and then give me a questioning look.

Okay, so my 5'9 stature, deep red ombre hair, curves, and casual rock style aren't your normal librarian look. The runes and sigils that covered parts of my chest, neck, and arms probably didn’t help either, looking like tattoos. But what's normal these days?

My love for books was no joke, so who cared anyway. Not me.

I give them a bored look and gesture down toward the exit.

“As exhilarating as your performance was,” I dead-pan, “you’ll have to take this little show elsewhere.”

The girl shuffles in place, rearranging her clothes, while Mr. Quarterback slowly fixes his belt, trailing his eyes down my body.

“You're the librarian here? Maybe I need to read more.”

What a quip, haven't heard that one before.

I sigh, pointing again to the exit.

“I’m sure I could find you some great books to help with your stamina, so she can have a real orgasm.”

He looks at the girl, a smug look on his face that quickly falls when she becomes flustered and starts to make her way toward the stairs. He huffs and looks toward me. “I—”

I cut him off with a wave of my hand and gesture to the exit for the final time with an exhausted look.

With a final flash of annoyance in his gaze, he repositions his varsity jacket and saunters toward the exit.

I loved being situated in Detroit, but being close to Hendridge College and having to deal with these snooty or jock students was a chore at times. Them wanting to live their little ‘fantasies’ wasn't common but not completely rare either. It was annoying, to say the least.

If they got so much as a sweaty finger print on one of my books, I would hunt them down and beat them with an encyclopedia—informative and heavy.

Kids like that never appreciate the rows upon rows of vibrantly colored books or the dark mahogany shelves with their delicate ornate designs that hold them.

They don't see the beautiful high-arched ceiling or the intricate carvings laid into it. Nor the delicately designed gothic arched windows that reach toward the sky and sculpt these old walls.

No, they don't come for a thirst to learn or read, to immerse themselves in a story and consume it whole. To find comfort and solace in these warm and aged walls that hold history and knowledge.

I shake my head. Their loss.

The smell of old parchment and wood hits my nose as I brush the old spines in passing. I never get tired or less in awe of the beauty of this place or how blessed I am every day for this to be my job and home.