The majesty of the giant room was palpable. Our small group was surrounded by the smells of leather bound books and furniture oil. We were faced, in every direction, with the tangible evidence of history. The dome above us engendered astonishing acoustics, making every whisper, every turn of a page, clearly audible. On all sides of the room were alcoves and corridors, the homes of "the stacks;" the ornate, perfectly spaced shelves heavily laden with nearly every volume ever published. For a true lover of books it's a sacred place. It's the Library of Congress.
The group was in D.C. to experience that history, to walk the National Archives, to stand mere inches from arguably the most important, history-changing documents ever penned by man since the Bible and the Magna Carta. A side visit to the Library was a must.
We all knew each other, on a level, but this was the first time some of us had ever met face to face. We were all getting to know one another as went about our wanderings.
You and I had spoken many times before this. There was always an undercurrent of... something... We clicked so quickly, so unexpectedly. In a very short time our texts and conversations took a decidedly intimate turn. Intimate, over time, became explicit and uninhibited. When the opportunity arose to express those desires face to face, we couldn't say no.
Our friends and colleagues were unaware of our connection. As far as they knew we were simply casual friends who worked on projects together from time to time, and from opposite ends of the country. It would be potentially complicated if the deeper nature of our friendship became public, so we played it cool.