Part Four of the Bob and Ellen story.
Bob intently studied the spreadsheet displayed on the two large screens in front of him. Something wasn't right about the numbers; he tried various things but couldn't get the budget on this account to come out correctly, and nothing seemed to make sense. Then, he got a strange-looking text from an unknown number.
"Come to the Old Library at 6:00 pm sharp. Go to the fourth floor, aisle three, and pull out book number 613.9." The Librarian.
That makes a little sense, he thought. His wife, Ellen, used to go by the nickname the Librarian before they met because she was so bookish and kept to herself. She hated the name, and it was odd she was using it unless someone who knew her was playing with him and wanting a hookup, but that was extremely unlikely and would go absolutely nowhere. She knew enough hackers at work that could disguise her phone and do something sneaky like this.
Perhaps she wanted a date night or something? The Old Library had gone upscale to attract more patrons and had a nice little bistro downstairs. Maybe she wanted to meet before they had dinner. Ellen hadn't given any clues she was up to anything since the encounter where he caught her 'pleasuring' herself. They had gone on with life, and he was waiting for her to make the next move sexually when she felt the time was right. This could be the night, but she hadn't given any clues about where that may go.
He returned to his spreadsheet and would put a reminder in his phone. Bob had a revelation about the spreadsheet. I know what I did wrong, he thought, excited and forgetting about the reminder. He became immersed in his work until he almost had the problem fixed when he looked and saw it was 6:15 pm. 'Oh shit! I was supposed to be there at 6:00.' He responded to the previous text, "I don't have a good excuse; I'm running late and leaving now." He closed his laptop and flew out the door.
The Old Library was the main library until they built a new one at the heart of the urban development. Reaching his destination, out of breath and wishing he wasn't late, he sprinted up the front steps and found the staircase. 'What floor was that? Crap, the fourth floor.' The worn wooden steps creaked under his heavy steps into the fourth-floor vestibule.
Only half the main lights were on, and the few people there were illuminated by the cubby hole they were in. His eyes got accustomed to the low light, and he made his way to aisle 3, Book 613.9. He removed the book and saw the title, "The Joy of Sex." 'Ha! This is going to be fun, I bet!' Something was stuffed inside; a woman's thin brassiere fell out along with a note. He quickly picked it up before anyone saw him and smelled his wife's perfume. The message read: 'Since you are late, you have a lot to make up for. Go to the fifth floor, aisle eight and find the book 'FicLaw.' FicLaw? What the heck is that?
Still out of breath and wondering what he would find, he climbed the steps to the fifth floor. A sign on the door said, 'Closed for cleaning' with a hand-written Post-It Note and familiar handwriting underneath, "Lock the door." Since the note said to go there, and if it was open, he was going in.
He opened the door and locked it. The lights were off except for a couple of cubicles. He turned on his phone light, went to aisle eight and found FicLaw at the end of the aisle. "Lady Chatterley's Lover," by D.H. Lawrence, was a little old-school erotic fiction, but he liked where this was going. He pulled it out, and some of the pages were stuck together. Bob opened it, and the scent of his wife's perfume and a woman's wetness got his attention. He almost laughed out loud when he thought about the next person to take the book out and the look on their face when they opened it.
Looking down, he saw the scantiest panties hanging from a book. Not only could he smell it, but he could see the damp stain in the crotch. He instinctively put them to his nose, making him rock-hard, and he had to fidget a good bit to be comfortable.
He put the panties in his pocket, but the aroma of her lilac and rose perfume lingered as he went around the back of the aisle. Or was it stronger? Ah, now he understood! Like a bloodhound on the hunt, he would have to smell his way to the prize. The study room where he arrived was pitch dark, and the scent was intense.
After he entered, the voice in the darkness said, "You're lucky I stayed this late. You are going to have to really perform now." He could barely make out her figure sitting in a chair, her long coat open. His eyes acclimated to the dark; she was naked, fondling her breasts, and firmly rubbing her nipples.
