All characters in the story are above the age of eighteen.
I like blondes. Perhaps that is cliché, a sign of unoriginality, but it is true. Golden blondes ashen blondes, reddish blondes -- I can appreciate them all. I do not really care if it is natural or colored, the effect is the important thing. My girlfriend Sheila is, obviously and happily, a blonde. Her hair falls down to somewhat below her shoulders, when she has not gathered it in a ponytail or held it back with a couple of clips. It is a sort of mellow gold and has a slight tendency to curl. The hair makes a pleasant contrast against the tanned skin of her face. And its bounciness is in harmony with the bounciness of Sheila's personality.
Her sprightliness is contagious. I caught it before we even spoken to each other. We meet in, of all places, a public library. A labyrinth of shelves laden with books and above a domed ceiling with inscriptions in Latin. I was looking for something in the section of cultural history. Suddenly I stopped, not because I found what I was looking for, but because I found her. She was browsing, absentmindedly, in a book with red cover. The ponytail gave her freshness the air of some uninterested schoolgirl. Her clothes consisted of a white t-shirt, a short skirt and white sneakers. The t-shirt was tight over her rounded bosom and did not reach the skirt, showing a bluish tattoo on the left side of her waist. She fumbled with the book and it dropped to the floor. With two quick steps I reached her, picked up the book and handed it over to her. And for the first time she gave me one of her wonderful smiles, a smile including the whole face, the flash of teeth mirrored in a flash of light in her green eyes. It was, in the same moment, spontaneous and knowing, unthinking and enticing.
"Thanks. I'm so clumsy."
"No problem. Some of these tomes are quite unwieldy."
Now I could get a closer look. She almost reached my height. Alluring with soft lines, but not diminutive, not a hint of weakness. I also noticed that the book she was holding concerned sexual customs.
"Is there something else I could help you with?" I asked, not wanting the encounter to end.
"Are you a librarian?" she asked as she returned the book to its shelf.
"No, just someone with literary interests."
"Really? I would not have guessed that."
"Why not?"
She hesitated for some seconds, while she eyed me from top to bottom.
"Well...You don't look...Stuffy."
I could not hold back a tiny smile.
"Oh, thank you very much."
Perhaps my tone could be interpreted as sarcastic. She made a hasty gesture with both hands.
"I didn't mean anything bad! I meant that you..."
"Do not look intellectual?"
"You do not look like a librarian...Maybe a bit scruffy..."
