Checking out the Librarian
By, U. Will Lovett
I’d had enough.
The bitch had taken all my money, my family, and my home, and now she wanted more. She knew I was prone to lose my temper at provocations such as this, but I’m sure that was her intent. Anyway, I’d had enough. I contemplated a local hitman, but realized I didn’t have those kinds of financial resources, or the balls… I decided to move.
The question was where would I go? I loved Chicago and it was close to my Indianapolis home, but I had absolutely no leads in the Windy City. I liked the action in Louisville but that’s was what got me in trouble in the first place—fast broads, and not-so-fast horses--killer combination. Cincinnati was a place I knew pretty well (I had done a stint with P&G), but I owed a few too many bookies and more than a few bartenders who had carried me when I was down, so I decided not to press my luck in the River City. There were a few people in Dublin, Ohio who had shared their home with me when I played in a golf outing there a few summers ago, so I thought “Why not give Columbus at try?” I decided to see if there was any work for a frustrated and pussy-whipped writer like myself. Man! I really needed a break, and I really needed some action… fast!
Columbus was great! Not only did I find an affordable double with a back porch where I could enjoy an occasional joint right in the heart of the city at German Village, but within a week, I was offered two jobs! The first was a freelancing gig as an entertainment beat writer for a local rag, CenterStage. It was one of those weekly circulars that most people use to line their pet cages or pack away shit in their basement keepsake boxes. I could care less what the readership was—it paid me twenty cents a word for a weekly entertainment feature. Hell, I even got press passes to some nice concerts, plays, and other events. And that extra $100-$150 bucks helped to buy the beer.
My other job wasn’t so great. I took a gig as a tech writer/editor on the other side of town in Dublin at an online library consortium, OCLC. Imagine working with a crew of about 750 librarians and another 300 computer geeks. Yeah…
My boss at OCLC was a grouchy little son-of-a-bitch named Siegfried Bauer. I imagined his middle name must have begun with the letter “O” … Oliver or something… never found out and didn’t want to. Bauer would hover around my “cubicle” (we didn’t have offices at OCLC) and read my copy before I even had a chance to proof it myself. His Nazi antics in the documentation department were notoriously counter-productive. I just blew him off and hung out with the sexy librarians. Those cubicles didn’t provide much privacy, but they did offer up a good view of the OCLC prospects.
There weren’t many. But there was Cindy.
Cindy sucked my dick in my car one day when we went out on lunch break together. She was good-looking (in that pixie way of hers), somewhat sensuous (in that librarian way of hers), and pretty good at fellatio too (in that perverted way of mine). Most importantly, (for me, this was the real deal-maker!) Cindy really loved fondling my balls. She treated those testicles like they were her own precious reserved volumes. And her tiny hands could sure bring forth a volume of hot jizz, which she cleaned up neatly with her active librarian’s tongue. I wasn’t sure if I wanted to get in Cindy’s pussy (she was in her mid-thirties and she looked as if she had definitely been “well-circulated.”) But I remembered that song “Marian the Librarian” and imagined it quietly to myself, as she hummed her librarian’s tune on my flute.
OCLC had a “no fraternization” policy somewhere in their Human Resource policies, but… fuck it! These were librarians and computer nerds! What were their worries? Still, I liked my job and I had even begun to like Mein Fuhrer Siegfried in some neo-Nazi kind of perverted way. So, I decided I had better cool it with my librarian Lothario act. I told Cindy, I wanted to take her out for dinner and drinks after work on Friday. It was there, that I would tell her of my newborn conscience and see what might happen. I think Cindy was eager to “check out” my restored jizz volume, so she eagerly accepted the offer.
I decided to take her to Yogi’s Bar & Grill… a great place to eat and to get a buzz on. You had to watch out for the Dublin cops though… they monitored patrons leaving Yogi’s and watched for their DUI behaviors. I figured it was the perfect place to either score with Cindy… or to move on with at least one good meal behind us.
Friday after work, Cindy met me in the South parking lot behind OCLC and joined me in the front seat of my already vintage 1985 Oldsmobile Cutlass 442. Though not a b**st like its older big brothers, my six-cylinder 442 still had enough sex appeal to turn some heads. Its lines were classic. In short, it was a vintage beauty… sort of reminding me of Cindy herself. Little did I know that both of these vintage beauties would be taking me for a ride tonight.
Our first stop was the Dub Pub… a local Dublin watering hole… just to loosen up a bit. I was amazed at the way Cindy put away her Ketel One and tonic tall. The girl slammed it. She even sucked the twist down to the rind… an omen of what I hoped might lie ahead for… my flute. Then we went down the street to Yogi’s Bar and Grill for dinner.
Yogi’s is legendary in Dublin and in Columbus. The food is good and the beers are cold. Happy hour lasts till seven so we didn’t have to rush. We sat outside on the patio in the late sunshine, talking the vodka buzz off a bit. We ordered a bucket of long necks along with a couple of the house specialties, pot roast sandwiches. Things were going well.
Then it happened. Cindy’s past finally caught up with her. At one of the other tables sat a couple of the librarians from OCLC. They noticed the two of us together and we could tell they were discussing our possibilities. Suddenly one of the librarians got up and walked over to our table.
“You two enjoying this lovely afternoon?” she asked as what I assumed to be an “ice breaker.”
“We certainly are. How about you and … uh…”
“Oh, sorry. We haven’t met yet. I’m Phyllis. I work in cataloguing, and my friend Chris here works in customer service. Cindy knows us both. Don’t you, Bitch!”
“Whoa! Whoa there ladies! We don’t want the language or the problems… whatever they are. We’re just here to enjoy the sun, and our dinner…”
“We’re not ladies. And neither is he!” Phyllis proclaimed boldly.
“Don’t act like you didn’t know your friend, Cindy here is transsexual. Her dick is as big as yours.”
I was floored or “patio-ed” or whatever one might say outside on a restaurant deck.
“How?... I mean whaaa?... or, can somebody explain what’s going on here?”
Cindy finally spoke up.
“Look, Will… I’m not who you thought I was. I thought you knew… as you can see, everyone else on the Librarian side of OCLC knows. I guess I thought you did too.”
“But we were going to have sex…”
“Ahem…” the two people at a neighboring table both cleared their throats in unison at my blatant confession.
“I know, Will. And it would have been great too. I was going to enjoy that cute ass of yours… and then I was going to tell you that this probably would be our last date. But… I guess my trannie friends beat me to the punch.”
“Fuck the punch! I just want to know what you were thinking when you were sucking my dick last weekend?! How could you lead me on like that?”
A few more throats were cleared around the patio with that outburst. And now more than a few disgusted patio patrons were seeking shelter inside Yogi’s Bar & Grill.
“Will… it wasn’t all about you. I had feelings for you too. I wanted you to enjoy our intimacy, but I guess I should have been a bit more transparent. Sorry.”
“The bitch broke our hearts too, Will. She’s a real ball-buster when it comes to relationships.” Phyllis chimed in from a safe distance away from one angry trannie librarian.
“Oh! Shut the fuck up, Phyllis. Nobody likes you at work… of any gender…” Cindy finally barked back in self-defense.
“That’s it. I’m outta’ here! Here’s a hundred bucks, Cindy.” I tossed her/him the money that I had just received from CenterStage for an article on Yogi’s Bar & Grill, page six. “Your story, Le Cage au Faux, has already been written. Please settle the bill, ladies. Good night.”
And with that, I walked back to my 442, thinking that Indy was looking pretty good again.