It was a good day.  As I was roaming the stacks at dusk, I could still see the title of the tattered old hardcover of Chaucer’s Canterbury Tales.   I remembered seeing it earlier while climaxing silently with the librarian this morning.  She’s off shift now.  We started making love between the stacks standing up.  One thing led to another and when we bumped a stack, a row of books got knocked ajar and almost fell off the shelf.  We got on our knees and then laid prostate on the floor when we came–that’s when I saw the volume of Chaucer.  I opened it up and saw the tale entitled “The Wife of Bath.”

Prison’s not so bad once you get adjusted.  It’s the “getting adjusted” part that’s downright traumatic.  It feels like a cold slab at the morgue in here sometimes.  Only other people heat it up.  The librarian was butt-ugly but she had soft hands and lips and she looked as hot as any woman when she came.

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January 26, 2016