Today the sun shines on Larch Wood Road. I walk down it. God, some days even the trees look sexual. But there are limits. I’m not one of those rub-yourself-in-public kind of pervs. No, no. But I understand them: the thrill of walking down a road with nothing but a long jacket, a pair of woolly socks, and some suede loafers. The way the lady screams when the belt falls loose. The way she can’t help looking down at it.
At the end of Larch Wood Road is a local library. I walk in swinging the carrier bag that holds 3 books I am returning. At the desk stands Rory. He is wearing his usual corduroy slacks, the ones that hug his round arse perfectly. I smile and remove the books from the bag. On top is a BDSM novel called Captive in the Dark.
“Did you enjoy the read?” he enquires.
I am slightly taken aback. While the title is pretty bland, the cover features a skinny, half-naked lady, bound and gagged.
“Yeah. It had a weird twist at the end, though.”
“Don’t all the best novels do that?” He picks up the book and reads the blurb.
The lines in his extended forehead draw themselves together; a sheen of sweat gleams. His hands tremble, and he drops the book on the floor. It catches his thigh and tumbles behind him. He bends down to pick it up.
The tight mounds of his buttocks rise up invitingly. I make no attempts to hide the roaming of my eye as he stands and places the book next to the other two titles.
“I had no idea we had such smut in the library!” he exclaims, fingers still trembling.
I hold up the next book: Boy Next Door, an innocuous title framed by the tanned, tight thorax of a young man.
“Oh yeah. Smut is everywhere. You just need to know where to look for it.”