"I'm here for the free books. I read your advertisement in the paper," he said.
The woman stood at the doorway of her apartment, she wore a pink slim, tapered fit stretched fleece fabric with an elastic drawstring at the waistband. Her t-shirt said 'Cage Free'.
"The advertisement said nothing about books it was for a meditation massage. I'm a professional masseuse," she smiled.
He wore a black suit which had a quiet 1920's sophistication, and a lovely pattern that popped.
"I'm a librarian I just can't bring myself to admit that I'm here for the massage," he said.
She showed him in to her apartment which was shabby chic and he complimented her on the vintage cocktail shaker that sat upon an end table.
"I'm not some sort of conquest. I really do just give massages there is no need to pretend you are here for books.
He undressed down to his boxers and called her a butterfly, a silhouette of classic theater, a jewel hidden in an apartment. He lay upon the cold table and closed his eyes. She began the meditation massage and he forgot all about books until the timer went off.