It happened in the library

After early basketball practice,

high school,

waiting for the late bus home,

my cheerleader girlfriend,

future ex-wife

and I, roamed the halls.

Bored,

I tried the doorknob

to the library

for no reason at all

other than to see if it would open.

The door gave way,

we walked into darkness,

eyes adjusted

to the gray winter light

pouring through the windows

from the streetlight.

We wandered a bit,

found our way inside

the librarian's back room

where nefarious secrets reside;

banned books,

Mr. Morosco's cane,

children's desire to speak.

We were young enough

to vandalize without discretion.

The sour faced librarian

deserved random destruction,

but wreckage wasn't the plan,

and the risk wasn't worth

anxiety over possible

comeuppance as the principal

grilled the boys basketball team

the next day as we'd

sit in half-moon, leather bound chairs across his desk.

Alone in the room

I touched her arm,

her shoulder,

her face.

She grabbed my ass,

pulled my hips against hers.

I kissed her forehead,

her neck,

brushed her lips with mine,

and suddenly pants, underwear,

and panties

were around ankles.

She kicked her pants

to the side,

turned,

and I entered her from behind.

A furious minute and a half,

my leather letter jacket

brushing against the top of her ass until I finished.

I grabbed a handful of Kleenex from the box

thoughtfully placed

within arm's length,

gave it to her

so we wouldn't leave a trace

of our unauthorized entry.

We put on underwear, undies, pants,

left the library nearly as we'd found it,

walked the remaining halls

until the late bus rolled up.

After a kiss goodnight,

Tony the bus driver

drove me four miles home

on an overheated bus,

so hot I took off my letter jacket.

She walked six blocks home

in the cold.