The Sexiest Librarian in America

Greg Wilson had been a reporter at the Chicago Tribune for the past three years, but he was pretty sure that his latest assignment was a new low. He had gotten used to covering stories of national and international importance like the school shooting in Newtown and the Russian annexation of Crimea, but declining subscription sales and a new editor-in-chief meant that he'd been assigned local human-interest stories that had grown progressively more tedious. Honestly, he'd hoped to escape these stories when he moved to the Tribune from the rinky-dink Bloomington Herald-Times, where almost every story printed was about some local "celebrity" like the homeless guy who bought a winning $10,000 lottery ticket from the neighborhood 7-Eleven or the bespectacled 12-year-old girl who won the Indiana State Spelling Bee.

He'd almost told his editor to go fuck himself when he was assigned to cover this latest story about a 23-year-old woman from Naperville who had just won the first "Sexiest Librarian in America" award. He knew his talents were being wasted on these trivial stories, especially when what he really wanted to be doing was writing about the Syrian refugee crisis or the MacDonald shooting. But he also knew that he needed the money right now and couldn't afford to lose his job by reaming out his boss, especially since he was still paying off the loan on the expensive new Corvette he'd purchased for himself as a congratulatory gift when he got this job three years ago — the one his girlfriend had driven off with when she broke up with him last month.

Not to mention, Greg's editor had made it crystal clear that, in today's media market, featuring a stunningly hot librarian is probably just what the Tribune needed to boost its sagging sales figures.

"Sex sells," his editor tells him on an otherwise ordinary Monday morning in the newsroom. "But we need more than just a few pictures. We need the full story, and preferably some insights into what makes this woman tick. Find out everything you can about her. I'm sure there's more than just a pretty face. Take all the time you need, but by next week, I expect a Pulitzer-quality piece on my desk. Oh, and by the way, we're short-staffed on the photo desk. I need you to handle the photos yourself. Hope you can multitask. Get to work"

Greg sits down at his desk and sighs, catching a glimpse of a photo of his beloved Corvette on his desk. He has yet to take it down, even though his girlfriend has been out of the picture for more than a month. Greg starts doing some preliminary research on the "Sexiest Librarian in America" contest. "Hmmmm," he say as he looks over the contest rules. "A celebration of beauty, sex appeal, intelligence, and mastery of the Dewey Decimal System," he says, reciting the contest description from its website. "Let's see what we have here."

On the contest's website, Greg finds photos of the 23-year-old winner, Olivia Burkhart. "Holy shit," Greg mutters to himself, under his breath, not letting his colleagues hear, lest they try to steal his assignment. Greg's mouth is slightly open, eyebrows raised, eyes fixed to the screen, to the picture of Olivia. He's always had a thing for beautiful, sexy women in glasses — especially when they have a body like Olivia's. Greg fidgets in his chair, a bit embarrassed that he's getting hard in the middle of the newsroom.

"Perk up," the editor barks at Greg. "Change of plans. I don't have time to explain, but we need the story for tomorrow's edition. What are the chances of you interviewing this woman tonight? Do whatever you need to do. We'll push deadline — you have until midnight. You have her number, right? She's in the book, I think. If not, you're a reporter. You'll do fine. See what you can do."

Stunned, and suddenly stressed, Greg finds Olivia's number. He prepares to call her and let her know that, if at all possible, they need to meet for the interview tonight.

He has always considered himself to be one of the most self-assured, smooth talkers in the city, but somehow, with the prospect of speaking to and possibly meeting one of the most beautiful women he's ever laid eyes on, Greg feels himself turning into an awkward, tongue-tied, 13-year-old.

He dials her number and waits. The phone rings, and rings, and rings. Finally, on the fourth ring, a woman answers.

"Hello?" Purrs the raspy voice on the other side of the phone.

"Yes, hello," stammers Greg, wondering to himself why he didn't write down what he wanted to say, "I'm trying to reach Ms. Olivia Burkhart."

"This is Olivia Burkhart," says the voice. Greg listens to her honeyed voice as he imagines how she must look at this moment, her dark brunette hair flowing down her back, probably wearing a matching leopard-print bra and panty set while lying seductively in her bed. His cock gets rock hard again. He starts imagining his face between her slender legs. Then he remembers that it's his turn to speak.

"Uh, Ms. Burkhart, my name is Greg Wilson, I'm with the Chicago Tribune, I'd like to do an article about you for our..."

"Oh, another reporter," she responds curtly, her voice suddenly changing from sultry sex kitten to strict school teacher, "you're the sixth one to contact me today. I'm not interested in talking to you or anybody else. Goodnight." She hangs up the phone as Greg awakes from his reverie, realizing this assignment is going to be much harder than he'd originally imagined...in many ways.

Greg unbuttons the top button of his shirt and loosens his tie, suddenly feeling a little bit overheated. He now has a sexy voice to put along with the picture of Olivia, and his mind starts to drift again. He's interrupted by a colleague, who asks about the phone call with Olivia.

"Sounds like that didn't go so well," Greg's fellow reporter says, noticing how flush Greg's face has gotten. Greg keeps his legs crossed, hoping to hide the fact that he's still hopelessly turned on just from hearing Olivia's captivating voice.

"I guess every reporter in the city wants to talk to the world's sexiest librarian," Greg responds. "I don't know what I'm going to do. No point in getting hung up on again."

"Is this your first day?" the colleague asks sarcastically. "You found her number, right? You can find her address, too. Then you get in your car, drive your ass to Naperville and get the story. Simple. What's the matter? Scared of a beautiful woman?" Greg's colleague then walks away, leaving Greg to ponder his options.

In just a few minutes, he's tracked down Olivia's address. He glances over at the clock and realizes it's approaching 6pm. If he wants to have enough time for a legitimate interview and enough time to write a half-decent story, he needs to get moving.

Greg re-buttons his collar, straightens his tie and wipes his brow one more time. He grabs his recorder, a pen and pad, and camera. "She won't even talk to me," he mutters to himself. "I wonder how she'll feel about me taking her picture." Greg sits down in his broken-down Taurus (a sad replacement for the Corvette) and starts heading toward Naperville.

In her apartment, Olivia is reading a book, as she often is. She's clad in her glasses, a tight tank top and thong. She knows everyone walking on the street below can see directly into her living room, which is why she tends to leave her blinds open. She puts down the book, stands up and walks slowly by the window, smiling as she notices a few men on the street staring upward. Olivia bends over ever so slightly, letting them get a better view of her voluptuous ass. Two of the men on the street run into each other, with one of them spilling coffee all over himself and the other dropping his briefcase, which opens and scatters papers all over the street. Olivia laughs, pleased with herself and a bit turned on. "Guessing you like what you see," she says, addressing her admirers on the street, even though they can't hear her. She smiles, running her hand down her chest, and belly... before walking away from the window and back to the couch.

In his car, Greg is caught up in a fantasy of his own. He's imagining what Olivia might be wearing, how her voice will sound in person, how long it will take Olivia to realize that he's got a rock hard cock. He loses himself for a moment and almost hits another car. The other driver honks and cusses Greg out. "Get it together, man," Greg says to himself. "Oh shit, I think this is it." He parks his car in front of Olivia's building, confused as to why there are men picking up loose papers and cleaning up coffee on the street. He takes a deep breath. "What's the worst that can happen?" Greg says as he gets out of the car, checking to make sure he has his pen, pad, recorder, camera, and as much confidence as he can muster.

Greg begins walking toward her apartment when the familiar vibration of an incoming text message buzzes in his pants pocket. He pulls out the phone and sees a message from Juliette, the woman he's been chatting with on OK Cupid for the past few days.

"See you soon, handsome..."

"Fuck!" Greg mutters to himself under his breath. In all the excitement to get this story done, he'd completely forgotten that he'd made plans to meet the gorgeous redhead for drinks at Cafe Vino at 7:30. As he's walking up the steps to Olivia's apartment, he furiously types, "Swamped at work. So sorry. Raincheck???" He's pretty sure there will be no response from Juliette; he doesn't blame her.

He approaches Olivia's front door, takes a deep breath and rings the doorbell. "Here goes nothin'..." he sighs to himself.

There is a pause, he hears rustling near the door, and then her voice, "Who is it?"

"Greg Wilson from the Chicago Tribune. We spoke on the phone earlier today."

"Yeah, and I thought I told you I wasn't doing any interviews. I'm not fond of men who don't follow directions," she replied in a tone that was at once both school-marmish and incredibly seductive.

Greg gritted his teeth in desperation. "I know, I'm sorry, but I really need to get this story. Please just talk to me for a few minutes. I promise to make it worth your while."

Olivia looks through the peephole in her door, and is struck by Greg's piercing blue eyes, Clark Kent glasses, and muscular physique. Hearing a man outside her door begging to speak with her was more than a bit of a turn on.

"Well, I guess I can help you out for a few minutes. But you'd better live up to your promise." She swings the door open, and stands face-to-face with Greg, staring at him through her sexy cat-winged glasses, revealing her 34C breasts pouring out of her tight purple tank top, her long chestnut hair flowing over her shoulders and her bare legs made even more shapely by the three-inch silver heels she happens to be wearing around the house.

"Come in," she purrs.

"I'm just finishing up a few things upstairs," Olivia says as she turns around and begins walking from the door toward her living room, seemingly not caring one bit that Greg is staring, with eyes wide open, at her ass. She turns around to address him. "Give me a couple of minutes. I'm pretty strapped for time today. I actually have a date tonight, so you'd better make this quick. What's with the camera?"

Greg fumbles around with his notebook and pen, dropping things on the floor, much like the men outside on the street had done when they got a look at Olivia's slender, toned, nearly perfect body. "Oh, it's just... um... well, there's... my editor, he's..." Greg struggles to speak with Olivia looking him in the eyes. A sly, satisfied smile comes across her face as she realizes she's turning yet another previously confident man into a nervous, horny mess. "For a writer you seem to struggle with words," she says, brushing her hand down Greg's shoulder and across his muscular arm, smiling but also putting off the vibe that she has something — or someone — better to do. "I'll just assume you're going to be taking my picture. Let me fix my hair. Have a seat."

Olivia turns around and begins to walk up her stairs, clearly taking her time as she lifts her legs up each step, giving Greg ample opportunity to stare at her ass and play out in his mind all of the things he'd love to do to her. For a moment, he closes his eyes, takes a deep breath and imagines bending Olivia over her desk, pulling her beautiful hair and letting his hand smack off of her shapely ass. He opens his eyes and looks at the desk, and notices several copies of the Tribune.

He takes a closer look and realizes that Olivia has an edition of the paper open, with his article highlighted. He leans in a little more and begins to notice red ink dotted throughout his work. Greg quickly realizes Olivia has pointed out his grammatical mistakes, however minor they may be — such as wrongly using "electrocuted" to describe someone who survived an electric shock. His improper use of semicolons also is a frequent target of Olivia's pen. "What a bitch," he mutters to himself, even as he silently admits that every single thing she'd circled was, in fact, incorrect. He feels a tinge of anger, mixed with embarrassment and vulnerability. The pressure has just gotten significantly more intense.

Upstairs, Olivia has a seat in front of her laptop and opens Skype. On the other side of the screen is an eager, attractive, completely naked man waiting for her. "You're always on time. One of the things I like about you," she tells him, using her most sultry voice. "I'm on a bit of a schedule today, though. So let's skip the foreplay. We both know what you want to do. Show me your cock." The man obliges, grabbing his cock and jacking off as Olivia teases taking off her top and revealing her breasts, then leans back in her chair and slides a hand down her thong. "There's another big, strong man downstairs waiting to take my picture. And I'm pretty sure he wants to fuck me," she says, intentionally trying to make her webcam customer both jealous and even more turned on. "I'll probably end up like this," she says, getting on her hands and knees on her bed, her ass in the air. "With him right behind me, spanking my ass and fucking me like only a real man could do. Don't you wish it was you instead, sweetie?" With her last sweet, yet cutting, remark, her customer can't hold back anymore and blows his load all over himself. Olivia smiles and blows him a kiss. "See you back here on Friday. Oh, and my prices are going up. But don't worry. I've got your credit card information. Bye for now," she says with a hint of evil in her voice. She closes her laptop, glances in the mirror, and quickly touches up her hair and makeup. Olivia takes off her top and slides into a skin-tight white dress that by no means is appropriate for going out in public — or for having your picture taken for the newspaper. She admires herself and heads back downstairs.

Greg is still stewing over the corrections she made to his articles, and Olivia joins him at the desk. She stands over him, her body nearly pressed against his. "Sorry, I had some work to do. Oh, don't mind that. I just can't help it. Bad grammar is a pet peeve. Didn't anyone teach you how to use a semicolon properly?" she says. Greg bites his lip and takes a deep breath. He wants so badly to grab Olivia by the hair and shove his cock down her throat. But, he's still too intimidated. And he has a job to do. "Can we... um... let's just get started," Greg turns on his recorder. "Tell me more about yourself. Did you always want to be a librarian?"

Olivia slides her painted fingernails down Greg's back, pulls away and laughs callously, "Oh Greg, for someone who works at such a big name newspaper you sure didn't do your homework. I've answered this question about a million times, it's all over the internet. But since it seems like you clearly need assistance with the basic functions of your job duties, I'll provide you this answer free of charge." Then she leans over, pushes her breasts against his back, and whispers in his ear, "Subsequent answers will cost you."

She walks over to her red velvet couch, and lowers herself down seductively. The way she's sitting, Greg can glimpse just the tiniest hint of her panties underneath her dress. His cock is once again at attention, and he's pretty sure that Olivia can notice this through his pants. He had picked them out this morning because he thought tight pants would look good for his date with Juliette, but is now deeply regretting this fashion faux pas. He's not sure where to focus his gaze, or his mind. His mind starts spinning with possibilities and worries about what to do or say next when he realizes that he's missed the majority of what Olivia has been saying for the past two minutes.

"...So of course I was devastated when I was told that because of the injury I would never be able to dance professionally. I got really depressed, actually. But then I started spending a lot of time at the public library near my house, reading about people who had to find a new direction in life and how they found new dreams and it really inspired me. The librarian who..." she pauses, stares directly at Greg and in a coquettish tone inquires, "Mr. Wilson, have you been listening to a word I've said?"

"Uh, what? Sorry..." Greg trails off, not sure of what to say. He's been so busy thinking about his throbbing cock and how good it would feel with Ms. Burkhardt's crimson-colored lips wrapped around it, that he really hasn't heard much of anything she's said. Now he's embarrassed and worried that he's both going to lose out on this story and lose out on the chance to find out exactly what it would feel like to have his cock expertly taken care of by the sexiest librarian in America. He needs to think of a way out of this, fast.

"I, uh, just was noticing that you were in a really nice position for some photos and got distracted trying to figure out some camera shots. Do you mind if we pause on the interview for a bit and do a quick photo shoot? I want to make sure our readers get a full understanding of the beauty of Ms. Olivia Burkhart." Greg holds his breath, hoping that Olivia will buy this excuse, though he is pretty sure she's smart enough to see right through it.

"Sure," she shoots back with a knowing glance, "I know it's hard to stop staring at me. Why don't you come over here and position me how you'd like me to be for the camera."

Greg's heart is pounding in his chest, and he's so incredibly turned on that he's almost forgotten he's there for professional, not personal, reasons. He tries to calm himself as he moves closer to the couch, Olivia staring him in the face with a knowing, seductive look.

"Let's just start with something simple," Greg says, breathing so fast his words barely come out of his mouth. "Maybe just a basic shot, smile for the camera. We don't have to do anything crazy." He gently puts his hands on Olivia's shoulders, straightening her posture for a head shot. The look on Olivia's face quickly reveals she's not interested in something so mundane.

"I have a better idea," she says with a snarky yet commanding tone. "How about something a little more... scandalous?" Olivia gets on her knees on the couch and slowly lowers her body, ending up on her hands and knees, her perfect ass in the air, and her face inches from Greg's rock-hard cock as he stands in front of her with a camera in hand. Her face is so close Greg can almost feel her breath on his cock. He realizes he's now lost control of the situation.

"Do you understand how many men wish they were you right now?" she says, half whispering. Greg has never met a woman with quite so much confidence in herself. "I know you've got a lot of work to do tonight, but it looks like your mind is on other things," Olivia says as she moves in even closer. She seductively, slowly licks her lips and then presses her tongue against Greg's throbbing cock through his pants, licking it from top to bottom.