Is it the promise or suggestion of what might be lurking on the shelves? The nature of the space, with many hidden alcoves? The comfortable, worn furniture on and against which sexual conquests and deeds might be accomplished? The semi-public location, perhaps a large room with high ceilings and large windows? The transgression of fucking loudly somewhere that's supposed to be library-quiet? Is it the same erotic impulse in each case, or a different type of desire that's called up by different kinds of bookshelves?
Or is it just me and my imagination?
Check it out: Bookshelfporn at Stumbleupon
I feel a story coming on...
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