She was reading by the soft glow of a lantern in the back corner of the Library, surrounded by stacks of books and papers in front of her.
I suspect I’ve always had a ” thing” for bookish schoolmarm sort of women. Well, I am a dusty academic type myself, although in my imagination , I’m like Indiana Jones- mild mannered professor , until called on for a great adventure , to save the world. Oh , yes, and to get the girl. But I wasn’t even a professor yet. I was still a student, toiling away in the Research Library, shelving books to earn my tuition. I suppose subconsciously I also figured that since lots of girls study here, I might meet the perfect one. Fat chance. That would require being brave enough to actually speak to them. And, they all seemed to go for the jocks. Sigh. At 22, it seemed I might be a virgin forever. My anxiety was heightened by having rented the video of “The Mummy Returns” last weekend. My attraction to researchers had blossomed watching the delectable , voluptuous Rachel Weisz portray a librarian at the beginning of the first film. Although is just a brainy adventuress in the sequel, it stirred my longing.
My sexual frustration was compounding by the publicity for the forthcoming Gwyneth Paltrow film, Possession, in which she plays a researcher in a Library. Gwyneth was simply my favourite actress, despite her clothes hanger thinness- her lustrous eyes and elegant bone structure played my heartstrings like a symphony. Anticipation of a fresh film featuring Gwyneth distracted me, at the same time focusing me on the tightness of my groin. Daydreaming in the stacks was common amongst the staff, but masturbation was likely a firing offence.
Imagine how I felt, then, after hours, coming upon a beauty ensconced in a back corner, a woman who combined the full lush ripeness of Rachel Weisz with the fine fair features and cheek bones of Gwyneth. Even her hair had the body and volume of the Mummy charmer ,combined with the wheatfield golden hue I associated with visions of La Paltrow.
I was actually aware of her before I saw her. As I approached the end of the last set of shelves, I heard a soft whisper, not recognizing it as silk against silk- the secret sound a woman’s thighs make as her stockings collide, then slide. I had no time to consider the sound. Perhaps I would have thought ” mouse”, despite the Physical Plant insisting we were vermin free ( except for the snake in my trousers). I was not startled to find a researcher hard at work. I was warned on hiring that several ” scholars in residence” had their own keys, for all hours unlimited research access. A few times before, I had found curmudgeons dozing in dust alcoves, asleep atop ancient manuscripts. However, coming on a beauty like this- young, ripe, and awake , even, was a first.
She was dressed in a white blouse made from that shiny material, with a wide notched collar dropping into a deep ” V”, plunging between her burgeoning breasts. Instantly, I recalled a comment I had made to a friend after watching The Mummy Returns: “I’m sure the wardrobe people were told to see how low they could cut those tops without her breasts popping out, and they must have used invisible two-sided tape to achieve it.”
She sat sideways, her feet tucked underneath her pear shaped bottom, in a mangy old wing chair, work spread about on teeny side tables better suited to Victorian tea than research, and a big oval low table in front. Her skirt was as sensible as I was insensible- below the knee, straight cut in a plum colour. Which meant, of course, that as she sat, it curved temptingly taut around the contour of her hips. She had cat’s eye lens creeping down, balancing perilously on the upturned end of her perfection of a nose . I say perfection, but, as I caught my breath, I thought “perfection, confection”, my amateur poetic sensibilities combining , intertwining, with my instant insane insatiable lust.
My cart bumped a corner, not surprisingly, given that I was not watching where it was headed. The thump started and distracted the woman, causing her to sit upright. Another silken rustle drew my eyes to the sound of her brassiere rubbing under the fabric of the shirt. My eyes, so far unaffected by years of study, perceived a flowery white lace pattern beneath the shine of her shirt. I raised my glance just as her gaze found me as the source of her distraction. “I’m sorry”, I muttered, apologizing for the breach of Library etiquette- staff shall always respect the solitude of scholars. I blushed slightly. I felt a warming in my groin. That made me blush crimson. “Oh, please god, don’t let her see that,” I prayed. The first time in days I spoke to a new woman, and it was mortifying. I wanted to crawl back to my dank airless basement apartment and eat a bag of cookies. If I did that , of course, I would just end up dejectedly stroking my erection , imagining what I regretted not doing with this woman. Sigh.
When I came out of my brain fog, I realized that my dream angel was smiling sweetly at me, a slight giggle forming on her ruby red lips. She pushed her glasses up her nose, a harmless habitual gesture which none the less sent a shiver up my spine. “That’s ok,” she spoke, in a hushed, warm alto, ” I think I as nodding off anyway. Is it warm in here?”
She sat up, swishing her legs out from underneath her towards the floor, bringing her ample chest forward. Did she realize that, from my upright viewpoint, this allowed me to see right down her cleavage? Her eyes moved down from mine. If she was checking for a basic biochemical reaction in my pants, her view, thank God, was obstructed by my cart. I blushed even deeper. Well, any blood flowing to my cheeks at least lessened my erection. My eyes burrowed like lasers into the deep valley of pale pinkish white flesh spilling out of her blouse. I briefly flashed an image of that big pearly button at the crest of her cleavage popping, and a torrent of pure woman pouring out. I think I actually shook my head to clear the image and return to reality. She giggled again. I realized she was waiting for me to speak. When I still stood there in stunned silent awe, she spoke again. “I’m Doctor Sharon Jewell, I’m just here for the week from the University of Pittsburgh. I’m working on a paper on Edgar Allan Poe’s contributions to the evolution of language, and this Library has some rare texts of other writers who were his contemporaries that I’m reviewing for linguistic similarities. They lack Poe’s interesting plots, or his use of vivid imagery, so its tough to stay awake. Aw, geez, I’m babbling, aren’t I?” she grinned the broadest, warmest most naive smile I had ever seen. Then, she pushed those glasses up again, just as her tongue darted out to click against the bottom of her front top teeth. I felt woozy, like I was about to faint. Was this what love is, or just the world’s biggest case of lust?
She put her book down on the low table and stood quickly, smoothing her skirt in the front, then leaning back slightly to run her hands quickly over the rear. ” What’s your name?” she finally asked.
It took a moment for my jaw to work. ” Donnie,” I replied.
“Well, Donnie, when do you get off work? Or can you take a break? I am on a tight schedule,” here, she waved her elegant arm at the pile of books, ” and need to finish all this by Friday. If I’m going to pull an all-nighter, I need coffee. Will you join me? I haven’t spoken to a soul since 10 this morning, and I could use some conversation about anything except 19th century literature. Can you help me out?”
My spirits soared at the prospect of time with this iconic beauty, but immediately, hopes of adventure dashed against the rocks of her tight time lines, leaving my heart shipwrecked on the shoals of despair. Despite that, I nodded and answered “my shift is actually over. I just wanted to not leave a few books on the cart. The morning staff get all twittery if we don’t finish. Just let me put these last three away- they belong right there behind you, in fact, then I can go,. I’d love coffee. I have an all-nighter ahead to finish a paper myself.” that lat bit was untrue, but I felt I needed a reason to be drinking coffee at midnight, and didn’t want Sharon to know that my plans were Peek Freans and the Late Movie, alone.
I picked the slim poetry volumes off the cart, and started around towards the shelf. Unfortunately, since my eyes remained locked on Sharon’s exquisiteness, my clumsy feet found the corner of the cart. The next few seconds seemed to pass in slow motion, like a movie. The books flew out of my hand. I fell into Sharon. My left hand fell on her blouse, tearing the big button off the front, sliding into the V neck to grasp the firm right breast. We ended up across the wing chair, me on top of her, hand on her bosom, hardness firm against her loins, nose sniffing the sweet jasmine scent of her hair, lips just beside her cheek. The very few times my feeble efforts at couch wrestling had progressed that far, the girl had either remember a boyfriend to be faithful to; professed virginal shock; or, worst of all, gone ” eww, Donnie, what do you think you are doing, sicko?”
Sharon did none of these. Instead, she moved her head an inch or two left, planting her lips on mine, her tongue sliding past my teeth , snaking inside my mouth. Her left hand found my buttock, her right hand clamped mine more tightly to her breast. In a moment, her hips started bucking up wards against my erection. She stopped the tongue play, gasping for air , then whispering, ” Oh, Donnie, eat me- start at my ear.”
I followed Sharon’s bidding, lightly nibbling her earlobe, then lick down from her ear to her neck, kissing then nipping at the flesh of her throat. ” Lower, lover, keep kissing lower,” Sharon instructed.
I kissed the tiny hollow at the base of Sharon’s neck, then pulled my face away to appreciate her splendid dishevelled passionate beauty. I resumed, planting gentle pecks along each collarbone, out to the point of first the right, then the left shoulder. As I did this, Sharon stroked my rear, my thighs, and my manhood, finally releasing it from its imprisonment in my pants. My kisses travelled down her chest from her shoulder to just lightly kiss, teasingly , her right nipple, then across to pay homage to its right side twin. She grabbed my head, forcing me into the canyon of her cleavage, my late night whiskers burning her porcelain flesh. Beneath me she writhed , in pain or pleasure. From her moans, I assumed pleasure. ” Loww…errr” she growled, forcing my head further down, my tongue caressing her belly, cleaning her navel.
Sharon stopped massaging my hardness. Good thing, since I was about to burst. Her hands travelled to the hem of her sexy, yet oh so sensible, skirt, pulling it up to expose the tops of those silk stockings which had initially caught my attention, and lacy white see-through panties, covering a sex organ crowned by translucent ghosts of blond hair. “Lick me,” she ordered, her fingers pulling the lace away , baring her treasure.
Lowering my head, I explored the mysteries of the female sex for the first time, her cooing interrupted occasionally by whispered instructions- the professor now taking her role as teacher. By this point, I had no sense of time. It might have been hours, but more likely was minutes . Then, her entire lower body elevated off the chair in a massive convulsion, the dampness of her thighs now flooded by pungent fluid. I set instinctively to the task of licking up as much as I was able to. ” Mmmmmmm, I love a fast leaner,” Sharon purred, pulling me again by the hair, this time to give me another deep tongue kiss, tasting herself on my lips, my tongue, and inside my mouth.
Just as suddenly, she gathered her lithe body together, not giving up her hold of me. In one quick move, she twisted off the chair and rolled me onto it. Sharon then dove mouth first to my loins, her elegant lips now devouring me. With shamefully few moments of pneumatic efforts on Sharon’s part, I issued forth an unprecedented stream of seed, filling her mouth, and spilling over her lips and chin onto that majestic bosom. It seemed perfectly natural when she rose up , gently cradled my head in her hands, and guided my lips to my own ejaculate. I cleaned her chest tenderly, barely noticing that her hands were attending again to my organ, coaxing it back to a state of erect readiness. ” Got a condom, Donnie?” Sharon inquired. She perhaps noted my dejected tone in my admission of unpreparedness.
“Oh, well,” she replied. She spun around again, slipping neatly underneath me onto her back. She once again pushed her skirt up, her hand not relinquishing its grasp on me. “You can rub yourself along the outside of my panties , hon, I love that almost as much.”
She actually winked! Then , Sharon tugged my manhood forward, forcing the rest of me to fall onto her body. As soon as her hand slid out from between us, my instincts again took over. There was no timelessness this time. Despite having ejaculated once, it took only a few strokes for me to cum again, coating her belly with stickiness. I did not wait for instructions this time. I lovingly licked up as much of it as I could, holding it in my mouth. I pulled myself along her body to face her closely. Sharon raised her mouth to mine, accepting the offering of sperm like it was communion. She swallowed, then her tongue gracefully slid around the inside of my mouth, teasing the teeny bits of goo from the spaces and corners, more throughly than a floss pick.
Once she was done , Sharon broke our embrace, sighing deeply. She quickly pulled herself together, then glanced at her watch. “That sure beat a cup of coffee, for giving me my second wind, Donnie,” she said, grinning, ” but now I don’t have time to go for coffee with you.”
Perhaps she saw the dejection on my face, but, in any event, she continued, ” I’m going to the Ladies to freshen up while you finish here. I tell you what. Meet me here again tomorrow night. But make sure then that you remember condoms.”
With that, she swirled off between the stacks. It was only then that I realized that I was still, technically at least, a virgin.