A Story of Jane Ch. 02

A Story Of Jane (In The First-Person Singular)

Chapter Two

THURSDAY, the 19th of MARCH

At 2:30 the next afternoon, Jean walked into the main reading room. I was so happy to see her that I rushed out from behind the desk, and we embraced like long lost cousins. Donna, the head librarian, was in the room, so I stammered half way through an introduction before I realized that I had never learned Jean's last name. Worthington. Jean provided it herself, without batting an eye, then proceeded to compliment Donna on her dress, her hair, her library and her professionalism to the point that my boss was literally eating out of her hand (Donna is about 50 pounds overweight). By the time the litany was complete, Donna herself came up with the suggestion that I take all the time I'd like to show Jean around. Jean was quick to accept, telling her that I'd promised to help find some reference material for a Lady's Auxiliary presentation that was forthcoming, and arm-in-arm, we walked off into the stacks.

Now, this was the smallest of two small-town libraries, and so we didn't have very far that we COULD walk. But in the farthest corner of the building, behind the stacks, there is an employee break room, complete with couch and mini-refrigerator. I sensed Jean wanted to talk to me alone, so this was my destination. The first thing she did after closing the door was quiz me about possible interruptions, and I was quick to tell her that there was no earthly way that Donna, being the only other employee here today, could possibly leave the front desk unattended without closing the whole building. We had, I assured her, a good hour or two alone in this room. She smiled, nodded, and told me to take off my clothes.

I don't really know what shocked me more, the request, or the way my fingers started undoing the top button of my blouse before I questioned her about such a strange order. Even worse, she began taking off her own clothes. All my protestations were met with a pleasant smile and patient entreaties for me to hurry. I went as fast as I could, but I sort of played for time, as well, carefully folding my blouse and draping it over the arm of the sofa. I stopped totally for a moment, gawking, as she finished and stood before me like a sculpted work of art. Her body was perfect. Perfect. I would have given anything to have breasts like those; so well suited to the rest of her gorgeous frame.

"I'm not ..." I protested, "I don't ... I mean, with another woman ... it's not what I ...." I couldn't find the words to make her understand, and the fact that I also couldn't stop leering at her made the whole scene even more ludicrous.

Again, she told me to hurry, and I reached behind my back and unsnapped my bra. My ungainly breasts swung free, and I blushed crimson, stammering again that I didn't want to do this; but feeling that my protestations were foolish as well, since she had already finished. Finally, I stood before her, as nude as she, letting my arms dangle helplessly at my sides because I felt she wanted an unrestricted view. She was smiling again, broadly, and shaking her head slowly.

"God, I'd give anything to have breasts like those," she said.

I barked a laugh, which seemed to stretch into sort of a manic giggle, and told her about my most recent thoughts of her own assets. She laughed, as well, then shocked me back into silence as she picked up her over-sized purse, withdrew a black candle, fit it into a black holder, and placed it in the center of the room on the floor. She lit it with a lighter, which she returned to her purse, then sat facing the burning candle, her legs crossed, Indian-style, her back straight. She looked like a goddess.

She told me sit opposite her, and I tried as best I could to match her position and posture.

"I don't understand," I told her.

"Of course you don't, dear," she said simply. I'm sure I detected a note of concerned understanding, as well. That was some consolation.

She reached into her purse again and withdrew a very old leather-covered book, about the size of a modern paperback. She found a place, marked by a red ribbon, and spread the book open on her lap. Then, in a soft but firm voice, she began reading in Latin. I knew better than to interrupt, and was thankful, at least, that there were no reeking flowers involved. As she continued, though, pausing only to turn the pages, her voice seemed to be a living thing; wrapping itself around me, holding me, seeping through my skin and into every part of my body. Something was definitely happening to me. Something wonderful. Something overwhelming.

I don't think I fell asleep. Perhaps I fainted. All I know is that after some indeterminable amount of time, I opened my eyes to find myself lying flat on my back, stretched out on the carpeted floor, my arms at my sides. Jean was stretched out beside me on her left side, her head propped up by her left hand, her body so close to mine that I could feel her all along the length of me. I was acutely aware of her breasts pressing against my arm and shoulder. With long, manicured nails, the fingertips of her right hand were idly tracing little patterns across my throat, my breasts, my stomach, my pubis, my upper thighs. She was drinking me in with her eyes.

"Something happened to me," I told her.

"Yes," she whispered simply. There was a small catch in her voice, and I looked at her and for the first time saw the tears.

"Did I do something wrong?" I asked with genuine concern.

"Oh, no," she said softly, with a little shivering sob. "You were perfect."

I lifted my arm and rolled a little toward her to better see her face. I was very, very aware that my nipples were touching hers. "Don't cry," I said quietly. "I couldn't bear it if you cried. I'd do anything for you!"

This only seemed to make matters worse. "I know you would," she cried softly. "You already have. You've done everything for me."

I couldn't take it any longer. I leaned forward and kissed her. It wasn't anything I'd ever consider doing under normal circumstances, but then, nothing seemed to be normal anymore. It was like kissing warm satin. I never could have imagined that another woman's lips would feel so soft. I'd never really WANTED to imagine it. Even now, all I really cared about was pleasing her, and I kissed her because I sensed it was what SHE wanted. But what I hadn't realized, of course, was the effect it would have on ME. We both shuddered, and the kiss seemed to go on a long, long time. When her lips parted, I parted mine as well, and as her tongue began flickering along my lips and teeth, I only then reacted by doing the same to her. Finally, we broke for air, panting and caressing and gazing into each other's eyes like a couple of love-struck teens.

Looking longingly at me with her dark, teary eyes, she reached up, pushing gently on my shoulder, and I let her ease me onto my back. "I need to do something for you," she murmured.

"You can do anything to me," I answered, honestly.

"That's the problem," she replied softly. "I've done so very much TO you already! Now I have to do something FOR you. Will you let me?"

I didn't say anything as she let her hand move over me gently, petting and squeezing and pinching first one breast, then the other. The hand drifted lower, urging my legs apart, as her mouth lowered to my exposed left nipple. I gasped, then tried to stifle the moan that followed. She stopped suckling and looked into my eyes again. "Don't hold back," she ordered softly. "Just let it happen, okay?" I nodded, too out of breath to answer, and arched my back as the mouth regained my nipple. She was rubbing rhythmically, up and down across my clit; up and down.

"You like that, don't you?" she asked, needlessly.

I moaned a whispered "Yes."

She switched abruptly, rubbing side to side. "And this? Do you like this?" I squeaked something like an affirmative sound. "Ah, but you like it better this way, don't you?" she continued. Up and down, up and down.

"Aaaa."

"How about this?" Circles. She rubbed little circles rapidly around the clit. "That's the way I like it best. Do you?"

A squeak. How intelligent I was sounding!

"No, I think this is what you like best." Up and down. Up and down. "Yes, this is the best way for you!"

Now the noises issuing from me were beyond description. I wanted to explain to her that this was the point at which I usually paused, making the growing orgasm wait, keeping it just exactly there; just at the place where I could control it, rather than it controlling me. But, of course, I had no control over anything in this case. Don't hold back, she'd said, as if I had any say in the matter. I was long past any type of control. Up and down. Oh my God, this was going to be a big one! Up and down.

The orgasm gripped me hard. It had never been like this. Never. My body seemed to be moving of its own accord, arching, straining, bucking, humping up at her hand. Her mouth was making laughing sounds around my nipple. I suddenly realized that I'd thrown my arms around her neck and was holding her there against my breast, smothering her, and I let go, collapsing on my back. I couldn't seem to get enough air into my lungs. Gently, she rested her cheek against my chest, and I put my arms around her shoulders, marveling at the feel of her. We stayed like that for a long time.

"We need to get dressed," she said softly. "You need to get back to work."

"Oh, No!" I protested, suddenly coming back to life. "We have plenty of time, and besides, we can't leave like this! A little reciprocity is in order." I moved her off of me and onto her back.

"It's later than you think," she smiled up at me. "We've been in here over an hour." I was really shocked at that. I must have been out of it for quite awhile during the little candle ritual.

"Donna can handle the desk for a little longer," I urged. I realized that if she pressed the point, she could make me leave now, without pleasing her. She could make me do anything! But I wasn't sure I could cope with the thought of not returning the pleasure she had given me. "It's a school holiday," I reasoned. "She isn't too busy. She'll understand. Please! Please let me please you!" Man, that sounded corny, and I never, ever would have imagined I'd be saying it to another woman.

When she started to say something else, I kissed her quickly, deeply. I began to explore her body the way she had done mine, petting here and there, and finally stroking between her legs. She held them together, but, I thought, reluctantly so; and when I stopped kissing her abruptly and moved my mouth to her perfect breast, she finally relented and spread herself for me. I had her then, and knew what she wanted, tracing quick, tight little circles around her clitoris. She arched up at me.

"Harder. Suck harder," she ordered, and I was overjoyed to obey. And that was it. In less than a minute, she was coming hard, but as I kept up my merciless double-assault with mouth and fingers, she seemed to ride the orgasm for a long, long time. Just as I thought it might be over, she would gasp and groan and arch back into the seemingly endless upward spiral of sexual release. I never guessed that a woman could cum so much. When I finally stopped, she was weak, panting, mumbling incoherent little exclamations. It was my turn to rest my head on her chest, to hold her, love her. This was bliss.

"Now!" she ordered at last. "Up! Get dressed!" I obeyed, of course, but not before kissing her again.

I finished before she did, and stood watching as she adjusted her clothing. She seemed distracted for a moment, lost in indecision. Finally, she made up her mind, checked to make sure her clothes were straight, and faced me. "Molly, I need to do one more thing. I shouldn't tell you what or why, but I want you to know that it's not just for myself."

I looked at her seriously. "You can do anything," I told her. "I trust you."

This had the opposite effect I'd hoped for. She started to cry again.

"I need to make you forget this," she told me gently.

"This?" I asked, not comprehending for a moment. "You mean ... this? Us?" I really lost it. My throat began to clutch in sympathy as soon as I saw her tears, and now my own began to flow freely. Could she actually do such a thing? Erase something so significant from my memory?

"No!" I blurted. "Please! Oh, Jean, why?"

"It's not for me!" she told me, pleadingly. "It's for my sister!"

I was really confused now. "Jo?" I asked, but she shook her head, crying all the harder. "Which one?" I demanded.

"There's another one," Jean continued. "A fifth one. One you haven't met ... yet. It's for her. Her life depends on it, Molly. Please help me!"

That calmed me. Of course, I'd do anything for Jean. Anything! I took a deep breath and tried to regain some slight control. "But why do I have to forget?" I asked, calmly. "Jean, I think I love you."

Jean sniffed a few times. "It won't be for long," she said earnestly. "Just for a couple days. I promise you'll remember this and more, in just two more days. I give you my word." (More?)

"I don't think you could ever make me forget the way I feel now," I said flatly.

She seemed to control herself then, standing straighter, with purpose. "Look at me now, Molly," she ordered, and when I had, she continued. "In my eyes. That's it. Now relax, my love." And the few inevitable words of Latin, and the world seemed to twist around me. Dizzy, I fell against her, and she held me, strong, steady. She said something else, but the words were lost, somehow, and then she said: "Are you feeling any better, now?"

"I don't know what happened," I told her, standing up again and shaking my head. "I think I must have fainted for a moment."

"You look fine, now," she responded. "We should really be getting back. Thank you so much for helping me with the research."

I couldn't seem to remember much about the research, but that didn't seem very important at all. She took my arm, and together, we made our way back through the stacks and up to the main reading room. It felt good to be close to her like this. I liked her. I liked her a lot. Disturbingly, though, I was beginning to have unsettling feelings about her; sexual feelings. That had never happened to me before, and I found it both repugnant and intoxicating at the same time.

Donna greeted us like long, lost friends. Jean chatted with her for a few minutes, then told us she had to be going.

"I meant to ask you before," Donna said. "Are you two related? You look so much alike! You could be sisters!"

And Donna and I stood speechless as Jean burst into tears and rushed through the front door toward the street.