I am at the library. This is a big university library and it is a break time, in between terms. The place is like a ghost town, just as UCR library was when I went there several weeks ago to look for Zen books. UCR library is huge and has all sorts of dusty old nooks and crannies back in the corners of each floor. Tier after tier after tier of stacks and not a soul in sight. Every here and there, hidden among the stacks, wooden tables with wooden chairs. Mostly just silence and a slightly musty smell, the echo of my own heels as I walk through the rows and around the corners.
With absolute realism I can tell you what happens next, because it happens all the time lately. I am sitting at a scarred old wooden table looking through the stack of books I have pulled, sitting in one of those wooden chairs, and suddenly it is as if I am sitting on your cock: I can feel it in me, big and hard and pushing slowly up into me. My muscles grab inside, squeezing you up into me, and my hips start to rock a little as my body takes you in and then lets go, again and again. I start breathing hard through my nose and making quiet, involuntary, irregular sounds, half-moans, half-sighs, half-pleas. My cunt feels so wet and hot and swollen, I can feel every bit of this, every fraction of an inch.
Then I remember that I am in a library. But there is no one around, I am completely alone, I could hear anyone coming anyway, the place is like a tomb. I wet my fingers with saliva and squirm my hand up under my skirt and down through my underwear to my pussy. It feels lovely, so wet, so warm, slick, wanting. I rub myself and push my fingers inside, as far as I can manage, and it feels good but I want more, jesus, more. My own scent is wafting up to me and my own breathing is taking me over and my own wet sounds are pleasing me. But I'm not there, and I stop and slowly open my eyes, just unfocused on the middle distance somewhere, thinking, wondering will I always have this yearning. And then I see your eyes, looking back at me, from the top of a row of books about five feet away.
We are both utterly still, just looking at one another. I am beyond embarrassment-you have already seen me and heard me and probably smelled me; what is there to try to hide? You seem nonjudgmental, simply interested more than anything else. I search your eyes, your face, looking for scary motives, and find none. You look at me, my eyes, my face flushed, my body slid down in the chair, my forearm disappearing under my skirt, back to my eyes. And you smile, slightly, slowly, your eyes growing warmer and kinder as each second passes. I look into your friendly, interested face, looking for anything predatory, using, dismissive, mean; don't see it, just a kind of warm appreciation that finally makes me smile back. I pull my hand out of my skirt and sit up straighter and say, "Hello." And you say, "Hello. Do you come here often? Because if you do, I think I'll need to become a lot more diligent in my research." And you grin. You come over and take the seat next to mine, plopping your own pile of books down on the table. And after telling me your name and asking mine, you tell me about yourself. You tell me what you are doing in the library, what you have been looking for in the stacks, why you are looking for it, why it matters to you. You speak to me as an equal and with complete candor. You ask me about what I am doing there, what I am reading and why. You make me laugh and make me feel completely relaxed. And then you take my hand in yours, bring it to your mouth, draw my fingers past your nostrils, slowly, to inhale my scent from them, then turn my palm toward your lips and kiss the inner skin of my palm in an unhurried, roaming, sucking kiss that takes my breath away and leaves me panting, at which point you look me directly in the eyes again and murmur something about why don't I let you help me with the little problem I was having, and you bite down on the side of my palm below my little finger. And my cunt contracts and my breath catches and you know what my answer is.
* * * * * *
I can't get this library scene out of my mind. The wooden chairs, I am fixated on the idea of the sturdy wooden chair with you seated in it and me straddling you. The library scene comes to me in disconnected bits of action, ephemeral passages, things like your leading me through the stacks, stopping to kiss, back pressed to the shelves, reaching inside your shirt to grasp your chest, all sorts of tiny flickers of story, but the chair, the chair I can't get out of my mind. That slow penetration, filling me, it is unbelievably erotic and powerful. I take you in, I move, slowly all the way down, you are letting me do it, I am intoxicated with the pleasure of it, taking you in and out of me, slowly, over and over. We watch each other's faces, I hold onto your shoulders, I grab the back of the chair, you are watching me, feeling me, letting me. And then at a certain moment you suddenly take over and begin to move, and draw my head to your shoulder to muffle my sounds, and you begin to whisper in my ear all the things you are doing to me and going to do to me, and my desire explodes and I scream with the pleasure of it but that doesn't stop you, we are only getting started.
* * * * * *
The bookshelves are metal, cool and smooth. The rolled-under edges and corners are rounded so that they don't cut into your hands when you hold onto them. I feel the edge of a shelf pressing into the back of my neck, hard and cool. You are standing in front of me, holding my left hand raised overhead in your right, fingers interwoven, palms together, with my forearm pressed back against the shelf overhead. In our silent walk through the stacks, hand in hand, you have suddenly stopped and turned and pinned me against the bookcase, anchored there by my hand overhead. Your left hand comes up to cup my breast, taking it all, cupping softly, then harder, pinching, pulling; your left knee presses between my knees, parting them with a steady force, pushing my hips back until they bump against the bookshelves, where I am held now by your thigh, hard and heavy against me.
Your thigh begins to move and I moan frantically and reach up to draw your head down to mine. I have to stand on tiptoe, you are so tall, and when I reach your lips, you hold back, making me reach harder. I reach with my tongue, stroking your lips, barely able to reach between them. You ride me on your thigh, making me crazy, letting me reach for you, and then after a few moments you lean down and kiss me, gently, sensuously, slowly. I can feel your cock hard and solid against my thigh, I can feel your thigh hard against my heat, I can feel your mouth drawing me out of myself, out of my mind. Your left hand captures my free hand and now I feel both of my arms being raised and spread to the side, coming into contact with the vertical supports of the bookcase. And you whisper to me, "Get a good grip," and as I grab the cool metal I feel your hands reaching under my skirt to my waist and yanking the elastic down.
* * * * * *
I am on my hands and knees at the foot of the bed, you are standing behind me. You grip my hips with your hands and come into me hard, rocking me back onto you again and again and pounding into me like a piston. You are angry with me, angry that I have teased you so mercilessly for so long, angry at the limitations on our relationship, angry at everything that is missing in your life right now. I have been provoking your anger, I want it, I want it out and I want it in me. I lower my face and chest onto the bed, arching my back as deeply as it will go, so that I am taking you as deep inside me as it is possible to take you. I goad you, torment you, dare you to let me have it, give it to me, let it out, I can take it. You fuck me harder and harder and yell at me louder and louder and tell me this time it's going to be how you want it to be, it's going to be what you want, how you want it, when you want it, and I cry yes, yes, over and over and you finally know, you finally know where you can go with your anger and you come with a shriek and a huge guttural cry from your gut and then collapse sobbing onto me, and I pull you down beside me and enfold you in my slick, sweating body and hold you and rock you and croon to you and caress you over and over and over and over until we have both cried every last tear.