My Lovely Blonde

All characters in the story are above the age of eighteen.

I like blondes. Perhaps that is cliché, a sign of unoriginality, but it is true. Golden blondes ashen blondes, reddish blondes -- I can appreciate them all. I do not really care if it is natural or colored, the effect is the important thing. My girlfriend Sheila is, obviously and happily, a blonde. Her hair falls down to somewhat below her shoulders, when she has not gathered it in a ponytail or held it back with a couple of clips. It is a sort of mellow gold and has a slight tendency to curl. The hair makes a pleasant contrast against the tanned skin of her face. And its bounciness is in harmony with the bounciness of Sheila's personality.

Her sprightliness is contagious. I caught it before we even spoken to each other. We meet in, of all places, a public library. A labyrinth of shelves laden with books and above a domed ceiling with inscriptions in Latin. I was looking for something in the section of cultural history. Suddenly I stopped, not because I found what I was looking for, but because I found her. She was browsing, absentmindedly, in a book with red cover. The ponytail gave her freshness the air of some uninterested schoolgirl. Her clothes consisted of a white t-shirt, a short skirt and white sneakers. The t-shirt was tight over her rounded bosom and did not reach the skirt, showing a bluish tattoo on the left side of her waist. She fumbled with the book and it dropped to the floor. With two quick steps I reached her, picked up the book and handed it over to her. And for the first time she gave me one of her wonderful smiles, a smile including the whole face, the flash of teeth mirrored in a flash of light in her green eyes. It was, in the same moment, spontaneous and knowing, unthinking and enticing.

"Thanks. I'm so clumsy."

"No problem. Some of these tomes are quite unwieldy."

Now I could get a closer look. She almost reached my height. Alluring with soft lines, but not diminutive, not a hint of weakness. I also noticed that the book she was holding concerned sexual customs.

"Is there something else I could help you with?" I asked, not wanting the encounter to end.

"Are you a librarian?" she asked as she returned the book to its shelf.

"No, just someone with literary interests."

"Really? I would not have guessed that."

"Why not?"

She hesitated for some seconds, while she eyed me from top to bottom.

"Well...You don't look...Stuffy."

I could not hold back a tiny smile.

"Oh, thank you very much."

Perhaps my tone could be interpreted as sarcastic. She made a hasty gesture with both hands.

"I didn't mean anything bad! I meant that you..."

"Do not look intellectual?"

"You do not look like a librarian...Maybe a bit scruffy..."

My smile broadened.

"Thank you again."

"It's not something bad! Scruffy might be sexy, you know...How do I look? Be honest. Take your revenge, if you want."

She placed her hands on her hips and raised her chin. How did she look? She looked...

"You look lovely", I said with an unusual warmth in my voice, "Absolutely lovely."

She blinked, exhibiting an expression of disbelief.

"You're just saying that so you will sound nicer than me."

"Not at all. I am completely honest. You look lovely. Lovely as in worthy of love...And worth making love to."

And I was completely honest. Her eyes glittered.

"You're such a sweet talker...By the way, my name is Sheila."

"You can call me Matt."

"Matt...You asked if you could help me...You could give me advice."

"Advice?"

"Yes...You talked of love...What would be the best place for making love in this library, do you think?"

The question was delivered in a casual manner, but there was a telling undertone in her voice. I licked my lips, unconsciously.

"Well...Not here among the shelves, surely...And not in the reading rooms either. They have windows."

"What about the restrooms? They don't have windows...And the doors can be locked. From the inside..."

"I suppose that would be the most appropriate alternative..."

"Let's find out."

She took my right hand and led me to the restrooms. I was both excited and bewildered. We encountered no one on the way. Sheila opened one of the four doors, stepped in, turned on the light and looked on me over her right shoulder. I hesitated, not because of decency, but wondering if I was up to the challenge. Sheila was standing in front of the washbasin, duplicated by the mirror above it. Once again she smiled a wonderful smile. And pulled up her skirt. She was not wearing anything underneath it. On her right asscheek there was a tattoo in the shape of a heart with an arrow through it, looking almost like a birthmark.

I should have been feeling like an easily manipulated sucker. I did not. I did not hesitate anymore. I hurriedly stepped in, closed the door, fumbled with the lock and removed my coat. One of the sleeves got stuck and impatiently I tore off the piece of clothing. Sheila giggled at the sight of my eagerness. In the next moment I embraced her from behind, roughly kissing her neck. Sheila leaned her head back, eyes closed and the smile widened to a grin.

"Mm...I love a man that dare to take a chance."

"It is not often that a man gets such a lovely chance as you..."

"Then you must make the best of this chance..."

She pulled up her t-shirt, revealing an appetizing pair of breasts. Then she gripped my hands and put them on her bosom.

"Take what you want...Be wild...That is what I will be..."

While I mauled her breasts Sheila, with amazing skill, unbuttoned my trousers and pushed them down behind her own back. She pressed her ass against my cock and cooed.

"You're eager...Hard and eager..."

"And you? Are you wet and eager?"

"Feel..."

She took my right hand and brought it in between her thighs. And moaned harshly. She was wet, hot and eager. My fingers reveled in her pussy, almost fiercely. Sheila was holding on to the washbasin to remain standing. In the mirror she looked so incredibly erotic, a twisting, half naked beauty wrapped in my arms. I wanted her to see it as well. Still massaging her pussy, I pulled at her ponytail with my other hand. Sheila gasped and opened her eyes.

"Look at yourself", I mumbled in her ear, "A blonde angel behaving like a depraved harlot...Having sex in a public restroom...And still you look lovely..."

"Show that I am worthy of love", she murmured in reply, "Worth making love to..."

She loosed her skirt and it fell away. Then she arched her back, bending over the washbasin. She looked back at me, her eyes narrow, her smile animalistic.

"Fuck me."

And I did. I should have worried about venereal diseases or being discovered. Perhaps I should also have worried about breaking the washbasin. I did not. I thrusted into Sheila, gripped her hips, clawed her skin, burrowed my face into her hair, licked her neck, nibbled her earlobes. And she growled and bounced and urged me onwards.

"Fuck me...Fuck me...Yeah, like that...Don't stop....Don't stop...Whatever you do, don't stop...Don't...Stop...Ah...Fuck!!!"

She spasmed and howled with pleasure. I could feel her entire body reverberate. That made me orgasm. I gnashed my teeth with the intensity of the eruption. It left me exhausted. I searched for support, glided down the nearby wall and sat on the floor. Sheila slithered off the washbasin into a position between my legs, leaning against my chest. We were sweaty and breathless. We looked at each other, without saying anything. Then we laughed and kissed sloppily.

That was the first time with my lovely blonde.