tagExhibitionist & VoyeurMeeting Carmen Ch. 01

Meeting Carmen Ch. 01


Carmen - Library

When I lived up north, when I was 30, I used to go to the library a few times a week. I was just starting out with pen and ink illustration, with a lot of story ideas but not the drawing talent to flesh them out. The library had a good selection of books on technique, as well as many graphic novels for inspiration.

The same staff member usually worked that area, putting books back on shelves. She was about college age, cute face, with long black hair. For a long time, I didn't know her name. I also didn't know what she really looked like from the neck down. She always dressed in baggy workout gear, sweatshirts, and so on. Nothing ratty or stinky, she was always clean, but just... shapeless.

In college, I remembered certain girls wearing more and more loose clothes as the year progressed and they put on weight. Based on the library girl's choice of clothes, I assumed her body was nothing noteworthy; literally just another pretty face.

She was friendly, though usually too busy to say much beyond Hello or Pardon Me or Can I Help You Find Anything. Even so, it was evident that she was good-hearted and genuinely liked being around people. So running into her was a little pleasure, making the day a tiny bit more enjoyable.

One day, as she knelt to arrange books on the bottom shelf, I noticed something else: her sweat pants tended to ride down a little in the back, like they were getting loose. Maybe she was losing weight; it was hard to tell. I found myself intrigued by the inch or so of skin the lowriding sweats exposed.

Over time, they drooped down enough to show that she was wearing, of all things, a thong. There was the telltale "whale tail" effect as it peeked out from under the waistline of her sweats. I was pleasantly surprised; she hadn't seemed like the type. Her personality hadn't changed; after giving me a cordial greeting, and satisfying herself that I needed no help, she would turn her attention to her work.

As the days passed, she showed a rainbow of different thongs. She gave no sign of concern that they were showing, and I had no inclination to let her know. As for that few inches of skin I'd see exposed: she didn't seem chubby at all. For the first time, I started wondering what she would look like in a swimsuit. Baggy clothes can conceal a good figure as well as a bad one.

One day there was no whale tail, even though her sweats rode down as low as ever. The expanse of bare skin leading downward from the small of her back looked huge. So she was either wearing extreme lowrider briefs -- or nothing at all. For someone whose body I paid no attention to not long ago, this ambiguity obsessed me. That night, I jerked off to her for the first time.

I came back the very next day, a Tuesday. Was it too soon? Would it look like I was stalking? Not long ago, I paid no attention to how often I came in; it didn't matter. I didn't want towait. I was looking forward to no whale tail, and imagining her bare bottom under those loose sweats.

We exchanged hellos and she went to work, starting with the low shelf. She was wearing a dark green thong. Back to normal. I pretended to scan a photo collection while I watched her work. Maybe this was it, as far as anything would ever go. Last night I had constructed a fantasy where the library had closed for the night, everyone had gone, except for she and I; and it continued with my stripping down her pants, under which she wore no thong, and unzipping her sweatshirt, under which she wore no bra. In mid-day, under bright fluorescent lighting, the girl going about her usual tasks, my fantasy seemed silly, and even shameful.

Still, she was compelling to watch. Her long black hair, corralled in a ponytail; her pretty face, graceful brows and dark eyes, her expression intent as she worked; and that thong, the reminder that there could be a wild side to this girl I would never know.

She stepped up on a stool and lifted a stack of books toward the top shelf. She must have brushed against a protruding edge or bolt; it snagged her waistband as she stretched up. Very quickly her sweats were pulled down over the curve of her bottom. Tension gone, the waistband relaxed, and the sweats collapsed at her feet. She froze, realizing what had happened, and I stared at her bared legs.

Her legs were very nice. Voluptuous. I couldn't believe what I had been missing. And the thong made no effort at all to cover a nicely curved ass. She gasped, but with a stack of books to handle, she couldn't reach down and fix anything. There was no one else in the aisle, but that could change at any minute. I would be in a situation very tough to explain. Either I had to leave, now, or help her out, now.

I chose the second option and pulled her pants back up to her waist.

As soon as she got down, she glared at me. "What do you think you were doing?"

"I was worried someone would see you," I said. "Just trying to help." Famous last words, sometimes, those four.

She wasn't satisfied with this, and continued glaring, saying nothing. Even though I really hadn't done anything wrong, I could see that this was the end of the road for me. If she reported me, I would probably be banned from the library. Or worse. "I'm sorry," I said. "I'd better leave." I put my book down and walked away.

"Wait," she said. I turned around. She motioned me back. "I know it wasn't your fault," she said, in a hushed voice. "And you did the right thing. It was just a really embarrassing situation and my first reaction was to shoo you away."

"I can understand that," I said. "Luckily, I don't think anyone else saw you."

"I'm lucky it didn't happen yesterday." Now what did she mean by that? There was just a hint of a smirk. She must have noticed I was staring at her. Not good.

I decided to play dumb. "Why yesterday?"

She moved closer, now speaking in a whisper. "Because I didn't have anything on underneath. As you well know. Don't even try to deny it."

This sort of trouble I didn't need at all. Hell, what if she was only 17? My days of getting involved with girls that age was long gone. "I'm sorry if I made you uncomfortable; I was just minding my own business. I'll leave now. Sorry."

"Don't worry, I'm not going to get you in trouble," she said. "I'm not. You don't have to go."

"Thanks." I was still weighing whether or not to make a tactful escape.

"But I can tell by what you read that you appreciate the feminine body. Like these books." She pulled a couple of comic collections from the shelf to illustrate her point.

Wally Wood's "Sally Forth", about a blonde army girl who frequently ended up naked while saving her troops. I loved that one. Just the sheer exuberance of a beautiful body, a gung-ho spirit and some great situations where she loses her clothes. When I got better at it, my stories and illustrations would have that sort of cheery naughtiness.

There were also Milo Manara's sun-drenched fantasies with many naked women; and other books with notional plots but admittedly softcore erotic styles. Those were the sorts of women I wanted to draw.

I didn't say anything. It still looked like she disapproved, however mildly. There should be nothing wrong with an adult reading those books; but interests like that were something most of us found good reasons to keep to ourselves.

"We have some more in a storage room," she said. "More European and Asian artists. Really too steamy to have out here in the stacks. You should take a look."

As bizarre as that offer sounded, I needed no convincing. She had me marked as a fan (and wannabe practitioner) of erotic art. I felt I had nothing to hide now, and it didn't seem like she had anything bad planned for me. I also didn't want to miss whatever treasures were locked away in that room.

She led me by the hand into a side hallway, and into a room she had to unlock with a key. I liked holding her hand. I wondered if any other patron noticed this little scene.

"I'm Ken," I said as we walked in. "I don't even know your name."

"Carmen," she said, shaking my hand. She turned on the lights. Books filled the room; stacked boxes subdividing it with new walls, loose stacks of them overflowing counters and tables, all marked with different-colored tags. "Sorry it's such a mess," Carmen said. "It's over here in the back corner."

She showed me a hardcover collection by Serpieri, the Italian artist who did "Druuna." His work was hard to find unless you special ordered. Druuna was a raven-haired, large-breasted, big-bootied woman in a scifi-horror arena, often having to tiptoe through creepy places partially or totally naked. She endured lots of sex as well, at the hands of lovers, enemies, and grotesque monsters.

"I love the Druuna stories," she said, opening to one in the middle. "In our basement at home, I sometimes act these out with my brother and his friends."

Oh really. This was taking a quite interesting turn. Again I wondered just how old Carmen was. I peeked at the door, made sure it was still closed.

"That's pretty racy stuff," I said, involuntarily looking her over. I could not hide my curiosity. "When you act these out, do you wear costumes or just street clothes?"

She laughed. "I wear what she's wearing, of course." The implications of that were so erotic that at first I didn't even follow through on the meaning. "It's pretty easy. Take a look at this panel."

She showed a picture of Druuna hiding in a dark corner, trying to see if she had been followed. She was frightened and vulnerable, for good reason: she wore only a white dress shirt, completely unbuttoned, revealing part of one D-cup breast and all of the other. Below the waist, she wore nothing at all, her meaty thighs and pubic thatch painstakingly detailed.

"For this scene," Carmen said, "I just use a man's shirt and leave it open. But a lot of the time, like over here, I'm not wearing anything."

Now it seemed like an elaborate prank. This was too over the top. "You're making this up," I scoffed, looking her in the eye. "You mean to tell me you get naked in front of your brother and friends."

"I am not making this up!" she said, staring straight back. "It's fun. It's really hot. You're the only one I've told about it. I thought you would understand." She turned to another page, where Druuna was naked, on her back on a table, with a standing man screwing her. "So here I would be, and his friend is the guy, and he's having sex with me."

"No way," I said. I was fighting two impulses: one, leave now, because being alone in this room with this young woman, talking about this, was just not right; and two, put my arm around her and see if she protested.

"I know it sounds really weird?" she said, with the upward intonation common to younger people. "But there are some ground rules. Some things my brother's friend can do but he can't because he's my brother."

"But he still sees you naked," I said. As fantastical as her story was, I had become convinced she wasn't lying. She was focused and intense, like someone obsessed with a favorite hobby. Dressing up (and undressing) as Druuna seemed for Carmen to be exactly that.

"A little more than that," she said. "He's touched my breasts when I'm naked, and even sucked them. Kind of strange, how my own brother can make me come that way. And he's also touched me down below lots of times, and I come that way too. But full intercourse is way off limits. So is kissing."

As she said this, I wondered if she noticed in my face the flush I felt while picturing her doing this. Just freeze-frame vignettes of Carmen laying back on a secondhand couch, legs spread, eyes closed, her brother with a finger in her pussy and his lips around a nipple, her toes curling as she's about to climax.

"It's a little strange," she said. "I mean, you definitely don't tell all your friends about it. Or your parents. But it's mostly my brother's friend instead of my brother. He even has a steady girlfriend and he hasn't told her about me."

I was still silent. Carmen was one weird chick. To think what I had not known this about her just 20 minutes ago. But she was fascinating. I knew I would stay here and keep listening to her until she kicked me out.

She regarded me clinically, hands on hips. "You still don't believe me."

"Actually, it's strange enough to be true," I said, and regretted it. It seemed weaselly, like I was trying to cover both sides of the argument.

"Here," she said, skimming through the pages, stopping at one she liked. "You can be this guy, and I'll be Druuna." Druuna was dressed in a red thong, sidled up against a wall, trying to hide and listen for pursuers. "I don't have the right thong, but I'll do what I can."

"Right now?" I could hardly believe this.

"Of course." Carmen took off her sweat pants, revealing those lovely legs again. Her skimpy green thong was slightly sheer, showing off her trimmed bush. But I forgot about that for awhile when she pulled off her sweatshirt.

It was criminal what that baggy sweatshirt had been hiding from the world. She wasn't wearing a bra; perhaps she never had been. Her breasts were amazing, C to D cups, large without being ridiculous like Dolly Parton or something. Standing there in nothing but her green thong, she made a great live-action Druuna. This would be the winning costume in a Halloween contest (well, OK, just for the skin it showed.)

"You're beautiful," I said. "Just like the real thing."

"I am the real thing," she laughed. "Druuna's just a cartoon."

I was tongue-tied for a second, still staring at her breasts.

"Even though, I don't have her hair, and I don't quite have her boobs either," she said. "But it seems to be close enough for the guys."

She had a point, though I disagreed that she lacked anything substantial compared to Serpieri's heroine. Sure, her hair was straighter than Druuna's impossibly wavy mane. Her breasts weren't quite as big or buoyant, and her hips weren't as wide. But she was right: she was the real thing, better than any cartoon.

"Nothing wrong with you at all," I insisted.

"You're so sweet," she said. "Now, back in character. You come over and find me." She walked into the back corner of the room and posed, looking vigilant and frightened.

I hesitantly walked closer. Looking at her in costume was fine, actually it was great, but what would my involvement be?

"No, Ken, you're my lover," Carmen/Druuna said. "You thought I was dead. There's a lot of passion here. Now get over here and kiss me."

"I'm sorry, I gotta ask. How old are you?"

"Twenty. Don't worry."

"That's a relief. Anyway, I just turned 30."

"At this point, I could be 13 and too many guys wouldn't even care."

Here goes nothing, I thought. I quickly strode up, put my arms around her and gave her a quick kiss. "Don't worry," she said, and clung to me, locking her lips on mine. She had a lot more experience with this sort of playacting and was much better about getting into character. If she was in Druuna's head now, in the girl's body, I still felt a little awkward, not knowing what exactly my part was. For a moment.

Having her nearly naked body squeezed against mine changed my mind. Forget the play. She might be making out with Druuna's lover. I was making out with Carmen, and enjoying every second.

"You're hungry for my body," she said. "Take it." I fondled her breasts hesitantly at first, still wondering if metaphorical midnight would strike, she would push me away, and I'd have to find another library. But she was absolutely into this.

"The next panel," she said, "you take off my thong. Go ahead."

I peeled it all the way down. Her pussy glistened.

I tasted each breast, nibbling, caressing the nipple with my tongue, as one hand caressed her curvaceous ass and another explored the moist slit between her legs. My feeling of awe, of almost disbelief at the situation, was fading away. She had her hand between my legs, cradling my dick straining against the inside of my jeans.

"Ready for the next panel?" she said. I didn't know what was coming up, but I had a pretty good guess.

She unbuttoned my jeans and pulled everything down to my knees; then leaned back against the wall, legs slightly spread, arms up. She didn't close her eyes, or lick her lips, or have this slack open-mouthed expression that was supposed to signify passion. She looked directly at me, with a huge smile. Come and get me.

I didn't need a comic book to show me what to do next. I shuffled forward, pants around my ankles, crouched down a bit to get the angle right, and held her shoulders as I plunged in.

She was wet, but still really tight, so we had to go slowly the first few strokes. But after that it was deliciously smooth, in and out. She nibbled on my lips and licked my chin, and I freed a hand to caress her left breast, because I just adored the pair she had. Seeing her topless for the first time was almost more enticing than when I stripped her thong, leaving her naked.

"We should be quiet," she whispered. "The room's not soundproof."

"I'll cover your mouth with mine," I said.

I was nearly ready to come, and it seemed like she was also close, when she suddenly stopped moving, and put a hand to my chest to stop me. We froze literally mid-thrust, with my dick halfway inside.

"What's going on?" I whispered.

She put a finger to her lips. And then I heard it: someone had unlocked the door and was opening it.

Luckily we were in the back of the room, behind a stack of boxes, and probably couldn't be seen from the doorway. She'd be in more trouble than I would if we were caught.

"Carmen?" a male voice asked. "You in here?"

They were looking for her! "Shit," she whispered, almost silent, making me lip-read. "Don't. Move."

"Lights are on," a female voice said. So there were at least two people.

"Are these her clothes?" the man said.

That was one mistake we made: Carmen had tossed her sweats, top and pants, onto a table.

"Looks like it," the woman said. "Was she changing in here?"

"Who knows."

My legs were getting cramped from my half-crouch position; I couldn't stay motionless forever. I straightened up a bit, which forced my dick the rest of the way in. Her eyes went really wide, as if aghast at how presumptuous I was being. Like she was minding her own business, and then this guy ripped off all her clothes, and now look what he was doing.

"Should we take them to lost and found?" the woman said. "Maybe she just forgot them."

"Where would she be, then? We've looked everywhere."

Carmen's vaginal muscles contracted really tightly when I pushed in, and it just felt awesome. So much that it was really the wrong thing to do, but I slowly moved out and in again. She shook her head, frantic.

I knew it wasn't really fair to her at all, taking advantage like this. It sounded like they were going to take her clothes; even if they didn't discover her here, how would she sneak out wearing only a thong? And if she did get caught here, completely naked, having sex...

Another person, judging from the voices, poked her head in the room. "What's going on?"

"Looking for Carmen, her mother's on the phone," said the first woman.

I thrust out and in again, noiselessly. Carmen's eyes were a plea to stop.

"Is she on break?"


I continued thrusting slowly. Carmen closed her eyes and gritted her teeth, breathing heavily but trying to conceal the sound. All we could do is hope they wouldn't make a search of the room and would leave soon. But I didn't want to stop. My dick was so hard it felt like it was going to snap off.

The three of them were discussing Carmen's clothes when I resumed caressing her breasts and finger-painting smaller and smaller circles around her nipples. She started shuddering, and kept her teeth clenched, as if trying not to scream. One final thrust, and a tweak of both engorged nipples, and she came. That was more than enough for me and I shot too.

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