Loading...Holding the key firmly, I place my gloved hand on the ignition switch. Before turning it I glance at the pile of books on the passenger seat beside me. My breath crystallizes in the chilly air as I count the titles. If I’m missing one, that would be enough to allow myself to get out of this car, out of this weather, and into my warm apartment, my warm bed.
But they were all there, and I had reserved the study room at the undergraduate library for this very purpose—to make myself work, get this paper finished. It was due a week ago.
Of course I didn’t have chains—very few on this campus were prepared for the storms we’ve been having. But even as my car swerves and slides on patches of ice, I know I couldn’t have walked. My bones ache even with the heat radiating from the vents, from the coils in the drivers seat that hold me. The snow has stopped falling, and the roads are relatively clear. The library is only a couple miles away.
I manage to smuggle in a coffee I had ordered from the café next door. Hardly anyone is around at this early hour on a Saturday, though finals would be starting in a few days. But it always seems like whoever was at the front desk managed to confiscate any type of food or beverage immediately. I glance over the main catalog terminals—a few scattered students pecking at keyboards. I wait for the elevator patiently, my left hand holding the forbidden cup of coffee inside my coat.
The elevator cables creak as I stare at the numbers lighting up. I get out on 3 and head for my designated satellite room. I always choose the eastern-most corner room, as it affords the best view and is relatively removed from the standard library bustle. Though I did notice that another study session was scheduled for the adjacent room within my allotted time. Before entering, I sign my name on the sheet beside the door, indicating it was taken.
I leave the door open, as there are books I’ll be needing in addition to those I had brought. This room always feels like home to me—its warm pergo flooring, rectangular cherry wood table with sturdy matching chairs, the familiar Asian area rug. Two brown leather armchairs sit directly in front of the north window, slightly offset and postured to accommodate the small wooden table between them. The dry erase board is mounted on the wall opposite these sitting chairs, so every seat in the room could face it. A screen could be pulled down for Powerpoint presentations or overhead projections. I turn on the track lighting, remove my coat, and drape it over a chair in which I set my weathered backpack. Coffee in one hand, I unzip the front pouch and fumble around for a pen. After flipping through a few pages from my various books, I scribble a few quotes on the board.
Pleased with my preparation, I sit in one of the rigid wood chairs to begin my notes. I tap the pen nervously against my notebook, glancing at my blank page, at the scribbled wisdom of others I had written a few feet away. Sliding the chair away, I stand and take a sip of my coffee. The sparkle from the beveled glass of the window catches my eye—it has begun to snow again. I stand there, gazing at the falling white, the few small, animated frames of cars and people foraging through it.
She should still be sleeping now, I think to myself. I can almost see her—looking so small in her queen-size bed, covered with blankets, surrounded by pillows. She’s adorable when she sleeps; she really is. Not like some people who lie there on their backs with their mouths open, a trail of drool running down the side. No…she curls up and tucks her head slightly, something of a smile to her lips. Like a baby.
We met a couple years ago…here. She’s going for her J.D., and I for another B.A. The irony is that she is younger, though I don’t think it matters much. We’re polar opposites in so many ways; but in some of the right ways, it just works. Things didn’t become romantic until recently. We had been at a dinner party with a few of her peers. It was an uncomfortable setting for me—everyone just seemed so lofty, so pseudo-intellectual. Though I don’t usually drink wine, it was all I could do to minimize my part in the conversation, to avoid laughing at what the topic was. I still don’t know. After dinner we all played Pictionary, and she and I won with my stick figure drawing of Lady Godiva. We laughed and I told her I loved her. I don’t think anyone else heard, but she smiled and looked away and left the room. She came back in what seemed like an hour later, our coats in hand, and saved me from an awkward conversation with a guy who resembled a basset hound. Again, no idea what the topic was.
We walked out to the car in relative silence, only the crunching of the snow beneath our feat was audible. She had my keys, had taken them from my coat pocket. Not that she hadn’t been drinking, but she had consumed considerably less than I had. We got in the car, she turned the ignition, and then she just sat there a minute, looking straight ahead. Her light blue knit beanie offset her dark hair and skin so beautifully. I wasn’t sure what was going on. If I had done something wrong, if she was angry…
‘I don’t usually drink wine,’ I said.
She closed her eyes then turned and looked at me intensely. ‘What you said to me in there…’
I paused. ‘Yeah, well…’ I said, avoiding her eyes.
‘Did you mean that?’ she interrupted me softly.
And I didn’t respond with words. I just looked at her, into those brown eyes that I’d known and come to genuinely love. Those eyes that have mocked me, have challenged me, have comforted me. Her face softened, and I glanced at her lips, looking back to her eyes. She held my gaze, and I kissed her. While the car was warming up, surrounded by the cold air from the exhaust, I placed my gloved hands on her face and kissed her.
That night, she stayed with me. And things were new again. I remembered feeling her against me…how I felt so safe and yet so afraid. Not like with anyone else. I remember how she…
I jump at the sound of a sudden knock at the door. Turning away from the window I look over at the frazzled student that is peering into the room.
‘Sorry…uh…are you in my econ class?’ he asks.
‘No, I think that group is meeting next door. Check the schedule for the time.’
He leaves and I glance at my watch. Fuck…I’ve been here over an hour. I look over at my blank page and scattered books. I take a sip of my coffee, which is now cold. Shaking my head, I venture down to the second floor to get the other titles I’ll need.
There are more people around now, though it isn’t exactly crowded. Mostly people scattered in little cubicles, skimming titles in the aisles in that strange sideways stance. I make my way about a third down the length of the far wall, perusing the titles of various Spanish novellas and poetry. Octavio Paz…is not here. I placed my left hand at the back of my neck, rubbing into my skin. Taking out Neruda’s Book of Questions, I flip through it unconvincingly. I reshelve it, despite the annoyed second glance of a library assistant. He points to the ‘Please do not reshelve books’ sign, giving me a condescending look. Is this really such a big issue? So I stand in front of the shelves with a copy of Lorca’s Selected Poems when I feel a finger trail along my neck, and down over my shoulder. I look to see her, smiling in her Burberry trenchcoat. Below I can see she is wearing sweats and her favorite sneakers.
‘So sophisticated,’ I say, smiling at her. I put the book down.
She holds up the Paz book. ‘Looking for this?’ she asks, holding it out.
I frown, then give a slight sneer, advancing toward her. She retreats, looking around her, a mischievous grin on her face. Her short hair is unkempt, though it looks like she put forth a slight effort to control it. As ever, she looks adorable.
‘I need that,’ I say in a hushed whisper, smiling at her.
‘Well come and get it, then,’ she says with a raise of an eyebrow.
As she dashes off, I stand there in mock irritation. I really need to get this paper done. I start to walk in the direction in which she went, when I hear a clamor a few aisles away. Walking by, I see her helping up what appears to be the same library assistant who silently rebuked me a few minutes ago. He’s barely containing his voice in a whisper, telling her she shouldn’t be running in the library, that she could have really hurt someone, etc. She’s apologizing repeatedly, sincerely. She hands him his books that had toppled over, then sees me watching her. She grins and walks off toward the chairs in the corner. I stifle a giggle and follow her.
When I arrive at the chairs, she isn’t there. A jock struggling with what appears to be a copy of The Great Gatsby eyes me annoyingly as I stand there in confusion. Suddenly I am pulled back and to the right, into another aisle. She slides her arms along my waist, pulling me close to her. I can smell her perfume…that fresh baby scent she uses, that is so unique to her. Our lips are centimeters apart, and I glance around us.
‘Where’s my book?’ I ask, smiling.
‘Good morning to you too,’ she says, noticeably irritated.
I slip my hands underneath her coat, along her waist. Her t-shirt is soft and worn, and I can feel the warmth of her body through it. I push her gently against the shelf, kissing her fully on the mouth. I smile, tasting vanilla lip balm. My hands move up over her shirt, caressing over her breasts and around to her back. As our tongues mesh, my fingers move down her spine to… I playfully pull the book from the waistband of her sweats, where half of it was tucked in.
‘I win,’ I say with a smirk, still holding her waist with my left hand.
‘Not yet, you don’t,’ she says, running her fingers over my sweater, between my breasts. She snatches the book from me with her free hand. I stand there, shocked and excited by her behavior. My heart races and I smile nervously. Her fingertip reaches my mouth, and I kiss it gently. Her hand caresses my face, as she smiles and saunters away. Naturally, I follow.
She enters the stairwell, and immediately jams the door with the book once we are inside. Pushing me against the wall, she pulls up my sweater, unfastening my bra and releasing my breasts.
‘What if someone comes….’ I start to ask.
‘Oh, there will definitely be a lot of coming,’ she smiles. I feel the soft warmth of her tongue on my nipples, as my back is pushed against the cold wall. Her hands are squeezing my breasts, kneading the flesh passionately. I find it harder to stifle my moans as she begins sucking on my nipples, teasing them with her lips. I can feel them harden as she toys with them. I feel her pushing my breasts together. Looking down, I see her flicking her tongue intermittently across and around my hard nipples. I’m getting so wet just feeling her, watching her, seeing this hidden side to her.
An echo of footsteps on the stairs puts a sudden stop to the excitement. I smooth down my sweater, she grabs the book and we walk back onto the third floor. We enter the elevator and she presses 5. When the doors close, she’s on me again. Kissing me hard as she slams me against the wall, her hand now between my legs. Kissing me, I hear her saying something about how incredibly wet I am. The ding of the elevator breaks us apart again. She hurriedly dashes out before me, past a rather stalwart looking professor. I walk out slowly, glancing around for her. I see the tail of her coat disappear down an aisle and I follow, intrigued and amazed by this adventure.
At the end of the aisle, I look to my right and see her sitting on a small leather sofa in the corner. It isn’t an open area, but certainly accessible to anyone on the floor. I approach her and immediately she begins unbuttoning my jeans, pulling me down beside her. She silences my paranoid protests with a hard kiss and a swift thrust of her hand into my panties. Her hand cups my pussy, slowly rubbing her palm against me as she kisses me harder. At this point I don’t even care about getting caught. I’m too excited to stop. I feel a finger enter me, and her tongue plunges into my mouth harder. Steadily she fucks me with her hand, my jeans noticeably getting in the way. I look around me, my senses heightened by the smell of the parchment, the tall shelves that surround us, those colorful bindings all arranged in perfect order. Just as I am about to cum, we hear the ding of the elevator. I let out a groan of frustration as she sighs, almost apologetically removing her hand.
We get up once again, and this time I grab her hand, leading her into the bathroom. We walk by the new arrival, a student who doesn’t even notice our presence as he studies a sheet of scribbled index numbers. We both enter the bathroom in a frenzy. She once again bars the door with the book. I have my jeans halfway to my knees when she turns to face me. Pulling up my sweater, she tosses it aside to a chair near the door.
‘Up on the counter, by the sink,’ she says. She clumsily removes my shoes, pulling my jeans down and off. Onto the same chair she tosses them. Breathing hard, she pushes my feet up onto the counter, my back pushed hard against the cold mirror. My nipples are hard again, out of excitement and the cold shock of the glass. She leans in slower this time, though still quite deliberate. She resumes kissing my breasts, teasing my nipples. I let out soft moans, closing my eyes, feeling her soft hair brush against my skin. I feel her fingers toying with my panties, which are surprisingly still on. Another moment and I feel it inside me, her deep and thrusting strokes. I can feel and hear how wet I am with the movement of her hand. She pulls my panties further aside, partially tearing them, inserting another finger. I moan loudly with this addition, feeling the sweet tightness it brings. She slows down, calming in her movements, in her kisses. Her thumb finds my clit, gently tapping it, rubbing over and around it. I moan into her mouth, her fingers twisting and curling deeper into my pussy. She runs her other hand up the back of my neck, kissing me hard as I cum. Her fingers stop moving, and remain inside me, feeling the pulsing of my orgasm, my juices running all over her hand. As it subsides, she kisses me softly—my lips, neck, breasts. My panties are soaked, her fingers wet. She raises a finger to my lips, smiling. But the bathroom door suddenly jostles, and we see the book slip, about to give way.
‘Is someone in there?’ says a woman’s voice on the other side of the door.
‘Just a minute,’ I say, hastily grabbing my clothes and getting dressed. ‘I’m changing my clothes.’
She is washing her hands and gives me a look of mock disapproval.
‘What?’ I whisper. ‘I’m getting dressed!’
I go to remove the book from the door, and a middle-aged woman enters. She appears to be an employee of the university, though I’m not sure of her position. Eyeing me over suspiciously, she then glances into the mirror, where she sees clean hands applying vanilla lip balm to the lips that had been kissing my breasts less than three minutes ago.
She smiles at the woman. The woman smirks, sneering at the both of us before entering a stall.
Trenchcoat draped around her arm, she approaches the door where I am standing, kisses my cheek, and walks out. Out on the floor she is suddenly relaxed. I walk beside her, still recovering from the orgasm I just experienced. We enter the elevator, and she pushes the button for the ground floor.
‘What are you doing?’ I ask.
She hands me the book. ‘You can go read now. I just thought you’d like a study break.’ She winks at me.
I quickly push 3 before the elevator has a chance to descend any further. She looks at me, somewhat bewildered. I smile and the elevator opens. Taking her hand gently, I lead her out of the elevator. She follows me through the main room, now crowded with students and staff alike. We pass by the economics study group in the room next to mine. All the satellite rooms appear to be full.
As we approach the room, a squeaky student from next door approaches. ‘Are you the only ones in here?’ he asks begrudgingly.
‘I’ve booked the room until 2pm. I’ll be out by then.’ He leaves, and I can hear him say something curt to the class next door.
My things are still on the table, just as I had left them. We walk in and I close the door. The light from the window is minimal, but I leave the track lights off. I take her coat from her, draping it over a nearby chair. She stands, looking at the dry erase board, guessing who said which quotes. I don’t answer her, as I rearrange the armchairs, facing one another, perpendicular to the window.
‘Oh, it’s snowing again!’ she says, advancing toward the window.
‘Have a seat,’ I say, patting the back of the armchair facing the window.
‘Why don’t we go back to your place for a while,’ she suggests.
I take her hands gently and guide her to the chair. She sits and I sit across from her. I remove my shoes and put my feet onto her chair. Picking up the Paz book she had placed onto the table, I offer it to her. She looks at me questioningly.
‘Won’t you read to me?’ I turn on a desk lamp beside her. Its gold fixture and green glass shade give the room a cozy feel.
She smiles sweetly, and I open the book to the appropriate poem. She puts her legs onto my chair, against mine, and begins to read. I close my eyes, listening to her voice formulate such beautiful words. As she reads on, I run my hands over her feet, along her calves, though still over her sweats. Her voice changes as I move up higher. And I am still listening, though not as intently for the poetry itself, as for the emotion of her voice, the reaction of my touch.
I push my chair back slightly, gently holding her legs so they don’t fall. My hands begin to pull at her sweats, my ears listening for any sign of protest. She is still reading, yet she complies with my actions. Raising her ass off the chair slightly, I am able to remove her sweats and panties in a single move. Immediately I begin kissing her thighs, her legs naturally parting for me. I stop briefly, slipping my head under her knees, between her legs. Cradling her outer thighs with my hands, I feel her calves and feet rest over my shoulders, down my back. Her voice takes on a more breathy quality as I kiss her inner thighs, my tongue licking playfully at her soft, warm skin. The heat of her pussy is intoxicating; I’ve longed to taste her. She lets out a soft moan as my tongue traces her pussy lips, gently working its way inside her. Once inside, I rest my mouth against her pussy, my tongue indulging in the pleasure of her soft, wet folds. I listen to her words, now strained slightly, as I fuck her steadily with my tongue. I curve my left hand over her thigh to rub her clit with my thumb. Removing my tongue for a moment, I flick it over her clit repeatedly, flogging it as it hardens and becomes more and more sensitive. She has stopped reading at this point, and now has her hands on my head, leaning back against the chair with her eyes closed, mouth agape and moaning. My eyes delight in watching her struggle to achieve climax, my tongue teasing her, not quite letting her go over the edge just yet.
I enter her again with my tongue, driving harder into her, curling and twisting at just the right spots. My mouth is covered with her pussy, her juices running everywhere. Moving my face side to side, my tongue thrashes inside her, her moans subsequently becoming louder. My lips suck her pussy gently as my tongue rocks steadily into her now. I can feel her tighten around me, her hips slowly grinding into my face. I reach for her hand, feeling her squeeze it tightly as she cums hard into my mouth, against my face. My tongue remains inside her, feeling the pulsing of her pussy. I linger there, indulging in the sweet salty taste. As her orgasm subsides, I kiss her thighs, still feeling her breathing hard. I place my head on her lap as she caresses my cheek.
There is a knock at the door, and the same squeaky kid pokes his head in.
‘Are you done with the room yet?’ he whines.
For all I know, he could only see the back of the chair facing the window. I never even opened my eyes.
She looked at her watch. Without turning around, or removing her hand from my cheek, she responded. ‘We have five more minutes.’