He had a slutty innocence to him—a boy, next door type, with thick-rimmed, Harry Potter-esque glasses. A little nerdy, but in an endearing way. Undeniably well read, he was a librarian, after all.
He always wore a polo and slacks when he sat behind the reference desk. I always sat, studying, at a desk nearby, where I could see him out of the corner of my eye.
The first time he stood from his desk and turned around, I was shocked to see how well his ass filled out his slacks. Did he squat or work out? When could he? He was seemingly always in the library.
I did some sleuthing and learned he was a senior, double-majoring in English and Classics. Of course, he was.
I was a freshman. Not only had I not chosen my major, but I hadn’t yet learned how to flirt or talk to any guy in any capacity. Growing up in a small town outside of Albuquerque, there weren’t many out guys. And I wasn’t trying to blow a guy triple my age in an alley that smelled like cat piss.
But after a month of fantasizing about him—I even had a wet dream where I imagined us at makeout point, him being gentle as he took my virginity in the backseat of my dad’s Chevy Camaro—I decided I had to talk to him. What’s the worst that could happen, right? He would just say no, and sure, I’d be crushed, but I’d live. At least, I think I’d live.
I was shaking the day I approached the circulation desk. His head was in a book, and I coughed to get his attention. He looked up at me, his green eyes shining like emeralds.
“How can I help you?” he asked, though he didn’t sound overly formal. There was a kindness to his voice. I was so flustered, I nearly forgot the script I had prepared. “I’m looking for a book,” I said.
He smiled. “That’s what I’m here for. Which one?”
“Yearning for More,” I said. I had to push the words out of my throat so that they wouldn’t catch.
“Oh, I haven’t heard of that one, but love the title,” he said, typing into his computer.
In truth, I knew exactly where the book was. In the corner of the basement, behind the archives, in a cranny where no one ever was. I wasn’t sure what I had planned to do once there, but I just knew I wanted to get him alone. Then maybe…I don’t know. I guess I really hadn’t thought it through, but just, Jesus Christ. I sound so pathetic. I guess I was expecting some rom-com meet-cute, where our hands would touch and—God, I was so inexperienced and clearly had watched way too many Nora Ephron films.
He grabbed a piece of paper and scribbled something down on it. “It’s in the basement, in the essays collection section.” The paper read 808.55. My heart dropped. He wasn’t even willing to show me where the book was.
I had to think fast. “I… uh… I’ll be honest. I know it’ll take me forever to find, and I don’t really know the Dewey Decimal System. Would you mind helping me find it?”
“Yeah, of course,” he said, standing up. The speed and eagerness of his response put me at ease. Maybe he just wasn’t supposed to leave his post. Maybe it had nothing to do with me. “Follow me,” he said.
I walked close behind him, doing my best not to stare at his ass, but how could I not? It was just so big, so juicy, so tight in his slacks. If he bent over, surely they would have ripped. I wasn’t sure exactly what I would do with a booty like that; I just knew I wanted to grab it. To hold it, to treasure it. To bury my face in it and motorboat it.
We headed downstairs to the basement, where the smell of old books lingered in the air. The book, as I knew, was in the back corner and on the top shelf.
He touched the spine of the books on the shelf below Yearning for More. “Hm…” he said when he couldn’t find the title. “Oh, wait, it might be on the shelf above.”
He stepped onto his tiptoes and reached up, pulling his polo shirt up to reveal the curve where the top of his pelvis meets the side of his torso. All I wanted was to lick those cum gutters. “Oh, here it is,” he said.
As he grabbed the book, he lost his balance and came toppling down. I attempted to catch him, to break his fall, but I went down with him.
“Are you okay?” he asked. He was lying right on top of me. Our bodies pressed against each other. Our faces were mere inches apart. His green eyes had the slightest tint of gold that I had never noticed before.
I was speechless. All I could do was nod slightly as I stared at him. I must have looked like a deer in the headlights. We lay there for what felt like ages, just looking into each other's eyes. He didn’t attempt to get off of me. I didn’t try to slither out from underneath him.
Then he kissed me. The librarian, my crush, the literal man of my dreams, pressed his lips against mine. The weight of his body atop me should have crushed me, should have left me gasping for air, but I felt lighter than a cloud. (Maybe because I was on cloud nine.)
I kissed him back with a yearning that no book, even one with the word in the title, could ever describe. I wrapped my arms around his back and pressed him further into me. I wanted our bodies to meld into one. Slowly, I lowered my hands down his back to his ass and copped a feel. Gentle at first, a fondle, but then I really grabbed his cheeks. Felt his meat in my hands. He moaned into my mouth as I squeezed, and I loved that he loved my touch. My dick quickly ballooned, and surely he felt my stiffness against his crotch, which was pressed up against mine.
He then spat into his palm, wriggled it between our stomachs, and unzipped my jeans. He stuck his hand down my pants, underneath my undies, grabbed my dick, and started stroking it. I responded by licking my finger. I had planned to insert it into his hole, but his slacks were too tight. Quickly, he unbuttoned his slacks, giving me room. I slid underneath his briefs and tapped his hole. I slid my middle finger and realized he was wet, open, and ready for me. Was he pre-lubed? Why? How? Or could his asshole be that wet for me?
We both knew we might not have much time—someone could walk in on us at any moment, and so we both wiggled out of our pants, leaving them just past our ass cheeks. If we heard anyone’s footsteps, we would quickly be able to redress.
He placed his hands next to my head; his body now in a tabletop position above me. I slapped my hard dick against his ass cheek, then put my tip between his crack, my head touching his wet hole. He repositioned himself, his body now upright, so that he could sit on my dick. I grabbed his smooth chest as he grabbed the base of my dick. He took a deep breath and lowered himself onto me. I don’t have the longest dick, but I am thick. Even though he was slippery and open, he’d still need a moment to get accustomed.
“Ohhhh,” he said, raising himself off me. “You’re a meaty boy.”
All I could do was grin. He took another deep breath and this time, took all of me. My dick disappeared inside of him. His cheeks enveloped me whole. I grabbed his ass and helped raise and lower him down, so he wouldn’t have to do all the work. The harder I squeezed his ass, the louder his moans became.
Then he pulsed his hole on my dick, contracting and releasing in rapid succession. It was as if his hole had its own heartbeat. The pressure on my dick overflowed my nervous system—I was awash with pleasure. I had jacked off before, more times than I could count, but it never felt this intense, like my whole body could burst into flames at any moment.
He then leaned over to kiss me. His breath had a natural freshness to it. When he swirled his tongue in my mouth, and sped up riding me, I knew I was going to release.
“Uh, uh,” I moaned.
“Give it to me,” he said, and I released my load inside of him, as my entire body convulsed. I involuntarily bucked up into him, thrusting deeper than I thought possible, as I continued to erupt inside of him. I was filling the man of my dreams with something that came from me. Something I hadn’t ever given anyone else. I hadn’t realized I had closed my eyes while cumming, but when I opened them, his face was right above me, and he was looking at me with a broad, satisfied smile.
My dick hadn’t gone soft yet. I lay there on my back, with him on top of me, my dick still inside of him. We should have gotten dressed right away, just in case someone came down and caught us, but clearly, neither of us cared. We needed more of each other. We lay on the floor together, his chest flush against mine. I could feel his heartbeat against my chest. I liked feeling his heart.
Then we heard footsteps; someone was walking down the stairs. This was not a drill. In the blink of an eye, we were both dressed, right before a girl I knew—she was in my Intro to Psych class—saw us. We were flushed and disheveled, sweaty with an undeniable post-coital glow. Anyone with half a brain could have guessed what we were just up to.
“Oh,” she said, before looking us up and down. “OHHH,” she then said, smirking. “Don’t let me stop you.”
“Oh, no, we were just,” I began. We were just what? I didn’t know what to say.
The librarian attempted to step in. “I was just helping him find a book,” he said unconvincingly.
“It seems like you were helping him find more than that,” she said, her smirk growing wider by the second. Neither of us responded. We were too frazzled. “Well, maybe you can help me find a book, too,” she continued.
Before we could react, she had pulled her tank top over her head, and out dropped her titties. Her nipples were hard and a delicate shade of pink.
As she sauntered over to us slowly, I looked at the librarian. He looked back at me and smiled.
“I think we can help you find whatever title you’re seeking,” he said.
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