by Wilson Barbers
Illustrated by (probably) Vic Martin
He went into the library for a look at the latest Chilton's and was not expecting to fall in lust. (Face it, who expects anything like that to happen there? Not Ron.) It was early evening, quiet time in the Adult Section. The room was brightly lit and nearly empty but for the librarian behind the Reference desk. He'd ambled over to the desk, his notepad in hand, and turned to the figure behind the counter to ask for the necessary volume. He wasn't planning on spending much time on this. But halfway into his query, he realized what he was talking to.
She was dressed professionally (which in the world of library science meant demurely), but nothing could have hidden the fulsome ripeness of her form. Those full round hips shifting in her wool skirt. The appealingly rounded belly pushing into the desk's edge. Those wondrously mammoth breasts, straining under white lace. Her face was smooth and youthful, dominated by a pair of lips that jutted out hungrily. Her hair was platinum and cut to emphasize her round Midwestern face. It was all Ron could do to keep from leaping over the desk and mashing his lips into hers, pressing her magnificent body into his, tearing both their clothes off and carelessly flinging each item over onto the row of card catalogs . . .
"May I see the Chilton's book on vans?" he asked, pulling himself together. No wedding ring, he noticed. She smiled in response, turned around and bent over to reach the bottom shelf. Her calves were firm and beautifully formed; her rear amply padded and pushing out invitingly. Her breasts hung down, giving the full measure of their size which was awesome, swaying a bit as she looked for the particular edition he'd requested. Finally, she discovered the book and handed it to Ron.
"There you are," she said, her voice throaty and exciting. Ron took his book and found the nearest empty table. He felt flush in the warm and noiseless room.
The problem was he could not bring himself to even open the volume. Positioning his chair so he could get a good look at her, Ron sat and tried to unobtrusively watch her instead. Her name, according to a plate on the desk, was Carolyn Dover. As she sensuously moved from desk to card catalog, her hips moving from side to side, belly thrust forward, her breasts bouncing, he felt himself growing increasingly aroused. He had to get to know her.
Finally, he decided to take action. Pulling open his steno notebook, he wrote the following: "Dear Carolyn, I know this sounds presumptuous, but I can't stop looking at you. Would it be possible to get to know you better?" He tore the note out and nervously walked back to the reference desk, the room's bright light making him feel as if everybody in the library was watching him. She was seated at the desk now, prettily concentrating on a stack of notecards.
Ron slid the note onto her desk, waiting for her to notice it. She looked up at him, eyes wide and blinking with that open loveliness that came from wearing contacts. Then she read his note. She looked back at him appraisingly, smiled and said, "I was just about to take my dinner break." She pulled out a neatly lettered card directing anyone who might come to the Reference desk to Reception, and walked out from behind the counter.
"Is that van of yours nearby?" she asked him.
It was out in the lot, he told her.
"You must show it to me, then."
They walked down into the basement and out into the parking area; he was parked by the library's satellite dish. She had draped a white sweater over her shoulders, framing her upfront breasts, and had a packed brown paper bag in her right hand. The sun was setting and the sky tinged red. He helped her into the back of the van, hands on her well-fleshed arms, and the two of them fell to their sides on his mattress. The chill of the evening was cut out by an array of drapes and curtains on the wall as well as a set of flannel sheets. Ron turned on the light in the van and watched her undress.
Her body was even more magnificent unclothed, her sultry curves even more pronounced. Her breasts hung unencumbered by their restraints, and though her nipples were small in comparison, they had already stiffened in the evening air. Her splendidly rounded belly perched atop a fine thatch of silvery pubic hair; her plump thighs begged to be separated. Ron found himself growing even more excited, pushing against the constraints of his corduroys. He unbelted and unzipped himself while she unbuttoned his shirt. The feel of her fingertips on his nipples got to him even more.
He kicked off his shoes and socks, pulled off his shorts and pants. Ron rubbed and traced her fulsome body with his fingertips, kissing her pendant breasts with increasing vigor, placing her projecting nipples one at a time between his tongue and upper teeth and nipping them. Lying on her back, her breasts hung outwards, quivering with every sigh she made. He moved his right hand along her upper leg, squeezing the lusciously padded portion of her inner thighs. Then he began to probe. She got ready quickly, pushing her round hips into him demandingly, and he was only too happy to oblige. The pressure of her full-fleshed torso against his stomach and the sight of her great breasts jiggling and bouncing made him grow even larger inside her.
They came together, Ron gasping out her name for the first time. She moaned loudly and bit into his shoulder, her arms pulling him close to her. They remained in that position for quite some time.
When they'd finished, she dug into her dinner bag, pulling out two ham and cheese sandwiches and some cake wrapped in foil that she offered to share with him. He wasn't hungry, but he enjoyed watching her eat, full lips tackling each sandwich with the same joy that she had brought to their lovemaking. They got dressed, that splendid form once more getting covered by the trappings of work, and got out of the van. The sun had gone completely down by now. "My dinner break's about over," she told him, kissing him gently on the lips. She tasted of ham and mustard and chocolate.
"Would you like to go out for real sometime?" Ron asked. She smiled and considered his question.
"You know how it is at the Reference desk," she told him. "You can take out for a time, but there are no overnights."
"That's good enough for now," he told her. She nodded, turned and walked back into the library, her beautiful backside swinging jauntily. He'd never told her his name, Ron thought, as he opened the driver's door. But that wasn't important. He still hadn't gotten a look at that auto book and had every intention of returning tomorrow for another go at it. . .
Copyright (c) 2007 - OakHaus Designs
