by Jamie Knight
The back area wasn’t much; gray carpet, dim fluorescent lighting, generic inspirational posters, and a soda vending machine. It resembled the “office” area of the UPS processing center that loaded my truck every morning.
Eleanor smiled. “Here, I’ll show you my hideout.” She took a right, a left then turned her key in a door lock. Inside the door was an office, windowless, with an overfilled bookshelf, a desk holding a laptop, a space heater for chilly New York mornings, and an espresso machine. The Khalil Gibran book was on the desk, next to the laptop.
The room was a diminutive, scaled-down version of a study or an office. The entire tiny space was clearly Eleanor’s domain. It smelled like her. I had come to recognize that smell — maybe discount-store soap and shampoo — in my two short encounters with her.
She pointed at the espresso machine with her eyes.
“Can I make you an espresso?”
That was unexpected. It was late already, but what the hell.
Of course, she could.
“Sure. As long as you make one for yourself too. I don’t want to be the only one staying up.”
That sounded unintentionally suggestive. But what the hell. I had just called a customer in a closed library and agreed to drink an evening espresso. Maybe a remark about “staying up” was only the natural progression of where that entire train of thought had started going.
Eleanor punched one button, then another. Wheels clicked and whirred inside. Magician-like, she pulled two small glasses from somewhere under the desk and had the first glass under the slow, pungent espresso drip just as the drops started to fall. She switched out the first glass for the second by the time the drops were drying up.
“I kind of thought we’d be going out for coffee, actually.”
I grinned, shifting my weight to one side to show off my pressed-fitted t-shirt and slim-fit jeans.
“It’s so comfy here. Why fight traffic and pay five bucks for an espresso out there somewhere? And I just — I just kind of prefer staying in.”
“Homebody?” It was a stupid thing to ask, an obvious restatement of what she had just said. But it was the only thing I could think to say. Other than you’re beautiful, Eleanor. But that statement of the obvious could wait until later.
She handed me one tiny glass of espresso.
“I hope you take it hot?” Eleanor laughed childishly.
“I don’t mind it hot… if it’s good enough.”
Embarrassed by my horrible attempts to flirt, I gulped down the shot of espresso in one gulp. I was demonstrating something. Or at least demonstrating my masculinity. My mouth and throat seared in pain. “Oh shit.”
“Did you just burn yourself with the espresso?” Eleanor grabbed my cup and filled it with chilled water. She handed me the glass of water to drink without waiting for an answer about the burning thing.
“Um, yeah. I’m sorry if it makes me less desirable in your eyes that I can’t even drink espresso right.”
I grinned. I tried to look cute. I didn’t know how, but maybe I succeeded because her returned glance screamed unwritten desire.
“It doesn’t matter how you drink your espresso. We’re in private.” That wasn’t quite a compliment, but I would accept it.
“So, you don’t go out for coffee, huh?”
“I just think I have the best living room in the world at my disposal right here as soon as the library closes to the public in the evening. So why go anywhere else?”
Eleanor spread her arms expansively, showing the vastness of the library. Her hands almost reached the walls in her tiny room within the metaphoric bowels of the New York Public Library.
“And yeah, homebody.”
She grinned.
Despite the seeming put-togetherness of her hipster glasses, her face bore slightly uneven makeup, a telltale of bad vision probably — and of the hipster glasses really being for vision correction more than for appearances.
“Can we actually go out to the library and the books?” I pointed at the door.
“Sure. It’s a bit — overwhelming, maybe alone, but with you—” She was definitely nervous.
“Really?”
“I just feel comfortable with you.”
Eleanor opened the office door and led me out of her tiny nest, into the cool, half-lit rooms of books.
“I guess this is like a tour of your home,” I said. She nodded in response. “You want to show me some of your favorite spots?”
“There’s so much. Umm. You like Lord Byron?” Eleanor smiled hopefully.
“Of course, I like Byron.”
“This is so cool.” She sounded like a teenager when she said it. She jogged up the stairs and looked behind her to make sure I was following. “Let me show you my absolute favorite place. Near the Byron.”
“I agree; this is so cool.”
I lightly patted Eleanor’s shoulder to demonstrate my approval of the library tour. I wanted to put my hand forward, lay it in her hand, let Eleanor hold my hand, and lead me forward, like an Instagram photo of leading someone somewhere.
But it was too early for that. Maybe. A little bit too early. But the temptation was strong.
Eleanor flicked lights on as she walked through shelves of books. She reached a low-set gray fabric sofa looking out on nighttime downtown New York through a narrow vertical window.
By around eight P.M., some office buildings’ lights were still on. She motioned for me to sit down while she went to the shelf, then came back with a book.
“I figure I can make the delivery once in a while.” Eleanor patted my shoulder as she sat down. Then she showed me the book she’d brought from the shelf. “You ever read Don Juan?”
“Sure. I wouldn’t mind rereading it now, though.”
“Or having it read to you?” She smiled at me again.
“Nobody has ever, I mean not since I was a kid, nobody has ever—”
“Let’s begin then,” she said. She slid closer to me on the sofa. We sat with legs and bodies touching side-by-side. Her hands were busy holding the book.
“I hope you don’t mind if I put my arm around you.” I was already stretching my right arm back when I said it.
“Wouldn’t mind at all.” Eleanor looked directly at me with a smile when she said it.
“Epic poetry.” I nodded as if I was a connoisseur of the genre. I wasn’t, although I certainly appreciated it, and I especially appreciated the idea of a woman like Eleanor reading poetry to me.
“You’re single, right?” she asked, her thick glasses and all. She looked cutely, adorably, irresistibly, innocently cute when she asked that question so directly and seriously looked at me for an answer.
“Yes, I’m single, if you haven’t figured it out already.” I restrained myself less in how much I hugged her with my arm around her shoulder.
“So, Don Juan is a good choice, right?” Eleanor asked.
Eleanor began to read. She was like a snake-charmer. I was hypnotized by her voice, by the way she breathily enunciated every syllable of words like “love” and “breath” and “manly.” She knew where to dive into the book, of course; the most erotic parts possible. The ones most directly suited to our situation at that moment, sitting on the sofa, alone in the library at night.
Eleanor’s warm breath rang out with every word. Her soft, curvy body sat perfectly under my arm.
“Do you ever dream about love?” I asked. I was interrupting Eleanor’s reading of a poem. But it was a relevant question. And maybe she was as interested in talking with me as I was interested in talking with her — which was very interested.
“I… I pretty much don’t think about anything else, unless it’s work or books.” Eleanor pointed around the bookshelves with her eyes. “I just haven’t been able to find anybody.”
“Not been able to find anybody, because…?”
“Because I don’t like going out. Because I can never seem to take the init
iative.” Her reason was reasonable enough. I could see how Eleanor needed her coworker Claire’s help in talking to any guys. “And Claire always pushes these most ridiculous guys at me.”
“I’m sure she means well.”
Claire seemed nice enough. Clueless and unsubtle, but nice.
“I think Claire tries to set me up with — not the guys she herself would like, but the guys she imagines I should like? Something like that.”
“Well, she did alert you to my existence, didn’t she? She can’t be all bad.”
I wasn’t even fishing for compliments for myself. I was only trying to put in a good word for Claire. I didn’t even know Claire, but I didn’t want this seemingly well-meaning woman to be maligned by equally well-meaning Eleanor.
“Yeah. I’m still thankful for that. She could have just signed for the package, and that’s it.” She shrugged.
“You aren’t actually the only person who can sign for UPS packages, right?”
“Of course not. Claire just pulls that line whenever she wants me to meet a guy. She tells whoever that Eleanor is the only person who can do that — authorize this book checkout, approve this delivery, whatever.”
“But her setups are usually not so great?”
I was asking a rhetorical question. Eleanor only answered by reading a few more lines of a love poem. I could only sigh in response.
“So…what are you…what do you look for in a man?”
I inhaled deeply. I could smell Eleanor’s scent. It was driving me crazy.
“I think the ultimate standard — someone I could marry, feel comfortable in everyday life with. I mean just a guy who looks good today, who’s fun for one conversation, that’s not enough.”
“Sure. I can understand.”
That was my standard too. But I didn’t want to push things too far too fast by saying so explicitly. I didn’t want the women who made me sexual offers on my package route because they weren’t the kind I could imagine settling down with. But now, I was sitting on this plain, dumpy sofa, looking out over nighttime New York — and I was very, very attracted to this shy, caring, attractive woman sitting next to me.
“It’s weird.”
Eleanor looked over at me. Her eyes scanned up and down my face and torso. I didn’t mind at all. I appreciated that kind of attention if it was coming from a gorgeous, desirable, high-quality woman, one who was reading poetry to me that very moment. Eleanor took my approving look as encouragement to continue.
“I’ve only known you a week. But I can see myself in a long-term relationship with you.”
“I can see that… I can see that too…”
I turned to my right and looked into her eyes. Then I leaned my head down and swooped in with my face toward her face. I breathed deeply, smelling Eleanor’s scent again, determined to make her mine, no matter what.
Chapter Four - Aiden
I didn’t even want to finish my sentence before kissing this beautiful librarian. So, I did kiss her.
I’d never felt anything for anyone like that. I pressed my mouth against Eleanor’s lips and rushed in with my wet tongue, licking and exploring the depths of her mouth: her lips, her gums, her teeth.
It was the first time I had kissed her, of course, the first time I’d kissed anyone in a long time — but somehow, my tongue felt exactly at home inside her mouth.
She kissed back ferociously. She sat up to press her mouth up into me, where she could shove her own tongue into my mouth just as I had shoved my tongue into hers. Her lips were soft, just the right amount of force.
She embraced me and pulled me down onto her torso atop the sofa, then kissed me even more. She wrapped her legs around my waist and grasped my ass with her feet.
I mounted Eleanor on the sofa. Our clothes were still on. My dick felt as if it could tear a hole through my own underwear and jeans, then another hole to reach her pussy.
Eleanor’s neck was my target for hungry kisses, then wet licks, then mischievous nibbles. She only threw her head back to expose all her neck for my lovemaking.
Still on top of her, I unbuttoned my jeans and ripped them off. My thick, erect dick tented my white boxers badly. I had never been this hard in my life for anyone other than her.
I only unbuttoned Eleanor’s jeans. She knew to do the rest, unzipping the fly and slipping off her pants. Now her bare legs embraced my waist and torso.
I slipped off my briefs. I let my meaty hard dick free from the much-too-small crotch of my underwear. My cock lay on top of Eleanor’s silk panties. She wrapped her legs around me again.
I looked down at the jeans I’d tossed aside. They lay on the institutional-blue library carpet.
“I don’t have a condom. I didn’t expect to need one.”
“I don’t have one either,” Eleanor admitted. “But I’ve only been with one man, and I got tested afterward.”
“I haven’t fucked in a year, and I’ve been tested since then,” I said, licking her ear.
Of course, it was a matter of trust. Of course, anybody could be lying to anybody. Of course, either of us could have contracted a disease from our toothbrushes that morning. But some risks were just worth it.
“I want you to fuck me bareback,” Eleanor said. It sounded more like a plea than an invitation. She was asking for a favor, not offering one. She obviously badly wanted me to fill her pussy. “And shoot your load deep inside me.” She grinned and nodded.
“That’s how fucking bareback usually works, isn’t it?” I grinned back, figuring she must be on birth control.
“I wouldn’t know. I’ve never done it before.”
“Never barebacked?” I asked.
I’d certainly had my own share of unadvised barebacking as a teen and a college student. Fortunately, my partners had been other dumb virginal kids my own age, and I hadn’t caught anything.
I wouldn’t take that kind of risk now unless I was really sure I could trust the girl. And I was really sure I could trust Eleanor.
Eleanor had been in panties. Now her pussy was bare beneath my dick. Her slippery-wet folds slid against my inner thigh as we moved against each other on the sofa. I slowly fucked the gap between her thighs and lower lips with my dick. She only sighed in response.
“Take me,” she whispered. She scooped the dripping lines of precum from my cock and rubbed them onto her pussy. “I don’t have any lube. Do you?”
“Only the all-natural kind.” I pointed down.
“I still want to do it.” Eleanor looked at me. The sparkle in her eyes was like that of a kid about to go on a roller coaster.
I took charge. I hugged her and started pulling her to stand up, then lean over. “Bend over the sofa.” Eleanor’s ass was round, slightly thick. She stood with her arms far apart on the sofa and her legs far apart on the floor. It was a very warm invitation for me to fuck her.
Cool air washed over my bare, moist dickhead. I hadn’t barebacked in a long time. There was a novelty to looking at a nice pink pussy and knowing that I’d be going into it raw, feeling all of it directly on my dick instead of through latex.
“Now,” Eleanor whispered and teased her lower lips apart more with her hand under her legs. The beautiful pink slit between her legs was my target. Above it was Eleanor’s perfect, smooth, lightly muscled back. Beyond Eleanor’s back and Eleanor’s mess of wavy blonde hair was the narrow window looking out onto downtown New York.
I gently put my dickhead up against her pussy opening. There was still no way it could go in without help. I spit on my right hand’s fingers, then slid two fingers in. Eleanor gasped, then sighed in pleasure.
Her canal was tight but slightly loosening for my fingers. She must’ve known that the fingers were only a warmup. I separated my fingers deep inside her pussy, and she gasped and sighed again. The opening was big enough now, and I stepped forward, so my dickhead was ready to enter.
“Now?” I asked into her ear.
“N
ow,” she said, a bit impatiently.
I thrust my whole body forward. My dick went into Eleanor’s pussy. I pulled out after about halfway in. I knew I was thick and didn’t want to risk hurting this woman.
“Is that ok? Can I go in again?”
“Not deep enough. Go in deeper. Deeper.”
Now Eleanor really sounded impatient. I responded the only way I knew how; I followed instructions. I thrust my dick back into her pussy promptly, immediately, and with a deep, long thrust until I swore I could feel the brush of her cervix on my dickhead.
She again gasped in pleasure — gasped so hard that she coughed afterward. I kept pushing deeper into her, enjoying her pussy canal gripping my shaft and her cervix tickling my engorged dickhead.
All of me was ready for action. Eleanor was pushing her pussy back against my dick to get the shaft deeper into her. She must’ve been ready too. I didn’t disappoint her; I started fucking deeply with a slow rhythm.
I grabbed lecherously at her body with every thrust, massaging her plump tits and rubbing her ass. Her pussy was tight enough to slow down my dick’s journey enough. Eleanor acknowledged my effort with ecstatic moans. She moaned every time I squeezed and pulled on her nipples.
I got into a good fast fucking rhythm. Feeling my balls crash into Eleanor’s clit with every thrust in and hearing the slight slurping sound of my long cock sliding out of her, aided by both my and Eleanor’s natural lubrication.
She turned her head to her left.
“I—”
I answered by leaning in and kissing her again, kissing her even more passionately than I’d kissed her that first time.
My tongue played in her mouth just as my dick was playing in her pussy, just as my hand was playing with her nipples. I sped up my fucking and rubbing.
Her pussy clenched on my pumping dick. I pushed through the tightness anyway, in and out. I didn’t break my thrusting rhythm. I didn’t interrupt her pleasure, and I didn’t deny my own hot desire. Her legs shook. Then Eleanor’s pussy pulsed, making it incredibly tight.
