Adoring Her Starfish: A Lesbian Romance Collection

by Nico At Night

  “Yes,” I admitted, flattening my lips and bowing my head. I could tell Esme knew what really drew me to Marie Beauchamp. I could tell she knew who I was just by finding out how much I loved this author. And I could tell that she was admitting to me that she felt the same way.

  “So if you’re unaware,” continued Esme, her face bright as she looked up at me from behind the desk. “You may only read the story here in the library under librarian supervision,” she said. “The story cannot leave the building.”

  “I understand,” I said.

  “It was Marie Beauchamp’s wishes,” said Esme. “It cannot be republished until 30 years after her death.”

  “That’s what I read,” I said. Even though I knew what Esme was telling me, I have to admit that my mind still tried to figure out ways to get the story out of the library. Perhaps I could bring a blind person into the library under the guise that I was going to read them the story, all while secretly recording my voice on my phone as I read. Or I could wear some sort of trick glasses that had a built-in camera, snapping pictures as I turned each page. I knew these thoughts were wrong, and I hadn’t even read the story yet, but I knew I wanted it for my own personal collection.

  “How old are you?” asked Esme suddenly, lifting a brow, her face serious yet impish. It was certainly a strange question to ask and caught me a little off guard.

  “Me?” I said. “I’m 24. How old are you?” I said and then quickly regretted it. What a strange conversation to be having with a librarian. But, hell, she started it.

  “Hmm,” said Esme, brushing her hand over the paper on her desk as though the question didn’t make sense to her. She pursed her lips and scribbled a little something on the paperwork with a pen. “I’m a bit older than you,” she said after a moment.

  “Okay,” I said. “Well, you don’t look much older.” She laughed gently to herself, dropped the pen, and looked up to me.

  “I’m 37,” she said. While it took me a moment to realize what was going on, it soon became apparent as I watched Esme’s face. This librarian was flirting with me.

  “You don’t look 37,” I said, reiterating my compliment. “30 maybe,” I said.

  “You’re very sweet, Amelia,” she said, her lips curling into a devilish smile. “You’re going to love the novella,” she said, bringing our conversation back to my reason for being there. “It’s very much a Beauchamp story.”

  “So how do we do this?” I asked. “I’m so excited to read it.” Esme pushed herself back from her desk and stood up, showing off that she was wearing a thin black pencil skirt and black tights to go along with her slim-fitted white button-down. She fiddled slightly with the two chopsticks pushed through her hair bun and smiled at me.

  “Follow me,” she said.

  *

  Sitting at the desk in a small, private reading room, I turned to the last page of the novella, my eyes glued to the pages. Esme sat across from me in the corner, perfect posture in her seat as she delicately filed her nails without making a sound. Looking up from the story for a moment, my eyes met with Esme’s and she gave me a gentle smile, pushing her black glasses up her nose before she returned to her filing. I returned to reading but felt a little uneasy, a little flustered, a little excited that Esme and I were so close together in this small room.

  As I finished the last page in the novella, I smiled happily and closed the binder that housed the story. I looked up to Esme and she furrowed her brow questioningly.

  “Finished?” she asked.

  “Mm hmm,” I said. “It really was spectacular. I’m just amazed that it was never republished before her death.”

  “I believe the journal it was originally published in held the rights,” said Esme. “But then they went under in the late 70s and it was just a strange legal mishmash. Thankfully we get to read it now,” she said with a smile.

  “I don’t think this will be the last time I come in to read it,” I said. “I’ll have to think it over for a bit and then come in for a reread. So many questions in my mind.”

  “We could talk about it sometime,” said Esme. “I’ve read it about a dozen times already so I could help you work through any questions you have.”

  “Oh,” I said, feeling that familiar sense of embarrassment rear its ugly head, the increasing palpitations of my heart, a little bit of sweat accumulating on my hands. “That would be cool,” I said finally, a tender smile washing over my face.

  “What did you think about the encounter with her professor?” asked Esme. “Do you think that the professor was being… “ she said, pushing one lip over the other in thought. “Hmm, predatory?” she said. “Or do you think the advance was welcomed?”

  “I don’t know,” I said. “That was one of the bits that was confusing. Purposefully so, I imagine.”

  “Right,” said Esme. “You’re very sharp.”

  “Thanks,” I said, slightly blushing.

  “Do you live in the city?” asked Esme, relaxing into her chair, crossing one stockinged leg over the other.

  “Yeah,” I said. “I live in Logan Square.”

  “Me too,” said Esme with a coy grin.

  “You do?” I asked. “Really? Wow, that’s a coincidence.”

  “I live in one of the old mansions off the boulevard,” she said. “The house has been partitioned off into condos. I really love the vintage charm of it.”

  “I’m by the square,” I said. “Just off of Milwaukee. Not in an old mansion, though,” I said with a nervous laugh.

  “You should totally come over sometime,” said Esme. “I have a first edition of Beauchamp’s The Flesh Tribunal,” she said. “It’s a really cool old book.”

  “Wow!” I exclaimed. “I would love to see that. But I can’t promise I won’t try to steal it.”

  “I won’t let it out of my sight,” said Esme, laughing softly. “Much like that binder in front of you.”

  “What binder?” I said, casually but quite obviously slipping the binder with Beauchamp’s novella down under the desk and into my lap.

  “You’re funny, Amelia,” said Esme, wagging her finger. “If that story leaves this library under my watch, the university will give me the ol’ heave ho!”

  “Aw, okay,” I said, bringing the binder back up and replacing it on the desk. “It was worth a shot.”

  “Listen,” said Esme, straightening up, pushing her knees together and placing her hands on top of them. “Why don’t you come over tonight for a glass of wine?” she said. “It’s rare that I meet someone who has similar tastes in literature as me and I have some books that I could turn you on to.”

  “Oh,” I said, confused and anxious, yet eager for Esme’s invitation. I felt so mousy next to her. She was a total redhead bombshell. Trim, yet busty, well-manicured, a lissome body and a pretty face with slight features. “I mean, that sounds great,” I said. “I’d really love to talk about books more with you.”

  “Terrific,” said Esme. “Pop out your phone.”

  “Okay,” I said, reaching down into my bag and taking out my phone. Esme began to give me her phone number.

  “Now text me,” she said, after I’d completed creating a contact for her. “Once I get back to my desk, I’ll text you my address.

  “All right,” I said, tapping into a text message ‘Hi, this is Amelia’ and sending it to her. “Sent,” I said.

  “Splendid,” she said, standing up and stepping toward my desk. Reaching down, Esme took the binder from in front of me and slipped it under her arm. “Do you want to say 8PM?”

  “That works,” I said.

  “A little bit of wine,” said Esme, bobbing her head along with her voice. “A little bit of literature. It’ll be fun.”

  “Great,” I said with a smile. “I’ll be there.”

  “See you soon, Amelia,” said Esme, winking at me as she opened the door to the reading room. Her lovely alabaster face offered me a joyful smile as she slipped out of the room, closing the door behind her.
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  Sighing happily, I slid down in the chair where I sat and folded my hands across my lap. I didn’t know what to expect for our little date this evening but I was excited nonetheless. Would it be just a friend thing? Just a little evening discussing books? Or would it be more? Esme’s beauty intoxicated me in a way I’d never felt before. She was mature, yet young and playful. She was older, yet slim and fit. And although she had the look of a stern librarian, she was happy and excited. I wanted to be sure to give off the right impression.

  I was certainly interested.

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  DORMITORY DEAREST

  “OKAY,” SHE said, like she was preparing for some task. “Get up here.” She motioned to my legs, indicating I should sit crosslegged like her on the couch. I followed her instructions and the two of us positioned ourselves to face each other.

  “All right,” I said, breathing deeply, feeling my nerves buzz. I was preparing myself for anything, which was a difficult task for me.

  “Look at me,” said Hosannah tenderly. Our gazes met and I tried to follow along as her blue eyes shifted ever so slightly back and forth.

  “Okay,” I said in a subtle murmur.

  Without saying another word, Hosannah slowly leaned her face in closer to me, causing my heart rate to speed and my arms to shake just slightly. As she moved toward me, I watched as her eyes closed and I followed her lead, closing my own eyes. Before I could even allow my brain to process much more information, I felt Hosannah’s lips touch mine, her plastic glasses bump lightly against my nose, instigating a delicate and gentle kiss. She placed her palm on my leg and leaned into me, releasing a low sigh, her lips wetly smacking against mine in an amorous collision. Although I had actually kissed someone else before, a boy, when I was younger, this kiss with Hosannah, sitting there on my dorm room couch, felt like my very first real kiss. It felt passionate and right.

  I moaned just so as I quickly learned from Hosannah, tilting my head to one side just as she did, focusing on feeling her lips coalesce with my own. Her hand felt heavy and pressured on my leg, in a comforting way, and although my anxiety was running wild it all felt like some necessary release, some detonation of pent up doubt. As I kissed Hosannah, I could feel pleasure and happiness welling up in my heart.

  Just as quickly as it had happened, the kiss came to an end. Hosannah slowly moved her head back and our eyes opened together. I longed for more. I didn’t want it to end. I wanted to taste her lips forever. I wanted to feel that closeness and intimacy again and again, a never-ending cascade of sensual pleasure and affinity.

  “How did that feel?” asked Hosannah softly, her eyes dancing with spirit as she searched in me for a hint of what was going on in my head.

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  THE SEXY LIBRARIAN: A NOVELLA

  WITH ME sitting on the foot of her bed, Esme stood in front of me and without a word she took hold of the bottom of my sweater and pulled it upwards. I raised my arms to allow her to pull it off and over my head, leaving me in just my grey camisole with the built-in bra, shaking my head back and forth a couple of times to straighten out my messed up hair. Esme then took her own tank top up over her head and let it fall to the ground next to my sweater. Standing there in her purple bra and brown herringbone tights, she grinned and threaded her fingers into the waistband of her leggings.

  “Wanna help?” she seductively cooed.

  “Okay,” I mused, hypnotized by her magnetism. Esme reached out and took my hands, bringing them up to her waistband and nodding her head softly. I pushed my fingers into the elastic, taking hold of the fabric, and carefully sliding it down off of her ass and hips. The fabric clung to her legs as I peeled it off her thighs, pushed it down over her knees and then let it fall to her ankles. Underneath she wore a matching pair of panties, light purple and frilly and ornate. In the low light of her bedroom I could see a small wet spot where the fabric covered her mound. I cautiously moved my eyes upward from her panties, over her slim stomach, up to her voluminous chest, and then to her smiling face framed by that stunning fiery hair. Esme made a kissy face down at me.

  “I showed you mine,” she said. “Why don’t you show me yours?”

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  CRAZY FOR A GEEK GIRL: A NOVELLA

  WE COLLIDED into one another once again, warm skin melting together, arms wrapping around, lips meeting. I was overjoyed by this arousing cupidity, letting my hands do the talking for me as I explored along Henry’s torso, her chest and pierced nipples, and even moving a hand between her legs to grope at her womanhood through the attenuate material of her panties. I laid half on top of her, half to her side, the two of us lustily searching each other with nimble fingers, our lips hotly and moistly pushing together.

  I felt Henry’s hand move down my backside, graze over the thin waistband of my panties, and plug a single finger into the string of my thong. She moved her finger downward, causing the string to lift out from my crack, and she just simply moved her finger slowly up and down along the stretchiness of the string as we fervently kissed.

  “I’m crazy about you,” I sighed between kisses, instantly feeling self-conscious by my impulsive pillow talk. But Henry just giggled and cooed, rubbing her body into mine, our chests pushed together, our joint arousal growing.

  “Hey Netty,” she murmured, removing her finger from my thong string and gently placing her hands on my sides. “I’ve got a secret for you.”

  “Yeah?” I said, leaning down and kissing her neck tenderly.

  “I’m really good at going down here,” she said, on the word “here” her fingers slithered between my legs and gave me a light pinch through the fabric of my panties. “Will you let me?”

  “I would love that,” I said, pulling away from her and rolling over onto my back. Henry eagerly leapt up from her laying position, sitting next to me on her knees, her hands making their way to the elastic band of my thong.

  “Let me take these off,” she said, taking hold of my panties and beginning to slip them off my hips. Henry slowly pulled the small article of clothing down my thighs and then off my feet, giving them an absentminded toss as she returned her attention to my body.

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  MY WRITING PROFESSOR: A NOVELLA

  BEFORE I knew it, I had set my phone down on the bed and I was laying back into my pillows, happily beaming, eyes closed, my hand tenderly massaging myself through the thin tensile fabric of my pale blue panties. I could feel my own subtle dampness. It had been a little while since I’d gotten intimately involved with someone. In fact, I hadn’t had a girlfriend since before I moved to Chicago. There was that little one off with this girl Kristen, who I’d met through Erica, but that didn’t really work out and it wasn’t too inspiring anyway.

  But stuff with Harriet, it thrilled me. And I was taking that thrill out on the sex-starved, achy little blossom between my thighs.

  As I kneaded my fingers into myself, my impending wetness lightly soaking through the front of my panties, I thought about what life could be like with Harriet. I pictured her beautiful smile, those piercing blue eyes, her long blonde rivulets of hair twisting and turning down to her shoulders. And I thought of being in her writer scene. I don’t want to make it seem like I was simply interested in her for her connections, that was more something that Minju portrayed. But I can admit that it would be a definite plus. It’s just part of the total package.

  “Mmm,” I happily moaned as I pushed two fingers together up and down my slit, petting myself through the stretchy material, feeling my midsection growing hotter. I squirmed a little bit there in my sheets, tossing my head from one side to the other, wriggling in my bed as I lazily pleasured myself. I had gotten good at it. Practice makes perfect.

  It wasn’t much longer before I was eager to go further. Taking hold of the waistband of my panties, I slid them down my legs and kicked them off my feet, then re
turning my fingers to my pussy to do a bit more petting. My fingers easily slipped between my lips, rubbing myself back and forth, feeling a little erotic spark each time my wet fingertips hit my clit. After a few of those enticing sparks, I decided to focus my attention on my clit, fingering it around in smooth, soft circles, resting my palm on my trimmed up bush.

  Harriet was foremost on my mind as I masturbated, and I dreamt up all the scenarios I could to make me feel closer to her. I imagined being in class, having her talk about my story, a story that — in my dream — she had already read and edited, remarking to the class how thoughtful and true it was, how refreshing and exciting. We would then wait for the rest of the students to leave once class ended, we’d poke at each other lovingly, we’d kiss and giggle, and then we’d slip out of the classroom hand-in-hand to run off to have fun, just the two of us.

  My fingers, glistening with my own wetness, continued to push through my lips, parting them, moving back and forth. Every so often I would slip my fingers inside of myself, giving myself a few firm thrusts, a couple solid tugs outward to apply pressure, before removing them with that gentle, subtle sound of wet flesh and suction, and returning them to my clit to redouble my stimulation.

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  MY FRIEND THE BRIDE: A NOVELLA

  “EMMA,” I said softly as she crept toward me. The smile she wore was happy, lusty, intoxicated. “What are you doing?” She looked so beautiful in her sleepwear, little pokey nipples showing through the thin fabric of her tank top, athletic and smooth stems of legs from the floor up to her striped cotton shorts.