Library Girl comes and goes but some things stay the same.

Fall is here. It seems so long since winter was. We suffered through a long, hot summer, sweating and moaning about the heat and each other's bodies. There were lazy evenings in the back alley in the dark with my shirt off. But now its fall, and we're a different type of shameless. We keep things hidden. We reveal slowly. We're just as bad.

So what about you?
What about me?
What about us?

I have been up to plenty, graduating one degree to begin another to become a real library girl. One thing is for sure, I am still up to my curves in books. I flirt with the artist I see every day at lunch time. I take my clothes off for myself and imagine your eyes on me. Cup my breasts, dark between my legs.

Library Girl likes your mittens but she wants you to take them off.

So it's December now. Funny thing isn't it? I'm sitting here at my desk and you're out there somewhere, shoulders hunched, glaring at your monitors putting off a million things you need to do for other things you've been putting off forever. In my case, it's schoolwork. It's always schoolwork. I may not reveal it often in this blog, but Library Girl is all about her academia, and with good reason. She's almost finished it.

I'm almost finished with you, but I'd like to taunt you a little more first. I'd like to press my cold fingers into the crevices of your warm body. I'd like to see how you taste on ice, pleasantly chilled.
Bundle up lovers. It's cold outside, and there is no sign of snow in sight.

Library Girl lacks basic organizational skills.

It's been awhile, cats and kittens and I do apologize. I'd tell you what I've been up to explicitly but too many names would have to be changed to protect the innocent. However I have spent most of my time on the end of a particular fantastic cock, or up to my over active imagination in papers. These papers dull slightly in comparison to the cock. I won't lie. I've also been pondering moral questions, believe it or not, but I'll save those for another entry. Let me just say this:

There is nothing I like better then you in the morning, before you're really awake. Your hair's messy and your eyes are bleary and you're gasping and groaning and you're never sure what for. I like your face as it slowly dawns on you what I'm doing. I like your face when you realize where my mouth and my terrible, terrible fingers have gotten to. I like you with your clothes off, stretched in front of my window, head thrown back, pulling the curtain out of my wall.
I like you loud, darling. I like you livid.

It's winter, lovers. It's cold.
Don't you feel it?

I'd like you to write me and tell me where. I'd like to hear how you've been a very busy bee.

Libray Girl is a meticulous dresser, all for naught.

You like me in my work clothes. You love the fussy buttons, the impratical shoes, the complicated hook and eye fastenings and arrays of zippers. All the earrings and glasses and pins and camisoles. All these things to get lost in, all these things to make you wait. You like to wait. You like to sit at your desk, throbbing, waiting until I call. I know. I can tell. Don't be shy about it. I like it that way. I like how you like to pounce when I come in the door. Throwing me up against the wall, undoing the buttons of my pressed white blouses, licking and biting eagerly at my chest, yanking off my vest, casting it on a chair. You like my feet in the air, high heels kicking the sky, skirt hiked up around my hips, topless, on the counter, on the floor, in bed, anywhere you can get me. You've been waiting for me all day and you won't be disappointed.

I've been overdue, it seems, since summer showed up. I've left a tattoo of fingernail marks on your back as excuses, but you exact every fine with a thrust up between my kidneys. A groan, a promise, an fuck in the shower.

honey, i'm home.

You pull me into the tiny bathroom where we can have some privacy. Off comes my underwear, hanging around one ankle, up slides my skirt because there's no room or time. Buttons and zippers are suddenly awkward and inelegant. Useless when there are faster ways to inside me. Like a child always awful at gently opening a package. Ripping off the sides, making use of every cranny.

Your hands are shaking and quivering fingers hike up my tshirt and pull the cup of my bra aside. Your tongue finds a lover in a bright pink nipple.

c'mon just take me over.

You've dropped your pants, your belt, keys and wallet are tangled somewhere around your anxious ankles as we slam forward onto the counter and your knees crack against the cabit door. You're too busy to care with your mouth on my breasts and my fingers a wicked distraction. You press your warm hand between my knees, fitting your torso in the space between my legs like you have made a home there. There is a place for you between my stockinged thighs. There is a spot that requires my feet up against the wall and my arms pulling at the medicine cabinet, biting into my arm, trying to be quiet, even though my head is hitting the glass. I will have a bump later. It'll make my nipples hard every time I touch it.

honey i'm home.
can you feel that? i've been expecting you.

Library Girl Obeys the Rules.

Foxy Boy is in my library a lot these days. We brushed up against each other in the stacks. He held his breath and whispered 'excuse me' into my ear while I tottered by him, a pile of books against my aching nipples. His finger barely touched the nape of my neck. He grinned and tugged the sleeve of my sweater.

"I think we're here for the same thing," he murmured, tapping the pile of books I held. I looked him in the eye. "Not exactly," I breathed. I backed away and bit my lip.
He smiled. He rubbed his face and shifted his bookbag. I felt his eyes on my back as I walked away.

I imagined his stubble against my neck and my breasts. I imagined his hand over my mouth.

be quiet, silly. we're in a library. you can't make noises like that.

You

Were taking pictures on Barrington street. Light nervous fingers touching every sensor and all of the settings, soft pierced lip set in a grimace of concentration.

You saw me watching you. looked me full in the face. Raised and eye brow. Bit your lip. Smiled, Sliding your hand into your pocket.