I hadn't known Matthew very well before that fateful day. We were next-door neighbors in the same apartment building, and from time to time we would walk down the stairs together, or have a little chat outside our rooms. Sometimes through the walls I heard the ecstatic moans of an overnight guest, and, lying under my covers, my hand crept under my panties and gave me the pleasure I imagined he was giving her.
Eventually, I realized that he frequented the same library I did. Every weekend, as I studied for classes or wrote papers, I saw him there, reading apparently for his own pleasure. Sometimes I noticed he brought a small laptop, upon which he typed furiously, a machine gun in the background as read about the Cuban Revolution.
Maybe that was why I had taken notice of him so quickly, the way he reminded me of my studies. Had Che Guevara stayed a doctor, I imagined Matthew would have resembled him. They had a similar style of beard and hair, although Matthew's was far shorter and better trimmed. They both had large brown eyes and serious faces, and the same goofily contagious smile when they allowed it.
That day, Matthew was sitting alone at a long table, marking up some papers with a red pen. I sat watching him from the other side of the room from over the top of my book. His eyes were intently focused on his work, and at times, I noticed with a smile, his tongue stuck out of the corner of his mouth in concentration.
Suddenly, I remembered that I had a paper of my own to edit: an essay for a class. I decided to try to talk to him, using that as my excuse. I would ask to borrow his pen, sit down with him, and strike up a conversation.
"Hey, Matthew, right?" I asked.
He took a second to register my existence before looking up. "Oh, hey Helen! Yeah, it's Matthew. Funny meeting you here. Sit down, sit!" he offered. "What are you up to?"
"Oh you know, classwork."
"Yeah. I'm glad I'm done with all that, myself. What's your major?"
"I'm getting my Master's in political science right now," I answered.
"Nice. Is that what you're working on now?" he asked, nodding towards the stack of papers in my hand.
"Yeah. That's actually why I came over here. I was wondering whether I could borrow your red pen..."
He looked down at the pen in his hand. "This? Sure, I've got an extra, anyway," he remarked, handing the pen over to me. I sat down across from him and spread out my things, our papers touching at the edges, as though greeting each other as old friends.
"So what are you working on?" I asked as I began editing, crossing out superfluous sentences and correcting detestable diction, and a steady flow of scarlet streamed across the page.
"Oh, um..." he stammered, "just some boring stuff for work. Nothing interesting. I'm sure your paper is much more fascinating."
"That depends on how much you like reading about Castro, I guess."
His eyes lit up. "You know, I've always meant to learn more about him. I saw that Che movie last year, the biopic with Benicio del Toro? It was really amazing. I barely even noticed it was four hours long. It must be incredible to be a revolutionary, to be at the start of something big like that, you know? I'd love to be able to start something huge like that.
I mean, I don't want to overthrow anyone, but I like the ideal of doing what's right, no matter what. I need to try to live more revolutionarily ... Be honest, do what I think is best, ignore obstacles; I think it'd be a healthier way of living, mentally. I think there are too many things we only do because we're expected to. Don't you think we ought to just surrender to our true feelings more often?"
"I agree totally," I confessed, holding my hand to my heart. I thought back to how many times I had just done what my parents and my teachers expected of me, rather than what I had really wanted.
We began talking, ignoring our respective papers. It wasn't until hours later, after one of the librarians came walking through the building on a yelling round, that we realized the library was closing in half an hour.
I checked my cell phone to verify the time: 9:30. "Shit. Guess we lost track of time."
"Time flies when you're having fun," he shrugged. "This was nice. You want to come back tomorrow? Maybe we can actually get some work done? Just show up whenever you can. I'll be here pretty early, same table."
"Sure," I smiled, gathering up my papers hastily and stuffing them into my bag.
"Do you want me to walk you back to the apartment?" he asked.
It was tempting, but I had gotten absolutely no work done today, and I knew if he walked me back, we'd just end up talking longer. "It's OK, I have to make a few stops on the way back anyway. But I'll see you tomorrow," I lied.
"See you tomorrow."
I grabbed my things and walked briskly out the door, leaving him behind to get his things together.
I got home and made myself a hot capocollo, prosciutto piccolo, and provolone sandwich with spicy giardiniera and olive oil on ciabatta bread. The bread was fresh from a nearby bakery, although sadly I had to settle for Boar's Head for the meats. There was a good deli downtown, but it was too inconvenient to visit every week. I sat down with my meal and a glass of milk and took out my papers, determined to make at least some progress tonight.
I began reading. I imagined impaling Baoqing upon my rigid cock, watching her petite tits bounce jubilantly as she rode my cock to wave after wave of orgasmic pleasure. Her red lips parted as she moaned my name loudly without inhibition or restraint, unable to contain her pleasure.
What was this?! Where was my essay? I grabbed another page and read further. Her hand gripped the base of my shaft firmly. Her tongue teasingly licked me up the bottom and down the top of my rapidly hardening cock. Her lips engulfed the tip of my head, her tongue flicking back and forth across it as she sucked it gently. I stifled a moan. My hips bucked gently, eager to get as much of my cock into her mouth as possible.
My pussy was tingling as I read. My free hand had involuntarily dropped between my thighs and was rubbing my crotch through my jeans. Where had this stuff come from? Where was my essay? I had had it when I got to the library, I was sure of that. So what had happened to it... ?
And then it hit me: Matthew. I looked through the pages, and saw red comments, written in a hand not my own. My eyes widened as I connected these disparate pieces of information into a cohesive hypothesis...
This is what he had been working on at the library before I arrived. Those times I saw him writing on his laptop, this is what he had been writing ... I hadn't had even an inkling that he wrote things like this ... I should bring it back to him, I thought to myself, and I stood up to do when I stopped.
Did I really have to bring it over right now? I mean, he had been editing it; he'd probably appreciate someone else's thoughts on it, right?
I sat back down and put the pages carefully back into order. But ... the couch was sort of uncomfortable ... maybe I should move to the bed. So I can be more comfortable while I'm reading...
I scampered to my bedroom and undressed, casting aside my clothes onto the floor before getting under the covers. I placed my pillow between my thighs and began reading.
The story he had written took place at a nudist camp, and as I read, I imagined myself naked, in public, in front of everyone. I clenched the pillow between my thighs, rubbing it against my wet pussy as I read, grinding against it.
I imagined myself being the center of attention while completely nude, completely exposed in front of everyone, my body on display for everyone to see. I didn't normally have much confidence in my petite breasts, but reading his story, I knew that at least he would appreciate my body, would love to see me nude. I rubbed my soft breasts, gently pinching my pebble-hard nipples, caressing my firm tits in slow, lazy circles as I read.
I imagined myself trapped in front of everyone: naked, with nowhere to go or hide. I imagined everyone gawking at me, taking pictures. I imagined girls looking on with envy as their boyfriends ogled me, amazed at my boldness, while through their pockets they sought to satisfy the urges of their eager cocks. I wanted everyone to be focused on me, on my naked brown body. I needed something hard inside me...
I reached underneath my pillow and pulled out my Love Diamond rabbit. I tested my pussy with my fingers: I was sopping wet. I put the story to one side and plunged the hard shaft into my soft, shaved pussy. For a few thrusts, I left it turned off, just savoring the feeling of being filled up by something long, thick, and hard, but I ached for more. I turned it on.
It began buzzing against my clit, almost too strongly to bear. The shaft rotated inside me, and I clenched my legs tightly together, surrendering to pleasure. I couldn't contain my pleasure, and I moaned, loudly, a primal, wordless moan. My pleasure was building, greater and greater. I groaned as I had my first orgasm of the night, electricity passing through my whole body, going out from my pussy to my fingertips and toes, hot fire burning my body from the inside. My hips bucked, I forced the vibrator deeper and deeper into me, imagining Matthew's cock ramming into me over and over, imagining that he had caught be naked and forced himself onto me, ravishing me, having his way with me.
.... There is more of this story ...