The following story is more-or-less true. It takes place at a Long Island-based university whose main campus is on a main road named after a compass reference and whose admission policies are generally concerned with confirming your pulse and checkbook balance. Not that the place does not provide a good education, it simply isn't known as inexpensive or picky. The buildings are all brick except for the really old ones and the roof of its student union once collapsed under a snow load. Email me if you think you've guessed the answer. No real prize, I'd just like to see how many people get it. You've already got several big hints. Ten extra points if you know one additional hint that would give it away completely.
Anyway, one of the neat things about this college is a good large library. The library has stacks on several floors, accessible by elevator or stairs. Most activity goes on on the main floor and basement, although there's a small steady trickle of people flowing through the upper floors. The window perimeters of the top two floors are occupied by small study or reading cubicles. Wooden roomettes with latchable doors, a built-in desk, a loose chair and walls that start about 1' above the floor and end at a height of above 7' above the carpeted floor. The cubicles are about 4' wide and 5' long, maybe less.
Oh, this is not fair. You've already figured out the whole thing. Maybe I should just leave and you make up your own fantasy.
The year is 1979. I was an assistant professor in philosophy and Molly was a senior, only six years younger than I. Molly was 22 and brighter than I've ever been. 5'6", long brown hair and eyes that spoke volumes. Small breasted, she usually went braless and often wore t-shirts and Indian skirts. We were friends and lovers and although I had a role in "corrupting" her (getting her used to working toward her own pleasure instead of viewing sex as lying on her back and letting some guy grunt in her) she was just as influential with me. I did anything she asked. A woman who can start turning me on with her ideas about balancing real life and the search for spiritual enlightenment and end up later than night stroking my cock until I came on her thigh is someone I cannot resist.
I was working in the library on a bright spring day, two weeks before finals and one week before my publisher wanted my new paper for peer review. I was on the fifth floor of the library, sitting in one the study cubicles surrounded by paper, the story of my life, even today. There were also volumes of philosophy of science, including Kuhn's The Structure of Scientific Revolutions.
I heard the door from the stairwell close in the background and the very soft patter of feet. I had not been paying attention but I didn't think there were many people up there with me at 10 A.M. on a Sunday morning.
Then there was the scent of jasmine and a rush slid up my spine. Molly? I glanced out through the very limited field of view outside the cubicle door and saw no one, the scent of jasmine seemed to have disappeared. Or perhaps my nose had just become accustomed to it.
I never saw the hand that grabbed my ankle from the adjoining cubicle, but the laughing "Gotcha!" ended any doubt. The grip was released after a few seconds and silence was quickly followed by Molly standing in the open cubicle door. She paused for only a moment, closed and latched the door behind her and straddled my lap. Warmth of her body against mine, her arms loosely around my neck, awash in jasmine once again. And that smile. And those eyes.
"And what happened to you?"
"You fell asleep last night after you came. I stayed curled up with you until Terry got back and then I left the dorm room. It may be 1979 but I still think they frown on instructors being too obvious about sleeping with students. I also think Terry's a bit uncomfortable about staying in the room with us."
"Creep. I wanted to wake up with you in my arms."
"Well, after finals you COULD move in with me."
"Is that a proposition?"
"It was the first three times I suggested it, too. Rita gets upset when she can't curl up between us at night."
"Your DOG just wants another set of hands to rub her belly."
"Well, that too."
"Let's get back to the present, babe. You left me last night, a Saturday night going into Sunday morning when you know, full well, that you have gotten me into your An Orgasm or Three Every Sunday Morning' habit. Now, here it is, Sunday morning and - hey - no beard in bed with me when I need him, his tongue, fingers and cock." She laughed and threw her hair back, "Don't push it, buddy, you could be replaced with a machine. Panasonic. Hitachi."
"Well, why don't I just pack up and we can..."
"No way lover. I'm much too far along for that. Right here. Right now. That tongue is mine for the next half hour or so."
We kissed, strong and deep, like two people who have kissed often enough and care enough to know what each needs and wants. She began to rub herself against me and rub the back of my neck and head with her hand. My hands rubbed her back and reached down for her ass.
.... There is more of this story ...