In the car on the way back to her place we talked about what excited us both so much about our spontaneous adventure in the university library.

“I was trying to get your attention for a few minutes,” she told me. “You were so wrapped up in that old book. I thought you’d never look at me.”

She was right. New girlfriend, old book. I had my priorities backward. I tried to rescue myself. “It was so hot, seeing up your skirt like that. In public. Did you realize there were other guys watching?”

She slipped off her shoes and put her stockinged feet on the dashboard while I drove. Did she even realize how sexy that was, or was she just getting comfortable?

“I did. There were two guys in particular. They saw me long before I caught your attention. An older guy, the reference librarian I think, and a student who might have been there with his girlfriend.” She looked over at me, studying my reactions before she continued.

I don’t know whether she could read my intense excitement, but I’m guessing that she could by the way her voice got husky and she stroked her shapely legs as she continued.

“The student kept glancing up at me, trying not to tip off his girlfriend. But the older guy, as soon as he realized I caught him looking and didn’t try to cover myself, he just kept staring. I could feel his eyes on my body. I could feel his hunger for me.” She stopped again, on the verge of saying more.

I let the silence linger a bit, wanting to see where it would take her. She continued, “Are you jealous? Jealous that I let other men see up my skirt, see my pussy covered by nothing but my sheer tights?”

The word ‘pussy’ sounded so dirty the way she said it.

“No,” I didn’t know whether that was the right answer. Maybe she wanted me to be jealous. We’d known each other socially for months and felt a connection. But we’d both been in long-term relationships. We both got dumped, and it just felt natural to start seeing each other.

This library trip for me to research an article was only our third date. I didn’t really know her well enough to predict how this could go. But I thought I would go with my honest reaction and see what happened. As soon as it came out of my mouth though, I realized it wasn’t completely descriptive, so I added. “I mean, yes, I guess I am jealous, a little bit.”

I struggle with my emotions, and I’ve never been very good at describing how I feel. I had started down this path though, so instead going silent like I usually would at this point, trying to protect myself from rejection, I decided to finish.

“But not jealous in the sense of angry or possessive or anything like that.” I glanced over at her long enough to see that she was earnestly interested and listening to me. Not disgusted. I had gotten used to barely concealed disgust whenever I talked openly about my sexuality.

“It’s different. Knowing they were looking at you makes me jealous. But the way it felt made me want you even more. It doesn’t make any sense, but their desire, their need for you, it just increases mine.” I kept my eyes forward because I was afraid of her reaction. I’ve had much longer relationships ended by confessions like this.

We had just stopped at a light as I finished and suddenly she was all over me, nearly on my lap. Her lips smothering mine, her tongue aggressively penetrating my mouth, her agile fingers grasping my aching, hard cock through my slacks.

And just before the light turned green, before I even could react to what she was doing, she was back in her seat, belt on, feet back on the dashboard with her pretty toes looking so delicious.

“I figured it was easier to show how you made me feel,” she said with a giggle. “Here I was so afraid that you’d be jealous the way my old boyfriends got jealous. They wanted to own me. I hate being thought of like a possession. I think that’s why I like to show off ... to prove that I don’t belong to anyone. But all my exes just got angry at me when I did.” She stopped, her voice scratchy like she was holding back strong emotions.

“I love...” she paused. We both felt, I think, that the other might be “the one.” Neither of us had dared say anything approaching that, yet. I was starting to feel it, and here she was maybe breaking the silence.

“I love that about you,” she finished. She wasn’t ready yet, and truthfully, neither was I. We’d both been hurt enough that we sensed each other’s need to be cautious.

After a moment of quiet, she resumed her story, her voice husky with feminine sexuality again. “It made me so hot and wet to feel the old guy’s eyes all over me. So slutty. I’m still wet now, thinking about him staring between my legs. He was grabbing his dick through his pants while he was looking at me. He wanted to fuck me right there in front of you. Right there in front of everyone.”

“Would you want him to?” I blurted out before realizing that I had probably gone too far. My voice was hoarse with my own considerable excitement. My hands were trembling slightly as I imagined the scene.

“Oh ... god,” she whispered. I glanced over at her and she had both hands inside the front of her tights, her skirt pulled up high around her waist. Her eyes were fluttering closed. Here words poured out as though an emotional dam had broken. “Oh ... honey, I’m such a wicked slut. I wanted to ... see his cock. Have him take it out and show me. I imagined it wrinkled and soft. I imagined taking his old, wrinkled cock in my mouth and feeling it get hard. Do you hate me?”

This time I rushed to fill the silence. “No ... not at all. I think you are ... perfect. Everything you say is just making me want you more. I can’t wait until we get to your place so I can take care of you the way you took care of me in the library.”

I was looking over my shoulder, away from my girlfriend while waiting for a chance to merge onto the highway. I heard soft noises and rustling, and by the time I looked back her bare feet were spread out on the dashboard. Her pantyhose and skirt were on the floorboard, and her fingers were stroking her naked pussy slowly as I drove.

“I can’t wait either,” she whispered, opening her eyes briefly and flashing me a wicked smile. “Talk dirty so I can make myself cum right here in your car.” She closed her eyes again and slipped two fingers inside.

“I wish I had known how you felt sooner,” I started, “because when we snuck into that dark back hallway the old man crept along behind you, in the stairway. When you knelt down and unzipped me, he unzipped too. And his cock wasn’t soft and wrinkled. But it wasn’t fully hard either, smooth and uncut and already bigger than my erection. That old guy was hung. It just got bigger as he silently watched you take me into your soft, wet mouth.”

My girlfriend was purring in pleasure, her eyes shut tight as she imagined the scene I described.

It was all I could do to keep from touching myself as I drove. But I knew if I did, I’d be dealing with a mess in my pants very soon, and besides, I wanted this feeling to last.

“I looked down at you. Your skirt had ridden up and I knew he could had a great view of your ass through the sheer hose. That’s when I stopped you the first time. Imagining what he was seeing almost made me blow my load.”

“So hot! Tell me about his cock. Did it get really hard?”

“He must have been eight inches long, and thick, with big heavy balls that hung low out the fly of his pants.”

I heard my girlfriend moaning quietly. She wasn’t climaxing yet, because when she came she was anything but quiet. Bucking and screaming was her usual style. My apartment neighbors had started to make snarky comments about banshees.

I started to slow the car down gradually, both because I was having a hard time multitasking at highway speeds, and because roadsigns indicated there was a work zone ahead. I didn’t want a sudden stop to break her reverie.

I continued my story of what happened. “The old man started to approach us hopefully, wagging his big cock at you as you went back to work on me. He was silently asking if he could join us.”