I need to get your thong back to you now that our lust juices have mixed, but as much as I’ve thought about knocking on your door when I’m sure you’ve been in, the potential awkwardness with you and your roommate deters me. So I’ve decided to keep it in my bag at all times in case an opportunity arises.
This Saturday morning I’m working on my paper for Tachibana Sensei just the day after it was assigned. I have a couple of weeks to finish it, but I’m not going to procrastinate and risk giving her any reason to pull me aside alone or call me out.
I’ve got my nose buried so deep in the spine of my research books I can practically smell the printing press. This is why my neck aches by the time I’m almost finished and why I’m so surprised to see you across the library at another table.
Finally, I have a chance to approach you when neither of us is in compromising situations and I can confirm it really is you. There’s no reason I can’t stand up and march over to you to finally ask your name.
I spent most of last night fingering your note I found in your thong, overthinking what to say first and imagining every possible bad start we could have. You would think with what we have seen of each other and done for each other, the ice would be broken, but at a distance is one thing. Direct communication not only excites me to the point my heart may burst, but scares me to death.
Maybe I can finish my paper quickly and then approach you. I won’t let you leave without saying something. I return to my paper with double effort, keeping an eye on you, and finish within a few minutes. The end might be rushed, but I’m confident Sensei won’t have anything to justify calling me out or to the side.
Closing my books and stacking them beside my laptop where I’ve saved my paper twenty times to be sure, I take out your note and my phone. Fifty feet away and I’m so nervous I’m not sure if I should message you first or walk over. Both seem like finally reaching Mt. Doom or staring into the eye of Saron.
I clench your note in my fist and pinch my eyes shut. I replay our encounters at triple speed, dissecting your expressions and your body language. I have to assume you want me to say something, but you should know I live across the hall and haven’t even tried to say hi.
Or maybe you have and I haven’t been there, like when I saw your roommate’s ass. I shake my head to clear it of that petite, round butt, but then I can’t get my fantasies of you out of my mind, either.
Before I can decide whether to stand or text, my pants get tight. I sigh and look at my crotch where my little monster is growling with insatiable hunger, pushing at his restraints. I’d say fuck you, boner, but…
You’re still sitting at your table reading something. Your face is red and your hair is down, cascading like gold silk curtains to either side. Now that I’m staring at you again, I can see you’ve hunched over your book more and angled it so it’s not that open. You’re reading intently, but it doesn’t seem like you could read much like that.
As I sit there, contemplating what to do, my erection grows stronger, demanding to be addressed. Not now! I try to think about something else. Maybe what you’re reading. I try to make out the cover, but it seems to be just some textbook.
I rest my cheek on my fist and watch you, frustrated to be locked here when you are within sight, but grateful I know where you are. I stuff my phone and your note in my pocket and then wish I could just tuck my boner into my waistband like normal.
But I’ve caught on. Something like that would almost certainly turn into another one of those encounters, and as much as I love those, I want to meet you under normal circumstances. I try to think about sitting with you in the cafeteria, just talking and getting to know each other.
I feel my crotch deflating and smirk. I have self-control. Peering at you and your book, I wonder what classes you’re in or what you’re major might be. No matter how hard I squint, I can’t make out what your textbook is about.
You take a deep breath and sigh with a slight coo. It carries easily in the quiet library, but it confuses me. Your ear and neck turn crimson as you drop your head behind your book.
Then I notice the textbook is upside down. It’s about seventeenth-century quilts in the southern United States. Oddly specific, if you ask me, but then a thought comes to me. An unfortunate thought because my cock jumps at the idea you might be reading something else.
Now that I look closer with that in mind, I can see you holding the book with one hand and fidgeting. No. Fucking. Way.
I decide it’s worth the risk of you seeing I’m erect if you are actually reading something lewd in public. I pack my bag and tuck my cock before returning my stack of books. I’m still hesitant, but I stroll around the outside of the tables toward you.
You seem too engrossed in your reading to notice me, or anyone else in the library. As I slowly approach, I see you’ve got your non-book hand resting on your upper thigh and your fingers pinned between them. Your feet are up on their toes as you rock your hips from side to side, grinding your fingers between your legs.
My heartbeat quickens as I turn the last corner. With each step, you wince and drop your head lower and lower to the table. My cock is so thick and hard it’s pulling my waistband tight across the back of my hips, almost like it’s leading me by my pants.
When I’m halfway to you, you snap your book closed and stand with a jerk. You spin on your heel and march right toward me with your eyes on the floor. I stop and raise my hand to wave, hoping you will notice as you get closer, still careful not to raise it too high in case my shirt rides up and you get a peek.
You look up at me right before you walk into me and we both twist away. For a moment, we are face to face, eyes locked. Time slows, and it seems to take an eternity for your book to fall from your hand.
The thump as it hits the plush carpet snaps us out of our trance and we both look down at it. Peeking from between the pages of the textbook is a magazine with explicit manga girls. Before I can say anything or bend to help you, you drop to the floor with a squeak and jump back to your feet, stiff as a rod, almost breaking my nose with your skull.
For a second you look through my chest without seeing and whisper. You disappear through the front doors so fast you must have been running, but I didn’t even watch you go. I’m too stunned by your first words for me to move.
“Who left spilled water for me to clean up?” the grouchy librarian asks the room.
I make the mistake of looking at your chair and then at the dumpy woman. She fixes her horn-rimmed glasses with the beaded chain at me with disapproval. “You. Clean this up. There are paper towels behind the counter.”
My cock was thrilled, and I was mortally embarrassed. As the scene attracts more onlookers, I quickly retrieve the roll of paper towels and wipe up your squirt. With the first wipe, I shutter. I didn’t use enough paper towels and your squirt bled through onto my hand.
I gasp quietly and look around. No one is watching now. I raise my wet hand to my face and sniff.
I stifle a groan as I paint the inside of my shirt and belly with warm ropes of cum. How can you do this to me?
“Is there a problem?” The librarian calls from her counter. I shake my head and keep my face down. A few students have turned to look at me and my chance to clean myself is gone, despite having the paper towels right there. I don’t want them to be suspicious if I stuff some under my shirt or wipe myself off.
As I walk back to our dorm in the cold, my cum chilly against my belly, my cock continues to throb with anticipation while I dwell on your words.
“Text me.”
