I didn’t think I was so motivated by revenge, but then, if not, what was I doing here on a Thursday evening, my finals finished, when I could be anywhere else on or off campus. This was foolish--idiotic, in fact--and very risky, which may have been a secondary reason for my presence. Added to these other two -- the hatred I have for the cell phone -- and my motivation to carry out my little plot was at least tripod sturdy.
It was exactly two months ago that I had been in “The Stacks.” The Stacks -- the name aptly given to the bowels of the university library, where thousands of volumes of rarely used books were stored away, waiting hopefully for that opportunity to be needed, sought after, and handled again. More often than not, however, they gathered dust; the only human contact they had were from students running fingers along their spines as they made their way to paired study carrels spaced at regular intervals at the ends of a long set of bookshelves.
For someone who had studied there every night for my two and a half years at Standard University, those two months away had been like an exile. This place had special significance to me. Not only did I attribute to its quietude, my efficiency in learning (I was finishing my junior year, majoring in Psychology, on my way to graduating with honors), but without The Stacks, I might never have come to be.
My parents met here, or so they told me. Without really elaborating, they had made similar acknowledging statements. But it was the look that passed between them that seemed to reveal volumes of censored material that they had omitted in their simple declarative. By not studying here, I had been protesting the events of two months ago; puerile, I know, (but just months shy of official adulthood, I was entitled to a few childish reactions). What was the psychological term for it—I needed to look that up—but, later. Now, my psyche was awash in the feelings of this night.
It was on the third level down where I would wait. Preparation was needed, and it had to be set up perfectly. Even so, I had my doubts that it would work.
Two months back, my roommate, not so hard working, but more athletically gifted, and with only a few days to go before Spring break, had been using her free evenings to hook up with various jocks for a different kind of sport. I surely didn’t want to be around for muscular limbs draped over lithe panting bodies, so I had left for my home away from my home away from home—The Stacks.
I don’t want to be misunderstood. It’s not that I am asexual. No way. I had hooked up at least twice over my time at Standard, but the experiences were insipid. More importantly, it was a distraction to a young woman bent on academic success--a waste of time. I was finishing my junior year, majoring in Psychology, on my way to graduating with honors. I was determined to do well in all my classes that semester to show the grad schools, to which I would be applying in the fall, that I was a serious and desirable candidate. It would have been disingenuous, I felt, to do what many of my female compatriots did, and play the sex card, using their looks to charm their way into a grad school program by flirting with any and all male interviewers.
Oh, I could do it, if I had to; I’ve done it in situations that didn’t matter, like when I was stopped for speeding last summer on my way to work. As I waited for the officer to approach my fiery red mustang, I liberated my hair from its clip, allowing my sun-streaked auburn riches to flow luxiourously down my right forehead, across my cheek, and onto my bare shoulder. “Did I do something wrong, officer?” I demurred.
When he had asked for my license and registration, I undid my seatbelt and harness, allowing its retraction to pull the spaghetti strap off my shoulder and onto my tanned left arm, innocently revealing a contrasting quadrant of breast pallor. Reaching across to the glove box, I made sure he got a full view of my scarlet thong, riding up my bronzed back side, as I groped through the napkins, maps, and tattered papers in search of the desired documents. By now the beads of excitation were forming on his forehead, and as he fumbled with the registration, and made sure the license photo matched my face, he was capable only of stammering that he was giving me just a warning. I dutifully promised to be more vigilant of my speed in the future.
But, Grad school was different. That would determine my future career—one for which I would have to compete with other students equally smart—or more so than I—so I wanted to succeed on my own intellectual merits. Consequently, I had to learn everything I could, write the best lab reports, ask all the most probing of questions, ace every test, which was why I was in The Stacks that evening—like many other days the last two and a half years—to study for an important midterm.
I had found myself at my usually deserted carrel. A solid oak panel with shelves and cubbies for each user separated its partner desk from mine. Although the divider wasn’t ceiling height, its solid construction and tight fit to the full bookshelves on either side granted a good measure of sound-damping and kept my visual and auditory distractions to a minimum, should anyone be using it.
But the quiet that night hadn’t lasted long. Someone—him—had slogged down the next aisle over, and, with all the empty carrels to choose among in this enormous building, he had parked himself at the desk that faced mine. Once the scratching sounds of books being slid across the desktop, and the clatter of pens and other paraphernalia being emptied out, had waned, I got back to my task at hand.
Minutes later it happened. The entire Russian army’s artillery regiment thundered into the library to the crescendo of horns and strings--Tchaikovsky’s 1812 overture. It was the bastard’s cell phone!
I hated cell phones. I had no use for them. Oh, I conceded that they are great in an emergency—your car breaks down on the freeway late at night and you need to call for a tow—but that’s about all. It annoyed me like a gnat whenever a friend to whom I was intently talking had to break off with me sitting right there across from her and answer the pestilent thing. Or all those kids who couldn’t solve a problem on their own, with their own brains, but had to call Mom or Dad or their boyfriend whenever confronted with the wimpiest of challenges. Or the masturbatory text messaging, so that every free minute could be filled in with electronic arousal and digital titillation instead of careful observation of the world around, quiet contemplation, or thoughtful introspection. Or the myriad of ring tones to change like one’s underwear, once a day or more often, to get the reaction of delight from those who are privy to the newest sound. Or the abandonment of planning -- rushing off half-cocked to a meeting place, discovering that the others didn’t show, but no worry, call them up, squeal “Where are you?” and then hurry off to another destination. Or the obsession with the next upgrade. Or the camera that gives you a postage stamp memory of the last place you were just at. What’s going to become of this world?
What’s going to become of me if I can’t study right now, because Peter Ilyich is talking to his girl friend--and it seemed to me, he didn’t make the slightest attempt to muffle his tones.
“…Well, I’m in the library studying for my Quant. Anal. midterm now, so I can’t talk long. What do I have on ? Why my green Abercrombie shirt and blue Patagonia shorts…. No, I don’t have any underwear on….Why are you asking this of your Davey?…..”
Does it matter what your boyfriend wears, for God’s sake?
“…You can’t get to sleep, Bridg? Why not?…Because you’re horny?”
Jezebel! Isn’t this the indication for a text message!
“I don’t think this is the place for me to talk dirty to you. I’m in the library, remember? Besides, I’ll be home in a couple days, and I’ll take good care of your insatiable needs then….What do you mean that’s too long to wait? Don’t start crying. OK OK. I’ll try…. I’ll try….
I can’t believe this. I’m fucking trying to study and he’s trying fucking his steady--over the phone!
“All right, here goes…. I’m working out, getting the blood into my big pecs and delts. The veins are standing at attention on my forearms as I do the biceps routine. My chest is bare, as are my thighs and legs. The Speedo is tight around my groin and ass and a thin film of sweat is beginning to coat my skin, and with it, the air is filling with the aroma that acts like an aphrodisiac to you…”
What’s happening to me? I can’t tune him out. Just the opposite, I’m becoming more engrossed. I’ve got to concentrate on material for my exam…where was I?,,,Summarize Freud’s theory of sexuality….
“You come into the room in your pink baby doll with violet thong. I continue to count the reps, but I can’t help but notice your restlessness. Your need is as plain as the wet stain on your cunt’s covering. You run greedy hands over your tits, elevating them, separating them and then squeezing them forcibly together to show me the cleavage you want me to rub my cock in. Your eyes look imploringly as I continue to count the right side and then switch arms to the left…”
What’s that trickling down my underarms? And that smell? I’m feeling warm—no, I’m positively sweltering.
“You move closer, to inhale me more deeply, but your real desire is to get your cunt against my bench press and the barbell’s blunt end. Straddling it, you slowly rub your crotch against the cold metal until the rod finds your clit and presses itself forcefully against your womanhood. I continue to count as your lovely countenance contorts in pleasure at the feel of its solidarity. Your hands rise to your tits again and thru the sheer fabric you find your nipples and transfer the metal’s frigidness into a painful twist…”
I can’t stop myself from rocking. My breasts are tingling and I have to, yes, touch myself down there, get my hand inside…. I’m drenched!
“The silence is broken by your gasps, ‘Uh, uh, uh,’ in time with my muscle contractions. You open your big eyes and beg once more. I finish my left arm’s task and stand, my tool rock-hard and threatening to rip thru the fabric that in vain tries to restrain it. It’s thicker than the barbell, and more importantly, its red hot and capable of much more pain. It’s what you’ve been craving, isn’t it…”
Is it? I didn’t think so, but it does feel good. When was the last time I got myself off? God, it’s been awhile, I guess. But I got stuff to learn. I have to ace this test. Stop it. Stop it!
‘Lose the baby doll, Baby Doll’ I command, and I watch with cool intensity as you slip out of your soggy thong and flimsy top. ‘ Now take off my Speedo—with your teeth.’ I force my big cock into your mouth the way you want it and thrust a few times to get it wet. ‘I’m going to fuck your tits, Angel Face.’ Your eyes widen in anticipation, and with you still sucking my dick, I back you up onto the bench. Now it’s my turn to handle your jugs and I don’t disappoint you, as I straddle your waist, and with hands like a vise, I compress them around my pecker and fuck away…”
What should I do? I want it, but I mustn’t. Just a little more… It feels so good. I’ll stay up late. I’ll get up early. Oh, oh, oh. Where’s a dropped call when you need it?
“Your eyes roll back as you feel my cock growing, And you know what’s next. Have you forgotten how big I can become with this tit friction? You’re eager aren’t you. Buck you bitch. Rock your pelvis up against my ass. With a howl I release your burgeoning boobs and move off. You can’t wait any longer, can you? You grab your ankles, and lifting your legs, display for me your waxed pussy--wet, swollen and wanting. But have you forgotten how I can stretch you, or is it that pain of fucking me that you want? Your pelvic gyrations answer my question.”
Oh, I’m helpless as a kitten up a tree. I’m yours asshole, dick phone. Fuck me now and fuck me tomorrow when I can’t perform on the test.
“I lift you up by your ass as you maintain that yoga form, and I hold your cunt on the tip of my massive cock. You whimper at the thought, then lunge at my lips with a vicious kiss as I impale you. Again and again with you moaning into my mouth and biting my tongue, I fuck you. And as you begin to convulse, so then do I, pumping into you a load that would choke a mere mortal. You release an ear-splitting scream as I grunt back my satisfaction. And spent, we lie together like a pair of sweaty socks on game day.”
I, too, was spent. Caput. Too exhausted to study anymore. Too angry with him for doing this to me, to concentrate on further psychology theories. If he had only chosen a different desk. Why this one? Why me? I vowed: if I fail the test tomorrow, I’ll avenge myself. Somehow, I’ll find a way.
And fail it, I did. Well, I got a C-, which for me is like failing. And here I was to get my revenge. I hadn’t known how then, but I did now.
It had taken extra credit work, excellent papers, perfect quiz scores, and a pass with honors on my Freud final yesterday, but now I was close again to getting a 4.0. My motivation was an intense drive to prove myself, not only to me, but more so, to men, and in particular, to him--that he couldn’t do anything to me that I couldn’t eventually overcome and get my sweet payback for, in kind, but not unkindly.
I had tracked him down knowing only his first name, Davey, and that he was taking a course he referred to as “Quant Anal.” (the branch of Chemistry that deals with how much ass a Chem Major can get. Not to be confused with “Qual Anal,” where one is concerned with the quality of the piece of ass. Maybe that’s what makes Chem Majors such sex-crazed assholes?).
He wasn’t Michelangelo’s David, but his chiseled facial features were not unbecoming, I had to, begrudgingly, admit. And what I had learned from those who knew him was generally complimentary, for which I had still remained skeptical. I had followed him to The Stacks enough nights to know that he frequented the same carrel—the notorious one of two months ago—and that he would likely study here tonight, before his Quant Anal final. Well this evening, he was going to kiss my quaint anal.
By almost eight, there was no sign of the fucker. Where did I go wrong? I thought I knew men, especially those with their brains sequestered in their dicks.
Acknowledging that it would be fruitless to wait any later, I decided to collect the contents of my pocketbook that I had emptied out earlier—tampons, room key, lip balm, compact mirror, condoms, pens, highlighters and cell phone. Yes, cell phone. Not mine, but my roommate’s. She had a rare final for PE majors tomorrow and was at risk of failing, so she swore off any interruptions to study and then was to go to bed early.
But luck be a lady tonight! As I reached for my bag, I thought I heard the tell tale shuffling of footsteps down the adjacent aisle, and indeed, in a matter of moments, the familiar sounds of unpacking thudded directly across from me. He had arrived!
My heart began beating faster than it had ever beaten, even before a test or class presentation. My hands got clammy. “Get a grip sister!”
Shaking a bit, I opened the phone, pressed “End” for three seconds and got the anticipated ring tone, shutting it down.
“Hey, Danny, how are you? ….Yeah, Finals are over for mostly everyone, but my roommate and some other Chemist wanna-bes,” I said with enough volume to be over heard through the solid oak. Trying to parody my partner-through-the-panel, I continued,
“I really can’t talk long as I’m in the library….So, what’s up? ….Oh, you are! Wanting some relief there big guy? Can’t wait a couple more days until I get home?….I know its been a long time since Spring break, a guy can get pretty sore—what’s it called? Blue balls?…Ha, ha…..You want me to what?… Well I’ve never done that before. I don’t know….you mean like phone sex? Ha,ha,ha—cell sex! I know sex sells. Ha,ha,ha.”
listened during the pauses, for any sounds of chair movements, restless jerks, sighs of impatience, but had detected nothing yet. I was getting into my role, however, and beginning to enjoy this.
“Well, It’s hot here, really hot. So I haven’t got much on. My fuchsia halter top…Oh, no it’s too sticky to wear a bra…. A skirt…that short, short one you love me to wear. But it’s probably easier to tell you what I’m not wearing. I’m not wearing my scarlet thong, nor my g-string. No, I’m not wearing anything but my little mini and my halter top and a pair of heels.”
That did it. I heard the chair screech back ever so quietly. But did I also hear footsteps, too? “ Keep in your role, sister. Play the part.”
“Yeah big boy, I’ve never seen you so titanic. I love it when you stroke yourself, and pinch your sac, watching your gargantuan cock twitch like it has a tic. Pull your pubes now, one by one; a little pain is wonderful fertilizer for your stalk. And pinch your nipples for me; oh how your face grimaces in pleasureful pain.”
I almost dropped the phone. My eye caught his visage in the compact mirror, aimed in the direction he was likely to come. I was leaning forward, elbows resting on my desk, ass high in the air, with my skirt riding up nearly to my crack. What would he do? Should I continue as planned? My muscles wanted to turn around, abort my mission, bolt or confront this stranger who up till now, I only loathed. But, I also wanted my pound of flesh.
“I need you, Danny. All of your mammoth member inside my cunt…what color do you want to wear tonight? Yellow, because that’s the color of sodium when it’s really hot like you? Orange? No, I think you are scalded red tonight, the same color as my swollen cunny lips waiting for you.”
I heard a condom rapper being rent. Timing is everything now. Bring him to the edge, but deny him in the end.
“My he-man, will you prepare me like you always do? Kiss my bum all over…., yeah,….oh I love when you do that. You have such soft lips…. Ooooh, and down the crack, Now lick me just around the outside….Oh,oh,oh I am getting so wet now. I feel it trickling down my thighs. Oh plunge your tongue inside, again, again, uh, uh, uh. Im ar..ar.. arching up to meet you, burying my ass into your face. Oh, take me deeper, Da… Davey, take me.”
I feel the release of his hold on my buttocks, and then his hands gently surround my hips, and he pulls me now more firmly onto his mouth and thrusts his tongue deeper into my private space.
“Ahhhhhh” I cry out into the hallowed halls of academia. My mind is getting fuzzy—this is where I turn around now; he’s so turned on, he’s kissed my ass, I’ve got my revenge, but I can’t, I can’t.
“Now fuck me for all you’re worth.”
But he doesn’t. He fucks me for more than that. Quiveringly, my hand guides his substantial cock into my turgid cunt, and I gasp as he slides it in only a fraction of its length. Then out, and in again, an agonizing fraction more; then, out. As he teases me with his stingy, seesaw strokes, his hands slip beneath my halter and deftly cup my breasts, squeezing them and rolling the nipples so tenderly that I have an orgasm on the spot.
Nearly wilting, but resisting capitulation, I fight to triumph in the only way I now can. I arch my spine and throw myself upon him, wrapping my vagina to its depth around his rigidity. He responds, moving to meet me, and thrusts himself upward, repeatedly, into my spasming hold. I bite my wrist, stifling my screams. He bursts in a groan that I’m sure rattles the floors above and below us, in a temblor of five on the Richter scale. “I love you, Tamis,” he pants as he collapses heavily on my back, the desk creaking under our combined masses.
Too soon his weight is lifted from me, and I hear the thud of the full condom hitting the bottom of the wastebasket.
“If I fail my test in the morning, its all my fault. I deserve to, in fact, for all I’ve done. You see, I’ve had my eye on you since just before Spring break. I knew you were a Psych Major, so I staged that phone call with the two characters with classic personality traits for your amusement. But when you left and never came back to The Stacks to study, I thought I had offended you. I didn’t have the nerve to approach you after that, so I kept coming back, hoping to one day again study across from you and dream of what may have been. I haven’t been able to keep my mind on my courses the last several weeks. But I had to try to avoid a failure in this one, so I came for what was going to be my one final time tonight. And when I heard your voice, speaking to your boyfriend, I crazily fantasized that it was me you were talking to and acted out in passion, my feelings for you. Now I feel stupid. I’m sorry.”
Speechless, dumb founded, or just plain dumb, I laid there, my front half across the desk, my barely covered backside facing him. He pivoted and walked away, the trudging of his footsteps diminishing quickly. I didn’t hear him even return to collect his things from the carrel across the way.
I stood, repacked my purse and slogged toward my dorm. Some Psych Major. I couldn’t even figure out someone I’d known for twenty years, how was I ever going to help people figure themselves out in the office? I returned to my room, and after a fitful night of what one might call sleep, I awakened knowing what I must do.
“Hello Mom, …Dad is that you on the other line? Yes, it’s me, your long lost daughter. Yeah, the one who never calls…… I’m fine. Actually, I’m finer than fine. I have some good news….My Psych professor wants me to work for her this summer doing research in her lab….Yeah, they are going to pay me! So… I won’t be able to come home this summer. I know, I know… I’ll miss seeing you too….
Something else… I bought a cell phone. Yes, me. I know, I know….but I’m not going to do what everyone else does and walk around with their hand and ear making a cell phone sandwich. I’m just going to check my messages twice a day, return any important calls, and otherwise leave it turned off. Yeah….Uh huh….
And, oh, one other thing. I met a guy…..Davey…. He’s really nice. Yeah… He’s a Chem Major. He’s taking a summer school course out here in Quantitative Analysis,….,,,, uh huh,…. that’s right,,,, so I won’t be lonely all summer with all the other students not around. …What’s that? The connection is not so good….Where did I meet such a nice young man?….. Oh, …. in The Stacks.”
And from across the room, his eyes meet mine, and the look that passes between us, (if anyone had happened to be there to note it), would have revealed volumes…..
Originally published May, 2008