Date: Wed, 6 Feb 2008 03:13:22 -0500
From: majalistic@gmail.com
Subject: Bookworm - Part 4 (TG)

	The fall semester started with a bang-in the literal, carnal sense
of the word.  After having been celibate for the summer months, in which I
found myself still lusting for girl's and their bodies, but without any
accompanying appetite, I returned to school, resigned to continue the lie
that started with high-heels, skirts and make-up and ended with a bubbling
load in my gut-fed, or pumped.  Whenever I thought about lusty Trevor, I
could hardly remember his face, but his hands, and, more importantly, the
tactile sensation of a certain pathos that he kept hidden away, much like I
did, were quite vivid in recollection.  My demeanor, by contrast, was
livid, defeated, and somewhat longing.  On the one hand, I wanted to sever
all ties, and on the other, the shame, the stigma, and, most importantly,
what would Trevor do then?  Or, not most significantly.  Not important at
all was Trevor's "need" for me, which I preferred he hadn't, or wouldn't,
or even couldn't.  But he didn't.  Trevor needed me.  In a way, as I walked
to school that pleasantly mild September morning, I was eager to see him
after two months.  Would he give me a present?  Would he hold me?  Did I
want sex from him, or something else?
	Did Trevor want something else?
	In the morning, I put on a particularly "spunky" skirted outfit,
topped with a sunflower in my hair, cut short, with prominent black bangs.
Thigh-high fishnets, along with French-cut black panties accompanied the
ensemble, though that was just my subtle apology to Trevor for the absence.
Nothing more.
	My initial classes were stilted and awkward; the day marched on
with little momentum and even less grace, to the point that even feverish,
excited reunions were dampened by a certain somberness in the face of
shackles born anew.  Strangely, I did not feel that way.  Even more
peculiarly, as the day went on, I discovered that people had noted my
absence from any of the "going-ons" of the summer, and had lamented it, and
girls even proclaimed that they were disappointed to learn that no one had
my contact information (for obvious reasons), as they wanted to spend time
to get to know me over the summer, because I seemed so reserved at school.
	Was I so timid because of my usual self shining through, or
because, quite often, I was hiding something both precious and baleful,
fair, yet menacing?  Basically, what I really wanted to know was whether I
was still shy because I hadn't changed or because, more often than not, I
was coming down off of a sexual euphoria, squeezing my well- worn bottom to
prevent leakage?
	The library wasn't open, at the end of the day, because the
librarian spends every summer in the mother-land, and usually doesn't make
it back in time for the first week of school.  For the last three years,
I've cleaned up and organized during that first week, which has allowed me
the privilege of keeping a library key for my own personal use, for reasons
both pragmatic and in compensation.  Trevor knew this, and will probably
expect to find me inside, and so, after unlocking the library door and
letting myself inside, I lock it back again, and when Trevor comes, I might
let him in.  The library is dark, again, filled with only the twilight of
the setting sun to illuminate the books in various shades of reds and
subtle orange, amber and brown.  I walk with a certain demure swagger that
is not unlike the feminine method of walking I have trained myself to do
during the school hours, but this dance is subtly different: any woman,
and, in the right context, any man, knows this.  I know it entices Trevor,
and yet I can't resist the intensity of it, the guilty pleasure of being a
seductress.  I'm sure I could have spared myself quite a few go's, and
maybe softened the blow of a few of the more "slamming-"oriented sessions
that left me sitting uncomfortably and walking with a less graceful swagger
for a day or two, if simply I behaved more "proper" for him, but I conceded
it knowingly, on the grounds that it might "get it out" of my system,
preventing me from losing control entirely.  So far, it had been successful
in that, which meant that, tonight, for Trevor, I was swaying suggestively.
Oh well.
	I leave my bag on the librarian's desk and continue on into the
back area, our fertile love-nest, and, instantaneously, Trevor has embraced
me.  I am shocked- considerably so, and I have time to take in the open
window that Trevor has made his way in through and the package on our "bed"
of a table before Trevor kisses me with reckless abandon.  His hands work
their way under the skirt and play with the French-cut, holding my cheeks
both in and out of the underwear.  He's already throbbing under his belt,
pressed against my belly area.
	He breaks free a moment, and I look up into his eyes.
	"Sara.  I saw the way you were walking, just now.  What do you
think is going to happen, back here, tonight, while we're all alone?"
	I grin in faux-passive resistance, and breathily annunciate
"nothing."
	"Nothing?" he says, the response leaving him in a bemused state of
similarly mocked skepticism.  "Nothing, you say?" he says, again, before he
picks me up for just a moment, and plants me in front of our table, and,
just as quickly, he spins me on heel and toe, and starts to run his hands
up and down my body, clutching me from behind.  His desire is now more
properly placed, poking away at me, as if, in a futile gesture, cursing the
clothing that separates his manhood from my girlhood.  Somewhere deep
within me, I'm cursing too, and I press my backside up against him.
	"Nothing, is that it?" he repeats, and bends me over suddenly, and
massages my back with one hand, and my ass with the other, though he
doesn't thrust at all; he's patient, hiding his passion in earnest.
	"Yep," I say, looking over my shoulder up at him, "nothing."
	He pulls down my skirt, leaving just the fishnets and the
French-cut, which he promptly pulls down slightly, not much, but enough to
expose his lover's desire.  I can't help but wiggle slightly, and quake
under his touch, as he starts to spread the telltale foreshadowing on my
back passage.  Suddenly, he's pressing up against the entrance, not
attempting entry, and he must be savoring the view, having been sexless for
two months.  I can't say I'm not also excited about the reunion; my heart
beats so fast, I'm worried for my health.  I think we both realize that
we're completely alone in the library, sequestered from the rest of the
school, and the tension starts to build, and, loudly, Trevor speaks.
	"Nothing?" he inquires a last time, and the pressure starts to
build.  An epiphany strikes.  Trevor doesn't care what I am, and neither do
I.  This indescribable feeling overtakes me, but before I can dwell on it,
revel in it, I realize that he's waiting for a response.
	Nothing, I mean to say loudly, but, instead it comes out as a
rather prolonged "Noottthhhinnnnnnggggghhhhhhuhhhhh," as the wind is
knocked out of me, and I nearly sing it, mouth agape, before quickly
adopting a look of sheer ecstasy, with an eye tightly closed, the other eye
staring off at some distant bookcase, and my lip bit with such a genuine
lustful smile that I can't help but feel sluttish, but a part of me wants
to turn around and show Trevor that look, that slutty, love-struck look,
because he's just buried himself, his entire manhood, into my waiting,
girly asshole, and I can't wait for more, can't stop feeling this
overwhelming feeling of pleasure and guilt and lust, raw lust, and some
discomfort because Trevor's huge and I'm not used to it anymore, but that
just makes it all the more hotter, and I want to get used to it again,
through repeated, frivolous practice, but for now I want him to just push
me open and take what he needs while I gasp, panting and frenzied, sweating
and writhing, clutching on to other edge of the table with such panicked
force that I'm nearly tearing out the wood, taking him so eagerly, like I'm
in heat, or, worse, in love.  A part of me screams a voiceless scream that
asks "what am I doing," but that voice is drowned out by even the faintest
sound of me purring in my chest as Trevor strokes my ass, buried, pulsing,
and fighting off climax already, so that when I turn to look at him, with
eyes half closed, shoulders together, and a crooked, almost insane grin of
satisfaction, I can feel him spurt into me, just a bit, and I know that's
not the end of it all.  Trevor's not about to flood my pipes yet.
	"Sara." he exhales.
	"Trevor." I say, staring back at him, and he leans over my body and
kisses me, still fully clasped by my rectum, which struggles to accommodate
such a large, girthed, potent lover, which I hug tenderly with each spasm,
and I even shift my legs a bit under his weight to squeeze here and there,
along with the rhythmic tensing that I do intentionally, which has left
Trevor wordless, regardless of our lips' embrace.  I can feel him fighting
his orgasm, and I try desperately to make him spill, to lose himself in me,
to make use of me for his most base desire, that he has been starved of for
two months, at my discretion.
	He holds steadfast.  He intends to ravage me.
	"Ravage me," I say, as our lips part.  He needs hear no other
command.
	He pulls out to the tip, which I can feel trickling precum down my
cheek, and I turn away from him and stare off, giddy and terrified and
anxious.  Again, my colon yields to his entire member, dizzyingly fast, and
I feel my whole being lurch forward, though I and the table barely move an
inch.  I make that same funny face of satisfaction, as if he pressed a
button to make me drool with girly delight.  Another sudden withdrawal, and
I get the feeling that Trevor is preparing for the long-haul, which we
won't return from unfinished, and so I brace myself for whatever it is he
has planned for me.
	He strokes my back, touches me here and there, swats my bum, feels
my thighs, squeezes at them, even cups around underneath my ass a bit.  He
gets a firm grip on my hips, and starts to piston in my ass just by the
tip, and I moan in response, eye twitching and lips trembling.  With an
invigorated resolve, Trevor nails me like the prom queen, shoving his cock
full force into my trembling hallowed hole.  We both know that this will be
it for this coupling, that we are both certainly past the point of no
return, if not physically, but mentally, completely invested in bumping hip
to ass, feeding cock into rectum until both of us explode without regrets,
and it's during this frenzied, perfectly consensual, sensual, intimate,
lustful, and, ultimately, loving exchange, that I admit to myself that I
love Trevor, as a girl, as his girl.
	Trevor slams into me, and I moan, I grunt, and I squeal as loud as
I can, and I don't care if anybody can hear me.  I giggle and I pant, I
focus on what I'm getting, inches by inches, on what I'm letting happen to
my ass, and how happy it's making me, and how happy it's making Trevor,
who's lost his mind with sexual hunger by now, ravaging me as I asked him
to, making sure that, even if I don't cum, I'll never walk the same again.
If I could stop all of this, right now, I'm certain I wouldn't.  Not until
Trevor empties a wad in my bowels warm and gooey, just the way I like it.
On that note, I turn to my lover again, and look him in the eye, while he's
mad with passion.
	"Hey, Trevor?" I say, passively, coquettishly.
	"Uh-huh?" he says, unable to form words.  He slows, barely, so that
my head won't bob back and forth so much while I'm looking at him, but my
ass doesn't get to feel relief just yet.  I open my mouth a bit, cock my
head so that I'm looking at him out of the corner of one eye, and I say,
with vigor and urgency and desire, in the breathy voice that Trevor adores
so much, "Cum."
	I have to brace myself on the table and grit my teeth as Trevor
redoubles his efforts, and the table jumps with each tremendous,
breath-taking thrust.  Trevor barely makes out "I love you too!" before
shooting off a geyser of jizz in my butt, well more than usual, and I moan
appreciatively, purring, as he offloads, drenching my innards with his
seed, his spunk, his stress and his joy.  He leans forward again and pulls
me back to him, kisses me as I bend backwards to meet him, and he pumps,
with short, punctuated thrusts, every ounce of sperm he can into my now
overly-full, desperately sore ass.  He kisses at my face and my lips, all
the while spilling more, not letting a drop go to waste, wanting to fill me
completely, and the short, deep thrusts poke at my most sensitive region,
and he won't break the kiss, so I breathe heavily into his mouth, eyes
barely open, body tense, and I wet the table thoroughly, never having
orgasmed so strongly, or with so much intent and purpose, in my life,
before that moment.
	"You came," he says, half-knowingly, half-asking.
	"Of course," I say, looking up and back at him.  I look down under
myself, and, indeed, I came buckets.  Trevor is still emptying himself into
me, still quiet content about it, and so I lie still until he's done.
	"I came too," he says, stupid grin on his face.
	"Oh, really?  I didn't notice," and bring myself up back so that he
penetrates a little deeper again.  "Seriously, I didn't eat lunch and I'm
not even hungry anymore."
	He laughs.  "But a little sore, I bet."
	"Yeah, well, the Great Flood soothed that out a bit, but you were
pretty adamant."
	"I'm sorry."
	"Don't be.  It was great."
	We sit silent for a while, before he plops out.  I let his copious
work ethic out, and it pretty much drenches my stockings, my skirt, my legs
and balls, but I don't mind.  It's relieving to let it out, and I know that
Trevor is watching with a vested interest, amazed by his own virility.
Before I can get up from my position, Trevor picks me up from where I'm
bent over and brings me gently to the floor, cradled in his arms, his pants
still around his ankles, my skirt having slipped off the floor, and my
panties now around my thighs.
	"Did you really mean it?"
	"Mean what?"
	"That you love me."
	"I don't know, Sara.  I'm pretty sure I do, but I don't want to
force you into that if you don't feel the same way."
	"You just want me to say you're a great lay."
	"Maybe."
	"I hope you enjoyed it.  For the record," I say, and hesitate, "I
feel the same way."
	"How do you feel?"
	"Well, I certainly felt full," I say, giggling.
	He chuckles.  "And how do you feel now?" he says, leaning his face
close to mine.
	"In love," I say, and we both move closer, and kiss, and I feel
helpless, even though I'm not, and I feel full of something, all jokes
aside, that I never want to empty.
	We kiss, and then he shifts so that I can lie with my head resting
on his lap, incredibly exhausted and thoroughly satiated.  He seems to
enjoy the afterglow as well, as the sun fully sets, and the room becomes
completely dark.  I nearly fall asleep.
	But then she jumps out from behind the computer.
	"That was the hottest thing I've ever seen!  I came three times!
Holy shit!"
	We both look at her, somewhat frightened by the sudden appearance,
but otherwise, strangely non-plussed.  Maybe we just don't have the energy
to be confused, outraged, startled or nervous.  Either way, she seems
friendly enough, if quantifiably insane, with a crazy-keen look in her eye,
as she watches either of us.
	"I've never been big on guy-on-guy, but you, you guys. wow.  You're
just like a girl!  I want that so bad.  God."
	Trevor was the first to regain his composure.
	"Hey, uh, could you, like, what the fuck?"
	"Oh.  Sorry.  Please don't be angry, when you came in through the
window, I hid behind the computer and, well, I didn't really see a good
time to reveal myself."
	"So you watched?"
	"Yeah.  Really sorry."
	"I don't mind.  Do you, Sara?"
	I think about it.  I definitely would have before, and I'm kind of
worried that this girl, apparently from our school, knew our, or, my
secret, but there was nothing that could be done about it.
	"Not really.  Who are you?"
	"I'm Catherine.  Call me Kitty!"
	"Hello, Kitty," I say, and then snort at my own idiocy.  "I mean,
like, who are you?  Why were you in the library?"
	I sit up, next to Trevor, who has adopted a completely immobile
grin on his face.
	"I was just exploring.  I was kind of nervous on my first day. I
just wanted to see if there were any usable computers here, and I realized
I could get in through the window, and who would care if I snuck into the
library?"
	"True," says Trevor, nodding in agreement, which is almost surreal.
Of course!  Why not?
	"So, I'm really sorry.  But, if it makes you feel better, I envy
you guys so much."
	"Did you say you. came?"
	"Oh, did I?  Um, well, I guess so, yeah."
	This girl is almost the strangest thing that has ever happened to
me.
	Almost.
	"You have to promise you won't tell anybody.  Nobody knows I'm not
a girl."
	"Yeah, don't tell anyone, understand?" says Trevor, firmly.  It
makes me happy to hear him defend me.
        "I won't!  Not at all!  It's so beautiful.  So cool.  How long have
you guys been dating?"
         We look at each other.  Trevor speaks.
         "I guess you could say that was the spark," he lies.
         "Amazing.  Well, listen, it's dark now, and my mom's going to be
really worried.  I gotta go, I'll see you later, Trevor," she says, looking
at him with a flirtatious smile, and then to me, with an odd expression of
wonder, "Sara."
         "How did you know our names?" I ask.
         "Uh.  Kinda heard you, um, yeah."
         "Oh. Right," I say, meekly.
        She picks up her bag, pink, with a brown bear stuffed in the
forward pocket, and proceeds to uneventfully climb out the window.
Everything has changed, for better, and maybe worse, but hopefully the girl
can keep a secret.  Something about her unabashed voyeurism was interesting
to me, exciting, almost, retroactively.  And something else, the way she
looked at me with so much fascination, made me feel, undoubtedly, special.
Never mind the look that Trevor gave me when she'd gone, as if to say "and
now we're alone at last."  I was ready, more than ever, for seconds,
interruptions by a strange alien child aside.  If Trevor liked being
watched, and I liked being watched, I was in for quite the roller coaster.
Not that I wouldn't like every bump on the way.