Their Second Rendezvous

Heather sucks in her gut as she glances at the stone façade of the downtown library, feeling self conscious in the midst of the young, old, and just plain bored streaming in and out its doors. ‘CARNEGIE LIBRARY EST. 1900’ the plaque on the front reads. How such an antiquarian building survived through a hundred years of depressions, recessions, and gentrification, Heaven only knows. She hesitates. Should she go in or no?

The choice of venue she understands. When she suggested a time and place though, somehow this was not what she had in mind. Too many people around. Suppose they want to get frisky? Huh? How’d they manage that?

She shows herself in, feeling self-conscious about the whole affair. After no small amount of wandering around in the cavernous building, she spies Mr. Doe sitting at a nondescript desk, hidden behind rows of books in the ill-planned 900 section.

“Mr. Doe.” She whispers. “I thought you’d be somewhere more visible.”

“Now why would I do that?” He grins.

“I dunno. Easier to spot, I guess?”

“What if we become engrossed in our…studies?” The look on his face says it all.

“Mah dear!” Heather feigns outrage. “How deah you suggest such a thang!”

“For a Southern belle, you’re pretty feisty today.”

“I have mah principals to consider.”

Heather slides into the seat across from him, eyeing the stack of books nearby.

“What yer readin’?”

“Lonely Planet guide.” He gestures. “Heard of Bai Phuc?”

“Bai wha?”

“Me neither. It’s part of a village near the Southern tip of the country. It was a commune during the war. A big massacre took place there involving U.S. Troops. It was written up, but no one really cared except for a few bleeding hearts and some freelancers looking to make a name for themselves.”

“What does that have to do with Vietnam?”

Mr. Doe stares into her eyes.

“Ever heard of a chap named Alex Shemkin?”

Heather shakes her head.

“He was one of those bleeding hearts I told you about. Nice guy, but he didn’t know what he was doing. Poor fellow was a stringer for one of the newsmagazines. Tried to talk himself out of a confrontation with enemy troops and got killed. They never did find his body, though.”

“Sounds sad.”

“It is.”

Heather removes her notebook and starts scribbling.

“What did you say his name was?”

“Shemkin. S-H-E-M-K-I-N. First name Alex.”

“Wha’s he doing in ‘Nam anyway?”

“Volunteer work. You know how these types are. Upper-middle class, white, agonizing over privilege and wanting to do something about it. He was a civil rights worker before that, you know. Got locked up, too.”

“Very brave. Wish I knew him.”

“Well,” Mr. Doe sighs. “if you ask me he belonged in the university, not some Godforsaken middle of nowhere ten thousand miles away.”

Heather abandons her note taking, amusing herself with the little game of footsie under the table. Her shoes graze her instructor’s, brushing against his legs before retreating, then grazing them again.

“Wha-what are you doing?”

“Don’t be such a squah.” She admonishes him.

“Not with all these peop…”

She rubs against the crotch of his shirt. The instantaneous erection is a welcome diversion from the legwork. Not to mention awkward. The circular motion of her feet arouses and concerns him. A glimpse at the oblivious patrons on the other side of the room reassures him.

“I thought yah liked this kind of attention.”

“I do. Just…not here.”

“Like mah Mom says, better make hay while the sun shines.” Heather crawls under the table, unzipping his pants while Mr. Doe blushes.

She liberates his manhood with a firm grip, stroking it gently.

“So smooth.” She massages the tip.

“I thought you wanted something better than a C.”

“Think of this as the appetizer before the entrée.”

Mr. Doe bites his lip as her tongue moves slowly over his shaft, teasing his head every so often. He spreads his legs slightly allowing her more room to maneuver. He quickly forgets the academic work, concentrating on her instead.
Still gripping the pole, Heather pumps it in a gradual motion, lips planted firmly on her teacher’s penis. He tries to discourage the exaggerated slurping sound.

“What are you thinking? This is a library—“

“I thought yer the type into this sort of thang, sir.”

Heather licks the droplets of seed oozing out, furrowing her brow.

I expected more. You’re better than that.”

She pumps the shaft even harder, eliciting a grunt from her instructor. Gobs of come pour onto her tongue. She swallows the salty contents with relish.

“That was good.” She retreats as Mr. Doe makes himself decent.

“Hope that tides you over.” A pang of embarrassment passes over her teacher’s face.

“It does. Still not as fun as the main course.”

“And what would that be?”

“Don’t be foolin’ with me. You know what I like.”

“Could you be more specific?”

“If I’d be more candid if you let me follow you back home. ‘Sides, we gots some studyin’ to do.”

“What about your parents?”

“It’s Saturday. Mom’s visiting her kin and Dad’s stone drunk. What do you say, teach? Up for a little lesson?”

No way her instructor could turn that one down.