The Secret Life of Wendy Milque

The Secret Life of Wendy Milque

Can a love loran librarian find true romance within the stacks?

Note:

This story is a parody of James Thurber's short story 'The Secret Life of Walter Mitty.' As Wendy Milque is a librarian, the original 'pocketa-pocketa-pocketa' has morphed into 'ta-booketa, ta-booketa... ta-booketa.'

Ta-booketa, ta-booketa... ta-booketa

-- the sound of the approaching motorcycles was the first thing to catch Wendy's attention. Glancing in her rearview mirror she saw five, no maybe six, Harley-Davidson's quickly approaching behind her. As they got closer, she deliberately slowed, so as to allow them to pass single file -- one by one. Wendy watched in her outside rearview mirror as each bike passed, their cylinders pounding, gently shaking her car, and pleasantly vibrating her seat.

The first biker was a large hulking man. He worn no helmet, allowing his dirty blonde hair to flap wildly as he gunned his hog to pass her. His eyes were shielded by aviator goggles and his barrel shaped chest was covered with a black leather vest. As he past she noticed various tattoos adorning his exposed muscular arms and a large colorful club logo stitched on the back of his vest.

As each subsequent biker passed, Wendy noticed that their actual outfits, hair, and physique may have varied. However, there was the same matching club logo on each biker's back. The other thing they all had in common was a customized Harley-Davidson. Each with their distinctive deep throated rumble that sent shivers down Wendy's spine, all settling, one on top of another, deep in her groin.

All too quickly they were gone -- down that long lonely strip of asphalt and over the next distant hill.

* * *

"Excuse me -- Excuse me," Wendy heard a young voice say.

Still slummed in her chair Wendy peered over the top of the Reference Desk. All she could see was a mop of blond hair. Sitting-up she realized it was a young boy -- maybe seven or eight years old. Leaning forward to make eye contact with the young patron she said, "Yes, may I help you?"

"Motorcycles," the young library patron said in a nervous but determined voice.

"Books on motorcycles?" Wendy asked in clarification -- but also stalling for time as she cleared her head from her last daydream.

As the young man shyly nodded yes, Wendy pushed her chair back, stood, and pointed to the children's wing of the library. "Sure," she said shaking the cobwebs from her brain. "Right this way."

The young man followed closely on her heals as she walked him to the Children's Wing. "Cars, trucks and motorcycles are all in the 629s," Wendy explained as they headed down the through the juvenile non-fiction section. "Motorcycles would start here -- and run through here," she added pointing to several shelves.

The boy immediately pulled out a half-dozen books and quickly thumbed through them before selecting two. Mumbling an abbreviated thank you to Wendy, he turned and headed towards the circulation desk at the front of the library, leaving several books un-shelved on a nearby table.

Wendy quietly returned all but one of the books to its rightful place on the shelf and took one large picture book back to her desk. Setting back down at her desk, she wistfully studied each page as she casually thumbed through the glossy pages. Her fingers tracing each customized bike as she flipped through a dozen or so pictures of customized Harley-Davidsons. Gently she placed a hand in her lap and closed her eyes.

* * *

A roadside tavern appeared on her left. As she approached, she realized the bikers had stop for a beer and must all be inside. Her heart raced as she quickly placed both hands on the wheel. Slowing first to make sure it was them, then quickly signaled a left-hand turn before turning in and parking.

Gathering her nerve, she swallowed hard as she stepped from her car. Adjusted her skirt and blouse, before pulling open the heavy tavern door and stepping inside. The smell of cigarette smoke and stale beer almost overwhelmed her, but she was committed now. Her silhouette was brightly backlit by the intense noonday sun as every eye in the place looked up to see who it was. Though nervous as a mouse, she had no regrets. Once the door swung closed, the room was dark again, only lit by a variety of aging neon beer signs. There was a pool table in the center of the room and several guys standing around it playing pool and drinking beer. At the far end of the room was a bar from wall to wall with two guys standing drinking beer and a male bartender on the opposite side.

As Wendy sauntered across the room to the bar -- all conversation, as well as all other activity stopped. Six pairs of eyes, plus those of the bartender, just stared as she walked up to the bar and took a stool. After a long pause, Wendy asked, "So what does a girl have to do to get a beer around here?"

"Three bucks," the bartender said, as he placed a cold long-neck in front of her, still a little surprised to see an unaccompanied woman sitting at his bar.

After taking a long swig, she said with a sweet innocent voice, "Oh, I don't have any money."

The burly biker standing just a few feet away said, "Well sugar pants, we'll just have to take it out in trade."

Taking another prolonged swig of her beer, Wendy sweetly asked, "Well what could I possibly have to trade?"

Without hesitation, the biker set his beer on the bar and grabbing her around the waist, picked her up and firmly sat her on the bar. Sliding between her legs with his unshaven face just inches from hers said, "I can think of six things you can do right now."

Wendy just smiled and brought the bottle back to her lips for another long slow swill of beer. Picking up his beer with one hand, the biker ran his other callused hand up her bare leg -- up and under her skirt all the way to her underwear. After rubbing his knuckles up and down the moist fabric of her panties several times, the biker placed his beer back on the bar and ran both hands up under her skirt to the elastic band of her panties. Wendy returned her beer to the counter and placing both hands on the bar behind her, lifted her butt allowing him to strip her of her undies.

The biker handed the panties to his buddy standing next to him, who instantly brought them to his nose and inhaled deeply. The biker then grabbed Wendy's legs just below her knees and lifted them above the height of her shoulders while spreading her legs at the same time. He then immediately buried his unshaven face deep into her bare crotch.

Wendy gasped for breath as he plunged his tongue deep inside her. His buddy slid his hand under her blouse and began feeling up her tits as the bartender held her head to keep her from sliding backwards off the back of the bar. The other four bikers that had been standing around the pool table all approached to see the action up close.

Just as Wendy's first orgasm was approaching, the biker pulled his face from between her legs, stood up and picking her up by the waist, carried her to the pool table. Standing her in front of the table, he spun her around before pushing her forward, bending her over the table at the waist. He then kicked her feet apart with his heavy motorcycle boots and lifted her skirt up exposing her naked ass. Wendy knew what was coming next as she heard the biker unbuckle his belt and zip down his fly. The only thing she wasn't sure of -- would it hurt to lose her virginity in such a crude way. But she had been waiting years for this moment and face down on the green felt of the old worn pool table, she knew she was ready -- and seconds later she got it. Wendy gasped for breath as the biker's shaft parted her innocent southern lips for the first time. He was as hard as a baseball bat and just about as big around.

Ta-Booketa, ta-booketa... ta-booketa

echoed through-out the bar as the biker's muscular hips repeatedly smacked the cheeks of Wendy's ass over and over again. Wendy was receiving everything she had ever dreamt of since be coming of age. She lifted her face from the chalk infused green felt and gazed around the room. The five other bikers all stood just several feet away with their dicks out, slowly stroking themselves while eagerly awaiting their turn.

* * *

"Wendy -- Wendy, wake-up! You're daydreaming again," Shelia her co-worker said as she gently shook her friend. "Were you able to help that young man?" she asked.

"Yes -- yes," Wendy responded slowly.

"You were daydreaming again, weren't you?" Shelia said realizing that she had interrupted another of Wendy's frequent fantasies.

Wendy didn't immediately respond but turning to Shelia gave her a vague smile allowing her to think whatever she wanted. Snickering that she had received a positive response to her question, Shelia returned the smile and quietly walked away.

As Wendy methodically worked her way down through the stacks re-shelving the returned books from the night before, she couldn't help but notice a very pregnant young woman studying the shelf of

'preparing for childbirth'

books. Her discomfort was noticeable on her face and as Wendy approached her, she asked, "May I help you?"

The young woman hadn't seen Wendy approaching and was startled by the question. Turning to face her, the woman said, "I'm having a baby soon -- and I'm just trying to find some information on what I'm supposed to be doing. I mean, what should I expect?" There was another pause before she added with a weak smile, "This is my first."

Smiling understandingly Wendy said, "Well, you're in the right section. Childbirth starts here with 618 and goes through 618.9 -- right here as she pointed to the end of the shelf. The young woman first tried to bend at the waist and when that didn't work, clearly uncomfortable, she was forced to squat to study the spines of the books. After a moment of watching the expectant mother struggle, Wendy pulled two books from the shelf and handed them to her. "Here," she said. "I think these should be helpful."

* * *

"Please," Wendy said gazing lovingly into her young husband's eyes. "Let's make a baby tonight -- I want a baby -- please."

Rolling over to face her, Wendy's newlywed partner asked, "Are you sure? I thought we agreed that we should wait a few years. A baby is a big step, are you really ready to be a mom?"

"Yes," Wendy said, her voice moist with emotion. "We've waited long enough. I love you so much, I want to have your baby." And with that she brought her lips to her lover's. Their kiss lasted much longer than usual and as their bodies moved closer and closer together and their arms wrapped each other's bodies, Wendy could feel her lover's erection as it rubbed up and down her naked belly and with each muscular stroke of his body, she could feel herself getting wetter and wetter.

Finally breaking his kiss, he asked, "Do you want a boy or a girl?"

In the height of passion, Wendy had no time for such an esoteric question. "I don't care," she whispered in frustration, "I just want your baby."

Snuggled as tightly against her lover's body as she could get, Wendy moved her hand from his face and slid it down his chest. As soon as she felt it pass his belly button, her knuckles felt the unmistakable sensation of the top of his penis. He was hard and ready, and Wendy knew this was the moment. Throwing the covers aside, she swung one leg over his body and then quickly mounted him. He was clearly ready and though she would have loved to explore his body more fully, she knew it was time. Gently sliding her body down his, he effortlessly entered her, and she began to slowly rock her pelvis against his. As his moment of fulfillment approached, she sat up and began riding him harder and faster like a child on a new pogo stick. He put his hands on her hips as he tried to slow her pace, so as to savor the sensation -- but it was of no use. Wendy wanted this baby now.

Ta-Booketa, ta-booketa... ta-booketa --

the bed springs sung as Wendy involuntarily increased her speed to maintain the momentum and as his generation ensuring seed began to flow in spits and spirts from his loins, deep into hers -- she imbedded her fingernails into his shoulders to the sound of their respective loins slapping together over and over.

Ta-Booketa, ta-booketa... ta-booketa

rang in her ears as she was about to reach the most amazing orgasm of her life.

* * *

"Wendy -- Wendy, are you listening to me?" Ms. Mitty scolded.

"I'm sorry -- what did you say?" Wendy mumbled looking up and realizing that the Head Librarian had been standing in front of her for almost a minute trying to get her attention.

"I said, Shelia is going to relieve you at the reference desk," the librarian admonished. "I need you over on the circulation desk. We are down two volunteers and re-shelfing is falling woefully behind. Please go help them out."

As Wendy grudgingly push the heavy cart first down one aisle of books and then up another before turning a corner to discover that an elderly patron blocked her intended path intently studying a row of books. Wendy waited, thinking the woman would move, but when she didn't Wendy asked, "May I help you?"

Startled, not realizing that Wendy was even there, the patron said in a weak voice, "I need help with a legal issue. I'd go to a lawyer, but I can't afford it and I was hoping I could figure it out for myself."

"Well, you're in the right section," Wendy said stepping from behind her book cart and approaching the woman. "What's the issue you need help with?"

The woman paused for a moment and then explained, "I'm a widow and my husband, when he was alive, we have lived in the same condo for over twenty years. The condo fees have always gone up a few dollars every year, but this year they more than doubled and I just can't pay it. I'm a widow on a fixed income -- I can't pay it and they say I'll have to sell if I can't pay the increase." After a long breath, she almost started crying -- right there in front of Wendy. "I have no place to go, it's my home," she continued choking back emotion.

Wendy took her hand, "Ma'am, what's your name?"

"Edith Littlefield," she said trying to regain her composure.

"Mrs. Littlefield," Wendy said now holding both of her hands tightly. "I can connect you with Legal Aid, they will help and the fees for their serves are completely based on ability to pay. If you can't afford anything, they won't charge you -- I promise."

At this point, Mrs. Littlefield did break down and started to cry. Wendy led her to the reference desk, offered her a Kleenex and dialed the phone number for Legal Aid.

* * *

"Your Honor," the gusty young lawyer, Wendy Milque said, as she rose to address the court. "My client is an eighty-year-old widow. She is a condo owner and has lived at Wellington Arms for over twenty years. Her condo agreement clearly states that the maintenance fees shall never increase by more than six percent per year and further that the books and records of the condo association are subject to audit on an annual basis. The audit has not been performed in over ten years. Therefore, the notice of the proposed increase of over one hundred percent should be set aside."

As attorney Wendy Milque sits down, the strikingly handsome lawyer for the condo association stands to give his opening statement. "If it pleases the court," he says as he smiles first at the judge and then alluringly back at Miss Milque. "The Wellington Arms is over fifty years old and is in serious need of immediate repairs. The condo association voted overwhelmingly four years ago to amend the condo bylaws to allow for such increases to save the building and to waive the requirement for an annual audit in order to save money for the needed repairs. I have the documents here and I would like to place them in evidence."

The judge signals for the opposing council to step forward and place the documents on his bench. As the young lawyer returns to his seat, he again smiles at Wendy and flashes her a quick wink.

As the judge begins to thumb through the freshly submitted documents, Wendy jumps to her feet, "Your Honor," she blurts out. "This is new information and we have not had time to review it. We respectfully request a recess to thoroughly examine these documents."

The judge looks up at the clock before saying, "It's almost lunch time. Ms. Milque, I'll give you two hours. Court is in recess until 2:00 PM." The judge drops his gavel and stands to leave the courtroom.

As everyone stands for the judge to leave, Wendy looks over at the opposing attorney and mumbles under her breath, "It won't take that long."

Wendy turns to Mrs. Littlefield and taking both of her hands ensures her that this will be resolved. Then turning to face her opposing council says, "May I see you in private for a minute?"

"Certainly," he quickly responds unaware of the nature of the impending discussion, but more than willing to pursue all options for a speedy conclusion to this case.

Once safely down the hall in a secluded courthouse meeting room, Wendy makes her case. "Counselor," she says as she reaches to shake his hand

"Yes," he says as he accepts her hand and gently shakes it.

"We're both adults here," Wendy starts out. "And I'm sure we can come to some agreeable conclusion to this matter." As the words leave her mouth, she drops her hands and runs them along the front of the opposing counsel's slacks. Sensing that he had no objection to her argument, Wendy drops to her knees and skillfully unbuckles his belt and zips down his fly. As his trousers drop to his ankles, only his briefs remained for her pending discovery.

Looping her fingers under the elastic waist band of his boxers, she gently pulls them down to his quivering knees. With Exhibit-A now clearly exposed, and now firmly in attorney Milque's grasp, she stroked it several times before beginning her oral argument. The young lawyer gasped for breath, but apparently offered no objections, as Wendy proceeded with her rigorous cross examination of the afore mentioned exhibit.

Ta-Booketa, ta-booketa... ta-booketa

-- Wendy's lips slide up and down her adversary's rigid assertion. Soon his knees began to shake and as he braced himself for the inevitable verdict, Wendy knew that a successful conclusion to this case was only moments away...

* * *

"The library will be closing in fifteen minutes," the library PA squawked. Wendy struggled to focus on the wall clock. Six-forty-five, yes just fifteen minutes and another day of work will be just one more day in the lonely life of Wendy Milque. Another day in the library and one more day to walk home -- alone. Alone to a dark apartment to be alone until she arrives at work again the next day. Alone with her thoughts, alone with her fantasies -- all alone just like every other day since the day she graduated college ten years ago.

It may have been all but pre-ordained that Wendy would be a librarian. She was raised by a single mom English teacher. She never knew her dad and never had any siblings. Her mom rarely discussed her father and never made any effort to bring another man into the household. Wendy learned to read early and as she had no one to play with once she got home every day after school, she just read. She lost herself in every book she ever read, and she was a ravenous reader. Sometimes reading a book a day when she was particularly lonely or depressed.

The painful memories of her childhood loneliness were starting to overwhelm her as she approached her apartment building. The sun had already set and as she climbed the stairs to her dreary one-bedroom apartment, she failed to notice that the hallway lights had yet to come on. Fumbling in the fading light for her keys, she also did not realize that her door was ajar -- that is until the moment she touched the lock with her key.