The Last Incubus

The Last Incubus: Chapter 03

Chapter 3: An evening at the library, and Mousey.

"A gossip betrays a confidence, but a trustworthy man keeps a secret." ~ Proverbs 11 v. 13.

*****

Tripp leaned in across the desk.

"I'm a wizard,"

he whispered.

Without realizing I was doing it, I had been holding my breath waiting to hear Tripp's big secret. But when he told me he was a wizard, I lost it and burst out laughing.

Annoying looks and chorus of "shushes" came from the students in the library.

"A WIZ—

a wizard? You can't be serious,"

I exclaimed, remembering to keep my voice down a little too late.

"Shh!

Not so loud. I asked you not to laugh

." There was an earnest plea in his voice.

"I'm sorry, but how could I keep a straight face with that?"

"But I'm serious. Have you ever had a dream or premonition that seemed so real that you knew in your heart of hearts it was true?"

he asked.

"As a little kid, I had some pretty scary nightmares about demons that seemed real at the time, but I never took them seriously,"

I admitted.

"Well, that's what I'm talking about, only I'm convinced I'm really a wizard,"

he explained.

"So, tell me, Mr. Wizard, have you ever performed any actual magic? Have you ever cast any spells or made magical potions?"

I asked.

"Well, no. And don't call me Mr. Wizard."

"Have you ever seen any real wizards in person or anyone who has done 'so-called' magic that wasn't a professional entertainer?"

I asked.

"No, not really."

I sighed.

"Tripp, exactly when did you start having these thoughts about being a wizard?"

His dark skin blushed a hint of red as he averted my gaze.

"After reading the Harry Potter books,"

he whispered quietly.

"You do know those are works of fiction, don't you?"

"Of course, I know. I'm not an idiot. But that doesn't change anything. I'm convinced that if I can find the right book with the right spells, I can do real wizard-type magic,"

he explained.

"I see. Is that why you're looking for books on wizards and witchcraft?"

"Yes. Since you're my friend and work in the library, I thought I could trust you to help me find something."

"Have you checked the books in the stacks in the back?"

"Yeah. There's nothing there. The only books I found that were even close were in the fiction section,"

he explained, flatly.

"I hope that doesn't surprise you,"

I deadpanned.

"Can you cut the sarcasm? I read them anyway just in case they were misfiled or perhaps held some secret clues between the lines."

"Have you checked the used book exchange bin?"

I asked.

"No. What's that?"

I showed him the bin. There were maybe two dozen books, mostly old paperbacks in there, but none of them were even remotely related to wizards or witchcraft. Most of the paperbacks were faded classics or trashy romance novels. I wondered if Miss Anti-smut Goodman knew they were there.

"Let me check the inventory in the central library. Maybe there's something in the Orono stacks. In the meantime, you should check the exchange bin regularly. I'm told there's always new books showing up there almost every day,"

I explained, trying to be reassuring.

"Thanks, Ross. I knew I could trust you,"

he smiled.

He stood there in front of the counter for almost half a minute before I realized he wanted me to check right away.

"O—kay, then,"

I whispered as I logged into the desk computer.

I was surprised by the number of books on witches, wizards, witchcraft, and magic -- over 900! 107 of them were on slight-of-hand magic tricks for would-be magician entertainers. Another 122 books were historical non-fiction books on witch trials in Massachusetts and Europe, of which 53 of them were listed here in our library. Presumably, Tripp had already read those. The rest, 697 books, were listed under various fiction titles, mostly for "young adults," the code for late adolescents and teens.

I handed the list to Tripp.

"Let me know if you want me to get any of these for you. You're allowed up to 5 books at a time on the exchange,"

I explained.

"I read a lot of these in high school,"

he murmured, looking at the list.

"If you're really serious about this, I would suggest you eliminate the paperbacks. If the books you want really do exist, they're most likely to be hard cover only and extremely rare,"

I suggested.

"Shit, that make sense. Hey, you're really good at this,"

he exclaimed.

As nice as it was to get a compliment from my first customer and first day on the job, it didn't take a mental genius to figure out that an authentic book of magical spells would hardly be on anyone's best seller's list.

There were only four hard-cover books that might possibly be something Tripp was looking for. One was in French, another in German. I placed an order for all four and told Tripp they would be here by Wednesday.

Tripp was thanking me when Gabriela joined us at the front desk. Tripp showed her the list of books I ordered.

"Does she--?"

I asked him.

"She knows. That's what we were arguing about earlier. She wanted me to ask you to help me look for books,"

he explained.

Gabriela smiled knowingly.

"It's harmless, right? But it makes him happy, then I can't see a problem. I'm glad you are able to help him, thank you."

Tripp leaned across the desk,

"Have you given any thought to working out at the gym with me and the rest of the team?"

"I don't know. I just got here and there's so much work I have to catch up on."

I replied.

"Join us for just an hour. We're in the weight room doing weight training and aerobics at 4. We're in the wrestling room after that. It'll be a nice break. What do you say?"

he asked.

"He could use a good workout partner,"

Gabriela added.

"If it's only for an hour, I guess I could try it. The exercise would be a welcome break."

"Great. I'll see you tomorrow!"

Tripp replied. He grabbed Gabriela's arm, and they left the library together.

By now it was close to closing time, and I was so busy with Tripp that I hadn't had a chance to check the stacks at the back of the library. There were only a couple of students studying at the tables, so I didn't anticipate there would be anyone in the back, but as I walked further back, I started to hear noises.

They were low murmuring sounds at first, but as I went further back, I started to distinguish words.

"Oh, fuck . . . That feels so fuckin' good . . . Don't stop . . . I'm getting close."

I crouched down and crept forward for several steps, until I remembered 'I'm in charge here!' I stood up and stalked to the last row, rounding the bookcase.

I nearly collided into a coed with blonde hair and dark roots on her knees giving a blow job to an athletic-looking guy with wire-framed glasses. His pants were down around his knees and his hands were on her head as he moaned to the ceiling.

Startled by nearly bumping into them, "WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON HERE?" I shouted, louder than I had intended, breaking the silence in the library.

"Oh, shit!" the guy blurted as he quickly pulled out of the girl's mouth. Globs of white goo spurted onto the blonde's hair, face, and sweatshirt, as he tried to tuck himself into his pants. He was in such a hurry that he nearly injured himself on his zipper while squeezing into his jeans.

I was grossed out and angry. I should have been paying more attention earlier to see who was back here. "Get out. Now!" I demanded.

"Shit, shit, shit," he mumbled as he pushed past me. He was still fumbling with his zipper, as he hurried towards the front of the library.

The coed had gotten to her feet and was picking splotches of goo from her hair. It was obvious from the satisfied expression on her face and look in her eyes that she found the whole situation amusing. Then I noticed the thick glob on her cheek.

"Uh, Miss,"

I said and pointed to my cheek.

She understood the gesture and swiped the globule with her finger, sticking it in her mouth and closing her eyes.

"Mmm," she vocalized.

Only then did I notice her chest. She was wearing an oversized college sweatshirt, which may have been the only size that could contain her large breasts. They were huge! How could I have missed them until now? Of the many words that have been used to describe that part of female anatomy, there was only one word that accurately described this girl's chest. For where some girls have breasts or tits, this girl had boobs.

"Holy shit"

I muttered under my breath as I stared at the massive mounds causing her sweatshirt to jut out.

"Would you like to touch them?"

I blinked and looked up at her face, embarrassed at being caught staring.

"Uh, no--and keep your voice down,"

I whispered, feeling flustered.

"Are you sure? I'm not wearing a bra,"

she smiled as she started to pull up on the bottom of her sweatshirt.

Despite having been staring at her chest, it was only now that I noticed the additional smaller bumps in the front of her sweatshirt that confirmed her statement. "Stop . . .

p-please don't do that. I-I must ask you to leave, now,

" suddenly feeling very nervous.

"You're cute! If you want, I'll suck you off if you promise not to turn me in. I don't mind. In fact, I'd enjoy it,"

she said in a cheery, high-pitched whisper.

"Oh n-no . . . t-thank you. And I won't turn you in.

"

"Aww, you're so sweet. Well, maybe some other time,"

she said as she leaned in to kiss me on the cheek. I quickly pulled away before her lips reached me.

"Er, uh, Miss. Before you go, you have, um . . . something on your, um . . . on your things,"

I said, pointing to an area on my right chest.

She looked down at her sweatshirt and saw the off-white splotch I was referring to.

"Oh, thank you!"

she said as she scooped it up with her finger and put it in her mouth, leaving a wet smear behind.

"There are some tissues up at the front desk that you can use to get the rest of that off,"

I explained as I strode past her to lead the way. When I turned, my eyes spotted another glob of goo on the floor where that guy had been standing. Oh, shit.

I handed the big chested blonde a few tissues when I got to the front desk. I checked the clock and saw it was 9:50.

"Ten minutes 'til closing time," I announced to the students still in the library.

I then went into the men's bathroom and grabbed a bunch of brown paper towels, the cheap kind that seem particularly ill-suited for their appointed task of absorbing water. I wet a few before heading back to the stacks. I cleaned the cum off the floor and deposited the dirty paper towels in the men's bathroom trash bin where I hoped Ms. Goodman would be least likely to find it.

Now it was almost ten, so I made the rounds one more time to make sure there was no one left in the library, even checking both bathrooms. The place was entirely empty by the time the campus security officer showed up and I loaded my backpack and headed for Tina's house.

***

The lights were on when I let myself in, but I saw and heard no sign of Tina. I carefully checked the downstairs rooms, wondering if I'd find her dressed or not. I secretly hoped she wasn't.

I heard Tina's and another woman's voice coming from behind the door to her room when I got to the top of the stairs. There was also a lot of giggling.

Suddenly, the door flew open, and a strange naked girl nearly ran into me.

"EEEK!" she screamed. / "YAAH!" I yelled at the same time.

"Who are you?" We both said in unison. She tried to cover her breasts and her crotch with her hands and arms as she spoke.

"What's going on—Oh," Tina called from the doorway to her room. She was also naked, and her hair was completely out of place. She giggled when she saw us.

"Tina, who the hell is he?" the naked stranger demanded. Her light brown hair was in a long, slightly out-of-place French braid in the back, and I picked up a distinctly musky aroma of what I guessed was coming from beneath the hand covering her crotch.

"Um, excuse me," I said and turned towards my bedroom.

Tina chuckled. "Ross, wait. Shit, we must have lost track of the time. Lezzie, let me introduce you to Ross, my cousin on my mother's side. His real name is Edward, but everyone calls him by his middle name. Ross is staying with me while he's in school this year. Ross, this is my friend Leslie Littlefield, or 'Lezzie' as I like to call her," Tina teased.

"You know I don't like to be called that—at least not in front of guys," she grumbled, eyeing me suspiciously.

"Uh, nice to meet you, Leslie," I said, instinctively reaching out my hand for a handshake before quickly withdrawing it, realizing that she was unlikely to uncover her breasts or crotch to shake my hand.

Leslie ignored me and turned to Tina. "You could have warned me that you had a guy staying here with you!" she said angrily.

"Sorry, I—I'll just go to my room," I mumbled as I fled in the other direction. Behind me I heard Tina giggling while Leslie shut the door to the bathroom.

Inside my room, I took out and organized all the books and materials I bought at the bookstore. Tomorrow was class on Advance Forensics, and I started reading the text to be ready. About half an hour later, I heard a rap on the door.

"Are you decent? Can I come in?" Tina asked, peering inside.

"You can come in," I replied, looking up.

Of course, she was naked. She had fixed her hair a bit, but she had that same distinctive odor I detected on Leslie earlier.

"I was hoping to catch you whacking off," she joked, as she sat down on my bed with her legs parted. That gave me a good look at her shaved pussy. Her labia were red and swollen and her inner lips could be clearly seen and were glistening with moisture.

"What do you want?" I tried not to stare, but that proved too difficult. How could I keep my composure when my supermodel cousin was exposing herself on my bed?

"I just wanted to see if you were okay. I'm sorry about what happened with Leslie. I mean, I'm not

really

sorry, but I probably should have warned you or left you a note of something," she replied.

"Is she your lover?"

Tina gave me a funny look.

"Well . . . sort of. It's more of a casual sex thing."

"Are you . . . are you gay?"

Tina burst into laughter. "Me, gay?" she asked wiping the tears of laughter from her eyes, "Fuck no. Do I look like I'm gay?"

She spread her arms wide, giving me a full-frontal view of the whole picture. I had already "adjusted" myself once after my near collision with Leslie, but now the bulge at the front of my pants was getting uncomfortable again. I squirmed in my chair and slid the textbook down to my lap to hide my arousal.

"No. It's just that seeing you and Leslie, um ..." my voice trailed off.

"I'm bi, Ross. Do you have a problem with that?"

"Oh, no! What you do in private is your own business. I'm not going to judge," I flustered, although I knew that my religious parents wouldn't approve.

"What about if it's not so private?" she asked smirking.

"Well, that's not what . . . I mean it's fine . . . If you want to . . . I won't—Oh, crap! You're messing with me again, aren't you?" I felt my face getting warm.

She burst into laughter. "Sorry, but you're just too easy."

The she put a more serious expression on her face. "Let me give you an 'apology hug' and allow you to get back to your studies," she said standing up and holding her arms out.

I was wary of her motives. Was this another tease? Besides, I had never been hugged by a naked woman and a supermodel to boot. I decided to take her sincerity at face value. After all, she was giving me a place to stay rent-free.

"Um, sure," I replied, as I stood up, hoping she wouldn't notice the growing bulge.

She wrapped her arms around me and kissed me lightly on the cheek.

"No hard feelings? Oh . . . except for this one," she giggled as she rubbed her hand against the front my pants.

"TINA!"

"You're too easy," she giggled as she broke the embrace and turned towards the door.

"Can I ask you for something?" I called before she left.

Her face erupted in an excited grin. "It's about time! I couldn't have been more obvi--" she started as she moved back into the room.

"Can I have a little privacy during my shower?"

A stunned look of disappointment crossed her face.

"I'll think about it," she replied as she left the room.

*****

Tuesday, November 28

"Mousey. That's what everyone calls me. No one ever calls me Bailie," I thought to myself as I braced against the northern wind. My nose and ears stung from the frigid air, which felt even colder with the wind chill.

The wind seemed to cut through my jacket as I bent forward and pushed against the icy gusts. The jacket was way too thin for winter weather, even with a sweater and sweatshirt layered underneath. But at least it was somewhat windproof, although this wind seemed to find ways of slicing through it. I remember thinking how lucky I was to have found it in the thrift shop at the time. Too bad I couldn't find a decent pair of winter gloves there, too. I kept my hands in my pockets to keep them warm, resisting the urge to check my phone for the time. I didn't need to look to know I was running late for class, thanks to Gary.

My alcoholic stepfather. He's rarely seen without a can of beer in his hand, even in my earliest memories of him. And he's an ugly drunk. I still carry memories of how physically and verbally abusive he was to my mother when she was alive. After she died, he started taking those abuses out on me.

That's why I was late this morning. I wanted to sneak out of the house before he woke up, but in picking up the trash and empty beer cans he left scattered all over the floor, I found his vomit and piss there as well. I cleaned that up before the smell set in and the landlord kicked us out.

Today was Tuesday and I especially didn't want to be late for my first class, Advanced Forensics. I have always wanted to be a forensics lab technician ever since I first watched NCIS as a little girl. I was enamored with Pauley Perrette, the woman who played Abby Sciuto. She was smart, pretty, and hardworking, but most of all, she was cool. I wanted to be just like her, especially the tattoos. I even thought about getting one myself, except Gary would never allow it. Besides, I couldn't afford it. I'll never cool, only mousey, just like everyone says.

There was a slight break in the wind gusts, so I ran towards the campus to make up time. Some of the buildings were a little taller and positioned perfectly to block the wind on the way to the science center where my class was held. I adjusted my heavy backpack to keep it from slipping off my shoulder as I ran.

"You made it just in time Miss Mousseux," Professor Talisman said in his gravelly voice, as I walked through the door. "Please take a seat and we can begin."

Professor Eugene Talisman looked to be in his late 50's with his thinning black hair turning gray, the same color as his short beard. He was remarkably sharp and kept up with the latest in forensic technology. Most students were put off by his abruptness and his habit of lecturing in an expressionless monotone that seemed to drone on and on as if he was totally bored with the material. It also didn't help that his Tuesday and Thursday classes started at 8 AM and were two hours long. But to me he was the gatekeeper to my dream of being the next Abby Sciuto.