Not A Librarian Anymore

This "First Time" story also has a voyeur theme and involves a natural woman.

***

"Oh Randy," my Mom chirped as I neared the front door, apparently seeing me trying to escape so I could go down to the park to see if anybody was hanging out. "Did you notice we have a new neighbor?"

"I saw a moving truck the other day," I admitted, and while I was hoping there would be a girl my age moving her with her folks, the little cottage was probably barely big enough for one person.

"Well what I would like you to do is bring these cookies over," Mom instructed as she handed me a small Tupperware container with some of the cookies she baked inside. "Introduce yourself."

"Ma..."

"Actually I don't think an introduction will be needed because you know the lady," Mom explained. "Quite well I think, and when we chatted earlier she certainly remembers you. Spoke very highly of you too, and you know how proud that makes me. You were one of her best customers."

"Huh?"

"Mrs. Ryan. Your school librarian?" Mom said.

"Her? Why did she move into that little dump?"

"it's not a dump. It's a cute little place, but after her husband passed away the house she had was too much for her."

"She retired?" I asked. "I thought she would die in our library."

"They offered early retirement with perks so since she's 55 she decided to retire.'

"55? I thought she was way older than that."

"Well don't go telling her that."

"I won't," I answered with a shake of my head. "What kind of an idiot do you think I am?" Besides, I really liked her."

"So go over and say hi, and it would be really nice if you offered to mow the lawn for her," Mom suggested. "She asked if anybody in the neighborhood did yard work and I mentioned that maybe you would like to, at least this summer until college."

"You volunteered me? Why do you always do stuff like that?" I groaned as I left.

"Because working a couple of nights a week at the store isn't going to pay for many books come fall is why, and she doesn't have any family around to speak of so I'm sure she's lonely and would like some company. Plus, if you want to get to heaven..." Mom said as she always did at times like this, so instead of arguing I just went out the back door.

Mrs. Ryan must have been the librarian since the school was built, and since I liked to read I ended up spending a lot of time in the school library, probably reading half of the books in the place. Another reason for hanging out there was that it was the last place the bullies who took an interest in me would go. She was very strict and acted like the books were hers, but because I was polite and an avid reader she took a liking to me, and I sort of looked at her like a grandmother.

Mrs. Ryan played the part of the old spinster librarian, dressing like someone from the last century. Every dress she wore was so long you could only see her ankles and had long sleeves and high necks so the only skin she showed was her face, neck and hands. Mrs. Ryan was kinda tall, although when you're 5'6" most people seemed that way, and although the dresses were so baggy I could never check out her body like I did all females she sure seemed to be skinny, and she wore her reddish brown hair in a bun to make her look even more strict.

When I got over to her back door and knocked I didn't know what to expect but was hoping I wouldn't get stuck chatting all day, not that I had anything else to do. The yard was small so mowing it wouldn't take long, so I figured offering to do that for her wouldn't hurt. The lady that came to the screen door and looked out at me? If Mom hadn't told me who had moved in I wouldn't have recognized her, at least at first. Her hair was down and she was wearing a summery blouse and shorts, and the smile she gave me was a lot brighter than it had been back at school, probably because she didn't have to put up with us anymore.

"Randy LaFountain!" Mrs. Ryan chirped loudly as her smile widened, but my eyes were busy elsewhere as I let her lead me inside her cottage, and my mind was racing as I followed her into the kitchen.

"So wonderful to see you again, and what's this you have here? Cookies? They look yummy even if I'm trying to watch my weight," Mrs. Ryan declared, and when she said that I had to check her expression because the blouse she had on showed a lot of skin and from what I could see she had to be kidding.

Mrs. Ryan's arms were pale except some freckles up near her shoulder and very slender, and her forearms had an abundance of fine hairs that looked soft and downy, but my attention was diverted when my eyes went to the rest of her. Contrary to what I had suspected, the librarian had breasts, and not only that she wasn't wearing a bra! Prim and proper Mrs. Ryan bra-less? It was like I had entered a Bizarro World of sorts where everything I knew was wrong.

The more I looked at her breasts which hung down close to her stomach, I figured out that they weren't as big as I thought they were when I first saw them but had probably started to droop like my Mom's had, although that brief glace I got at hers led me to believe that she had the lowest hanging boobs in the world.

All the time I was mentally undressing the former librarian she had been talking a mile a minute, asking about my upcoming college career and whether I still read a lot, and I did the best I could to answer her but my staring at the bumps in her blouse caused my what seemed to be large nipples had not gone unnoticed because when I raised my eyes to meet hers the look on her face told me I was busted.

Mrs. Ryan wasn't mad or offended, so far as I could see. Instead, she almost seemed to enjoy the way I was gawking at her because I guess not many guys a third her age stood there practically drooling at her. The guys hadn't at school, that was for sure, but then again if Mrs. Ryan dressed like this they might have. The fact that she was as old - hell - older than my mother didn't bother me at all.

When the subject of mowing the lawn came up Mrs. Ryan led me outside, and out there became more animated, gesturing around the tiny yard and first explaining the parts that need mowing, and then going around the perimeter to telling me about the flowers she was going to plant, some this year and some next. I didn't know or care anything about horticulture but did my best to listen.

That wasn't easy though, because out in the sunlight Mrs. Ryan got even sexier to me. The freckles on her upper arms and shoulders glowed, and that down on her forearms sparkled in the bright light. Her nipples, clear to see from the beginning, were now apparently stiff and I swear I could tell they were crimson through the white blouse.

My dick was hard and cramped in my briefs as I tried not to stare, but then Mrs. Ryan started talking about whether I thought I would be able to trim some low hanging branches from a tree in the corner of the yard. Her very slender arm stretched upwards as she touched the parts of the tree she wanted removed, and when she did I must have done a double take when I saw the brilliant spray of long red hairs under her arm that became visible with her hand raised.

This was something you didn't see everyday, although my friend Clay just broke up with a girl who didn't shave her armpits either, and after a while I started to like the way it looked. Of course, I would find myself getting attracted to Clay's girlfriends for some odd reason. We had a different kind of friendship, because I liked the guy a lot but hated him too. Maybe it was jealously, because he was perfect, or so it seemed. Star athlete, honor student and good looking to boot, he had his choice of girls all through high school and it looked like he chose most of them.

Clay was arrogant though, treating girls like crap and badmouthing them after he dumped them, and he wasn't all that nice to me either most of the time. Clay had a mean streak that I had experienced more than once, but I took it because I had few friends and despite it all looked up to him. Regardless, that girl he dumped was the first one I had seen with hair under her arms, and now Mrs. Ryan of all people, was the second, and it did nothing cool my jets.

As we made the tour of the yard which wasn't much bigger than half a basketball court, I keep trying to make mental notes, but the thought that dominated my thoughts were hanging loosely in Mrs. Ryan's blouse. Nobody from school would ever believe me if I told them how different she looked away from the circulation desk, but when I tried to figure out who to call first it hit me.

Why should I tell anybody? The list of friends I had was short, and few of them even called me to invite me somewhere or any kind of social event. I could picture even those I could tell laughing when I told them that the spinster librarian was sexy looking. Why should I leave myself open to abuse, and even more important, why should I subject Mrs. Ryan to their derision? No, this would be my little secret.

"Randy?"

"Huh? Oh. Sorry," I apologized after her voice broke me out of my daze, and after she told me how much was the going rate for moving the lawn every week or so I shook my head.

"No, it's a little yard," I said in refusing any compensation. "I can do it in no time flat when I do our yard. And the other stuff? That won't take long either."

"Well, we shan't argue about that because I would never let you do it for nothing," Mrs. Ryan said in her strict librarian voice. "I mean that Randall."

Ouch. Mom at her most pissed never called me anything but Randy, but I smiled at the dreaded formal name and nodded.

"You're the boss, as always," I told her, and then her smile returned while she squeezed my arm.

"That's right," Mrs. Ryan said. "This will be so nice living next to you, almost like having a man around the house once again."

"Yes ma'am."

"I would like to chat all day but there's so many boxes to unpack," I was told, ending the conversation. "But we have all summer to catch up on things. Feel free to stop by anytime."

I'm not sure Mrs. Ryan knew what that meant to me.

***

"You know Randy," Mom told me when I came into the house after spending some time with the new neighbor. "You don't want to wear out your welcome with Mrs. Ryan."

"Good grief!" I sputtered. "First you tell me to spend time with her because she's lonely, and now you complain when I do what you told me to do."

"Every day though?"

"How do you know what I do when you go to work?" I reasoned, although I had been over each of the last five days for at least an hour.

"Okay, but if she hints around..."

"I get it Mom," I replied as I left the kitchen to go to my room, and after I got there I locked the door so I wouldn't be disturbed.

Mom hadn't said anything about the redecorating I had done to my room, easing the dresser over so I could get access to the window that it had blocked for as long as I could remember. The room looked a little strange where it was but I didn't care, and besides, Mom should be proud of me for doing a little housekeeping.

I had cleaned that grubby window inside and out, something that might never have been done while I was alive, and when I decided that the screen window was in the way I removed that, all the better to see over to the little patio where Mrs. Ryan sat often in her high-back lawn chair, relaxing in the shade while reading a book and drinking ice tea, blissfully unaware that she was being observed.

My binoculars were on top of the dresser and I winced when I saw I had forgotten to put them away yesterday. They would be tough to explain if Mom came exploring. What could I say? I was bird-watching? Even if I could deliver that excuse with a straight face Mom at her most naive moment would never buy it.

I had a problem, or maybe more accurately, I had an obsession. I was infatuated with Millicent H. Ryan, the 55 year old retired librarian who was enjoying her leisure time, and actually seemed to enjoy my company despite my occasional lame conversation points. Each morning after doing a little housework and taking a shower - things she told me she did each morning before enjoying the outdoors with a good book - and no, according to the lady herself I was not intruding.

Mrs. Ryan even seemed to put a little effort into how she looked, nothing like the starched and stiff look from her school days, but I noticed the minimal make-up and her wardrobe which I loved. Everything was fresh looking and summery, and she hadn't worn a bra since she moved in. I think I had memorized the pattern of the scattered freckles on her arms and the parts of her shoulders I could see, but I could only take about an hour of leering at her before retreating to my bedroom.

With my pants and briefs down, I slipped a sock over my constant erection with one hand while holding the binoculars with the other, focusing on the lady with the yellow tank-top and white shorts and showed a lot of her long and very slender legs, but I wasn't a leg man and besides there was so much else to look at.

I never lasted long at the window as I looked at Mrs. Ryan's nipples which were thankfully visible over the book she was holding on her lap. From time to time she would rest the book on her lap and rest her eyes, stretching and putting her hands on the top of her headrest so I could enjoy everything about her.

Mrs. Ryan would sit like that often, like she was playing around with me so she could watch me squirm while trying not to look under her arms. Actually, I don't think it was "like" she was teasing me. She WAS teasing me because she knew I would pretend I wasn't staring at her breasts and her armpits but couldn't help myself. Mrs. Ryan didn't care and she wasn't ashamed either. Why should she be though? I was the weird one.

The daytime pressure release was different from what I did in bed after turning out the lights. In the dark I was an amazing lover with Mrs. Ryan's role played by my pillow, and I made it last as long as I could, grinding into the bedding and then pretending to go down on her, all the while imagining Mrs. Ryan moaning and chanting my name until we both came simultaneously.

This strenuous lovemaking would usually be enough to allow me to sleep, and often my dreams would be of Mrs. Ryan too. Pleasant dreams where I was the virile stud and Mrs. Ryan was as enamored of me as I was of her. Occasionally though, I had another dream, and this one was not a fantasy but really happened, much to my regret. It was the first time I had really been with a girl, and I had a feeling that it might be the last...

****

Her name was Greta and she was the sister of a girl that my friend Clay had used and dumped. She was chubby and not very attractive, but I'm no matinee idol so I did care. All I did care about was having sex, and Clay had assured me that this Greta was a girl who couldn't say no. I asked Clay whether he had sex with Greta but he laughed at that.

"You kidding?" Clay had sneered, insulted that I didn't know she was not close to his standards, but he said that Greta would be a good starting point for me and because he was aware of my dismal track record with girls added, "Even you can't screw this up."

Surprisingly, I didn't and Greta was giving me access to everything, even assisting me when I had trouble taking off her bra, and then she was naked in all her glory and helping me get undressed. Greta didn't seem bothered by my scrawny upper torso, and then she practically clawed my slacks off. That was when things started to go wrong.

I saw Greta give my tight white briefs a quizzical look, but I thought she would take my boner poking into the cotton as a compliment to my desire for her. Then she yanked my underwear down, causing my erection to bob up and down wildly, and then my world ended.

Greta didn't laugh, but the giggle that came out of her as she grabbed my dick was just as bad, and while there may be worse things a girl can say to a guy, I can't think of many.

"Doesn't it get any bigger?" Greta snickered as she held my dick between her thumb and index finger and jerked it.

"Uh - yeah - some," I contended, but that wasn't true because I was so rock hard the veins were throbbing at the time.

Then I lost it. My erection withered away until was she was pulling on had shrunk to where it was tough to hold on to, and I panicked and started yanking on myself in an effort to get hard again. I even climbed on top of her and tried to push my semi limp noodle into her for a while before I gave up.

"That never happened to me before," I mumbled as an apology, while Greta shrugged and asked if we had any more beer.

That was our first and last date of course, and I know she must have told her sister about me. Her sister in turn told Clay, which made the whole thing a disaster. Whether I was more humiliated by my inability to perform or being told that my equipment was as inferior as I had feared didn't matter much. All I knew was that I would never have sex with a girl after that.

Back then the only dicks I had ever seen were in changing rooms at the pool or gym, and they were all limp. The only erect dick I had even seen was my own. When I looked at other guys I could see that I wasn't as big as the vast majority of them, but I figured it didn't matter much.

Erect, my cock was about the size of a hot dog, and not one of those beefy ballpark ones either. My wiener looked like it had been boiled too long and I feared it was even more lacking in girth than length. A check of the anatomy books at the library informed me that the average erect penis was somewhere in the 5 or 6 inch range, depending on the book, and when I took the ruler to my dick after getting home even jamming the thing halfway to my intestines couldn't get me to the lower end of the average size spectrum.

Anyway, I hadn't had that nightmare since the new Mrs. Ryan had been dominating my thoughts, and how I wished that my neighbor had been my first experience because she wouldn't have laughed. At least I didn't think she would have.

***

The next morning I was going to make my morning visit to Mrs. Ryan when I saw her moving truck pull up to the front of her cottage, and this guy not much older than me but built like Hulk Hogan strode up to the door. I figured they must have forgotten something when they moved her but when nothing came in or out of the truck I decided to do a little snooping, pretending I was getting the gas can so I could fill it.

Mrs. Ryan wasn't on her patio and when I peeked through the blinds to the living room she wasn't in there either. I walked around to the little shed where the gas can was, and when I passed her bedroom window the question of where Mrs. Ryan and the moving guy had gone was answered.

The curtains billowed slightly in the breeze, allowing me to look in and see the horrible sight of the love of my life being savaged by the naked brute on top of her. I assumed Mrs. Ryan was under the guy because I couldn't see her under this guy broad and hairy back. Only her pale fingers were visible, griping the moving man's arms as he used her like a trampoline.

I thought about what I could do to save Mrs. Ryan, maybe grabbing a garden tool and jumping through the window like a superhero coming to the rescue, because it was obvious she was being raped. Soon enough it became apparent that the librarian was not doing this against her will, with the words she said as the behemoth grunted on her like Sasquatch.

Mrs. Ryan was howling - was that what women did when they had an orgasm? - when I went back home, not wanting to be thought of as a Peeping Tom. When the truck was still there a half hour later I did sneak back over,and the moving guy was still on top of her pounding away, so after another peek inside I grabbed the gas can and left.