Hello Literotica! I'm ba-aa-ck! I want to thank everyone who sent their thoughts during my absence.
This is a new one. I'm working on a few continuation chapters for other stories. I hope you enjoy it.
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"I.... am a librarian," declares Rachel Weisz proudly, in the 1999 film, The Mummy.
I'm not sure about your experience, but librarians rarely look nearly as good as the lovely Ms. Weisz. When I started high school, our librarian was Mrs. Novak, and while she was a lovely woman, she passed old several years back. She had been at the school for more than double my time on the planet. Almost triple.
Our school had been through a major renovation several years before my attendance, and among the changes was the library. I'm told that it was originally the girl's gym.
Now with over one thousand students, that renovation had added an entire level of new classrooms, as well as a technical wing. Moving the library into the gym had allowed for an expansion there, as well. It's higher ceiling had let them build another level within, so now the stacks were two storeys high. It was huge, but Mrs. Novak was rightfully proud of her project's success.
And it was well and truly hers. Mrs. Novak ruled it with an iron, wrinkled fist. She didn't even bother to 'shhhh' those of us who were too loud. Instead, if a boney, arthritic finger was pointed at you, it was a warning. If it was joined by a second finger, you were on thin ice. Next was the thumb, and banishment. Nearly everyone got the thumb at least once. That's how you knew where the limit was.
Midway through my junior year, retirement called for Mrs. Novak. It was a big deal, given her history with history. We all held our breath, awaiting her replacement, hoping it wouldn't be some old biddy with a power complex.
Apparently, wherever they keep the librarians for storage, they were out of that particular version.
Thank goodness.
***
I suppose a good indication of her arrival is that everyone noticed her, but no one recognized her as a librarian. Such are the dangers of preconceptions. She was, however, wearing the standard librarian's uniform, that being the longish skirt and cardigan. Dark brown hair was pulled back and wrapped into some sort of controlled style, if not an actual bun. She even wore glasses, but hers were rectangular framed, and surrounded sparkling brown eyes.
Already tall, moderate high heels made her taller still, but when coupled with the restriction of the skirt around her knees, gave her a quick, wiggly walk. Similar to Morticia Addams, to whom she did bear a slight resemblance, that walk made her popular to follow down the halls, and she always seemed to have a flock of drooling boys in her wake.
Personally, I preferred the view from the other side. Despite the sweater and complete lack of visible cleavage, she had a noticeable jiggle when she walked. Hidden or not, her boobs were more than enough to distract all the males in the building, a point of contention for some of the girls who thought the universe revolved around their nubile young bodies. It hadn't been that long since she must have ruled the halls of her school with equal dominion.
The name plate on her door said 'Ms. Denninger', and it didn't take too much detective work to uncover her first name was the very exotic 'Dexilara'. This led to several nicknames among the student body, such as 'Sexy Dexi' and the extremely appropriate, if unimaginative, 'Double D' or 'DD'.
When it came to personality, Dexi left old Mrs. Novak in the dust. Maybe it was the much narrower age gap.... more detective work, suffice it to say she was in her late twenties to early thirties.... but she was actually a fun person. There were still rules, and she did enforce them, but at least she was pleasant about it, and her fingers were far more attractive, should she use them to single someone out.
One of my first encounters with her, required because of a history assignment, was a good example. I approached her at her desk. She was sitting back in her chair, reading a newspaper, with her long legs crossed on the corner of her desk.
"Excuse me, Ms. Denninger?" I began, watching her eyes, which immediately moved from the paper to focus on me over the top of her glasses.
"Yes, young man," she smiled, putting the paper aside. I was disappointed when those sexy legs left my view as she sat up.
"I have an assignment for Mr. Heisen's history class, and I need some books," I told her.
"Books? Books. Yes, I think we have some of those around here somewhere. I think I saw some in the back," she laughed, standing up gracefully.
Unaccustomed to librarians with a sense of humour, I glanced around at the hundreds of books literally within arms reach of her seat.
"Follow me," she directed and came around her desk. "You are...?"
Huh?
I thought.
Oh, my name?
"Oh, I'm Bryan.... Bryan Miller."
She was a few steps ahead of me, and my attention was now divided between the conversation and her fantastic ass. She was wearing a dark skirt today, one of those ones with a brass zipper up the back. I watched her wiggle.
"And what is the subject for the assignment, Mr. Miller," she asked, over her shoulder. Her profile was cute. Pouty lips. Pixie nose.
"World War 2," I answered.
"Ah, yes. World War 1, the sequel. Many of the same players, more special effects. Glad they stopped at the second one," she replied, arriving at the computer terminal in the centre of the room. "You know you can look this up yourself, right? You're a junior, not a freshman."
I could see from her smile that she wasn't angry. It was my first time face to face with her alone, and from this range I could see her beauty was not dependent on distance. What I mean is, she wasn't one of those girls who's a nine from across the room, but a four up close. If anything, she was prettier this way. Her eyes. The graceful curve of her neck and shoulders. If only that damned sweater wasn't in the way.
"Bryan?" she asked, interrupting my internal dialogue.
"Um, yes, I know," I stumbled, "but I was hoping you might know about some books that might set my report apart. I really need a good grade on this one. Something unusual? A bit off the beaten path? You're the expert on books, that's why I'm asking."
"Alright," she nodded, and put her finger to her lips, tapping them. It didn't appear that she was wearing lipstick, but her lips were still extremely attractive. I watched that fingertip tapping, as she thought deeply. I was still watching when it stopped.
"Ah!" she grinned, finger raised in triumph. She pointed. "This way, I think."
I followed, grateful for another chance to watch her ass. She was surprisingly fast on those heels, weaving through the aisles, around corners, and finally coming to a stop. Her eyes scanned the shelves above.
"Something.... Around.... Ah! Here it is!" she gasped, and reached up.
Reaching arched her back, thrusting her substantial chest out. One foot kicked up behind her, like she was receiving a kiss. As her fingers neared the target, I saw her breasts squash against the lower shelf. Any control I may have had over my blood flow was instantly lost. My dick swelled rapidly. Thankfully, her attention was higher.
"Here," she smiled, handing me the book. "It's written by a veteran of the second war, almost like a diary. Reading it is like being there. It's pretty graphic, but if you want to learn why war is hell, and not like in a video game, this is it."
I tried to turn my hips a bit, real casual, so she couldn't see the lump in my pants. How successful I was, only she could say.
"Thank you," I smiled. "This is exactly what I'm looking for."
That was a subjective statement. It was the book I wanted, but right now, the book was secondary. She had become my primary obsession.
"Alright," she said, casting a sideways glance at me. "Well, if you need anything else, just let me know. Good luck on your assignment."
I made the logical assumption that she was referring to the assignment only, and kept my baser requests to myself. Mmmmm, but they were fun to think about, and I'd probably be thinking about them a lot in the near future.
As it turns out, her choice of material was exactly what I needed to get that good grade. I passed the class, and moved on to Grade 12, my senior year, but that would wait until after the summer.
***
Summer vacation.
A time of freedom with friends, but freedom doesn't come free. If you don't have a job, or parents with deep pockets and an understanding nature, you won't be having much fun.
Fortunately for me, I already had that covered. A few years ago, I started working at a local golf course. I did weekends during the school year, and went full time in the summer, as a general purpose worker, sometimes on the driving range, occasionally in the cart shop, and even the pro shop. I got to play golf, hit balls, and still earn money. There was still another benefit, as well.
You see, this wasn't exactly Augusta National. The conditions of the course were good enough...tees, fairways and greens well maintained and playable.... but it was an executive course. Comprised mostly of par 3 holes, with 6 short par 4's sprinkled in, the clientele was a little older, or a little younger, or a little more female.
Women loved the place, because it placed less of a premium on power, and it was fun. Lots of wives banded together to play here, while their husbands were out on local 'championship' courses. Not just wives, of course. Single women as well.
It was July, and quite hot. My shift that day had me out on the driving range, dispensing balls, and sweating in the sun. I had shade in the range shack, but couldn't stay in there all the time, because it was busy, and I needed to occasionally drive the ball picker.
I had just finished a circuit on the picker, and parked beside the shack. Eight heavy baskets of golf balls were next to be run through the ball washing machine, and I noticed a small group of women waiting in front of the shack.
"I'll be with you in just a second, ladies," I called to them, stacking the baskets beside the back door. Going through the door and into the small shelter, I lifted a smaller basket of balls onto the service counter.
"Bryan? Bryan Miller?" I heard, in a vaguely familiar voice, from the back of the small gathering. I lifted my head, and tried to find the source.
A very familiar face peeked over a shoulder from the back row.
"Ms. Denninger?" I asked, surprised to see her out of context. "What are you doing here?"
"I'm going white-water rafting!" she laughed. "What do you think? Playing golf, silly."
