Blacked in the Stacks

I replayed the events of the day in my mind as I drove home. When I arrived, safe within the garage, I just sat in the car. I've never been shy. Not in social, or in physical, contexts. But this was crazy, even for me. 



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Earlier ...



It is, of course, unfair to expect anyone -- let alone a college student -- to drop everything they are doing to spend time with a visitor. Because I know this, I plan activities each time I visit my daughter at school. One of my favorite activities is a campus tour, and not just because I love the campus, but also because each tour guide has their own unique style.

Today's guide would have been perfect even if he didn't have a winning personality. But he did, and that just made the tour all the more fun for everyone. I was by myself, but most of the 20 or so other members of the group came either with a spouse or with a child. The tour guide, too, brought a friend, although it looked like he was training him to eventually run his own tours.

The tour guide and his friend kept me involved, probably because I was alone, and not because of how I looked. The New England Fall can be wonderfully chilly, and I was dressed to combat this. I wore a snug Victoria's Secret cableknit sweater, its gold color working well with my hazel eyes and reddish blonde hair. My jeans, too, were snug, but I am proud that in my 40's I can still fit into a size 6. Given that I was attracting attention, I wished I had worn boots, but alas I had chosen to wear sneakers.

In sneakers, jeans, a sweater, and -- God forgive me -- a Red Sox cap, and with only earth tone make-up, my 5'6" frame held no mystery, no mystique. I was simply someone's Mom on a campus tour. If I had known that two tall, fit, and charming young men would shower me with stolen glances and bathe me in polite flirtation, I would have dressed for their imaginations. Life, as sweet as it is, often stumbles from one missed opportunity to the next.

The tour progressed as usual, from discussions of admission policies, through a description of the mascot, and eventually to the library. The library itself was mostly unremarkable, but the view from the roof was wonderful. Here the group gazed upon the city, thankful that the campus was close enough to enjoy it, but far enough away to feel private. This part of the tour always reminds me of why my daughter loves it here.

Standing now, next to the guide's friend, our leader spoke. "Although the view from here is impressive, you should know that the library is also pretty great. It's almost always open, has a huge collection distributed over multiple floors, and even has private study rooms."



I whispered to his friend. "The library is just for studying, right? Rumors of undergrads hooking-up aren't true, are they?"

He looked back at me, smiled and whispered his response. "Miss, rumors usually exist because there is some truth to them. Believe me, I know."

The combination of his smile and eye contact left me wondering about these last four words. Was he suggesting that people do have fun in the stacks, or was he speaking to a different rumor? My mind, which never strays too far from the physical, played with these thoughts.

Even if unintended, imagining the sexual prowess of a 20-year-old African-American undergraduate made the remainder of the tour all that much more enjoyable. My fantasies ran from the simple to the complex, and I accepted each thought with the joy it deserved. As the tour ended and the group dissolved, I was so deep into a fantasy that I didn't see them approach.

"Hi, I hope you liked the tour. James told me that you had some interest in the library."

I'm sure that I blushed immediately. "I wished James hadn't!"



"Aw, I wouldn't be pissed at him. He's just a friendly guy. I am too, you know? Call me, Roger."

The three of us now seemed to be forming our own, small group. Unfortunately, I couldn't stay. "It's been nice meeting you guys. The tour was fantastic."

Roger shook his head, smiled, and chastised me. "So unfair! Don't you even want to tell us your name?"



"Sorry! I didn't mean to be rude. I'm Sandy." I chose Sandy, although I normally prefer Sandra, because the former seemed more informal.

"Its nice to meet you, Sandy. James and I have some time, you know, if you want a private tour of the library."

There was no doubting Roger's intent, and the look on James' face suggested no timidity. My heart raced, but I had to decline.

"I'm sorry, but I've got an appointment in 15 minutes." I felt it uniquely inappropriate to mention that I was meeting my daughter for lunch.

My words barely slowed him. "How about later then? I'd be a horrible guide if I let you leave here without satisfying all of your questions."



I was shocked by what I heard next, but my mouth seemed to move without permission from my mind. "OK. Yes. I'd like that." The boys seemed very pleased as we made plans to meet later.

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Lunch was a pleasant, and short, which seemed fine with my daughter. We get to see each other frequently, given how close our home is to the campus. After saying our goodbyes, I was hurried home, fully intent on returning to keep my appointment. 



The image of the boys stayed with me the whole trip. The two dressed similarly in brown khakis, blue college jerseys, and dress shoes. But there were differences. James at maybe 6'2" was just an inch or two shorter than Roger, and while muscular, was also less overtly athletic than him.

James' hair was buzz cut, while Roger's head was shaved clean. Their color, too, was different. If they were edible, James would be milk chocolate and Roger dark chocolate. They certainly looked tasty to me!

Thankfully the trip from route 60 to route 93N was uneventful, and traffic on 93 is never challenging in the early afternoon -- not even at the exits for 95. I reached 495 in record time, got off at route 28, and made it home without incident.

I would make it back to campus at 7:30 sharp, but before then I needed to get ready. Life is long, but that doesn't mean that an endless supply of opportunities awaits us. When you decide to seize an opportunity, you should give yourself to it completely, and treat it with respect.

You must also treat those that you love with respect, and thus this was risky, even for me. The boys could never know my last name, and no one on campus could recognize me. If those two requirements were met, then my daughter would remain blissfully ignorant.

I doubt very much that the boys are interested in my true identity, but still I would leave my ID and license in the car. That would be the easy part. The harder part would be avoiding detection in the library, but I hoped that a combination of Roger and James' eagerness to please and my cleverness with attire would be sufficient.

And it needed to be! Making love with a younger man is always exciting, and the few black men that I have been intimate with have shown themselves to truly understand my body. But having two young black men at the same time may be a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. It was certainly not an opportunity that I could pass by.

Neither was it an opportunity without a template, a framework. The stereotype of dominant black men and willingly submissive white women -- often a married white woman -- is well known. Playing that role, however, was a stretch for me. I am not submissive by nature, nor do I easily accept cartoonish stereotypes. But I had never been in a threesome, so perhaps tonight was the ideal time to fully submit to expectations.

Indeed, what were my expectations? I dismissed the possibility that the encounter wouldn't happen -- the boys seemed too interested. I similarly rejected the notion that the evening would be relatively tame. But what would happen when we were alone? Would it be fast or slow? How would I handle them, would I handle them at all, or would I simply follow directions?

And although embarrassed to admit it, I also wondered about their size. The passion of the moment would render most any size perfect, but I was focused on stereotypes. I was focused on this fantasy. Could I handle two, extremely motivated, *large* men?

As long as the answer to that question was at least a willingness to try, then I knew the night could go forward. I pondered the question for just a moment before laughing. I'd be more than willing to try two well-endowed hot young men! In fact, I was hoping for it.

Once I had decided to give myself freely, and willingly, to the fantasy, the preparation process revealed itself. I shaved in the shower, and then took a long, hot bath. I seeped in water graced with bath oil, allowing hints of rose and jasmine to enter my pores. 



My nails, medium in length, and recently manicured, already had the look I desired, but still I added a fresh clear coat over my French manicure. Attention to detail is always appreciated, and I was about to add a very interesting detail. Long since divorced, my left ring finger is typically unadorned. 



Tonight, however, I would give my suitors a sense, perhaps subconsciously, of conquest. Although divorced, I still had my wedding ring, but I believed it to be too small. Instead I chose to wear a mimic, a wedding ring set with a 5.0-carat cubic zirconia as the centerpiece. 



I finished getting dressed and looked at myself in a full-length mirror. My hands looked expensive, and pampered. My body smelt of luxury. My hair, shoulder length, appeared playful, and sexy. My dress, black as night, hugged the curves of my body. With its plunging neckline, its delicate spaghetti straps, its pleats and subtle ruffles, and its asymmetric hem resting barely below my butt, my availability would be understood.


My calf high boots, too, indicated availability, but also hinted at power. The black suede leather matched my dress, the buckle and strap matched my ring, and the 4" heels matched my hopes. Smokey black eye shadow helped reveal the green in my hazel eyes, light rouge suggested youth, and crimson red lipstick showed my need. I would not be ignored.

Before leaving the house, however, I need to wrap the gift that was my body. I hid my dress with a long grey sweater coat, and shielded much of my face with a matching oversized floppy terry cloth hat. I collected my sunglasses as I headed to the car, but was unsure if wearing them at night would draw too much attention to myself. I needed to remain anonymous. 



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The drive to campus was easy, and fast, but because of my racing heart the trip seemed to take forever. I parked, far from my daughter's apartment, behind West Hall. The campus, reasonably dark and quiet, provided comfort as I walked toward the library. I paused, only momentarily, as I passed Goddard Chapel. The Lord and I had long since come to an agreement regarding my Earthly needs, and I felt her acceptance as I passed.


Roger and James, leaning upon a concrete wall, were waiting for me on a platform between sets of stairs. They had also decided to come dressed in costume, theirs with a decidedly more urban feel. 



James wore a dark pullover hoodie, baggy jeans, and construction boots. Roger also wore untied construction boots and a dark hoodie, but his zippered in the front. The zipper was open which allowed me to view his muscular chest from beneath his white tank top. He also wore sweatpants, which seemed appropriate somehow.



They didn't recognize me at first, which didn't disappoint me. I was considerably taller in these boots, and was dressed to be unrecognizable. The transformation they had undergone was equally dramatic. I was curious how they would respond to me, and I was surprised how I responded to them: I felt safe.



"Hey guys, I'm happy to see you!"



"Sandy? Damn girl, I thought you might back out."



"I might still, OK? I really can't be seen. That would be a nightmare for me."



Roger calmed my concerns, and James nodded in agreement. "Listen girl, the semester is only two weeks old, and it's a Thursday night. The library is going to be dead." That made me feel immediately better, but he went on. "And no one checks IDs at the door. But look, there are a few places in the library we could go. The safest place may not be the most romantic. You cool with that?"



I shook my head yes, and Roger and James, on either side of me, shepherded me into the library. We entered the door furthest from the circulation desk, walked past a large reading room and a hallway, and took a right down a flight of stairs. The stairway bifurcated and we stayed to the left. Once we reached the floor, we took a right, walked through a set of glass doors, and entered the stacks. 



We walked forward, between bookshelves, until we reached a corroder. There we took a left, walked past many empty desks, and reached the door for another set of stairs. We entered the stairway, went down a flight to the ground floor, entered a room with movable stacks. Then we took a right, and walked the length of the building. We did all of this in silence and I never saw another person.



Roger stopped by the men's room, looked me in the eye, and spoke. "I told you it wasn't romantic, but it's safe. This OK?" I smiled at his question. I was quite relieved that he cared about my feelings, so I accepted his solution. James entered first, and when he saw that no one was in there, he motioned for us to join him.



The bathroom was not romantic, but it was surprisingly clean. The tile floor shined, no graffiti was visible, and the room smelt lightly of air freshener. The room had a vanity and two stalls, I assumed -- wrongly as it turns out -- that we would retire to the handicapped accessible stall. 



Roger seemed to predict my thoughts, and corrected me. "Hey girl, we're going to stay right here. One of us will always have a foot at the base of the door. I guarantee you that no one else will come into this room. And if we can be quiet, you will not be discovered."

I accepted his word as Gospel. 



-------



The lights would remain on, and I feared that they wouldn't be forgiving. But now wasn't the time for fear. I walked away from the boys, took a deep breath, and prepared myself. I placed my handbag on the floor, removed my hat, and then -- for effect -- slowly allowed my sweater coat to fall to the floor. I stood, facing the wall, with my body on display.



"Goddamn girl, you got it goin.'" I appreciated James' encouragement, and turned to face them. Their smiles told me all I needed to know, and Roger's extended hand told me what to do. I took his hand, he pulled me close, and kissed me passionately. The feel of his tongue in my mouth was welcome, was exciting. When we broke our embrace, James' hand pulled my face to his, and his embrace was equally sweet, and just as passionate. 



I was aware, while trading kisses between these two men, that my straps had been taken from my shoulders. My dress, too tight for gravity's influence, was then pulled beneath my breasts. My bra was quickly removed, and although proud of my body, I was momentarily self-conscious. Time is kinder to smaller breasts, but thankfully the boys seemed pleased with my larger offering. It was amazingly sexy to feel two sets of hands on my body, to kiss two beautiful men, and to feel -- as I did now -- their growing excitement.


I pushed back from them slightly, stared each in the eye, and dropped to my knees. In this position, on my knees before a lover, I feel powerful. I love being an active participant, controlling the pleasure, and accepting the intimacy of the moment. Neither James nor Roger felt the need to wait for me to undress them, each choosing instead to rapidly strip.



While I once cursed the light, I was now thankful for it. With James in my left hand, and Roger in my right, I took a few moments to examine them. James was like a pipe -- long, thick, and hard -- with no taper at all; a perfect cylinder. His penis was lighter than Roger's, more brown than black. Roger was larger, if that's possible, but with a slightly smaller head. His taper, though, was dramatic. His girth was as intimidating as it was exciting. And he was not yet fully hard.



I accepted James into my mouth first, but stroked both simultaneously. James' appreciation was obvious, but short lived. Roger pulled my mouth from James, and took his place. And so went our dance, which was considerably harder than I expected. The boys fought over my mouth, and I gave it without hesitation to the immediate winner. My hands continued to stroke them as my mouth attempted to please them. Back and forth I was pulled between them, accepting the challenge, and becoming aware of the effect it had on me. I had never been so excited.



It was James who first could wait no longer. He pulled from me, surrendering my mouth to Roger, who accepted it without hesitation. Roger worked himself to his knees, never allowing my mouth to break free, and I felt my dress pushed up beyond my hips. My panties were quickly removed, and James ran his fingers through my wetness. 



He whispered. "You're gonna like this, girl." I may have mumbled back, but at this stage Roger was trying to see how much he could fit into my mouth. I felt the head of James' penis slip along my length until it found its rightful place. My body, although more aroused than at any time in my life, still needed a moment to prepare for him. He allowed slightly less than that moment. 



At first the lovemaking was gentle, or rather as gentle as he could be with such an impressive cock, but that lasted just until my first orgasm. Once he recognized his power over my pleasure, James showed no mercy. Roger, too, showed very little mercy, although he allowed me to breath when cumming.

James, though, was an animal. He fucked me rapidly, and deeply, and each time I came he grabbed my hips and thrust his cock impossibly deep into me and held it there. When I recovered, the process began again.



It was the fourth time, when I felt I could take no more, that James did not stop for my orgasm. His machine gun rapid thrusts continued, forcing me into a series of orgasms, until he came. And he came with a power, a pressure, unfamiliar to me. Feeling him release in me was primal, perfect. Feeling him continue to grind afterward was somehow important, needed.



I was dazed, in a haze of love and lust, when James pulled from me. Roger, now fully hard, pulled me to my feet, and lifted my ass onto the vanity. I just watched as he separated my legs, and positioned his cock at the entrance to my swollen vagina. He guided it into place, made eye contact, and then thrust fully into me. 



The pain was spectacular, the pleasure beyond that. I watched him as he fucked me. He seemed particularly interested in watching his cock disappear into my body, perhaps due to the color differences, or due to our size asymmetry. I longed to see what he saw, the carnal truth of our shared passion. 



Later I would hope that no one recognized the difference, but in the moment I couldn't hold such thoughts. I was stricken -- stricken -- by my orgasm, which was more powerful than any previously experienced. Roger didn't pause, but continued to take my body as his own. The depth he reached, the power he displayed, were unmatched. When he grew close, he reached under my legs, around my waist, and lifted me. 


I wrapped my arms around his shoulders and rested my head against his sweaty body. He pressed my back up against the wall of a stall, and fucked me with my feet off the ground. Gravity demanded what my body could not do willingly, so Roger reached parts of my body unknown even to me. The magic of the moment overtook me, and must have done the same to him. We came simultaneously, me in willing submission, and him in clear dominance.

He held me there for what may have just been moments, but what felt like a lifetime. When his breathing returned to normal, he returned me to the vanity, his cock still deep within me. He smiled and began running his thumb across my clit. I begged him to stop, as I felt I could handle no more. But he would not.