Vanessa Part I:
The Farhampton Library
Vanessa settled into her usual seat, the one farthest from the door. Farhampton U Campus Library was small enough that she could still see the door, but the chances of someone entering the building seeing her was slight. She saw the people, not the other way around. It had been a minor issue in high school but in college it was growing annoying. Hours of classwork, hours of homework, all equaled minutes of meaningful human interaction.
In short, she was lonely.
Nineteen years old and she couldn’t generate any interest in her nethers worth a damn. No human interest at any rate. A promo code plucked from the sponsored portion of an impotent YouTube video about something or other proved to be of great value. For the last six months odd hours could be spent in the arms of a discrete silicone lover. “Mr. Darcy,” as the little vibrator came to be known, was a fast and efficient beast, shaking off the worst days, every bad grade, every missed opportunity for real life. It was lightyears ahead of the old memory foam pillow she kept under her bed since puberty. Cranked up to a setting reminiscent of an electric sander, Mr. Darcy would dependably bring her to a wet mess in mercifully few minutes, a blessing when she had little time at the end of the day and less privacy.
After the week she’d had she longed for the sweet oblivion only Mr. D could bring. That was really the best solution to the profoundly sour disappointments that came with so many missed opportunities. It was the same story as high school; someone blissfully unaware of how people-dumb she was, talked to her. The sandy-haired boy in her poli-sci class who had taken to wearing gray sweatpants that left nothing to the imagination. It seemed that now was the time that the normal people, the socially blessed and conversation havers, the movers and shakers, were hosting parties and looking for other normal people to attend them. From all outside appearances, Vanessa was one of those people; thin, clean, dressed in that fine balance between casual and trendy. Her hair was smooth and dark, blue eyes enhanced by well-applied color. Two semesters of gym had cinched her waist and perked up her butt into a cute bubble gently squeezed by a good pair of jeans. This was the cover by which people judged her. Unfortunately, like many of the books around her now, once a prospective moved past the colorful jacket they were always put off by the contents. She was to her great shame, a human typo.
Words, deep and fraught with subtext or shallow and slang-riddled, never came at the right moments. She hesitated, “Uh, I—um…” stopped making eye contact and drifted off. That was just how it happened with Gray Sweatpants not thirty minutes ago. With one interesting difference.
He sauntered over to her desk as she struggled to put her textbook away, moving his lean swimmer’s build with an ease that was totally alien to her.
“Hey.”
His square chin had just the right level of scruff, framing his tanned face. A loose lock of hair fell past his green eyes, bisecting his face, the result of effortless bedhead.
Vanessa had blushed visibly; she knew because she got hot from the face down. Sweatpants smiled and leaned his toned butt against the desk in the next row. He was close enough that she could smell his crisp deodorant, a nice change from the usual cloud of body sprays and BO that most of the boys had. Surprising considering, he had worn the same pants to every class that week. Those snug sweatpants that left nothing to her fertile imagination, not a thing. Hello. A not-so-subtle bulge down his left leg right at eye level as he gazed languidly down at her.
“I’m Kirk,” he said. “S’up?”
The heat moved downward, tickling her nethers. She squeezed her legs together, bare under her black skirt. That didn’t help, it just put pressure on, as her mother called it, “Satan’s doorbell”.
He continued talking, but she couldn’t hear him over the incessant ringing. Ding-dong. Someone was at the door. Squeeze. Ding-dong.
“Anyway, there’s a mixer in the quad at seven,” he continued, not noticing her red cheeks or odd posture. “Aight, cool. Laters.”
And he was gone. Vanessa hadn’t said a word and it didn’t matter one shit. She just sat there in the empty classroom, now deliciously paralyzed by her need to answer that damn door.
Squeeze. Gray. Squeeze. Sweatpants. Squeeze. She bit her lip, a bead of hot sweat working its way down her back.
A little shudder shook her from her revelry. She caught her breath. A gift of her own awkward repression was the ability to come quietly. Not that she had needed it before then. Ringing the bell in an open classroom had never been on the menu before. If she was smart it never would again. Mr. Darcy lived at home for a reason.
And that was it. She went to the library, no one the wiser to her indiscretion or the damp, messy state of her panties. How curious that her little curse of invisibility had been, for a brief moment, a blessing. Vanessa couldn’t imagine the shame of being caught. Her damp white panties, a boring conservative thing, clung to her, a hidden but very viscous trophy. She shifted, crossing her legs, the soft fabric of her black skirt riding up. The closest people there were a group of seniors just down the aisle, all talking over each other at a round table. An argument about some period in art history?
One of them, a tall girl with dirty blond hair, leaned over the table, pointing to a textbook. She wore blue yoga pants and a trendy top that, even from a distance, showed off her generous décolletage. Vanessa leaned in turn, craning to see more. So close and yet so far away.
Squeeze.
The girl giggled and bounced in her seat, sending her breasts into an all too brief jiggle. What was she wearing under there? Something sporty and comfortable or something scanty and sheer? Maybe nothing…
Squeeze, squeeze.
Vanessa shifted, crossing her legs tighter, tensing her leg muscles. The girl was mesmerizing, so beautiful, more so than gray sweatpants. The bead of sweat returned, joined by a sister sliding gently down between her breasts. Another student turned the corner, passing mere feet away. Vanessa didn’t stop. She was invisible, wasn’t she? The world would pass by and pass away and all she had to do was sit and squeeze.
The library blurred for a glorious moment, and she stopped breathing as a boiling wave crashed against the shores of her body. She shook, muscles tightening, biting her lip, a little squeaky gasp escaping her. The girl looked up and Vanessa fumbled to raise her book, her raw shame returning like a cop from behind a speed trap.
“Are you okay?” the blond asked, her voice a stage whisper. Did she see her? The tiny dark patch between her breasts? The flush of her cheeks?
An awkward thumbs up and an impulsive smile were enough to assuage the girl, her beauty and focus again the sole resources of her friends. They talked and argued; a pencil rolled off the table.
Vanessa slipped out of the library, enjoying the soaked, sticky shame between her legs. She had learned something about herself. She was a little gross and a lot into blonds of either sex. That was something she had never admitted to herself.
Maybe she would try going to that mixer, she considered. After what she had done so spontaneously, with such penalties she couldn’t imagine, twice now, surely “S’up?” would be quick and easy. Gray sweats seemed easy going.
With a little more effort, Vanessa could conquer anything. Somehow, she would find someone to ring Satan’s doorbell and she was ready to answer.
Source: reddit.com/r/eroticliterature/comments/vay3tn/vanessa_part_i_the_farhampton_library_fsolo_bi