My Library Fantasy: Daryl, chapter 2 - Sex Stories

My Library Fantasy: Daryl, chapter 2

I was waiting in the foyer of the theatre with all the other librarians. All women. All of them at least ten years older than me. We were there to watch some amateur dramatic production. Actually, that’s a lie, we were really there to drink wine and do a lot of cackling. Currently Beryl was telling the tale of ‘when her husband wore the union jack underpants and did the dance’ to some colleagues we hadn’t seen for a while. It was working, cackling was happening. I was wearing a red dress, black lacy tights and black heels. I know, a bit much for librarians at the theatre really, but my new boy toy promised he was coming too and I couldn’t help myself. Everyone was saying how great I looked and how they were too old to wear heels like that now; and other things that were only serving to make me feel more confident, more puffed up and more ready to pounce. By the time Daryl arrived I was two glasses of prosecco down, three compliments up and had been persuaded to make one Bed and Breakfast reservation so that I didn’t have to drive home back into the countryside where I lived. You’d never know unless I was here telling you, but librarians are a very bad influence. He was wearing some fashion boy outfit, all perfectly ironed jeans, pea coat and super straight hair that I’m absolutely sure took him longer to style than mine. He looked at me and said and did absolutely nothing, as the nearest frisky librarian who’d left her husband at home grabbed his wrist and said, “Daryl, it’s ...

... you! Sit here and tell Beryl about when you dressed up as Steve Irwin.” I watched him from across the group, quietly sipping my wine and staring as much as I could without anyone noticing I was trying to burn a hole in him. He looked annoyed and was sighing loudly and slumping his shoulders as his ten other mothers fussed over him. He did always hate the Steve Irwin outfit, although he’d worn it at my command anyway. He didn’t even say hello to me. This was very rude, when you consider I’d fucked him until he came inside me in the staff room last week. I bided my time, and let my colleagues attempt to cheer him up with offerings of fizzy white wine and murray mints. I started to lose my nerve a little bit, because he was ignoring me. My chance to get to him came at last as we started to move into the theatre and I ended up walking in slowly behind him. He was on his phone. I stood on my tiptoes, put my lips as close to his ear as I could and whispered, “Hey.” He started a little, turned his body around to me and seemed to gulp with nervousness. “What’s wrong with your face tonight?” I teased him. Was that the problem? Did I look so good that it was making him nervous? I was feeling confident, but I wasn’t quite sure I was capable of affecting him quite like that. “Ugh, I’m tired,” he said quietly, tapping at his phone, “I was out until late last night.” I put my hand over his phone screen, “Get off your phone and talk to me!” He smiled a little bit, but still couldn’t bring ...