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Sweet Jasmine
I don’t exactly remember what first drew me to Herald’s. I’ve always loved books, I suppose, but they were never really THAT important to me. But Herald’s brought new light to the issue. Herald’s was a very classy and comfortable bookstore around the corner from my house, in my hometown, and it radiated warmth and relaxation from every corner.
Struggling firmly and rebelliously against the cookie-cutter and impersonal bookstores of the new Millennium, Herald’s was a pleasing contrast to the repetitious boredom of life. Inside Herald’s, with their solid granite fireplace and Victorian style rooms, I could bury myself deep in the pages of a good book and let my imagination run wild. One week I was the bold leader of the French Revolution. The next week I was a knight of King Arthur’s Round Table.
Sometimes I would find myself so caught up in one of the books, that my mind would drift off into the great limbo of my fantasies and I would find myself daydreaming. Embarrassed, I would wake up from my “cat-nap” to find the book neatly closed and sitting upon my lap and the smell of jasmine in the air around me. Often, I wondered if the sweet perfume had an owner, or if they simply emanated from the surrounding bouquets, and if I would ever meet said owner.
This pattern went on for quite a few months, with my mysterious benefactor delicately replacing my book upon my lap. Then one day I awoke to a surprise. Upon opening my book I found a flower pinched between the bindings and a note pinned to the page.
The sharp, firm script jumped across the note, with a casual invitation.
Good evening my darling dreamer,
I have a suggestion for your reading
pleasure tomorrow. Ask the woman at
the front desk for a little “light” reading.
Trust me, you won’t be disappointed.
Kisses,
Jasmine
At first I was in awe at the message. I couldn’t fathom the unlimited possibilities of who my secret admirer could be. Casually I looked around the reading quarter. A short, older woman smiled at me from the seat facing me, and I cringed internally. A few more smiles from a brunette, a blonde, and a redhead and I decided it was best to wait.
That night, after I had crawled in between the covers, I found myself unable to stay focused upon my most recent novel interest. Time and again my thoughts returned to the sweet smell of the jasmine bud which I had found inside the book earlier that evening. And once again my mind returned to the handwriting on the note. Delving into the endless void of my creative center I began to picture the hands of Jasmine, as she held the pen firmly between her delicate fingers. From there I pictured the gentle, yet quick strokes of her arm as the pen danced across the paper. Next came her body, hunched over an English scrolled writing desk, protectively guarding the note upon which she scrawled my message. And finally came her face. A vision of beauty beyond compare, the deep blue penetrating gleam in her eye radiated confidence and inner strength. And then she smiled, as she finished the signature on her note, and my heart skipped a beat.
And soon after I drifted off to sleep, my mind racing with visions of my sweet, sweet Jasmine.
The following morning, I lazily rolled out of bed and showered the blissful sleep out of my body. Not much do I remember of the days events, as my mind repeatedly wandered toward my evening encounter.
Like clockwork, I parked on the street in front of the bookstore at 6 o’clock and took a deep breath as I parked the car into neutral. The giddy excitement of my mystery encounter was an intoxicating experience, the butterflies in my stomach sending sharp tendrils of pain deep in the pit of my gut. Feeling a bit adventurous and corny, I placed the flat bud of the jasmine flower into my shirt pocket and made my way toward Herald’s.
With a pitiful attempt at casual curiosity, I strolled up to the Information Desk in the store and asked the woman sitting there “Um . . . you wouldn’t happen to have any suggestions for light reading, would you?”
With a hint of interest the tall, dark-haired woman handed me a small slip of paper and went back to her computer. Slightly confused I looked down at the sheet and immediately recognized the distinctive handiwork of my dear Jasmine in the signature that covered the outside surface of the note.
Inside the note I found a neatly scribed call number and nothing else. Subduing the butterflies for a moment longer, I continued my trek towards the back of the store in the less frequented section of Botanical Studies.
A few minutes later I located the title “Sweet Jasmine” and with a deep smile, leaned forward to claim the tall, thin book. Then I was startled as another hand softly covered my own from the other side of the bookcase. The small delicate fingers affectionately stroked my own thicker fingers and I felt a small spark of heat shoot through my body, deep into the pleasure centers of my brain.
“Sit down over there with your book and enjoy the show,” came a soft whisper from across the book.
My curiosity thoroughly piqued by now, I leaned back into the fat, plump chair behind me, opened the book, and stared casually at the periodic openings in the bookcase. For a split second I caught a gleam of her deep blue eyes and my mind erupted with interest. At least that part of my dream had been accurate.
From the puzzle-piece viewpoints of her, I could only guess at what she was up to, but it appeared that she had one of her feet propped up on one of the shelves and was bending over. My mind on fire with excitement, I strained my neck to gain a better vantage-point of the situation, but gained nothing. Then she raised up once more, so that she was facing me, and again propped her foot onto one of the bookshelves. This time, as her short skirt climbed slowly up her deliciously lean thigh, I caught a glimpse of smoothly shaved skin.
At first I thought that I was imagining it, so I leaned forward as far as possible, but my suspicions where confirmed when her skirt was lifted an inch further and I was treated to an unobstructed view of her sex. I was in awe of the situation that was unfolding before me. Nervously, I scanned the surrounding bookshelves, but soon realized that there was a specific reason she had chosen Botanical Studies as the location for our “introduction”. Nobody ever browsed the Botanical Studies.
When I had returned my eyes to the show, I was startled to see that Jasmine had buried her middle finger up to the knuckle in her pussy, and her free hand was holding her lips wide open. I felt a sharp pain in my crotch and realized that my dick had swelled from the visual stimulation and was awkwardly pressing against my jeans, forcing me to give a sharp tug to reposition everything.
I watched with intense fascination as her finger withdrew slightly from her hole, and a noticeable trail of fluid flowed out, to coat her finger and pussy with a nice, wet shine. Briefly her finger completely withdrew and vanished upwards, until I heard a deep, stirring moan. “Finger lickin’ good” she whispered, with a trace of humor. Then her finger once again found the tunnel inside her passion, and the bookshelf shook slightly as she pressed up against it.
This time her pace was much more rushed as she slid a second finger in, grinding her hips wildly against her fingers, as if she were riding a lover’s cock. Absent-mindedly my hand had drifted towards my crotch and I was rubbing myself hard through my jeans, as she reached the pique of her sensual ministrations. Then I heard a slight squeal, as if she was attempting to bite back a scream, and drove both fingers deep inside.
Her breathing finally began to settle as she rode the last few waves of her pleasure, sliding her sweetly coated fingers out of her pussy.
“Now . . .close your eyes.” She commanded in a heated whisper.
“But . . . when am I going to be able to see you? I . . .”
“Don’t ruin the moment, daydreamer . . . just close your eyes.”
With a deep sigh I leaned back into the chair and closed my eyes, straining to compensate for my loss of vision with my other senses. I felt movement around me, but I didn’t want to risk upsetting her and the moment by opening my eyes, so I sat there, motionless.
“Same time next week?” she breathed softly into my ear, her lips just inches from me. As I opened my mouth to speak I suddenly found two fingers invading my lips, treating me to her sweet taste that she had commented on so few moments prior. Savoring the sweet nectar I licked every inch of her fingers, moaning at the visions of lust that she had inspired within me.
And then she was gone. Realizing that I was not longer tasting her juices I opened my eyes and looked around, but saw no one. Disappointed, I slumped down in my seat and sighed. Then a heartfelt smile crept across my tired, worn face as I raised a small single flower from my lap and breathed its aroma deeply.
“My sweet, sweet Jasmine.”
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