A fellow blogger and I have been discussing erotic and BDSM books via email. He mentioned Story of O and I got all excited (kind of like I did when I read it the first time). I shared the account with him of the time I discovered it, and I thought I'd share it with the rest of my prowling friends, too.
I was working in a library between my freshman and sophomore years of college. I came across Story of O while I was re-shelving it after someone had returned it to the library. I would hide in the stacks every now and then when I was supposed to be shelving books and read as much as I could. I didn't dare check it out! At that time in my life, I already had experience with BDSM, but it was still very much something that polite people didn't talk about, and I certainly didn't want anyone knowing that I was reading that kind of a book.
My hiding places were good ones, usually among the bound periodicals in the basement. During the summer, no one was ever down there. That's why I picked it for breaks and secret reading. It was so deserted, that every now and then while I was reading I would masturbate without worrying at all about being caught. I didn't masturbate randomly, but while I was reading erotica, and I played with myself a lot while reading Story of O.
One day, I was reading in the basement, perched on the edge of a table. I was reading (book in left hand) and pleasuring myself (with my right hand) when I looked up and saw a guy standing at the end of the row in front of me - just staring at me. I froze, not knowing if I should pull my hand out of my panties (I was wearing a pencil skirt, which was pulled up around my waist) or just do nothing, or speak - but I had NO idea what to say so I was frozen in place. Then he said, "Good book?" and we both burst into laughter.
I pulled my hand out and looked him squarely in the eyes as I licked my fingers (even as a kitten I was a naughty little pussy). I pulled my skirt down quickly, he walked over, I showed him the book, and we made small talk for about 30 seconds. The next thing I remember I was bending over the table (they have very sturdy tables in university libraries, ya know) and he was pulling up my skirt, pushing my panties aside and fucking me nice and hard.
We met several other times that summer - in the bound periodicals section of the library, always at (and on) the same table.
I don't remember his name. I might have known his first name at the time, but I know we never exchanged last names. During the school year, I'd see him around campus and we'd smile and acknowledge each other like people who didn't know each other but may have had a class together. He'd come into the library during the school year, too. I'd see him lurking around and watching me, but we never spoke. It was as if the magic that had given us both the courage to fuck a stranger in the library basement had evaporated and left us without even the courage necessary to talk to one another.
After graduation, I went to graduate school and took another job in the library, but that library was much bigger. It was a government depository so every document put out by the federal government was sent there so the public would have access (remember, this was before the era of personal computers, and Al Gore hadn't yet invented the internet). The government documents took up a entire wing of the library.
And it had a basement.