Sssshh,

Be Quiet!
An Erotic Tale

Talia Rice
 Sssshh! Be Quiet!

Sunday, 4:55pm.

Raheem DeVaughn’s ‘Bedroom’ serenaded loudly through Trish’s pink headphones that

were attached to her laptop. She sat in a secluded area in the Business and Technology

department of the main Allen County Library. Her slender fingers furiously attacked the keys as

she finished her paper on African Psychology that was due the following day. Her apple bottom

had long ago gone numb from sitting on the hard floor and her neck screamed for her to at least

stretch it out. However she was determined to keep her 4.0 grade point average.

On the intercom a librarian announced that the library was now closing and all patriots

had to leave. Unfortunately that announcement did not reach Trish’s ears. Fifteen minutes til six,

Trish had finally typed in the last reference to her essay. She saved it and stretched her thick

limbs before packing up her things still oblivious to the library being closed. Trish emerged out

from between the rolls of bookcases, red Louboutin heels clicking with each step.

Something made Trish look up from scrolling through her Blackberry. The lights in the

Business and Technology department had been dimmed. No occupants resided on the computers,

no familiar frantic click, clicking of keys being typed or music blaring out of someone’s

headphones. Also no nerdy librarian stood at the department’s desk with their noses stuck in
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some book. She headed out of the department and looked down at the first floor below her.

Normally a screaming baby or inappropriately dressed teenagers would be wondering back and

forth but not a soul was present down there either. Her heart sunk to the bottom of her stomach.

Trish flew down onto the first floor as swiftly as she could in stilettos. Every door she tried

would not open. She ran down to the opposite end and got the same result.

“This is not hap…” Her complaining was interrupted by a clanking sound. She could not

tell where it came from or if she actually heard something at all. Standing by the main entrance’s

doors like a mannequin Trish stretched her ears to hear another sound. “Gurl, you are trippin’

right now.” She scrolled through her phone to see who she could call to get the hell up out of

there.

Crash!

Trish’s head snapped up. The sound was louder; this time she was not tripping. Her legs

started walking toward the dark hallway. She felt like those nosy white girls in the scary flicks

that always had to go investigate every eerie sound. However this was no horror movie, no one

to say CUT when her ass became someone’s victim.

At the opposite end of the narrow hallway was a bright light seeping out of an open

doorway. Shadows bounced off of the floor. She never prayed so hard in her life walking toward

that open door, she hoped it was a janitor. Her heart beat overpowered the tiny clicking of her

heels.

Once she was outside the door, her head slowly poked around the threshold of the door.

Paint bottles were on the floor. Some were toppled over with the tops open letting vibrant colors

of paint to intermingle with each other. Paintbrushes were along side of the paint bottles. She

averted her eyes deeper into the room but jumped back as soon as she saw Timbaland boots in
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the middle of all of the colorful mess. When she collected her breath and was sure that she had

not been noticed, she peaked back around. Her green eyes started at the black and gold

Timbaland boots, navy blue khaki pants spilled over the tops of the boots haphazardly. She

slowly worked her eyes upward stopping at a tight butt that no amount of baggy pants could

hide. Trish watched its muscular form move in the khaki’s. Farther up a white wife-beater

hugged a wide back. Taunt muscles flexed and released as his upper body flowed smoothly, like

a perfect orchestra being conducted. Sweat started to form as she admired his long, black dreads

swinging halfway down his back. She could not see his face, but what she did see was exquisite.

Her body responded. It had been months since she has had any kind of loving, not counting with

herself. Now the man that she created in her imagination in the comfort of her own bed was

standing mere feet away.

Her legs were paralyzed. Through her thin shirt she felt her nipples come at attention

pointing at want they wanted. Her breathing rose and fell in quick gasps.

“Are you goin’ to come in or you just goin’ to stand there in the hallway?” a deep voice

sang.

Trish jerked back, swinging her head back and forth trying to find where the source of the

voice came from. When she turned her attention back to the doorway, the beautiful chocolate

sculpture stood in front of her. Suddenly her lungs decided to forget how to breathe.

“May I help you?”

Trish felt his body heat radiating off of his skin, wrapping itself around her like a blanket.

His chocolate eyes undressed every emotion that she tried to hide.

“I uh, how did…”

“Saw you on camera,” he answered for her.

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Trish bit her bottom lip. Her mission of getting out went out the door with everything

else. His large artist hand slid into her and guided her further into the nearly empty room. All

around were canvases of all sizes. Trish detached herself from him. Beautiful depictions of

ethnic women of all shades were drawn on most of them but none of them were finished. The

intensity in the women’s eyes was eerily real. A mixture of sadness, compassion, and many other

emotions that women carry but never express outwardly were shown and felt. Their stories

vibrated off the pages. She felt his eyes piercing into her back as she walked around. In the

corner of her eyes she noticed how he leaned up against a wall with his arms crossed over his

chest. She smiled to herself. That wife-beater did not do him justice. All of his muscles screamed

out for her. She finally worked her way back over to him.

“You’re good. How come you haven’t finished any of them?”

At first he did not answer; he scrunched up his face as if contemplating the right answer.

“I haven’t found what I wanted to draw.” His juicy lips looked like tootsie rolls. They parted

exposing snow white teeth. Trish’s legs turned into boiled spaghetti.

“Can I watch you paint?”

The mysterious man did not answer. Instead he strolled over to the canvas that he was

working on and continued painting. Trish sat down behind him on the floor among the paints to

watch his body move. She watched the transformation of him becoming his art; no longer could

she tell where the canvas filled with different browns and yellows began and his dark chocolate

body ended. It was all too beautiful, breath-taking. He effortlessly flicked his wrist with each

stroke. Each was met with passion. She felt instant moistness in between her legs dampening her

black lace boy shorts. She craved for him to touch her body with the same precision.

“That’s beautiful,” she heard herself say.

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He turned around; his brown eyes alert, open, as though realizing for the first time that he

had an audience. He stood over her admiring her butterscotch skin. His strong painted hands

outlined the contour of her face. Trish felt the wet paint smear on her skin. She leaned her body

forward so he could reach her better. She allowed him to guide her face in both of his hands up

until she was on her knees; the whole time both were maintaining eye contact. Her hands

accidentally went into a puddle of blood red and brown paint. The cool liquid extinguished some

of the hotness radiating off of her body but not all of the way. She wrapped her hands around his

waist lifting up his wife-beater. The smell of musk and paint filled her nose as she pressed her

face into his six-pack. A low growl slipped out of his mouth when Trish washed his stomach

with her tongue. Her lips were so soft to him. She managed to untie the strings to his pants with

her teeth. They fell right down to his ankles. Trish was pleased with what she saw in front of her.

Inside of his boxer briefs his manhood snaked down the side of his leg. Her mouth began to

water.

Before she could open her gift, he took a hold of her shoulder length hair and tugged her

head backwards. Her bottom lip poked itself out slightly and mischief clouded her eyes. “Not

yet,” he demanded. He liked to be in control. This time he got on his knees right along with her

and kissed her exposed shoulder. His hand slipped under her silk shirt and gently pinched her

rock hard mounds. She dug her face into his dreads to cover her moaning. He felt her whole body

vibrate. The flimsy material of her top slipped off easily. Now it was his turn to smile at the work

of art before him. “You are absolutely beautiful,” he whispered before taking one of her breasts

into his mouth. Trish did not have time to control herself; a loud unfamiliar sound came from her

mouth. The thickness of his dreads could no longer hold her screams. Back and forth he gave her

breasts attention until he about burst in his briefs.

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He peeled her skinny jeans off of her. Her juices blended in with the paints that she was

swimming in. He continued to taste test her whole body, not leaving one part untouched by his

tongue; all the while kneading his fingers into her skin giving her the massage her body needed.

He tenderly kissed her inner thighs sending her legs shaking even before he kissed her sweet

jewels.

“Oh my God!” she gasped. Trish looked down toward him; his handprints were literally

all over her body. In between a few strands of dreads she could see him eyeing every move she

made. She begged him to stop; she was afraid to let go; afraid of what her body would do.

Within seconds a powerful wave of pleasure shook her whole body into convulsions. The whole

room spun; all of the different shades of colors blended in with each other. She felt as if she was

having an out of body experience. This continued for what felt like an eternity. When she

regained her strength, she managed to push him onto the floor and straddled him.

“Your turn.” Trish stripped his briefs off in one quick swift move. His chocolate

manhood stood at attention, ready for her to explore. She said a little prayer before sliding down

the thick pole; never has she had anything this massive before. But she happily accepted the

challenge. Her walls wrapped tightly around him like a glove. She spread his chest with paint as

she slowly rode him. His face showed pleasure.

“Look at me,” he demanded. “I want you to see me cum.” Everything in the room

disappeared. She was not embarrassed anymore nor was she afraid. She had never had this kind

of a connection with a man in her life; she made it her mission to please him. She craved it. Both

of their bodies intertwined with each other creating a beautiful art sculpture like an original

Mona Lisa painting. He grabbed a hold of her thick thighs and the rode into pure ecstasy

together.
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Trish lay on his chest, both trying to catch their breaths. Reality struck her. She didn’t

even know this man, who was he and what was he doing in the library after closing hours? As if

reading her mind he wrapped his muscular arms around her petite waist and kissed her forehead.

She laid there listening to his heart beat until hers became one with his. Who gave a damn, she

told herself.

Three weeks later…

Trish had not been to the library ever since her little secret rendezvous, but today she

decided to come back with a group of her girlfriends to check out the art exhibit that they were

hosting. The theme, depictions of black women. As she walked through the exhibit, paintings of

all sorts of African-American women in different poses embraced the canvases. She took her

time eyeing each piece. She could not help but look at the eyes of the women. They seemed very

familiar, but she kept on looking like everyone else. The longer she walked around the more she

notice strangers eyeing her. At first she brushed it off but eventually found out the reason for the

stares. At the opposite end of where she stood was the largest canvas of all. She gasped as she

stared up at her reflection. Every detail of her body from her face, the curve of her thick thighs

and the ample roundness of her behind were looking back at her. Her eyes on the painting

popped out exposing a part of her that she had been trying to hide for years as a result of all of

the bad relationships she has experienced, but the way it was depicted in this painting made her

rethink to reconnect with that side of her that needed to be unleashed. The memory of that day

came up front and center and she smiled. Fifteen minutes later she walked out of that exhibit

with the same smile concealing a secret that no one else can know about.