The Bro and The Librarian

By Terryln (2003) edited by SlickPsych (2012)

Miss O'Shea was startled to hear a tumultuous commotion towards the front of the library. She put a pile of books down and walked swiftly to the front desk, where a new student to University was throwing books over the counter at her young female assistant. His language horrified her, and the vulgarity sent chills up her back. But as the authority of the library she was immediately obligated to intervene; she was nervous walking up to him.

“Now young man, I wont have that language used in here... can you please eloquently express your qualms?'”

He turned to look at her with a glint of disdain in his luring dark brown eyes. She could tell he was a rouge bull type tethered with a thin chain. The way he used his size to intimidate others showed not only immaturity, but a lack of empathy. He curtly replied, in a tone of diffidence: 'Why don't you fuck off old lady! I ain't payin’ no fuckin book fines you hear!?”

“Young sir, your language is disrespectful.” Miss O’Shea walked over to the ingénue manning the front desk, and the beautiful young lady got out of the chair and allowed Miss O’Shea to sit and access the computer. “Now, Mr…” Miss O’Shea looked at the computer to find his name… “Mr. Brown, your fine is only $20 dollars.”

“Fuck lady where I come from spending $20 on a book is ridiculous… neva mind if it ain’t one you don’t even own.”

“Understandable, Mr. Brown, but you’ve had the book on loan for 5 weeks. That’s only about seven cents a day after the due date.”

“Listen lady, I’m here to help this pathetic basketball team. That’s it. I gotta go to class at this here fucked up racist university ta keep up a show. So, here’s ya damn book.”

He threw the book defiantly at the assistant, Patricia. He even had the temerity to wink at her as he did it. He then reached into his pocket, on his sagging camouflage pant, his arm muscles contracting as he did. His white wife beater was obviously a way for him to show off his great arms and accent his skin tone: it was a beautiful shade of brown. His redoubtable size only added to the hyper masculine appearance which he used so unashamedly to assert his dominance. And his 6’2” figure only gave his ego more room to be too big for any space in which he existed.

As disgusted as Catherine O’Shea was with him, she nonchalantly looked over at the handsome man. Not too many black students matriculate to this school. It has a reputation for being a breeding ground for the typical elitist crowds who come from old money. For political reasons, the school had to diversify. And being the backwards social environment that it was, they of course chose to bring the worst of stereotypical racial projections. A black youth with a penchant towards being self-righteous who was also an athlete from the ghetto was a great way to sharpen the schools double edged-sword: to get a regional championship before he was put on probation and/or kicked off the school/team. More conniving: to say, on paper, that they had given every opportunity to him, but he didn’t take them.

His heavy argot and commanding voice broke Miss O’Shea out of her perspicacious analysis:

“And ta show yous all that I’m a good sport, here be $5.00 for ya trouble.” He threw the five dollar bill on the floor. “But yous all can pick it up.”

He turned on his heels and walked out, leaving poor Patricia sobbing.

“Well, I never!” Catherine O'Shea was almost fifty-five, but often seemed older with her fastidious ways and her old-fashioned clothes and her greying hair dyed in a blonde bun. Her spectacles always gleamed with an air of quiet efficiency. She turned to face Patricia, and invited her in for a hug.

“There, there child,” she coddled the young adult as if she were a mother… She had been the chief librarian at the school for almost twenty years. A competent language expert and librarian - a real quiet type. 

“Miss O’Shea, why do they let those black kids act like that?”

“I don’t know, dear,” was all Miss O’Shea could say. In the back of her mind, she thought it such a shame for any human to be so malignant. She also thought back to her college days, and the youthful excitement and hope they had for integration. Decades later, and it seems like one generation is askew from that hope. She thought about how horrible it was that jealously, greed, and competition had replaced an ethos of cooperation, comrade, and mutual respect.

As she was holding Patricia, Miss O’Shea thought more intensely for a moment, and realized that she need not put on flowery rose glasses. As a closeted lesbian, even to this day to an extent, she had never been the mold for the values of the school for which she worked… nor was she ever really much of a leader. So introverted, so repressed, and deep down so bitter… she was no better than Mr. Brown.

Miss O’Shea broke her hug with Patricia, who seemed a little disappointed. The two had worked together since Patricia was a freshmen at the school. Now in her senior year, and having built a solid rapport based on watching a youth grow into a young woman, it was an unspoken attraction that both had for the other. But because of “their ways….” Neither would let anything happen. This rapport seemed destined to go the way of lustful wishing and private masturbation.

Miss O’Shea sighed and then stooped wearily to pick the tattered texts up from the floor. She looked lovingly at Patricia and suggested that she go ahead and leave for the day. Miss O’Shea looked back at the computerized index  system…. the young boy’s face came leering cockily from the screen - a handsome  black youth nonetheless, she thought. LeRoy Brown. 25. Basketball scholarship. Champion track and field.

She continued to read and confirmed her assumptions. He was a real jock. She mumbled under her breath as she read his record: “No wonder he’s so old and still in college, he’s been in and out of prison for misdemeanors. Wonder how many cocks were sucked to get him a spot here… even if only for semester or two.” She hated being so cynical, but she knew, as the young folk say, “what time it is.”

She came back to Earth and sighed. A hot temper of a delinquent all right. As she read on, she looked over to the wall adjacent to her. It was five o’clock on a Friday afternoon. Under the clock was a picture of her. She despised that picture - and her fake dyed hair.

 

“Oh well, I suppose I will have to report him to the committee on Monday,” she mumbled and sighed as she put one elbow on the desk. She looked again at his picture. “You don’t know how good you really do have it, kid. All you’d have to do is be better.”

She closed up the library and walked past the newly built athletes dormitory for students who came from out of town. She could hear some of the boys' vulgar hip-hop and rap songs. No one was around, so she started humming the beats as she walked briskly. For a woman her age and of her rank and status, she peculiarly knew a lot about trending music. The school was in high spirits because the season's big basketball opener was to take place tomorrow night. It was a cold winter’s night in January. Her bones were tired.

Miss O'Shea did have one secret. She was an avid basketball fan. She had bunches of basketball magazines around the house, pictures of basketball jocks, fantasy team lists, seasons statistics - everything.

She wasn't sure what part of the game most attracted her. Had she been honest with herself, it would be been the culture. Basketball had spawn with it a legacy of athletically attractive black men who came from nothing to get something. She had been born with a type of silver spoon. Though she had to work all her life, it was more because she wanted to be independent. She believed deeply in a work ethic, and was able to burry her life in scholarly literary and language pursuits – to the detriment of her own identity and sexual desires, unfortunately. There was something about the uninhibited nature of male players in the NBA that she found erotic.

A spinster - and a virgin - this was her only real pastime, although she did go to all the home games played by the school and cheered them on, and lusted after those young studs. Lusted to be like them, which given her age, position, and birth… could never happen. So, she lusted to be them.

The next week came, the team won thanks to LeRoy. Against Miss O’Shea’s professional judgment, she never reported him. She picked up enough small talk from the girl students in the library as to what the boys did off the court. She had heard LeRoy's name several times.

'….Such a stud….' said one giggling blond.’

'…They say it's nine inches long…’, whispered among another group of girls.

It was closing time again. She took her usual route & walked past the basketball team’s dorm. Feeling uncharacteristically voyeuristic, she snuck to the back of the building to peek into the basement through the garden window… in the back of her mind something told her to do this… as if she were being beckoned. When she got there, she saw LeRoy shirtless down in the basement tunnels standing near some of the electric controls. He was sweating, like he had been working on something… devious… 

“What an odd thing for us to be in such peculiar places,” Miss O’Shea mumbled under her breath. LeRoy happened to look up, and his eyes caught a shadowy figure looking at him from the basement window outside. Miss O’Shea blushed in embarrassment, and suddenly the lights went black throughout the house.

Miss O’Shea caught herself, stood up quickly… too quickly for her body, and scurried swiftly away.

Back at her house, She went to the bathroom and cleaned her teeth before placing them in a glass. Then she read quietly for a while, but her mind was preoccupied by her chance encounter with LeRoy. More than that, she was disturbed that she was so turned on by the sight of his intimidating figure being barely lit in a shadowy place. He looked so rough… so beautiful. She wanted him. She wanted to be him. She touched herself to a climax before nodding off to a troubled sleep in a dark winter's night.

 *** 

Meanwhile LeRoy, after several beers, decided to hit his bunk, wearing only his boxers. Certainly he was envied by his fellow students. At  twenty-five he had the body of a god. Smooth ebony skin over a superbly muscled body, a handsome face, stylish hair cut, magnificent powerful legs, but above all he was hung. A pendulous ten-inch penis lay over his thigh, and small black curls could not hide his golf ball size testicles. Many a girl had melted at the sight of that  equipment. Unfortunately not all of his many conquests had  voluntarily been taken with his huge member. For LeRoy had  the makings of a petty criminal and was used to getting his  own way. That’s why he was going to cut off all the electricity in the dorm, so he could slyly steal in the dark from some of his more naive housemates. But, that shadowy figure peering into the basement had startled him. Could the cops be shadowing him, to keep an eye on him? That’s all to possible, so he restored the system to normal. He too lay in a deep, troubled sleep.

 *** 

Miss O'Shea woke early as she did every day, to take her walk. She believed in keeping trim. She went to reach for her spectacles but found that she could see clearly without them – even to the other side of her room! She also literally bounced out of bed. She felt light headed. Even in the early morning light her skin seemed darker. 

“My God,” she thought, “I am almost black!” Instinctively, she ran her hands through her thick grey hair. But instead her fingers felt a different texture, her hair did not feel like this. In a panic she rushed to her full sized mirror.

There before her, in his manly jock pride stood LeRoy Brown. All six feet and 195 lb of him! In her nightie! Her panties were tight and this body didn’t look right in this gown, so he literally tore them off. But what stunned her most as her eyes moved from her handsome face, to the sculpted chest, was the impossibly large organ between her legs. Her hands moved towards it and picked it up. It was so heavy  but deliciously warm. She could even feel a pulse through  its veiny tumescence. It hardened as she realized what had  occurred. She didn't know how or why, but it had happened. “This is a pleasant surprise…” She said in her male baritone. “Or perhaps a more appropriate articulation of my surprise would be: “Damn, yo!”

She started to stroke her large ebony cock. She felt a sense of ownership and entitlement unlike any other. She saw it’s precum and she tasted it with LeRoy’s fingers. She watched herself in the mirror, admiring the physical differences between what she had known as a white woman and what she was about to become intimately familiar with as a black male youth. A smile slid across her rugged new face. She felt her goatee and stubble. She knew exactly how to take advantage of this biological shift…

***

At school in the boys’ athletic dorm, LeRoy awoke but found he could not see properly. He rubbed his eyes, but still could not focus on the girls playing volleyball on the TV. He felt tired to and moved slowly. He hadn't drunk that much after all. Wispy strands of hair fell across his face.

“What the fuck?” he asked himself as he brushed the hair away from what should have been a low cropped hair-cut. But there was so much of it and it was grey! He went to bite his fist but felt only soft gums on his hand.

“Oh no? What has happened to my teeth?” His boxers felt tight around his hips but curiously loose in the front. His hands shot to his groin.

 “No, no!!!!!” he almost screamed, as his fingers made their way into slender slit of flesh. As he went to raise his body his chest felt heavy as the two ample breasts fell into place on his stomach. His once  perfectly defined thighs were larger and fleshy. He slowly lifted himself up off his bed, feeling achy and a little mad at how much energy he was using. He slowly walked over to the dresser where his mirror was. He could barely see his new dull blue eyes as they widened in abject horror realizing that he was now an old white lady.

“Fuck no” His voice as a soft whisper. He could barely see this face, but he was certain that he had seen it somewhere before… as he was reeling from shock his mobile phone rang. He picked up and answered it almost meekly. “Hello?,” he squeaked.

The other voice on the end was undeniably familiar. “Can I speak with Miss O'Shea?” It asked.

 'You got the wrong number man', he replied almost sobbing. 

“I don't think so,' the voice said, 'have you had a good  look at your self yet fucker?'”

“Who is this?” The man once known as LeRoy Brown asked. The voice sounded terribly familiar but somehow distant. 

“This is LeRoy Brown bitch! Now listen up. You be here at YOUR house in ten minutes or you ain't never gonna be the  same again! Hear?'”

 “But, wh...”

 “Shut the fuck up, you fuckin old pice o shit!” the voice shouted, “and get your ass  over here now! “

Shaking, LeRoy put her mobile down and fumbled into some sweats and sneakers, which felt a little large for her. It took her a little longer than normal to get ready. In a daze, LeRoy left his old room and went to his new house. He found it odd that he was starting to remember a life that wasn’t his

 *** 

As LeRoy arrived at a house that seemed familiar, he was startled when the door opened and an intimidating young muscled black man pulled him in. He went to strike him, but the larger man held him down easily with one hand.

“Aight bitch Imma make our switch as painless as possible.” With that the young man pulled LeRoy into the living room and starting pulling off his size 12.5 black Air Force Ones with the red trimmings, his Higo Boss boxers, then each of his long black tube socks, then the matching Addidas sweat top and bottom.

“Oh Miss O'Shea what a deviant you are! Wearing boys clothes! Tsk Tsk'  The stripped woman who was once LeRoy just stared at his old body. They were both naked now. The person occupying the black man’s body started to dress in what the LeRoy had worn over to his – her – house.

 “Now babe, after you get dressed we gonna walk to the school and I’m going to help you open the library. Then, you're going to hand me the key to my room and we’ll both move on.”

“But why?? What the fuck you doing all this for?” asked the naked white woman, transfixed at the commanding black youth presence which she was fighting to not let her melt her core. Deep down, she was loosing and all she wanted to do was help this man and make sure that he was satisfied.

 “Well a star jock can't go around dressed in woman's clothes, can he?” He said as he flexed his new chocolate body and did a smug smile white he traced his abs. “I have to live in my dormitory and be near my wardrobe and other shit. By the way my dressing room is though there.” He pointed to her new bedroom and LeRoy went in.

He stood behind the door to see what he would do. “Hurry up bitch!” He yelled. “You’re lucky I’m being a damn good sport about this all!”  He snickered in satisfied recompense.

LeRoy opened a door and took out a brown knitted twin suit. Opening a drawer he found her underwear but he could not believe it. Some of it was stuff he had never seen before: girdles, panty girdles, corsets smelling of a mixture of lavender and mothballs. 

Miss O'Shea had dressed in his sweats by now and came into  the room. “Poor baby you don't know how to wear this, do you?” Well I'll help you if you help me by giving me your key, ‘aight?'” He said condescendingly, successfully putting the new Miss O’Shea in her new role and accepting his. It was great. Now they could think of themselves by the names associated with their respected bodies.

Miss O’Shea nodded her face, now red for the first time in her life. LeRoy smiled, perhaps somewhat sincerely.

“Now this is a bra for those plump boobies.” LeRoy helped Miss O’Shea slip it on. “Silk panties next dear. Good. Now a panty girdle, I think.” He gave it to her as she slid it up her fleshy thighs. It was not unlike the girdle pads she once wore when she played football, but these were tighter and they had straps hanging down. Seeing her furrowed brow LeRoy said, “Oh they're for your stockings, dear! Sit down.”

LeRoy rummaged through another drawer and pulled out a pair of thick brown cotton hose. 'Put these on, lady.”

 Miss O’Shea hesitated: “I ain't gonna wear no woman's stockings.  You crazy?”

LeRoy smiled. “Put them on, dear, or I'll use this on you!” He eased the sweat pants down to show Miss O’Shea the bulging pair of boxers.

“You wouldn't?!” Miss O’Shea gasped.

 LeRoy got close to her. Standing next to her looking down into her pale blue eyes. He whispered: “Try me.”

Miss O’Shea loved smelling this black man. She wanted him to move down and kiss her. He could feel his hot breath on her nose and felt as his nostrils ticked her forehead. She was in lust. She did not want to be.

He gently caressed her forearm. He whispered: “Now do it, bitch!”

Watching the former stud pull on her own stockings excited LeRoy so much that his new organ began to swell. He stood back and watched.

Miss O’Shea had an instinctual urge to perform for him while she dressed. She didn’t want to, but she did.

LeRoy smiled smugly: “Pull them up. bitch! “

Miss O’Shea found herself saying: “Oh yeah you like that honey?'  Miss O’Shea had to admit that she was looking at the sexiest man she had ever seen: sweats bulging with young manhood. Tight  muscular legs encased in those sweats.

LeRoy came over to her, and lightly smacked her cheek. “You bitch, he mumbled. I want you to act like you owe me some. You got dat?”

Miss O’Shea nodded. LeRoy smiled cheekily like he normally does and went to the nightstand to retrieve Miss O’Shea’s important personal care things.

He whispered to his mistress: “Here you slut, you'll want these.” He handed her the glasses. Before Miss O’Shea could take her teeth, he said: “But…of course you won't need your teeth when you are giving me head, isn't that what you boys call it, hon?”

Miss O’Shea nodded, slowly put herself on her knees in front of LeRoy, and smelled his cock through the sweat pants. LeRoy patted her head, pulled down his sweats, and Miss O’Shea extended a bony hand up to cup LeRoy’s glorious manhood through his Hugo Boss boxers. She licked it and played with it though the boxers, until LeRoy finally pulled them down, grabbed the back of her head, and in a confident tone, as if he had been doing this for years, said:

“Imma make yo white throat hungry for dis shit. Now suck yo big dick bottle bitch.”

*** 

One game to go before the team found out if they’d make it to regionals. It was to be a light one, LeRoy could handle that. From what his years of sports analysis had shown, this team had fundamental weaknesses that he could easily manipulate. He could manage that. He could do anything.

His phone rang. It was his girl Patricia. He was wonderin when she would finally call.

“Whud up babi gurl” He asked.

“Oh nothing. I’m just calling to let you know that I can’t wait for tonite. Last night was so magical.”

“Yea babe, yous really helpin me transform mahself.” He chuckled: “I think Is even passed dat essay you helped me do. Dat all night study patry was poppin!”

She giggled. “You know, when I first met you, you were a real ass. What changed you.”

“Ayy baby, neava underestimate da human’s capability to adapt!”

“You’re so prophetic at times.”

“Ay, I don’t kno what all these big words you be usin mean quite yet but Imma learn ‘em and Imma be as smart as chu one o des days, hear?” He knew that would make the bitch smile.

“So my place after practice? We’ll go over some basic Latin and hit the calculus?”

“How u say “aight” in Latin?”

“Come over and I’ll teach you.”

“Chyaya I see how it is babi gurl. Maybe Imma teach you a few thangs in time too ya dig?”

“Hahaha, Bye LeRoy.”

“Later Lady.”

LeRoy finally convinced her to give him a chance. After all, she had blamed him partially when Miss O’Shea was committed to a home for the elderly insane. But he won her over by visiting her weekly, and changing her wet panties and bring her gifts. Perhaps he would visit tonite and take a pair of his tube basketball socks to keep her feet warm in bed. She would love that: wearing his sweaty socks. He felt his crotch swell slightly in his basketball shorts at the thought!  

Just then another black athlete bounded up to LeRoy: “Hey brutha wassup?' 

Confidently, LeRoy greeted him with a cheeky smile and a soul dap. “Oh nuttin bro jus chillin!”