My first—and last—failed attempt at getting a blow job happened when I was eighteen. That may seem old, but considering what I’d been through as a kid, and the fucked-up state of my dick, it hadn’t seemed reasonable for me to test out the joys of the BJ before then. Up until I was drafted to the farm team, Miller and I had mostly hung out and watched highlights after games. He’d been getting tons of action from his tutors for a couple of years. My situation was a little different.
Sure, I whacked off all the time like normal guys my age, but I was highly aware that it took me a shitton longer to reach the end than it seemed to take others, even with all the practice I got. Everything worked, I just wasn’t sure how well, and the few times I’d gotten handies from girls at parties in high school, it had been in the dark, fumbling around, and I’d always helped them out so I could finish. Sex was different. Even with a condom, all that hot and tight and wet made coming a lot easier. Also, naked girl and those soft noises—or loud ones—they made when they were getting close also helped.
I’d watched enough crappy porn to more than understand the allure of the blow job. Violet’s graphic description of the act accurately depicts the exact reason why guys want to put their dick in a mouth. By that point I’d eaten out a couple of girls before we got down to the real business, too, so I got the allure of that. Having some girl writhing around underneath me, grabbing my hair and grinding herself on my face while I tongue-fucked her, was definitely hot. Plus I have a lot of dick, so I don’t want to just get in there without any prep.
Anyway, on the night in question. I’d just finished doing that. The girl I was with—we’ll call her Jezebel, even though that wasn’t her name—had just come on a super-loud moan, thanks to my superior tongue skills. I’d already gotten a condom out and was ready to turn off the lights, drop my boxers, and roll that baby on. We’d been out a bunch of times, but it wasn’t serious or anything, just a continual hook up.
However, apparently this time she wanted to return the favor. I hit the lights before she straddled my legs and yanked my boxers down.
My eyes were already adjusting to the dark, so I could just make out the vague contours of her face. She was pretty with a nice body and she liked to fuck, so those were all pluses for me, at the time.
Then she engulfed the head. When she tried to take more, it was like an out of body experience. It was fucking awesome. Until the moment she stopped, shifted over and hit the light on the nightstand. Before I could think to react she was already heading back down.
And then she screamed. There is nothing that deflates a dick quicker than a girl’s terrified scream, followed by the phrase, “What the fuck is wrong with your penis?”
There wasn’t much of an opportunity to explain as she rushed around the room, grabbing her clothes and yelling about horror movies. It was dramatic. And obviously scarring, for both of us.
The rumors that followed sucked worse than the actual event, because they were blown way out of proportion. She tried to contact me a couple of years later to apologize, but I wasn’t interested in hearing it.
After that I became incredibly proficient at mood lighting—and at getting the dick wrapped and where it was supposed to be before any girl had a chance to attempt to blow me. And on the occasions when an offer would come my way, all I had to do was think about the look on that girl’s face and the way she couldn’t get away from me fast enough to reconsider giving it another shot.
And now here’s Lily, all sweet and gorgeous and unassuming, saying things to me that make me want to take her home and keep her forever. Which isn’t possible. But we all have dreams.
“You don’t need to do that,” I tell Lily.
She bites her lip, looking uncertain. “I know, but I want to.”
I’m prepared with one of my stock excuses. “It’s really not nec—“
“Please.”
It’s not just the way she says it, but the way she’s looking at me—like if I say no it’ll crush her—that makes me question exactly what I’ve been doing with her this entire time.
I glance over at the thin beam of light shining through the crack at the bathroom door. It’s not dark enough in here to mask my problem. She must take my lack of response as an affirmative, because she starts kissing a slow trail down my stomach. When she reaches the waistband of my boxers, she stops and lifts her gaze. Eyes locked on mine, she presses a warm, wet kiss to the scar on my hip.
“I don’t know if this is a good idea,” I say.
She pushes my boxers down farther. “You think me sucking you off is a bad idea?”
Motherfuck.
When she says it like that, looking the way she does, with her face so close to where she’s willing to put her mouth, it’s hard to remember why this is such a terrible idea.
She doesn’t yank off my boxers and start screaming, instead she runs the end of her nose along my erection through the cotton barrier. When she reaches the head, she peeks up at me and covers the fabric with her sweet mouth, sucking me through the barrier.
I ball my hands into fists and try to find the will to stop her, but I don’t want to. Not yet. She repeats the same series of movements: the soft sucking through cotton, the brush of her nose and cheek along the shaft.
Next I feel the warm, gentle sweep of her fingers when she slips them into the pocket at the front of my underwear. At the same time, she pushes the waistband down and kisses the scar on my abdomen.
“Lily.” I reach out, second-guessing how far I’m willing to let her take this.
She grabs my hand and bites my knuckle before she kisses it. Then she licks my index finger and sucks it into her mouth. Her cheeks hollow out, and she makes that popping sound. She lays her cheek against my erection and looks up at me with soft, pleading eyes. “Please, Randy.”
No one has ever begged to give me a blow job. No woman has ever looked at me the way she is right now, asking to give me something instead of looking to take.
I want this. I want her mouth. Not just because of the blow job—which I’m clearly interested in—but because I want her to want me regardless of whether I’m defective.
I slip a thumb into her mouth, and she swirls her tongue around it, showing me exactly what she plans to do to me. She pushes my boxers down until the head peeks out. Lily keeps her eyes on mine as she kisses the tip.
Her lips are so soft. I’m pretty sure my longevity will take a shot if she blows me, and I’m mostly okay with that. Then Lily engulfs the entire head and does an around-the-world with her tongue, adding some suction. It feels incredible. Like, out of this world.
I must make some kind of noise or say something, because she pops off and asks, “Is that okay?”
I nod, mostly because I’m worried if I use real words they’re going to come out high-pitched and pre-pubescent sounding.
“I can do it again?” she asks, her lips sweeping the head as she speaks.
“Yeah. That’d be great.”
She repeats the same lick, swirl, suck pattern a bunch of times before she tugs on my boxers. “I can take these off now?”
Only the head is exposed. If she takes my boxers off, she’s going to see the mess under there. She nuzzles me and kisses the head again. She doesn’t wait for a response, maybe because she knows I can’t give her one.