Debi

It was college, back in the days when dorm rooms weren't co-ed. I had transferred from the East; lazy bum I was, I had rolled in as school opened, with no place to stay.

The easiest thing to do was take a room in the dorm on campus; they had space available. I should clarify that: they had space available in the women's wing. The men's wing was full.

The deal was, I'd rent a room on the third floor, which was sparsely occupied. The bathrooms were divided, one for men and one for women; though as a practical matter, I don't recall seeing another guy there. And, perhaps best of all, it was to be a single. There were two narrow twin beds in the room, but I had it all to myself; the ultimate privacy on campus.

On my way back to my new digs, I happened on a girl who looked a little lost. Slightly tall, and pretty, she accepted my help readily. As it turned out, she lived on the fifth floor of the same building.

Debi was intelligent, and very sweet. One thing led to another. It wasn't long before she started making late-night visits to my room. It was easy, a discreet trip two floors down on the elevator. There was no need even to cross through the lobby, where the bored attendants amused themselves observing the traffic between men's and women's quarters.

She was a little younger, and very innocent; she had never had a boyfriend. Or, to be fair, she'd only dated guys who "didn't want to do anything." It wasn't a problem for me. She learned that I slept in the nude, and that I left my door open at night. It seemed natural that she could let herself in after I'd gone to bed, take off her clothes quietly, and join me.

She was impressed with my sexual experience, and she wanted to learn from me. She had been a virgin when we met; that lasted three weeks.

In the privacy of my room we explored every night; our bodies, our selves. With a safe place to express her unrequited desire, she peppered me with questions. How many girls had I slept with? What had I done with them? She wanted all the details. She asked me to masturbate while she watched. It was cramped in the twin bed, to be sure. But we slept there comfortably, night after night, entwined with each other.

It was in this setting of comfort and privacy that our sex life reached a new height. As it has always been with me, I can't be with a gal for long without wanting to go down on her. I like the taste of it, the feel of her thighs squeezing my ears as I lick her clit. I do it because I like it; I don't demand she return the favor.

Not that I don't want a blowjob. Back then, I had never had one. At least, never one I really liked. The most that usually happened was a girl would lick my cock gingerly as I'd work her clit with my tongue, getting it good and hard. When she was ready to cum she'd pull me up to her and have me poke her. Satisfying, but not like I imagined it could be, unloading in her mouth.

One time, I had coaxed a gal into getting me off, with her hand and her mouth working my cock. I blew my load; but when I came to, I saw a puddle of semen on the bed. She had let go before I finished cumming. I was disappointed. What I yearned for was to have a girl take the whole thing in her mouth -- and swallow. I can't say just why, but it was something I wanted very, very much to do.

As it turned out, Debi and I had been sleeping together for weeks when, on impulse, I decided to eat her pussy. The narrow confines of the twin bed didn't allow for many positions, so I just got up, turned around, and got back in upside down. I put my face down on her pubic hairs, gently pushing her thighs apart so I could work my head between them. My tongue probed down between the lips of her vagina; then my lips followed as my mouth explored the contours of her young twat.

Stretched out alongside her in the narrow bed, my cock must have been in her face. And, as you might imagine, it was already substantially swollen, in a semi-erect state. It was in this position that she asked me, "What do I do?"

Instantly I saw my chance. "Suck it," I said. "Suck it till it cums." And, I added with emphasis, "But you have to swallow the whole thing."

Well, that was something she'd never thought about before. Not that she was against the idea, but it was all so new to her.

As I'd asked, she took my cock in her mouth and began to suck. Like many women who've never learned how to give a blowjob, she sucked lightly, underestimating how much pressure she might apply. But then, what did I know? I had no experience either, no knowledge with which to guide her.

Then she stopped, and asked, "What does it taste like?" How was I supposed to know? I had heard someone say it was salty, so that's what I told her.

She sucked some more, and I kept coaxing her, "suck it till it cums," and "swallow the whole thing." She kept stopping and asking what it tasted like, as if it might have cum already. The girl, so naïve in the ways of men, had no experience with cum. She had never seen it, or felt it in her hand; I used rubbers when I banged her pussy.

Ultimately it was silly, and poignant. She was destined to find out -- in a very few minutes -- exactly what cum tasted like, better than any words could describe.

We went back and forth, me coaxing and her stopping to ask questions, I though it would never end. But my excitement built gradually, and she kept faithfully to her soft sucking, till I reached the crest of desire, and slipped quietly over the edge.

My head exploded like the Fourth of July, white fireworks filling my brain, wiping out consciousness of anything else. My body convulsed like it had been hit by lighting, arching and thrusting my hips forward; I was out of control.

At the age of 20 my orgasm was indescribably intense. I lost all sense of time, aware of nothing but the crashing waves of ecstasy that consumed my body. But after a while -- as always -- the blinding spasms eased, and gradually I began to regain consciousness of where I was.

And as feeling returned, I realized my cock was still in her mouth! A wave of gratification swept over me, joy in knowing that my full load of cum had gone in it.

We lay like that for a long while, my cock in her mouth, long after the spasms of my ejaculation slowed and stopped; I had never told her to let go! Gradually my cock softened and shrank, and finally I pulled it out. Then she spoke; that's when I knew she had swallowed!

"You know," she said, "at first it tastes salty. But that stuff that comes out later -- yuck!!" she said, with great emphasis. It was charming the way she said it. I didn't have the heart to tell her that "stuff" that comes out at the end is my full, unrestrained load of sperm.

And ultimately, it didn't matter. Our relationship became routinely oral. She never hesitated to blow me when I wanted it, which, all in all, was often. She never failed to swallow. And she never complained about the taste of it.

Well, perhaps once, just a little. Years later, we were going to sleep -- by this time I had an apartment with a comfortable bed -- and she asked me for my glass of water. She took a little sip, and said, "Sometimes it leaves a bad taste in your mouth." Then she lay back down to go to sleep.

But I lay awake. I thought of all the times she had gone to sleep with the taste of sperm in her mouth, and never said anything. And I knew how devoted she was to giving me pleasure. I was overwhelmed with love for her as I drifted off to my own sleep.