When, one windy September night, I watched my reflection take in the entire length of a Japanese eggplant as effortlessly as a Bangcock whore, I was utterly delighted. I took videos of myself with my phone and sent them to the older man whose penis I was scheming to blow. After watching the video (and reportedly, jerking off to it eleven times,) he himself became so eager that he moved up his business trip three weeks. When at last we met at his swanky hotel, we had to spend a couple of hours just talking, drinking red wine and giving each other calming massages, because all the suspense we had built up was giving me panic attacks.
(Nerdy girls can also get over-anxious, so always plan to give them a moment to collect themselves. You'll be rewarded for your patience.)
When I actually did get down to business, I did everything right. I was enthusiastic, I made eye contact, I used lots of tongue but no teeth, I knew how to use my hands, both of them, I didn't neglect his testicles or his perineum, and after he finished in my mouth, I opened wide, showed him the pool of his spunk on my tongue, swallowed, and smiled like a redheaded Disney mermaid.
He was (forgive me) blown away.
I can taste him in my mouth right now as I type - salty-sweet and musky.
Actually, his semen, truth be told, was the one thing I wasn't prepared for: not so much the taste of it (I remember thinking it was a little worse than my first taste of coffee but not as bad as my first taste of gin, and all go down easier with cream, tonic, and a Diet Cherry Coke chaser, respectively,) as the sheer volume of goop that filled up my tiny mouth. I remember thinking right after I choked and swallowed it all down, "Smile, don't vomit. Smile, don't, don't, DON'T vomit."
But I didn't throw up. The nausea passed, and I smiled up at him, joyful and triumphant, like a gymnast who just stuck her landing.
Later, he confessed with a stammer, "That was the best blowjob I ever had in my whole life. No way that was your first one. It's not possible."
When I admitted the lurid details of my course of self-study, he looked at me like I was a very strange bird indeed, but those details - especially the home-made dildos in sock puppets - turned him on like crazy. Best of all, he looked endeared that I took such trouble to make him happy, as well as disarmingly grateful. He actually blushed; this man who had already been with some fifty young women before me turned red; his face bloomed like a flower, and he said, "I feel like I should give you some sort of trophy."
If only more boys took the time to read a book before going down on their girlfriends. Most only know what they learn in porn, so they only expect to receive, and even when they do try to give back, they just make me want to draw diagrams of a vulva on a whiteboard, make labels and arrows and then scold them for ignorance. By contrast, that wonderful, flower-faced, older man to whom I delivered my first blowjob had read She Comes First: The Thinking Man's Guide to Pleasuring a Woman.
And I DID come.
Over and over...
...like a girl winning trophies.
