Why Nerds Are Better Blowjob Queens

Your face reminds me of a flower

Kind of like you're underwater

Hair's too long and in your eyes

Your lips a perfect suck me size

You act like you're fourteen years old

Everything you say is so

Obnoxious, funny, true, and mean

I want to be your blowjob queen

Flower - by Liz Phair

How many cocks have you put in my mouth since you turned eighteen?

Whenever I answer questions about sex (or write "first-time" true stories on Literotica,) I can't help getting side-tracked by other, more visceral questions. Right now I'm licking my lips, clicking my tongue, and remembering how each penis I've blown felt as it first slid into my mouth: the weight of it, texture of the flesh, the curve, the redolent smell, the bulky push into the pouch of my cheek, or the slender dive down the well of my throat.

As scroll through my memories of each and every cock - a gallery of throbbing boy-flesh, I count about nineteen, but I know I'm leaving some out. Luckily, I've been compulsively journaling since I was twelve - keeping all sorts of personal data in grids and charts - so all I have to do to know for sure is check the inside cover of a notebook titled "Summer 2018" where I keep my running total. As I open it now I see twenty-three check marks. Twenty-three unique visitors. Twenty-three gentleman callers invited into my parlor for hot tea and finger cakes.

I'll be twenty-one this summer so this means I suck roughly one new cock every 8-10 weeks, which actually seems a bit prim, compared to some, like a habit the Surgeon General would approve of along with three daily servings of vegetables.

Sadly, most of the dicks I've sucked are just vague phantoms to me now. I can barely remember whose was whose, mixing up the one from the library broom closet with the one from the changing room at our public pool with the one I gave on the train ride to Santa Fe. Or was it Park City? Only a few cocks are truly vivid in my memory, and only one - the very first - materializes so clearly in my mouth I can actually taste it. That happy taste triggers a gush of emotion, one that reminds me to return to the question I meant to answer in the first place:

How did you feel the first time you gave a blowjob?

I felt like a rock star, a porn star, and princess all rolled into one. Most of all, I felt the way I did when I got my SAT scores back - a little smug but extremely relieved that all the time I spent studying had paid off.

I've always been a nerd, the daughter of two bookish intellectuals who wouldn't dare try anything new before doing months of research and reading all the best books. I had already decided exactly which cock I would fellate as my first, and having already proven myself as a Handjob Queen, I knew precisely the size, shape and eccentricities of the cock I had chosen. With two months of practice time before the carefully-chosen penis would return to town, attached to a handsome salesman traveling on business, I got to work.

Cover to cover, I read Oral Sex For Couples, The Art of Cunnilingus and Fellatio, The Guide to Licking and Sucking, How to Impress Him with the Best BlowJob, and The Illustrated Guide to Oral Sex. I watched several explicit online tutorials. I took notes. I sketched pictures and diagrams along with obscene cartoons; I studied blowjobs like I was cramming for a final in organic chemistry.

And sticking with the chem class analogy...like doing hands-on lab work to go along with the lectures, I practiced giving head on bananas and homemade dildos - phalluses made out of toilet paper rolls wrapped in pliable layers of electrical tape. This may sound a bit over-the-top, but I swear that the secret to having a good first experience as a cocksucker is enthusiastic daily practice beforehand - fully nude in front of a bathroom mirror. I myself made these exercises a warm-up to an already vigorous masturbation routine.

For those readers who themselves have a cock, my advice is you should find a nerd to suck it. We nerds tend to be both horny and enthusiastic as a rule, and that as you may know, turns out to be the two most important qualities in a blowjob queen.

For other teen nerds who want to follow my study plan, I suggest buying dildos online, but if you must make do with a household object, cover it with a condom. I kept handfuls of colored condoms in coffee cans filled with party balloons. I kept my DIY dildos hidden in sock puppets. My sex guides had paper-bag book-covers with daisy stickers. I fucked myself dizzy with every hairbrush handle, eight-ounce conditioner bottle, and trumpet mute I could find in my childhood home, but I covered them in latex first and washed them afterward. If you are conscientious, It's really not hard to discretely practice cocksucking without mom fainting at the sight of a vibrator left on the bathroom sink, or dad walking in on you and dropping dead of an aneurysm.

Once I had mastered the blowjob basics, I got more advanced. Every night before going to bed I touched the back of my throat with the tip of my toothbrush to diminish my gag reflex. I recognized even from the sex-positive, female-friendly porn I watched that deep-throating is the skill that separates the queens from the handmaidens. I and I wanted to be a queen. I wanted to be THE queen. Each night I'd try to go a little bit further down my throat while breathing through my nose. The reflex was hair-trigger when I started, but after a month sticking to the ritual, combined with pressing acupuncture points on my palm, I finally gained control.

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.