Part of the 'Butt Monkey' series of stories by Robert Furlong
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As I lay in Debbie's bed, listening to the sounds of her sleeping, I thought about the sex we'd just had.
Parts of it had been nice, I mused, but perhaps that was because I'd abstained for so long from being in a woman's bed. It had certainly been a treat to climax inside a woman after all these years and yet, now that it was over, it bothered me that there had been more wrong with how we'd been together than right. Like lying too long in a bath that had grown lukewarm, I had been left feeling distinctly dissatisfied.
I was finding it difficult to get to sleep because, in spite of the fact we'd made love and I'd released an almost embarrassingly copious load into the condom I'd been wearing, my cock was still achingly hard and feeling painful as the head of it chaffed against my underwear. A persistent erection after having sex with a woman for the first time could be seen as either a very good sign or a very bad sign. I thought, in my case, it was probably the latter.
To start with, Debbie had made a lot of effort both in cooking us a very nice meal and in decorating her bedroom with candles and scented oil burners to give our first pairing a sensual and romantic quality.
We'd got on well -- we'd had a lot to talk about and had made each other laugh as we ate -- and our kissing and fondling in front of her TV afterwards had seemed like a natural fulfilment of a pleasant time spent together rather than feeling forced or hurried.
Also on the plus side was that she looked beautiful naked -- a lot better than a lot of the women I've made love to during my life -- and had an exquisite pair of firm, supple breasts which, after so long of being without a woman, I was quite simply captivated by. I'd spent ages playing with them, licking them and massaging them, and I was amazed at how much I'd missed the presence of two such apparently innocuous mounds of flesh from my life.
The first problem we'd discovered was that, while she clearly liked me and there was an undoubted sexual attraction between us, what was lurking between my legs held far less appeal to her. Even while we were on her couch, nuzzling into each other and working our hands into increasingly intimate places together, she became agitated when she got a feel of my awakening organ through the front of my trousers and had gasped, groping at my thickening shaft through the material with disbelief, "Oh my God, Rob! Is that your penis?!"
I'd pulled back self-consciously, putting a hand over my bulge. "Is it... er... a problem?"
I suddenly felt about fifteen; like I was having to conceal my disproportionate development from my mother's puritanical gaze.
"How big is it?" she'd asked in horror. "I mean, how big does it get?"
"I don't know exactly," I'd replied with a blush, before going on, "maybe a touch bigger than average," grossly downplaying my size.
"But you're such a quiet guy," she'd said with incredulity. "I had no idea were hiding something like that!"
"It's not like I'm a serial killer," I said, trying an empty-sounding laugh to lighten the mood. "It's just my willy."
She frowned at the mound in my trousers and I felt myself soften in my discomfort. I'd encountered quite a few women who'd seemed intimidated by the size of my erection, but I'd never had one who had shown such affront.
"I hoped you might like it," I went on rather feebly. "It can be quite affable when you get to know it."
"Look Rob... penises aren't really my thing," she coldly informed me. "I can cope with small ones, but big ones... well... I'd better be straight with you from the start..."
"What's the problem with them?" I asked. Although it had never occurred to me before, as women didn't have penises of their own, it was -- I supposed -- fairly understandable that some of them might find them strange in their unfamiliarity, perhaps even to the point of being distasteful.
"With yours," she said, glancing suspiciously towards my crotch, "does the skin of it pull right back from the head of it when you get aroused? So you can see the purple helmet underneath?"
I blushed again slightly; this was a very personal question. Nevertheless, as I was hoping she might be willing to see exactly how it worked quite soon, I replied, "Yes... yes, it does."
She winced. "Well, that's what I don't like: the feel of the skin, all tight and pulled back, against the hardness of the stem. And the really strong smell of the helmet -- that horrible, venereal stink that men give off when they're horny."
"I don't think mine is especially smelly," I said to try and pacify her, although I was well aware that my cock had its own distinct masturbatory odour.
"Once the skin's pulled back, they all are," she retorted. "Or maybe I'm really sensitive to it."
"Well, perhaps you'll find my scent less offensive than some of the other men you've made love with. It could be that you've had a few unlucky encounters until now..."
She looked distinctly unconvinced but nodded. "As long as you know from the outset -- there's no way I'll be able to suck it!"
"That's okay," I smiled, trying to be reassuring. "I don't really like that, anyway."
Was that what this had been all about -- her aversion towards giving men blow jobs? That was understandable: perhaps she'd tasted a guy with grotesquely unwashed cock; or perhaps someone had climaxed in her mouth with a gush of particularly obnoxious semen.
She'd kept her hands well away from my crotch during the rest of our time on the couch, and as long as I did my best to conceal what was going on in my trousers, her shock seemed to abate and she started to relax back into our interrupted cuddling. Indeed, things were starting to look more promising until we got up to her bedroom.
There, in the flickering light of the candles, we undressed each other and kissed again. Once my trousers were off, and as I was kneading her breasts and licking at her peaked nipples, she threw suspicious glances towards the abundant mound stretching the front of my underpants in stark contrast to her tiny lace panties.
