I have noticed that this blog features a lot of cunnilingus. I'm totally fine with that. I love it when cunnilingus is a prominent part of my life. But, of course, there's more to my sex life than that.
It has happened recently that the past several men I've slept with—Louis, Buddy Holly, and Adam—have all commented that I'm pretty much their Liz Phair-esque blow job queen. I've always maintained that the key to doing these things well is paying attention and being enthusiastic.
With Adam, a man I don't talk about much because he was unremarkable at best and didn't eat pussy at worst, fellatio was the best part of our encounters. I was with him very, very briefly. He had a spectacular beard—I love a hairy man—and when he came he would squeeze any part of me that was within his reach and say that my body was perfect, or that when my hair was in my face I looked unbelievably sexy.
The first time I slept with him, I took him home with me after a second date because making out in the car seemed particularly inelegant, especially since it was December, it was very cold, and there was, miraculously, parking available. I took him into my apartment, he marveled at my art collection, and then he was turning off the light—I prefer it on, thank you very much—and throwing me on my bed. I wore boots, black lacy wool tights, a black silk miniskirt, and a purple Tshirt tucked into it. He wore jeans, a flannel, and a white undershirt. I was on top of him in short order, one hand on the bed to steady myself and one on the back of his neck while we kissed; both of his hands under my skirt and over my tights and gripping my thighs hard enough to leave marks. He moved one hand under my shirt to feel a breast; I pulled my shirt off over my head and immediately undid my bra. He was both surprised and approving. I continued to kiss him and press my breasts against his shirt—he was less willing to disrobe—while he pulled my tights and panties down under my skirt, cupped my vulva with one hand and slapped my thigh with the other. He worked his fingers between my labia and rubbed my clit for the entire five minutes it took to make me come with a gush of fluid. He seemed both surprised and proud.
We had previously agreed that penile-vaginal sex was not on the table this evening. He asked me how I felt about handjobs. I said I felt fine about them. I pulled off the remainder of what I was wearing, undid his jeans, and revealed his hardening cock.
“There are other things I prefer,” I told him, and I ran my tongue along the underside of his cock from the cleft between his balls to the tip of his glans. My tongue was flat, wet, and firm; he gasped and gripped my shoulders. “You can do that, too,” he stammered.
There aren't a lot of things that I love more than feeling a penis get hard in my mouth, or finding the spot that when I lick it, he involuntarily swells and his cock presses back against me. Every man has this spot: its location is variable, but its existence isn't. All you have to do is pay attention and it will reveal itself in short order. With Adam, his was on the very tip of his penis. I flicked my tongue against it, and then took the whole of him in my mouth while holding his balls in my hand with a knuckle pressed firmly against his perineum. He was moaning deeply, with his hands fondling my breasts while I rhythmically sucked him off.
Between licks, I asked him how he liked it, and I moaned around his cock when it was in my mouth. He was having a hard time with words, and bucking his hips with me. I wrapped my lips tightly around the base and pulled him out to the tip; I massaged his scrotum at the same speed, and I help myself up with my other arm with my ass gyrating in the air. I was wet again.
Adam squeezed my breasts hard with both hands, arched his back, and groaned. The ridge around the tip of his cock puffed up on my tongue, and I felt his come hit the roof of my mouth in spurts: one, two three. I kept my rhythm through his orgasm. He sighed when we stopped.
I flipped my head up and slid up next to him while he stared at the ceiling. Our legs entangled as he put his arm around me.
“Margot, you must really enjoy sucking dick.”
“Yes, I do.”
“You are amazing. That was amazing. How did you get so good?”
“I'm pretty sure all you have to do is pay attention and be enthusiastic.”
He was still fully dressed, and he rolled on top of my naked body and kissed me deeply. We did not go to sleep for another three hours.