Chapter 5: Like a Firehose

I CAME AWAKE SLOWLY, finally realizing the ringing I was hearing was not my alarm clock, but the doorbell. It was nearly one o’clock Friday morning. I jumped out of bed, into my slippers and robe, and rushed to the door, thinking there might be an emergency of some sort. Perhaps someone had seen smoke coming from my house!

I opened the door and saw my lovely Rita leaning against the doorjamb.

“Hi, Doc!” she exclaimed cheerfully. She’d been drinking. I couldn’t tell how much, but she had that pleasantly buzzed look about her and was grinning happily at me. “Aren’t you going to invite me in?”

“Sure,” I said. “I did say any time.” As soon as I closed the door behind her, she turned and kissed me deeply.

“Sorry I haven’t been over sooner,” she said. “I wanted to, but things just weren’t working out the way I planned.”

“You had a plan?” I asked. Cobwebs were still clearing from my head. If she arrived to make love, I’d just lead her back to my bed.

“Just to get back here as soon as I could,” she said. “There was the stupid girls’ spa weekend, then work, and I got my period. I just didn’t feel like I could come over here like that.” I would have to disabuse her of that inhibition eventually. “So, I was out with the girls tonight for our Thursday night whine and dine and I got to missing you terribly and I wanted to know more and I was feeling ... well, lustful. And there was this discussion.”

While she was rattling on, she’d dropped her purse and coat on the floor and stepped out of her shoes. I wasn’t directing, but she was nudging me in the direction of my bedroom. I wasn’t inclined to resist.

“What kind of discussion?” I asked.

“In a minute,” she said. “First I gotta pee.” She ducked into the master bath and closed the door. Left waiting, I fluffed a pillow so I could sit up in bed and slid back beneath the covers. It took her a while and, in spite of myself, I was nodding off when the bathroom door opened. Rita stood there, framed in the light, completely naked. “You don’t mind that I got more comfortable, do you?” I took in the vision of loveliness before me and pinched myself to be sure I was awake.

She’d taken her hair down out of its usual ponytail and it fell softly around her shoulders. The light filtering through the light brown locks was like an aura around her face. Her shoulders rose and fell with her breathing and that drew my attention to her pert breasts. I couldn’t help but make a mental note about how much plumper they were than the voraciously demanding Sheila. Despite their fullness, the nipples were tiny dots in the middle of barely perceptible areolae. At her height of just over five feet, the thick bush of her pussy was just a bit above the edge of the bed where she stood posing for me.

As if on cue, she pirouetted slowly to her left until she came to a stop with her back to me. Her shoulders gently sloped from the base of her neck where her hair parted to either side. A small beauty spot was just below her right shoulder blade, and much to my surprise, there was a tiny butterfly tramp-stamp tattooed at the base of her spine. I admit that in the low light of our love-making, that had escaped notice. It drew my attention to her tiny waist and beautifully round buttocks with the tantalizing crack between. She continued her pirouette and I noticed as she came into profile how proudly her breasts rode on her chest. When she was facing me again, she smiled like the proverbial cat that ate the canary.

“I know you like to just look first,” she giggled. “See? I did learn something.” We both laughed at that. She put her hands on the foot of the bed and crawled up on it, stalking toward me until our lips could meet.

“What a delightful way to wake up in the middle of the night,” I said as our lips parted. “Come, get under the covers with me.”

“Nope,” she said, sitting back abruptly. She sat cross-legged facing me and I could see her pussy lips part her bush as the glistening sheen of moisture between her legs caught the lamplight. “I wanna talk.”

“O-kay,” I said, drawing out the word as I enjoyed the view. “What would you like to talk about?”

“What’s the big deal with blowjobs?” she asked.

“What?” She had shifted gears again and I was catching up. Having all my attention on her pussy was probably contributing to my slowness.

“Well,” Rita began, “the girls were discussing this over drinks tonight. The discussion turned to men and that led to sex and that led to blowjobs. Pamela said she’d rather give a guy a blowjob than have sex with him. Carmine said she had such a bad gag reflex she couldn’t get a cock past her lips without throwing up. And Jan said blowjobs were just a normal part of having sex and you had to do them if you ever wanted to get any satisfaction for yourself. We don’t exactly take turns when we’re talking, you know, so everybody had more to say on the subject and it was all pretty interesting. Eventually, they noticed I hadn’t said anything and they all started to stare at me and thought I had some big secret I wasn’t telling them. I finally blurted out that according to Alex, I couldn’t suck water from a firehose. At first, they thought I was kidding and then they started to get furious. They said it was his fault if he didn’t enjoy putting his dick in my mouth and I should go find someone who appreciated me. I thought, I know someone who appreciates me. So, what was I doing sitting around moaning with these bitches when I could be in his arms and he’d tell me what the big deal was and then I’d be able to suck water from a firehose?”

I swear, she paused for the first breath she’d taken since she started. Once she got wound up, it was just a flood of confusion and emotion pouring out of her. “So, what’s the big deal with blowjobs?” she asked again.

I laughed gently. “I assume you mean other than they feel great and fuel fantasies,” I said. She punched my leg softly.

“I mean it,” she said. “I want the primal archetype men respond to. You seem to know one for everything.”

“Ah.” I could see already she wanted to be told she was good at oral sex, but there had to be a story to go along with the urge. So, I made one up. “Every guy wants to believe his girl could have sex with four or five guys at once,” I began.

“Alex wants me to have sex with a basketball team?” she exclaimed, raising her eyebrows.

“No, no. Some guys get off on that kind of thing, but we’re talking about the archetype, not some aberration,” I said. “No, he just wants to believe that you could have sex with four or five guys at once.”

“And exactly how would I do that?” she asked. “It’s ridiculous.”

“Hmm. You certainly know basic sex with cock in pussy,” I answered slowly. She nodded. “And you at least know there is oral with cock in mouth. Then there is cock in hand, cock in ass, and cock between the breasts. That’s five and doesn’t count having two hands available. See? Up to six by that count.”

“All at once? I’d never keep them straight!”

“They’d stay straight, believe me.” We laughed together at that and I decided to make up as much of a story as I could. “Like I said, he doesn’t actually want you to do it, just to think that you could do it. And that you’d satisfy all six of them equally.”

“But why?” she asked, plaintively. I was on a roll, so why stop now.

“We live in a society that is polarized between pornography and religion,” I said. “On one side, you have Hollywood—and I use the term loosely—and on the other side, you have the church. I use that term loosely as well. One is telling you sex is good, sex sells, sex with a lot of people is even better, sex with people watching is best of all. On the other side, sex is part of an inviolable institution and is limited to a partnership between just two people for all eternity. The tension builds up inside. On one hand, a guy wants to have sex with every woman he sees. On the other hand, he wants to mate for life with the one woman who will be all he ever needs.”

“Come on,” Rita said. “No guy wants to have sex with every woman he sees.”

“There may be some who escape his notice at first,” I answered. “And some are dismissed with scarcely a thought. But once a woman is in a man’s focus his first thought is about whether she would be a good fuck. He might dismiss the notion, but every woman he meets gets evaluated first based on her potential as a sex partner. Now the thing is that a guy who’s serious enough to actually have sex with her is going to have this voice in his ear hounding him that this could be the last person he ever has sex with. She could be the one he marries. This might be the only pussy he ever penetrates from now on.”

“Guys don’t have that much brainpower to think all that while they’re fucking,” Rita said dismissively.

“True,” I said. “I’m just talking through what goes into the desire. See, if a guy figures you could have sex with four or five guys all at once, then having sex with you could be like having sex with four or five different women. Having a different woman for every day of the week no longer feels like the trap of monogamy. He might get through it after all.”

She looked at me, puzzled for a moment. Then, sure she had a perfect counter-argument, she launched in. “Porn videos always show every way of having sex in every video. First you give a hand-job, then a blowjob, then he fucks you missionary, then he fucks you doggy or in the ass, and finally he comes on your face or your tits. That’s the archetype that men see and want.”