If you know anything about my sexual history you know one thing. I love to give blowjobs. I literally have no idea why that is. I know a lot of girls could take it or leave it. And some, for reasons known only to them, just won’t do it. But I can’t imagine going more than a couple of days without having someone’s little-man wet-sneeze on my tonsils. I used to laugh when my obviously feminist guidance counselor asked me what I would do if I had a billion dollars and didn’t have to work. I knew she was trying to figure out what I should do for a living. I thought that was hilarious because, by her logic, I should be a kept woman or standing on a street corner in a pair of knee pads. “Oh, I don’t know ... write?” I would reply. She seemed satisfied with my response and I tried not to snort-laugh, imagining myself as the 21st century “Little Oral Annie”, accepting an AVN award and acknowledging her in an acceptance speech.
As it turns out. Sucking cock isn’t just a fun way to pass the time. It can be used as a weapon. I know it seems like I’ve only ever been with old men. But, sadly, this isn’t the case. I’ve dated a couple of guys my age and I didn’t really care for the experience. “Experience” being the key word here. Guys my age have none. No experience and no appreciation. I’ll explain what I mean. The last time I dated someone close to my age I decided ... surprise surprise ... that I’d give him head. Good times, right? About 2 minutes in I looked up at him. And he was texting someone. Texting. While his fireman went through the car wash. I know, right? That was the last straw. I promptly put my clothes back on and left. I dropped his stuff off at the front door the next day and blocked his number. That was the end of that relationship.
While it was my last, this wasn’t the first boyfriend I had that I could have gone to school with. There was one before him and he was a serious asshole. Let’s pretend his name is “Vince”. Ya’ know. In case he finds this and reads it. I don’t want angry texts at 2 in the morning. Hi “Vince”! Oh sure, he was sweet at first. And I’m sure he thought “sweet” was the way to go. But I sensed that he wasn’t so sweet once you got to know him. Which is why I gave him the time of day to begin with. Save the sugar for your coffee, dude. And while he was truly a jerk, once you got to know him. There’s such a thing as “too much of a good thing”. And this was the case with Vince.
Vince was the kind of guy who didn’t care if you got off. He’d cum on your belly then literally jump up and run to the shower. If you tried to say something sexy he would literally groan and tell you to shut the fuck up and keep sucking. After a while Vince’s novelty wore off and I was over it. The only time I ever saw any kind of genuine emotion from him is when I broke up with him. He actually cried. We had been dating for 6 weeks. And he cried when I told him it was over. I felt a little bad for him until, in between sobs, he started telling me I was a stupid, butter-faced whore. I spit in his face and walked away. I was done. Apparently, he was not.
Vince spent the next couple of weeks bad-mouthing me to anyone who would listen. I got at least two reports a day from friends of mine ... and his ... that he wouldn’t stop running me down to anyone who would listen. Which, thankfully, wasn’t very many people. But one did. One person listened. My now ex best friend, “Lorry”. Lorry felt bad for him. I wondered why I hadn’t heard from her for a couple of days. She had been avoiding my calls and my texts. And then I saw it. The two of them making out at his car outside of a local burger place. My final text to her was “that’s not sugar, honey. It’s saccharin. And it won’t last”. Of course, she ignored me.
A few weeks passed and I moved on with my life. I had heard all about how the two of them were now bad mouthing me but I didn’t care. I washed my hands of them.