("`-''-/").___..--''"`-._ `6_ 6 ) `-. ( ).`-.__.`) (_Y_.)' ._ ) `._ `. ``-..-' _..`--'_..-_/ /--'_.' ,' (((' (((-((('' (((( K R I S T E N' S C O L L E C T I O N _________________________________________ WARNING! This text file contains sexually explicit material. If you do not wish to read this type of literature, or you are under age, PLEASE CLOSE THIS FILE NOW!!!! _________________________________________ Scroll down to view text -------------------------------------------------------- This work is copyrighted to the author © 2004. Please don't remove the author information or make any changes to this story. All rights reserved. Thank you for your consideration. -------------------------------------------------------- What's Oral Sex For, Anyhow? By Anonymous (t0949@hotmail.com) *** This is one more in a series of journalistic memoirs written by some of this past year's graduate students in journalism at a major university. We had been assigned to write a memoir on important "firsts" in our individual lives, and some of us opined that our first sex was the most important "first". (MF, 1st) *** When it transpired that most first-times are boring (or worse) some of us chose to write on our first "oral sex" instead. I was a mature student, already employed as a journalist with a weekly paper and needed the specialist degree to apply for a better job. One might say, then, that my story is ancient history. Much of it, as you will see, is also vicarious. As a female kid I had a fixation on penises. Only I never saw any, except when I would go to museums or look at art books. And I never saw any live ones: my father was rather prudish; indeed after I started to develop he would send me off to put on more clothing if he saw, or imagined he saw, any excitable or exciting part of my body. In part my fixation must have been due to Sophie, a friend of mine from the age of 8 or 9, and a girl with whom I had continuing contacts until I was about 30. Sophie and I played with dolls, yes, but we imagined that Ken had a penis and Barbie a vagina; indeed we painted them on and caused them to have sex. Both Sophie and I reached puberty early. By 12 I was fully developed, physically at least. But by the same age Sophie was not only developed physically but she had also acquired the coquetry and initiative of the sexpot, and was willing to follow through. However, Sophie was already stunning at that age, while I was awkward and, as I thought, ugly until age 17 or 18. By 13, five years before me on that score, she was no longer a virgin. Indeed, by 30 she'd been through hundreds of men and at least three husbands. (I lost contact with her after she married husband #4 and moved to Australia.) As I recall, she has two kids (well, grownup offspring) from two different fathers. She'd have had three, but the third putative father, upon hearing the news, got frightened by the idea of being a dad and had a vasectomy without telling her. (No logic there, but that's the kind of man she chose.) And then Sophie had a miscarriage. Sophie learned early on -- and taught me -- how breasts attract and how they can be used as a weapon. But she went much further than I was willing to go: Sophie's policy was that if a man or a boy touched her breast, she was entitled. Without further ado, to touch -- more than touch, to do what ever she wanted with -- his penis. And, like some magician who can, in an instant, divest you of your shirt while your jacket is still on, she could disrobe a man, or at least get at his penis, in seconds without his knowing how the state of affairs had come about. Sophie felt that if a man did not have a hard-on just on account of her proximity to his penis, even her presence in the room, then she had failed as a woman. Or else he was gay. But Sophie's choice in men, at least until the last one who, I heard, was an Australian rancher, was abysmal. Of the two I knew details of, one was a gravedigger, the other a plumber. Noble occupations perhaps, but neither likely to be in a position to support me in the style I had chosen for myself. For I had looked through Sophie's library and read some important works: "The Sensuous Woman" by "J"; "Sex and the Office" by Helen Gurley Brown; and a few sex manuals. I knew that the way to a man's heart may be through his stomach, but the way to the altar was through his penis being in your mouth. I had better expectations. Indeed, I had great expectations: I wanted a doctor, a lawyer, a trust-fund brat... or somebody famous. I wanted a nice house, and kids I could be proud of. I wasn't going to waste my efforts on some arrogant Bronzed Adonis here today, gone tomorrow. Or risk bad genes and feeble-minded offspring. The result was that except for the trade secrets Sophie revealed to me, I didn't really know much about sex. And the dating game in those days was pretty crude. Perhaps not so crude as today, but crude. A couple of boys would walk into a dating bar and right away point to one girl after another: "that girl gives good head first date", "that one's a waste of a drink", "that one's an airhead", "that ones a cheap lay, no need even to buy a drink"... And that was in the Big City. Imagine what Small Town USA must be like, must have been like. Sophie had a new story every week, if not every night. The year we lived together in the Big City, she not only flaunted her men, she had no shame. She'd bring a guy up to our fourth floor walk-up apartment, put on a record, bring out some drinks, and, ignoring me sitting nearby, chat him up while they undressed each other. Here was where I got to see -- for the first time -- penises in their full variety and sizes. Hey, never mind the stories you read online or the porno sites. Those studs only got the job because they're freaks. (My husband tells me he once saw a Black guy at the urinal in Grand Central Station with a true 12-inch hard-on. But he was obviously a gay prostitute. In real life those guys don't exist, and you don't want them if they do: they hurt. And they're arrogant to boot.) Sophie's guys were the statistical average. I understand 85% of men are within a half-inch or so of the mean, and the freaks on either side only matter if they have the money to make up the difference. But then, as D sir e said of Hugh Grant, "I've see bigger and I've seen smaller. His was cute." If you believe the Internet, all the world is bigger than average, and those who aren't should be buying snake oil. Never mind size; lets get to substance. It turns out as well that swallowing is not the big deal the porno movies make it out to be. After they've come in your mouth the guy doesn't much care what you do with it. And a girl like Sophie can make the stuff disappear anyway. Like the "virgin" prostitutes in the old West who had secret compartments of stage blood hidden in their beds, Sophie could leave the guy believing as truth whatever was his desire or his fetish. But she had some standard tricks too, some things beyond my appreciation or willingness. She could fondle a guy's prostate and she could bring him to psychedelic delight without any drugs. I didn't have the patience to learn or the sang- froid to watch. The late Linda Lovelace's film had come out about that time, and to this day -- especially among the gay community: http://www.thebody.com/schoofs/fellatio.html but while you're at it, you might also have a look at: http://www.villagevoice.com/issues/0106/sextoc.php One-upmanship seems to call for a deep-throat technique. Fellatio isn't, or shouldn't be, a competitive sport. I don't even remember whether that was Sophie's style because I was pretending not to look. But she did want them to ejaculate in her mouth, although she would tease them along the way. The more teasing she did, Sophie explained, the more semen they would ejaculate. And the better their first orgasm, the more stamina they would have when it came to be her turn to be entertained. Because Sophie was, herself, very demanding. She wanted to be brought to the brink of orgasm orally and then brought over the cliff vaginally. Nothing wrong with that, as I was to learn: nice work if you can get it. One thing that surprised me when I did some research for this story was that cunnilingus is more common than fellatio. The explanation is that men, who anyway are expected to take the initiative, are willing to eat out a woman's or a girl's pussy in the fond expectation that she might suck them off afterwards. But it doesn't always work out that way. Since any man (well, almost any man) can come to orgasm either way, orally or vaginally (or that other way, but although Sophie wanted to talk about that, I didn't ever want to listen), but many women need oral or digital stimulation to reach orgasm, I suppose it makes statistical, if not intuitive, sense. Sophie's specialty was the efficient stimulation of a man's glans penis. If he had trouble getting an erection, she knew the nerve endings underneath, just beneath the glans, that usually would work (you could see that in operation by the heroine in Debbie Does Dallas). She had read enough about gay sex -- or maybe talked to enough gay men in the scene -- so that she knew that there was no advantage to spending any more time than she cared to in the exercise. Get a man to come in your mouth and you own him, at least for the night. Assuming that you picked the right sort of man in the first place. Which was Sophie's problem. I, on the other hand, was a virgin until age 18. And aside from some abortive attempts by some stupid, drunk no-hopers to get me to suck their dicks, my first oral sex came about, well, on vacation, at age 20. Lots of things come about on vacation. Sophie had fixed me up with a blind date. This was after she'd left my apartment, leaving me the full month's rent to pay (fortunately it was a rent- controlled apartment, but I was momentarily unemployed). It was supposed to be a party at a student's apartment in the Big City, across town from where I lived. I was, it seems, the only one to show up, and I showed up late. Be that as it may, things worked out reasonably well; like me, the guy had traveled the world, studied foreign languages. And, he was a lawyer. Sophie had run into him at the university, where he was doing some research and she way handing out advertising flyers. As he told me later, Sophie was too sexually challenging, threatening for him. And if she was so smart (which she was), why was she wasting her intellect handing out flyers and collecting unemployment. Anyway, my date and I wound up at my place, where he spent the night. And I spent the next two nights at his place. The following day we drove to Montreal. Where we stayed at Ruby Foo's Hotel. The place is still there: you can do a search for it on Google. And it's still as outrageous as it was then. After dinner (there's no bad food in Montreal, not anymore -- at least if you skip the fast food joints) we went back to the room. Here it was the usual (well, usual for most of us girls, if not for Sophie) of letting the guy take the initiative and hoping that he'll do something that makes you feel good, and that doesn't hurt. The usual undressing and fondling need no discussion here. My new boyfriend exhausted the possibilities up top, and started work on my vaginal area. After ten or fifteen minutes of that, fingers were replaced with tongue, and he was no longer aside the bed but alongside me on the bed, his stiff penis near my mouth. All the lectures and stories imparted to me by Sophie passed through my mind. But I had only seconds to decide: was it penis in mouth or not. And was it a lawyer for a husband or maybe a gravedigger. Penis in mouth it was. But what to do with it? In mutual oral sex, especially first-time mutual oral sex, that's not so obvious as it would seem. Or maybe today streetwise kids know more than my sheltered generation did, even with Sophie's wise advice. While my date went to work on my vagina, sucked on my labia, flicked his tongue over my clitoris, I needed to keep my wits together and massage the end of his penis with lips and tongue. Not much technology perhaps, but the race to orgasm can be distracting. And if you don't know what to expect when that orgasm happens -- well, you know he's going to ejaculate, but how much, where and when? And what after that? Sophie hadn't much to say: to her, long-time practitioner, the answers seemed obvious. What was obvious to her was scarcely so to me. Eventually my man did have his orgasm, and I dealt with the results somehow (sorry, I can't remember exactly). The event must have been successful, because in due course we married and had a string of kids. We've repeated the exercise, with variations, hundreds (thousands?) of times. I do swallow semen from time to time, but not intentionally. The trick is, of course, as Sophie said, for the girl to get to orgasm first, and then bring her guy to move around and finish up inside your vagina. Maybe that's not adhering to gender equality, but it's a fact of life and sex: one's preferences and willingness (not a word, but you get my gist) differ before and after orgasm. And, hey, to be clinical about it, we never would have had all those kids if he'd only ejaculated in my mouth. My story is likely more boring than the rest: but then most of the stories published on this site are made up. This one isn't, and the truth can be dull, if instructive. I've had what I wanted out of life, more or less (one always wants more, doesn't one?) Anyway, this was intended to be a pedagogical exercise and not a source of titillation, wasn't it. It is, in fact, more a follow-up to Carol or Mandy's notable article in Salon.com, "Drop-em Babe." http://www.salon.com/mwt/feature/1999/11/16/oral_sex/ index.html But see also the follow-up letters at: http://www.salon.com/letters/1999/11/23/oral_sex We journalists have to stick together. ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ This story was written as an adult fantasy. The author does not condone the described behavior in real life. ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ Kristen's collection - Directory 29