Like any good fairytale, it all started with Tinder. After fate and a right swipe, I matched with a nice, decently attractive guy who didn’t have any selfies in his profile. So, naturally, we decided to hook up. Or at least, I did. After three times hanging out, however, we’d only gotten as far as some light over-the-pants petting. So after once again going home sex-less, I did what any rational girl would do. I downed a bottle of wine, took some slutty Snapchats, and texted him, bragging about my blow job skills.
We made a date for the next evening.
The evening started as it had the past three times — laying in bed watching Netflix in our sweatpants. About three episodes into The Office, however, he made it clear that he hadn’t forgotten my boasting. As Michael Scott talked about paper, my guy du jour leaned over and planted his chiseled jaw in my neck. This is it, I thought, as visions of intercourse danced in my almost-seduced head. His hand slipped below the stretchy waist of my sweats and a groan escaped my lips. His experienced fingers fumbled around in my least-seductive piece of clothing for a few minutes before I yelled out in ecstasy. What? I’m fast. Just as my heartbeat started returning to a normal pace, he turned to me with a sly smile on his lips.
“I’ve taken care of you,” he started, picked up my hand and guiding it towards his equally ugly sweatpants. “And I am excited for this head.”
Head? HEAD?! I tried to swallow the vomit threatening to come out of my soon-to-be busy mouth. I knew this was coming, of course. You can’t brag about being a pro penis sucker without a guy asking for you to show him your skills. The only problem? The only guy’s knob I had ever slobbed on was my ex’s and even if I was bad, he never would have told me.
My sweaty hands nervously pulled his pants off to reveal a nicely hung piece of man meat. Really nicely hung. Too nicely hung. I once again felt like I would gag, just by making eye contact with it. Not only did I have all this pressure to live up to, but this was the biggest member I had ever seen. What if it didn’t fit in my mouth? Maybe if I sort of used my hands too? I wrapped my fingers around it and began a slow rhythm. Good! This had to be good. I slowly lowered my mouth onto him as his eyes followed mine. After a few minutes, I varied the speed, I gave my hands a break (talk about a workout), I did the alphabet with my tongue (does that work on guys?). I thought it was going well. I was pulling out all the stops and tricks trying to keep him very turned on and ~into~ it. But no matter how hard I sucked or pumped, it seemed I was getting little reaction from him. After about twenty minutes, I glanced at the clock as my jaw started to lock up.
“Are you close?” I asked politely, trying to be as sexy as I could through my numb lips.
“Uh, yeah kinda,” he replied, without any trace of emotion in his voice.
Fuck. This was bad. I could tell he was just being nice.
“Is it bad?” I sputtered anxiously, sitting up and gazing at him in earnest.
“I’ve had better,” he uttered.
Oh, wow okay, thank you. It’s great to know you’re thinking about a better blow job you’ve been given while I am down here putting in my damn time. My blood boiled as his response bounced around in my head.
“So it’s bad then?” I demanded, with the hint of a challenge in my voice.
I didn’t think I could get a worse answer than the previous one. Maybe he just had a slip of the mind and said the first dumb thing that came to his head. But boys are always full of surprises, aren’t they?
“I would give it like a 6 out of 10 maybe,” he stated, grading me just slightly above average on my blowing abilities.
After that statement, I didn’t know what much else to do but stop. I was not going to continue to give him a bad blow job. Or a C+ blow job, according to his grading chart. After just staring at me for several seconds he cleared his throat, anxious to redeem himself.
“Are you going to just leave me with blue balls?”
Jk on the redeem himself part. Still, as I looked at this hot, naked man in my bed, I didn’t want to give up quite yet. So, with every last ounce of sexual confidence I had left, I said the only thing I could think of:
“Do you just wanna have sex then?” Nailed it.
I think this caught him a bit off-guard because it took him a while to answer. Finally he nodded his head and reached towards me with a little less enthusiasm than before. Three minutes later, it was over. Three minutes. After three more minutes of awkward small talk, one very unsexy peck on the lips, he put on his clothes and left.
As I heard the door close behind him, I laid back in bed, pissed. I was no six. I was a goddam 11.5 out of 10 and I put some good work into that blow job. I looked down at my phone to see that he had texted me. “Sorry that was so quick my stamina wasn’t quite up to a par.”
For the first time in the last few hours, a smile tickled my lips. “It’s all good,” I typed, feeling my confidence returning. “I would say that sex was about a 6 out of 10. I’ve definitely had better.” I clicked play on The Office and settled back into my pillows. I may not have gotten great sex, but I did get a Netflix password. Which honestly, is just as good..
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