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I Gave An Over The Pants Hand Job And It Couldn’t Have Gone Worse

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It happened the second semester of my freshman year. At this point in my life I was what I like to call a closet whore. I was still a virgin, but I had given plenty, if not too many blow jobs. The weather was nice and I was going on a date with a cute guy who I met when our tongues found each other one night at a party. Needless to say, I was excited someone was giving me attention and really, that’s all that mattered.

At the time, I was working at a cupcake shop, because what’s hotter than a girl with big boobs and frosting? My date picked me up right after my shift. While driving to the secret location everything seemed to be alright. We had made out once before so that was mainly what we decided to focus on in order to break the ice considering this is the first time we’d hung out sober.

He was a great guy. Loved to spend time helping kids with special needs and being rebellious with his friends. He seemed like the perfect combo of nice and a little bit dangerous. He took me to a hill that overlooked all of downtown, and considering this was already the nicest thing any guy had ever done for me, I was willing to go down on him with the flow. As we hiked to the top of this hill things were going well. The sun was setting, we were talking about traveling and my hair was looking amazing for just getting off work.

Five seconds into looking at the beautiful view of the city, he sticks his tongue down my throat. This was nothing like I remembered, which was to be expected because the last time this happened I was on the verge of blacking out, but this was bad. It was almost like he was trying to find some leftover frosting from my snack at the cupcake shop in my esophagus. Being the optimist that I am, I figured I could teach him. I mean, he was a great guy and he took me on a date instead of asking me to come over and watch Southpark while I wait for him to casually stick his hand down my pants. No, this was a good guy and I was going to give him a chance.

I don’t even remember how, but some which way or another we ended up on the ground and I finally had some time to get air. It was quiet, almost uncomfortably, but I was breathing. Just when I started to think we were going to start conversing again, he took my hand and set it on his rock hard average penis. This guy was crazier than I thought. As much of a closet whore as I was, most of my blowjobs had taken place, you know, inside. I’m not about to risk getting dirt in my mouth so he can get his rocks off, so I start to give him an Over the Pants Hand Job (OTPHJ).

Well, that’s pretty much all I can tell you about that because two strokes later he utters the words, “You can stop now.”

Uh, What? No. I mean okay, but how? Did he… already?

He did because the next thing he does is sits up and says, and I quote, “Whelp, that’s sticky.” So of course, I panic. Who is this guy who has he never gotten any ass in his life? What did I sign myself up for? If all the girls swoon to him how can he only last two strokes?

I start to calm myself down because, really, how can it get any worse than this. I mean he was still a nice guy and he would learn, right?

Wrong.

“I can’t believe we just did that, I was wanting to save everything for my wife.” Uh, what? First, of all you can’t believe you just did that? Do you not remember lifting my hand five feet in the air and setting it on your dick? Secondly, if you really wanted to save everything you wouldn’t have set my hand on your penis!

Now, I know I made the mistake here because that is when I started to comfort him. “It’s okay, it really isn’t a big deal. We can act like it never happened and I won’t tell a soul.” Wrong words bitch because as Jesus Boy puts it, “God will know.”

I have nothing against people who have beliefs. Unfortunately, I have skipped the last 18 years of church so I’m not sure what the old man upstairs has to say about hand jobs. Not a problem, because he started quoting the bible word for word. I looked at him and tried to change the subject.

“Let’s forget about it,” I said. I tried to move on from the topic of Jesus and onto something a little more light and fluffy.

“What do you want to be when you grow up?” I asked. Casual, relaxing, inspiring, nothing can go wrong, right?

“I want to be a priest.”

Great. I had just given a future priest his first OTPHJ. I’m not sure about all the rules surrounding heaven and hell, but I think this puts me pretty firmly in the ‘hell’ category. I was thinking that there’s no way this could get any worse because hello, it was already awful, but then he proved me wrong.

“Look Jesus Boy, don’t worry about it, this doesn’t make you a bad person,” I said, trying to comfort him.

“But, this does make me a bad person, I can’t even look at you right now and tell you you’re a good person, because you’re not,” he said.

Oh, okay. You’re right. Just get me the hell out of here.

Somehow or another, we ended up walking back down the hill. I was already not looking forward to our uncomfortable ride home when he tells me, “I think we should just stay friends.”

Needless to say, my first successful OTPHJ was also my last.

Image via Shutterstock

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