I’ve never taken sex too seriously. To me, it was almost like a business deal. I was more interested in what produced pleasure for me, and what I could do to make others feel the same way. While I enjoyed the romantics, it was merely a sect of sex to me. It was great when it happened, it was ~special~ or whatever, but it wasn’t necessary. I liked what different people could do to me, and what I could do to me. I figured as long as I was safe about it, I could enjoy my orgasm filled life.
That being said, I hadn’t worked up some grand scene for my “first” anything. I didn’t need a beautiful hotel room with my high school sweetheart on prom night, complete with a bottle of champagne or flower petals. The day I lost my oral virginity wasn’t even planned. I was happy to swap out the hotel room for a very public park. I didn’t mind trading in the champagne for some shitty weed. And it didn’t matter that it wasn’t prom night, because it was a random week day during sophomore year. Even though his face wasn’t illuminated by candles, his dick stood proud in the sunlight.
This way, there was no pressure. Hell, if we got caught acting like the homeless degenerates we were pretending to be, I wouldn’t have to finish the sex act. Honestly, I saw no downside. So when he asked me to grace him with my mouth, I went with a “screw it” mentality. This would make as good of a story as any other, I thought.
A million thoughts raced through my head as I started to go down on him. I was always curious as to just how bad jizz tasted. Did my friends exaggerate when they claimed it was like drowning in salt water? Would I puke as soon as it made contact? I remembered how one of my friends said she would always spit it out into a water bottle, as if that wasn’t the most vile option. Or how my other friend had given her first blow job a few weeks prior, and was unable to make him cum. “I suck at sucking,” she cried to me after. Would that be me?
Going off the moans he was making, I figured I would have to make up my mind fast. Suddenly, without any warning mind you, my mouth was filled with hot baby juice. It was awful. Acting purely on instinct, I swallowed. The thought of holding it in my mouth long enough to get to a water bottle or choosing to have it run back over my tongue was enough to make me cry. Why the fuck would I choose to taste that shit twice? And since then, I have stuck with my belief.
Maybe this should be a wake up call to myself. Bitter foods are associated with poisons, and therefore the natural reaction should be to spit it out. Maybe my body made the executive decision to just off myself if the other choice was to taste that toxic waste again. The best was the reaction from my sexual partner regarding my disposal method. Sometimes I got praised. Sometimes I got a much deserved high five. One time I got a pat on the head as he commented “good girl,” as if that is ever okay to say. Obviously I never spoke to him again.
Obviously you shouldn’t do something if you truly don’t want to. But hear me out, give it a shot. I have never once not swallowed and my sex life is perfectly mediocre because of it. All that I have could be yours, too. Do it for the satisfaction of giving him what he wants, do it to have sexual skills over that bitch he used to date who “didn’t do that,” or do it because the look of betrayal and disgust he makes after you kiss him.
It’s only fair they get a taste of their on medicine, right?.
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