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My First Blow Job Was So Much Worse Than Yours

My First Blow Job Was So Much Worse Than Yours

When you’re young, everything seems really important. Every test determines your whole future, every friend is your BEST FRIEND EVER, and your boyfriend is the love of your life whom you’ll definitely marry, probably. Raging hormones and naivety make us feel like things matter way more than they do. At least they did for me. So, when I decided that I was “ready” for my very special first blowie, I went all out. I pulled out (no pun intended) all the stops. This was about to be monumental. Truly, a night to remember.

Considering I was about to become a vixen, I thought long and hard about the sexiest place in the world, and since I had no bear skin rug, champagne, or rose petals, I did the exact opposite. I went with my boyfriend to the movies. It was my turn to pick, because I was a teenage girl, so it was always my turn to pick, and I cleverly decided upon a total flop. I think it may have been “Just Go With It” — definitely an Adam Sandler movie. No matter. We weren’t going to be watching it anyway.

When we arrived, I immediately beelined it toward the very back row, fully knowing my boyfriend hated it. He wouldn’t hate it once I was through with him. God, I oozed sex appeal. The lights dimmed, and I found myself suddenly nervous. I had done my research, which consisted of watching my slutty friend eat a popsicle and attempting to watch a porno hummer before shrieking, getting grossed out, and closing my laptop, but somehow, I still didn’t feel entirely prepared.

I began with what I knew. I’d been dabbling in the art of hand jobbery for months. I considered myself the Michelangelo of hand jobs. So I began with a little over-the-pants action. But before long, I worked up a sweat (or something), grabbed for my Diet Coke, and when I returned to the scene of the crime, there it was. A penis. In the flesh. And I’m incredibly sorry for how gross that just sounded. I felt all the blood from my entire body flow to my cheeks, and thanked Jesus, Moses, Buddha, that blue guy with eight arms, and Allah that it was dark in the theatre. I knew committing a sex act in a public venue was smarter than doing it in the car.

“What do you want to do, baby?”

I looked at it, and at him, and started to change my mind. What if it tasted awful? What if I couldn’t breathe? What if security caught me? (Just kidding. That never crossed my mind, because I was in high school, and high school students are exempt from the law.) It might be fine for me to be one of those girls who never gives blow jobs? Or has sex? And dies alone? I could be okay with dying alone. Also, why did you have to ask a question, asshole. I’m about to do something sexy with my mouth, I have to say something sexy with it too? I wanted to tell him to put it away, watch the movie, and not look at me for several weeks. But I didn’t. I bit the bullet, figuratively, of course.

“Umm…put it…in my…mouth?”

I must have said something right because he squealed with excitement, and then tried to pretend it was a moan. He put his hand on the back of my neck. I tried to smile as sexily as one can smile while closing her eyes and opening her mouth as her head is pushed down toward sea level. And then something happened that no amount of popsicles, internet porn, or Cosmo articles could have prepared me for. I saw a bright flash of white light as he pushed my head down hard and his penis hit me in the eye. His PENIS hit me in the EYE. I had just been poked in the eye by a dick. My eye started to water, and I was so embarrassed and afraid he’d think I was crying that I started to cry. I now not only had dick-eye, but was also crying in what turned out to be the least sexy attempted fellatio of all time.

THIS IS NOT WHAT SEXY ADULT LADIES DO.

In the end, he never got that blow job. He tried and failed a few times, which is probably for the best, because as I should have realized when he grabbed my head in the first place, he was an asshole. But to this day, the memory leaves me haunted. And my left eye can tell when it’s already raining. (JK. Only boobs do that.)

Image via Shutterstock

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