Head. Oral. Beej. Dome. In other words, a blow job. Love them or hate them, we’ve all given at least one at some point. I’ve definitely given my fair share. But the tale I’m about to tell is not your typical blowie story. It’s so much worse.
As all good stories begin, I was 100% completely shit faced. To put it in perspective, I was so drunk that I used MY phone to call MY number so I could find MY lost phone. Clearly, I was in the right frame of mind to be making decisions.
So there I was, drunk, alone at the bar, and looking to make some bad decisions. Luckily, I had quite a few of those on speed dial. I called my usual booty call. He picked up on the first ring. I got right to the point and told him I was looking to bone, and surprise, surprise, I had a pledge ride in minutes. Score. I was off to my boy’s apartment, kind of like a slutty Cinderella’s magic pumpkin ride. Except that I baby vommed in the back seat of the car when we hit an especially large pothole, and I don’t think Cinderella ever did that.
Some people might take vomiting in the back of a pledge’s car as a sign that they are too drunk to do whatever it is they are about to do. I did not. Instead, I asked for a beer when I got to the apartment, gargled a little, chugged the beer, and led my guy back to his room. We started the usual foreplay: clothes come off, we’re kissing, and then it’s show time. I started to go down, and watch him sit back, relax, and enjoy what have been described as Grade-A oral skills. Admittedly, I felt myself struggling a little, mostly because that freshly chugged beer was sitting ever-so-unsteadily in the pit of my stomach. It wasn’t until then that I realized the pre-blowie chug might not have been the best decision, but I powered through. God forbid a guy tells people that I was less than stellar in bed.
Unfortunately, my hookup noticed that I wasn’t performing at my usual caliber, so he did what all brave men, so graciously do, and attempted to help me out. I felt his hand on the back of my head as he pushed me all the way down his dick. Normally, this would be fine. I’d never had any problem accommodating his size, mostly because his dick wasn’t that big. But that night was not normal. As he pushed me down, I felt the beer start aggressively churning in my stomach. And then he committed the cardinal sin of blow jobs: he held my head down at the bottom. For like 15 seconds. I couldn’t fucking breathe. I started to gag, but he took this as a compliment instead of a warning, because guys are the worst. And then it happened. I threw up the beer.
I wish I could say that was the end, but it wasn’t not. His dick acted like a plug, holding the vomit in my mouth. In a split a second, I decided the only option was just to swallow the vomit and keep going. Because I am stupid. So that’s what I did. I swallowed the vomit, finished the beej, had underwhelming sex, and then got the hell out of there so I could self-loathe in private.
On the plus side, to this day the guy still has no idea I ever vomited on his dick. So I win, right? .
Nice Move577
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ChampagneShowers
Champagne Showers is a contributing writer for TSM. She is your typical Northern Diva. If curse words, sexual content, and drug use offend you, then bless your heart. CS will continue living the life you're too scared to live. email her at: champagne_showers@outlook.com
@ChampShowersTSM
