He asks if he can suck my dick.
I’m still donning the harness, cinching the straps around my thighs tight. There is nothing elegant about this process. The transition from just me to ‘chick with dick’ is a sensitive one. I always want to hide in the bathroom until it’s over. But tonight, I left the door ajar, and there he is, standing in the doorway. I can see him in the mirror. He looks a little shy right now, which is reassuring.
Strapping it on for my man is one thing. I love men who are in touch with their ass, who aren’t embarrassed by the pleasure they get when I stick my fingertip in their anus while I’m giving them head, who have learned to ask for that, and more. I like anal sex, too, I know how good it can feel when it’s done right, and I’m glad to share that with them. Men who aren’t so focused on their dick are better lovers, in my experience. And it’s nice to be able to give instead of take, to turn the tables once in a while.
But this isn’t Deep Throat. He doesn’t have a clit in his larynx. I don’t quite get it. Of course I know that it makes as much sense as me wanting to suck his cock. Except that I get off on the fact that I can concentrate so clearly on his pleasure. I know he feels each stroke of my tongue, because I can see him react. He won’t get that kind of feedback from what’s hanging between my legs right now.
But I can tell that it’s taken a lot for him to even ask this of me. Normally, if he wants to try something new, he just plunges ahead. This man is no Sensitive New Age type, always checking and double-checking everything out of ‘respect’. I hate that. Those guys are the most unbelievably boring in bed. I think that a lot of them have secret kinky fantasies about being taken and used by some leather-clad dominatrix type, but they’re too cheap to just go see a pro.
I turn around. My little purple dildo is bobbing between my legs.
‘OK,’ I say. ‘Get down on your knees.’
He scrambles to the floor, but doesn’t move any closer to me or my dick.
‘We can do this, but on one condition,’ I say.
He nods.
‘Tell me why.’
He swallows once, then licks his lips nervously. The sight makes me just a little bit wet. I am obsessed with his mouth. I have been since the day we met. He has a big mouth, both literally and figuratively. He loves to talk. He loves to kiss me. I bought concealer for the very first time ever after our third date, when he left a few hickeys a little too high on my neck.
I love to bite his lip and listen to him gasp. I love to listen to the sounds he makes when he’s close to coming. Whenever I hear him moan, I want to press my fingers against that mouth and feel the vibrations those soft sounds make.
I didn’t think my question would be so hard to answer. But I can see the bulge in his jeans.
‘It’s a turn-on,’ I prompt. ‘Why?’
‘Because it’s wrong.’
I raise an eyebrow and wait for him to continue.
‘It’s dirty. It’s something I’m not supposed to do.’
‘It’s dirty?’ I ask.
‘Yes,’ he says, and I can tell by the huskiness in his throat that he means it. ‘It’s nasty. A girl isn’t supposed to have a cock. She isn’t supposed to get turned on watching me suck it. But baby, I can tell you’d get turned on. You like to watch me, and I want to do it for you.’
I take a step toward him. One more step, and my little purple dick will be right in his face.
‘Go on,’ I say.
‘There isn’t much else to it,’ he says. ‘I love the way you look, standing over me. I love having you inside me.’
One more step. His mouth opens.
‘Slow,’ I say. ‘Go slow. I want to see it. I want to see everything.’
And he does. His big mouth and my little dick, he could probably swallow it all in one gulp, but, instead, he works it delicately, his tongue darting in and out of his mouth, wetting his lips, sweeping the ridge of the cockhead over and over again. Even though I can’t feel a thing, he’s teasing me, building up my anticipation. Putting on a show.
I wish it were more than just a show. I don’t have penis envy, not really. That’s not it. I want his desire to give me pleasure, to be sincere and direct. No performing. Deeper than that.
I want him to touch me. I lean over and whisper in his ear, ‘Do you know how wet you’re getting me?’
He shakes his head, swallowing my dildo deeper. I put my hand on the back of his head and hold him there, then pull my hips back slowly. ‘I think you should check,’ I say with a smile, and lift his hand to my pussy. Which is dripping. Then I clamp his hand between my thighs and start to fuck his mouth.
He’s right, this is nasty and dirty and entirely wrong, and it’s getting me off, too.
He wants to finger me, to make me come while I am in his mouth. And I’d like that. After a while, I let his hand go and spread my legs. The orgasm he gives me comes fast and hard. I can’t help but snap my hips forward, twice, three times, filling his mouth with my cock. He’s jacking himself off beneath me. I don’t think I’m going to get in his ass tonight after all.
A few days later, we are in bed. I am just about asleep when he whispers in my ear, ‘I have another fantasy’.
I make a small noise to indicate I am listening, even though I am so tired it takes an effort to concentrate on his words.
‘I want someone to come in my mouth.’
‘I’ve come in your mouth lots of times,’ I mumble. ‘You want me to sit on your face, just ask.’
‘That’s not what I meant.’ I hear him shifting behind me. He drapes an arm over my hip and buries his face in my shoulder. By the time he speaks again, I have to drag myself back from the lip of unconsciousness to listen.
‘I want a boy to come in my mouth. A guy. Another man.’
I’m not sure if I should say anything or not. I am almost afraid to move. I am suddenly wide awake.
‘And I want you to watch,’ he continues.
Is this his way of coming out to me? Is my boyfriend bisexual?
Does it matter right now?
I can feel how tense he is against me. He’s afraid. This is a fragile moment. If I say the wrong thing, he will close down, maybe for ever. I resist the urge to make light of his confession, to say something flippant.
‘Do you have anyone in mind?’ I ask after a moment.
‘Not really,’ he says. And I can feel some of my own muscles uncurl.
I uncurl a little too much, and before I can stop it, it slips out of my mouth. ‘My dick wasn’t enough for you?’ I can hear the lightness in my tone, but what if he misunderstands?
‘It’s different,’ he says, and then stops. If I want any more from him now, I’m going to have to do the work.
So I ask, ‘Why do you want me to watch?’
He sighs and runs his fingers through my hair. ‘If you’re there, it feels safe,’ he says.
‘Safe like you’ll know I’m not jealous?’
‘No. Safe like I know you’ll watch out for me.’
I want to laugh, to scoff, to say, ‘You’re afraid of a little cock? They’re such fragile things, there’s nothing at all to be scared of. Look, I let yours inside me as often as I can get it. If I can do that and like it, why do you need me to hold your hand when you try it out?’
I want to say, ‘I never expected you to be such a timid little virgin’.
I want to say, ‘I don’t think that’s safe’.
I want to ask, ‘Do you check out the tackle of the other guys at your gym? Have you picked one out? Do you jerk off to the thought of your mouth on his cock?’
I want to ask, ‘Have you been thinking about him while we fuck?’
I want to ask, ‘Am I just a substitute for what you really crave?’
And some of those questions I might just ask some other day. But I know better than to ask them right now.
So instead I say, ‘That sounds pretty hot’. And I realize, after I say it, that it’s true.
I also realize that his cock is hard against the small of my back. So I shift a little, until I’ve half-turned to face him, and I’ve opened my legs to let him slide between my thighs. I can’t see his face; it’s too dark. But I look at him anyway, imagine looking into his eyes while he sucks off another man.
I’m wet enough now that it’s easy for him to enter me. We start out slow, but it doesn’t last long. I come hard, and he comes right after me. His moans are high and full of relief. So are mine.