My husband will say something to me occasionally that I find funny, he tells me he won the wife jackpot. It does make me laugh (and flatters me), but I understand why he says it. I didn't really find my kinky side until after we were married. Before that I was an awkward, bumbling, inexperienced sexual being.
I was a virgin until I was 23. I couldn't stomach the thought of giving a blow job, or really doing much in the way of sex until after that.
So it does seem weird that I write erotic romance. I would guess a lot of people who know me would be surprised. For most of my life, I came off as virginal and prudish. I would like to clarify that I was never a prude, I was hungry for information about all things sex, but if any of these conversations were happening in person I was probably wide-eyed and beet red.
You may be asking yourself how does a 23-year-old virgin become a 33-year-old smut writer with an active and kinky sex life? (Or maybe you're not, you might not care.)
I have jokingly said that these last few years have been my sexual renaissance. Supposedly women hit their sexual peak in their thirties, so I guess I am right on schedule. The thing I find funny though is that most of the women I talk to who are my age definitely had given at least one blow job before they had sex.
I never did. I never wanted to. Penises are not an attractive thing, and I am not trying to make men feel bad about their bodies, it's just if we are comparing, I find women way more appealing in the nude. Anyway, in my limited experience with boyfriends, things just never went there, because I didn't want it to.
Then I got together with Mr. McKay (back together, really, if we're keeping track the right way). We had sex. I was no longer a virgin. I owned lingerie for the first time. I was totally getting this sex thing down, and being sexy and all that.
I was going to give him a blow job. It was totally going to happen. Except I had no idea what I was doing. Now, I am one of those nerdy people that likes to know exactly what they are expecting before going into a situation. The unknown freaks me out. I am still to this day afraid of the dark. If I have to drive to some place new for a specific occasion, even with a GPS, I like to do a dry run the day before.
And now all of a sudden I had it in my head that I was going to give my first blow job. Just like that! No tutorial or anything. My girlfriends were of no help, the ones I had the courage to ask were incredibly vague leading me to believe that they either A. had no idea either B. hated doing it C. both
I even asked Mr. McKay, who looked at me like I had three heads. Right, I guess he'd never given a blow job before either. When I exhibited any kind of nervousness or anxiety he just told me I didn't have to do it. That he wouldn't be able to enjoy it anyway if I was freaking out.
So I did what anyone would do. I got drunk. We were away for the weekend in a hotel room and I sucked down enough drinks to get rid of my nervousness. I knew the basics at least, I put his cock in my mouth and suck, right? Even though it is called a blow job. It's terribly misnamed, it should be a suck job. I think I even giggled about this on that fateful night. I'm sure he really appreciated my running narrative.
We may have made out for a little bit, knowing my husband he probably made me come first. I can't remember all of the details as this was ten years ago. What I do remember is finally just jumping in. I sunk to my knees—and the room tilted, perhaps I had had too many drinks.
I steadied myself and took a deep breath, and then almost choked on the musky smell. I'm not saying he smelled, like in a bad way, but men have that certain musky smell. You know, the manly smell. Maybe it isn't all men and I am just generalizing here, but I have always had a really acute sense of smell and that coupled with the drinks were already spelling out a recipe for disaster.
Then there was the penis itself, staring me in the face. We had had limited interactions up until this point. Sure I had touched it, it had been inside of me, but were we really at a point where I wanted to put it in my mouth? There it was looking all eager and excited, and I was struck with the thought once again that I had no idea what the fuck I was doing.
I remember licking my lips and making sure my mouth wasn't dry. This was literally the only piece of advice I got from one of my friends, and it is to this day a pretty good tip on giving a blow job. Don't jump in there with dry lips, that will not be pleasant for either one of you.
Then, without any sort of preamble I just dove straight in. And I guess I went too quickly, or I got a little too eager, because it slammed into the back of my throat and I gagged around him. I drew back, sputtering and heaving, my gag reflex triggered and I nearly vomited on his dick.
Sexy, right? But there's more!
Then there were the tears. Because what is even better than not actually getting a blow job you were anticipating getting? Oh, it's a crying inconsolable, drunk girlfriend.
If I weren't already so in love with this man at this point in time, he would have had me forever after this anyway. He was non-plussed by the entire situation. He pulled me onto the bed and wrapped me in his arms and told me it didn't matter. None of it mattered.
We weren't even engaged at this point, but it was talked about. It was happening, we both knew it. But now I was worried. Was this a sticking point? Wouldn't he rather find some girl who could properly orally please him without almost puking?
"What if I can never do it? Can you live your whole life without it?" I remember tearfully asking him.
He said something to the effect of getting to spend the rest of his life with me was all he wanted, he didn't care about anything else.
Swoon. Pretty much the best answer, because if he had even seemed a little annoyed about the whole outcome I doubt I would have ever tried it again. Also, would I want to marry a man that was annoyed I couldn't give him a blow job?
I still felt the undeniable need to reciprocate. He was always so selfless with the oral pleasure. And so goddamn good at it from day one. I didn't want to be lacking in this area. I was determined to try again and get the hang of it.
Maybe this was the first seed that was planted. So began my journey into my kinky self. It all started with a disastrous blow job.
To Be Continued...
I was a virgin until I was 23. I couldn't stomach the thought of giving a blow job, or really doing much in the way of sex until after that.
So it does seem weird that I write erotic romance. I would guess a lot of people who know me would be surprised. For most of my life, I came off as virginal and prudish. I would like to clarify that I was never a prude, I was hungry for information about all things sex, but if any of these conversations were happening in person I was probably wide-eyed and beet red.
You may be asking yourself how does a 23-year-old virgin become a 33-year-old smut writer with an active and kinky sex life? (Or maybe you're not, you might not care.)
I have jokingly said that these last few years have been my sexual renaissance. Supposedly women hit their sexual peak in their thirties, so I guess I am right on schedule. The thing I find funny though is that most of the women I talk to who are my age definitely had given at least one blow job before they had sex.
I never did. I never wanted to. Penises are not an attractive thing, and I am not trying to make men feel bad about their bodies, it's just if we are comparing, I find women way more appealing in the nude. Anyway, in my limited experience with boyfriends, things just never went there, because I didn't want it to.
Then I got together with Mr. McKay (back together, really, if we're keeping track the right way). We had sex. I was no longer a virgin. I owned lingerie for the first time. I was totally getting this sex thing down, and being sexy and all that.
I was going to give him a blow job. It was totally going to happen. Except I had no idea what I was doing. Now, I am one of those nerdy people that likes to know exactly what they are expecting before going into a situation. The unknown freaks me out. I am still to this day afraid of the dark. If I have to drive to some place new for a specific occasion, even with a GPS, I like to do a dry run the day before.
And now all of a sudden I had it in my head that I was going to give my first blow job. Just like that! No tutorial or anything. My girlfriends were of no help, the ones I had the courage to ask were incredibly vague leading me to believe that they either A. had no idea either B. hated doing it C. both
I even asked Mr. McKay, who looked at me like I had three heads. Right, I guess he'd never given a blow job before either. When I exhibited any kind of nervousness or anxiety he just told me I didn't have to do it. That he wouldn't be able to enjoy it anyway if I was freaking out.
So I did what anyone would do. I got drunk. We were away for the weekend in a hotel room and I sucked down enough drinks to get rid of my nervousness. I knew the basics at least, I put his cock in my mouth and suck, right? Even though it is called a blow job. It's terribly misnamed, it should be a suck job. I think I even giggled about this on that fateful night. I'm sure he really appreciated my running narrative.
We may have made out for a little bit, knowing my husband he probably made me come first. I can't remember all of the details as this was ten years ago. What I do remember is finally just jumping in. I sunk to my knees—and the room tilted, perhaps I had had too many drinks.
I steadied myself and took a deep breath, and then almost choked on the musky smell. I'm not saying he smelled, like in a bad way, but men have that certain musky smell. You know, the manly smell. Maybe it isn't all men and I am just generalizing here, but I have always had a really acute sense of smell and that coupled with the drinks were already spelling out a recipe for disaster.
Then there was the penis itself, staring me in the face. We had had limited interactions up until this point. Sure I had touched it, it had been inside of me, but were we really at a point where I wanted to put it in my mouth? There it was looking all eager and excited, and I was struck with the thought once again that I had no idea what the fuck I was doing.
I remember licking my lips and making sure my mouth wasn't dry. This was literally the only piece of advice I got from one of my friends, and it is to this day a pretty good tip on giving a blow job. Don't jump in there with dry lips, that will not be pleasant for either one of you.
Then, without any sort of preamble I just dove straight in. And I guess I went too quickly, or I got a little too eager, because it slammed into the back of my throat and I gagged around him. I drew back, sputtering and heaving, my gag reflex triggered and I nearly vomited on his dick.
Sexy, right? But there's more!
Then there were the tears. Because what is even better than not actually getting a blow job you were anticipating getting? Oh, it's a crying inconsolable, drunk girlfriend.
If I weren't already so in love with this man at this point in time, he would have had me forever after this anyway. He was non-plussed by the entire situation. He pulled me onto the bed and wrapped me in his arms and told me it didn't matter. None of it mattered.
We weren't even engaged at this point, but it was talked about. It was happening, we both knew it. But now I was worried. Was this a sticking point? Wouldn't he rather find some girl who could properly orally please him without almost puking?
"What if I can never do it? Can you live your whole life without it?" I remember tearfully asking him.
He said something to the effect of getting to spend the rest of his life with me was all he wanted, he didn't care about anything else.
Swoon. Pretty much the best answer, because if he had even seemed a little annoyed about the whole outcome I doubt I would have ever tried it again. Also, would I want to marry a man that was annoyed I couldn't give him a blow job?
I still felt the undeniable need to reciprocate. He was always so selfless with the oral pleasure. And so goddamn good at it from day one. I didn't want to be lacking in this area. I was determined to try again and get the hang of it.
Maybe this was the first seed that was planted. So began my journey into my kinky self. It all started with a disastrous blow job.
To Be Continued...
