I met Bruce (that’s what I’m gonna call him, because he’s the furthest thing from a Bruce) on the subway. He stood over me and pretended to read the newspaper, but I could tell he wasn’t paying the slightest attention to The Times. Every time I looked up at him (and that was about every ten seconds) I’d catch his eyes locked on mine. Normally I hate dudes who stare—but not this one. This one made me wet on the spot, and I somehow knew he was going to be the first blow job of my life.
It wasn’t that he was so good looking. He wasn’t at all, in fact. And for me that was going to be a distinct change of pace. I’m 25 and have been dating blond-haired, blue-eyed boys ever since high school. That’s how I was brought up: Look as good as possible and attract the guys who look as good as possible. It’s some kind of pre-ordained, Darwinian thing that gets handed down from pretty girl to pretty girl to pretty girl. Yes, I’m a pretty girl—not drop-dead gorgeous but lucky enough to have features that get the job done. I’ve had my pick of men, and generally pick the perfect ones, the guys with square jaws and tight butts and strong arms. Always been a sucker for strong arms.
Thing is, Bruce didn’t have any of that, at least not that I could see. He was thin and intense and brooding, the type you’d see hanging around bookstores and movie theater lobbies alone on a Saturday night. He didn’t smile and he didn’t look like he’d been to the gym recently, if ever. He had dark brown everything—hair, eyes, jacket, shoes—and his skin was pale, like a sheet of paper. His nose was big, his eyes small. Not my type at all, not at all.
So why did I want to suck his cock? I can’t explain it exactly, but I did. I followed him off the L train and up the stairs onto the sidewalk in Williamsburg and into a bookstore I’d never even noticed before. He proceeded to the novels and I proceeded to precede him. By the time he got there, I was already browsing some 800-page tome and smiling at him. That’s when I finally got what I was looking for: a smile. I went weak, in a way I’d never felt before. I wanted to suck this man so desperately I didn’t know if I could wait.
I’d always been good at avoiding oral sex with a man. I was a patient type to begin with: I had never slept with a guy on the first date and rarely before the tenth. I could easily end every date with a sweet make-out session and be satisfied; sex was never my goal. Anyway, honestly, I’d never been blown away by a partner’s lovemaking skills—my sexual encounters rarely lasted beyond ten minutes, foreplay included. Girlfriends kept telling me about epic nights of endless intercourse and blowjobs, but no guy I’d ever dated could get hard right after an orgasm, so I didn’t want to waste it on oral sex. Plus I liked my sleep. Part of me thought this might be some fundamental flaw in dating hotties, that guys with good bodies were so narcissistic that nothing turned them on except the thought of themselves.
But tonight I couldn’t wait, I wanted him, whatever he had, in my mouth. I didn’t even care how big it was. What had happened to me? I wanted to suck this guy before knowing his name. I didn’t want to talk, I didn’t want to have a drink, I just wanted to taste his dick as soon as possible. And so I did the craziest thing I’ve ever done: I waited until he pulled a book off the shelf and began to browse through it, then I grabbed his arm with my hand and felt a bicep against my touch. Hmmm, I thought . . . maybe this boy has been to the gym. He turned and looked at me, startled until he realized I was the girl from the subway.
“Hi,” he said, a little nervously.
“Hi,” I said.
And that was it; I couldn’t hold back another second. I reached my hand around to grab the back of his neck and pull it toward me. My lips parted and so did his, and he brushed his against mine with a gentleness I’d never experienced. My entire body shook with pleasure as I realized that this stranger—who wasn’t my type and who could easily have a wife and children at home, or at the very least a girlfriend—had just done the impossible. He’d overwhelmed my defenses and made me yearn to yank his pants off in public and make him cum in my mouth.
What was happening to me? I didn’t know and I didn’t care. After that brief, brazen kiss I grabbed his hand and guided him to a doorway in the back of the store that led to a bathroom. I pulled hard enough that it didn’t matter whether he wanted to come or not; there would be no denying me. Through the doorway and into the bathroom we went, until I turned to close the door and turned the lock to ensure our privacy. I looked at him at last and was surprised to see no look of shock or pleasure, just that same dark gaze that made me shiver.
I dropped to my knees and unbuckled his belt and pulled his pants down and there it was. I hadn’t even had time to wish for something so perfect: a smooth, thick 7-inch penis. Not too big, but definitely not too small. Somehow I felt confident right away that I’d know what to do with that in my mouth. And I did. It tasted delicious, so much better than I ever imagined; it kept hitting the back of my throat in controlled, even movements that jolted my senses every time. And when he finally came it threw me back with a wild, intense flow—cum shooting out of that cock in repeated bursts, hot and thick and mind-blowing.
After he came, I licked him clean as I looked up at his face. There it was at last: a smile. I stood up as he zipped his pants, and I smiled back as he kissed me. We left the bookstore in silence and looked at each other one last time before I was on my way.
It wasn’t that he was so good looking. He wasn’t at all, in fact. And for me that was going to be a distinct change of pace. I’m 25 and have been dating blond-haired, blue-eyed boys ever since high school. That’s how I was brought up: Look as good as possible and attract the guys who look as good as possible. It’s some kind of pre-ordained, Darwinian thing that gets handed down from pretty girl to pretty girl to pretty girl. Yes, I’m a pretty girl—not drop-dead gorgeous but lucky enough to have features that get the job done. I’ve had my pick of men, and generally pick the perfect ones, the guys with square jaws and tight butts and strong arms. Always been a sucker for strong arms.
Thing is, Bruce didn’t have any of that, at least not that I could see. He was thin and intense and brooding, the type you’d see hanging around bookstores and movie theater lobbies alone on a Saturday night. He didn’t smile and he didn’t look like he’d been to the gym recently, if ever. He had dark brown everything—hair, eyes, jacket, shoes—and his skin was pale, like a sheet of paper. His nose was big, his eyes small. Not my type at all, not at all.
So why did I want to suck his cock? I can’t explain it exactly, but I did. I followed him off the L train and up the stairs onto the sidewalk in Williamsburg and into a bookstore I’d never even noticed before. He proceeded to the novels and I proceeded to precede him. By the time he got there, I was already browsing some 800-page tome and smiling at him. That’s when I finally got what I was looking for: a smile. I went weak, in a way I’d never felt before. I wanted to suck this man so desperately I didn’t know if I could wait.
I’d always been good at avoiding oral sex with a man. I was a patient type to begin with: I had never slept with a guy on the first date and rarely before the tenth. I could easily end every date with a sweet make-out session and be satisfied; sex was never my goal. Anyway, honestly, I’d never been blown away by a partner’s lovemaking skills—my sexual encounters rarely lasted beyond ten minutes, foreplay included. Girlfriends kept telling me about epic nights of endless intercourse and blowjobs, but no guy I’d ever dated could get hard right after an orgasm, so I didn’t want to waste it on oral sex. Plus I liked my sleep. Part of me thought this might be some fundamental flaw in dating hotties, that guys with good bodies were so narcissistic that nothing turned them on except the thought of themselves.
But tonight I couldn’t wait, I wanted him, whatever he had, in my mouth. I didn’t even care how big it was. What had happened to me? I wanted to suck this guy before knowing his name. I didn’t want to talk, I didn’t want to have a drink, I just wanted to taste his dick as soon as possible. And so I did the craziest thing I’ve ever done: I waited until he pulled a book off the shelf and began to browse through it, then I grabbed his arm with my hand and felt a bicep against my touch. Hmmm, I thought . . . maybe this boy has been to the gym. He turned and looked at me, startled until he realized I was the girl from the subway.
“Hi,” he said, a little nervously.
“Hi,” I said.
And that was it; I couldn’t hold back another second. I reached my hand around to grab the back of his neck and pull it toward me. My lips parted and so did his, and he brushed his against mine with a gentleness I’d never experienced. My entire body shook with pleasure as I realized that this stranger—who wasn’t my type and who could easily have a wife and children at home, or at the very least a girlfriend—had just done the impossible. He’d overwhelmed my defenses and made me yearn to yank his pants off in public and make him cum in my mouth.
What was happening to me? I didn’t know and I didn’t care. After that brief, brazen kiss I grabbed his hand and guided him to a doorway in the back of the store that led to a bathroom. I pulled hard enough that it didn’t matter whether he wanted to come or not; there would be no denying me. Through the doorway and into the bathroom we went, until I turned to close the door and turned the lock to ensure our privacy. I looked at him at last and was surprised to see no look of shock or pleasure, just that same dark gaze that made me shiver.
I dropped to my knees and unbuckled his belt and pulled his pants down and there it was. I hadn’t even had time to wish for something so perfect: a smooth, thick 7-inch penis. Not too big, but definitely not too small. Somehow I felt confident right away that I’d know what to do with that in my mouth. And I did. It tasted delicious, so much better than I ever imagined; it kept hitting the back of my throat in controlled, even movements that jolted my senses every time. And when he finally came it threw me back with a wild, intense flow—cum shooting out of that cock in repeated bursts, hot and thick and mind-blowing.
After he came, I licked him clean as I looked up at his face. There it was at last: a smile. I stood up as he zipped his pants, and I smiled back as he kissed me. We left the bookstore in silence and looked at each other one last time before I was on my way.
