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when I was a teenager. Instead....

I crouched down for a closer look. It was beautiful, fat and thick, pulsing his heartbeat the length of his shaft, before bulging into an enormous, meaty mushroom, its one eye already moist with pre-cum. I held it, squeezed it, licked it, sucked on it. He was moaning; he was close. I stopped for a moment, then lay it flat against his belly, and started pressing my fingertips slowly and rhythmically up and down the thick line that ran the length of the underside of his shaft, all the way up to his glans, following my fingers with my tongue, then pursuing my tongue with tight, tiny nibbles. With my other hand, I squeezed his balls to the same gentle rhythm.

For a moment he lay there without moving; but only for a moment. Then, as I kept going, picking up speed but never breaking the routine, I heard his breath coming faster, and felt his cock twitching beneath the weight of my movements... twitching and then blasting out a thick pond of white that flowed into the hairs of his belly, trickled towards his belly button. I ran a finger through it, whirlpooled it into his skin.

I dabbed some on one nipple; he leaned forward and gently sucked it away; when I dribbled some more on the other, his tongue was almost there before my finger. "Wow," be breathed. "You never did that before."

"Which part of that?" I asked sweetly, but I knew precisely what he meant.

My mind flashed back to the last time we'd laid together like this, in the tiny apartment that he shared with two friends, with the stereo pumping old Pink Floyd, and Johnny Carson flickering mute on the TV in the corner. By the following weekend,, he'd have ditched me, but for now he was all mine and I was all his. And I would have done anything he wanted me to. Probably.

In all the time we were together - 13 months, give or take the occasional weekend bust-up - Lawrence never once asked me to suck him. So I never did. I thought about it a lot... an awful lot, if you must know. But rarely when I was with him and, even then, I'd never acted on the impulse. Part of it was fear... and this is what I was just talking to him about... fear of what it might taste like, fear of what it might do, and fear of taking an unexpected mouthful of his muck. "What's the biggest lie any guy can tell you?" my girlfriends would laugh; "I swear I won't cum in your mouth." And the way they said it, I was convinced that that was the most disgusting thing in the world.

But I was also worried about what he might think about me if I did do it. Back then, there was a word for girls who gave blowjobs too willingly, and it wasn't an especially pleasant one. A few years later, of course, I realized that most guys would give their right arm to be with - oh, let's be brutal - a dirty little cocksucker; and most girls would give theirs' to be considered one. At 18, though, you don't think about things in that way, and sex itself is one long procession of potentially icky, usually sticky, and sometimes downright terrifying new experiences. So I held his cock, I jerked it and played with it; and, when it was time for him to ejaculate, I'd slip him sweetly between my legs, then lie back and wait for the bang. It didn't usually take long.

This one night, though, my head resting on his stomach, his stiff cock bold and upright in my hand, I wondered - was tonight the night? I did kind of owe it to him, if only for the number of nights he'd spent with his face buried deep between my legs; if only for the spectacular orgasm his tongue had induced this very evening.

"But surely," a voice in my head insisted, "if he wanted it, he'd ask. Or, at least, push your head roughly towards it, so there could be no doubt of his desires." Lawrence, though, just lay quietly, calmly... if it wasn't for his hand idly caressing my ass, and straying into my pussy every so often, he could have been asleep. He certainly wasn't hanging on tenterhooks, throbbing with anticipation, desperate to sink his hot, hard prick into my soft, warm mouth....

"...That's how much you knew," he told me, as we lay in bed talking, on the second night of our grand reunion. "Every night I saw you, I'd be hoping; every night I didn't see you, I'd be dreaming...."

"Oh, poor Lawrence," I chided him. "You should have said."

"I didn't think you'd want to," he replied - and here we go again. Who gave men the right to decide what their partner might or might not think? I let it pass this time; decided to play coy instead. "Whatever gave you that impression?"

"You just didn't seem the sort of girl...": I knew that was coming, and I slapped his leg playfully. "And now I am? Tell me, Mr Lawrence Bacon, precisely what you mean by that remark?" - of course I knew exactly what he meant, but it was such fun to see him squirm. And now I wanted to feel him squirm. I slid my lips firmly over the firm velvet of his cock head, and began slowly... very slowly, but very firmly, too... to suck it, unable to believe that my teenaged self had ever been able to resist at least giving it a try. Whatever was she thinking?

He tried to answer my question, but his thoughts and words were choked in the jungle of sensations blazing out from his glans. I sucked noisily, loving the slurps and squelches as I worked him. His hands either side of my face, his hips began to move, drawing his thick stiffness in and out of my tight mouth, and I felt his balls began to tighten as the cum began to build. I squeezed them with one hand; clamped the other to his ass, forcing him deeper into my throat; I felt him tense; heard his breathing quicken; clamped my lips as his cock spasmed wildly - and then "pop!"; out he slipped, with a gasp and a cry, as he jerked himself to a glistening climax.

A few drops spattered on my cheek and chin; my tongue snaked out and snatched them up. But I wanted more than that... so much more. And I had to smile as I thought about that, because it wasn't really that different to what I'd been doing to him, all those years ago. And he was just as unaware as I was.

Now, however, he knew what I wanted and, when he came over the following weekend, from the moment he walked in it was obvious he'd only had one thing on his mind for days. He'd barely taken his jacket off, and I was pinned against the wall, locked so tight in his arms that I could barely breathe, with the bulge in his pants jabbing itself against whichever part of my body it could reach.

I didn't mind - his excitement was electrifying, not to mention contagious. Before he came over, I'd toyed with the idea of making him wait... maybe for a few hours, maybe even a few evenings. After all, it wasn't as if he was going to run out of cum. But I wrapped my body around him, feeling the blast-furnace heat that erupted in my lions, and all my fine plans and teasing schemes were forgotten... like I'd said to him (and come very close to forgetting!), this wasn't painting by numbers. If it's going to happen...

It happened. And not in a way that either of us were expecting. Breaking his embrace for a moment, I half-steered, half-shoved him towards the nearest armchair, wrestling with his pants as I did so. His cock sprang out, slick with pre-cum, twitching like fish. I grasped it, knelt before him, pulled the skin back tight... and three hot, sharp jets of seed slapped my cheeks, my chin, my eye.

Later, I thought of all kind of responses that I could have delivered... "close, but no cigar" was my favorite. When it happened, though, the only sound I could make was a dull and palpably disappointed "oh," which immediately set Lawrence reeling into a paroxysm of apologies and regrets that finally collapsed into a mournful "Oh God, I so wanted to"

"And you will," I reassured him. "I told you, this isn't only for your benefit, you know."

He smiled. "I guess I just got a little too excited today, thinking...."

"I guess you did." I wiped the cream off my face with a tissue; mopped a growing pool off his belly, then resumed my position between his legs, my head resting on his thigh.

He spoke. "Can I ask you something?"

I raised my head. "So long as I don't have to answer if I don't want to."

"That's okay. But, remember what we were talking about the other night, about how I never asked.... Well, what if I had?"

I thought for a moment. "I don't know." And I really didn't. Lawrence had been out of my life for a year... at least a year... before I sucked my first cock and, when it did happen, the whole thing was so natural, so unplanned, so exquisitely spontaneous, that it wasn't until afterwards, as I was lay back savoring the final traces of cum that still tingled in my throat, that I realized exactly what I'd done - and how much I'd enjoyed it.

"I might have..." I kissed his softness ..."done that, just to see what it was like. And if you'd really been insistent..." Yes, I'd have done it, because I'd have done anything for him. But do I wish I had? No, because then I'd have missed out on my real first time. "Yes, I'd have done it," I half-lied; and then, because I couldn't help myself, "but do you think it would have made any difference to how things worked out between us?"

He shrugged. "Do you mean, would I still have gone off with Tina?"

"I suppose so. But you don't have to answer..."

"No, I don't mind. To be honest... okay, I'll level with you. I was... Tina had a certain reputation around some of the guys..." I almost interrupted, to tell him I remembered, but didn't. "And, when I first started seeing her, that's all I was interested in. But you know what? It turned out not to be true - she wasn't a virgin, but she wasn't... well, she wasn't what the others said she was, either."

Okay, now I couldn't resist. Did he leave me because he fell in love with someone else? Or did he leave me because he was getting his dick licked, and the love and babies came later? "Did she...." I kissed his cock "... do that?"

"No. Not ... actually, not until I asked her to. And we were already engaged by then."

I wasn't sure how to reply to that, so I didn't. Instead, I hugged him. "You see, ask and you shall receive."

"I've learned that now," he replied. "It's just a shame it often takes so long to understand it... you know, you're a kid, or in your 20s, running around, full of these really hot fantasies, and you're either too embarrassed, or too insecure, to actually mention any of it. And then, usually when it's too late, a light goes on in your brain and you suddenly realize that it's only when you actually talk about what you need..."

I completed his sentence. "That the other person has any hope of actually knowing. And can then turn around and tell you what they need. Because the rest of the time, you're both stumbling around in the dark, convinced that you're living with the Sexless Puritan from Hell. Although I'm not sure that's something I need to worry about with you...." All the while we were talking, I'd been holding his cock, gently squeezing it, feeling its heat build, its weight increase, its firmness grow.

"Now, if you have no other questions..." I would hate myself for this next remark in the morning - it was so crass, so corny, so unnecessarily vulgar. But I needed to lighten the mood a little, and I knew it would do the trick. "I hate talking with my mouth full."

He sighed as my mouth closed over his glans, gasped as I began slowly to slip him deeper inside me, drooling my saliva over his hot skin as my lips skidded over his flesh. His hands were in my hair, guiding my movements. Raising my eyes, I saw his were closed, his expression a glow of relaxation and pleasure.

This was so easy, so lovely, so utterly, unbelievably wonderful. I slipped a finger between my legs, began working my clit as my head bobbed and my mouth skimmed over his hardness... and then I heard him speak; not a request, not a command... I'm not even sure if he was aware that he'd said anything, that he wasn't just thinking aloud. But his words were distinct and his meaning was clear. I bit down.

He gasped; I bit again. He hissed... "more." I obeyed, as his hand grasped mine, wrapped my fingers around his shaft, and began pulling my fist up and down. I picked up the motion myself, jerking him hard but biting him harder, and sucking, too, until I felt as if my cheeks were folding inside my face, and my eyes were squeezing themselves shut with the effort. My free fingers plunged in and out of my cunt, Lawrence's breath was coming in loud, ecstatic pants - and then he cried out and his sperm exploded, wave after wave, flooding my mouth, swamping my tongue, pouring down my open throat as he wailed an orgasm that seemed to last forever.

I relaxed my jaw, relaxed my grip. He was going to have some spectacular bruises there later on... as spectacular as the ones that he left on my pussy sometimes. But he also knew that I'd happily kiss them better... and all he had to do was ask.

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