Why I Love Sucking Dick - An Ode

Why I Love Sucking Dick: An Ode

Some women knit. I'd rather do this.

I've been around long enough to know exactly what I like, and what I like is a man in my mouth. I love the taste, the weight, the sound he makes when I've got him right where I want him. I love that I'm the one on my knees and I'm the one in charge. And if you want to know why I love it so much, I'll tell you about Henry.

Henry

His name was Henry, and he was beautiful. Over six feet tall, twenty-five, muscular, and shy. I was forty-two.

We met on a hookup site. It was the picture of my cleavage, full and jutting out of my blouse, that caught his attention.

"I wanna meet you," he said in his greeting. "You are definitely my type!"

Bold words for a shy boy. I found that out when we met at the park to get to know each other. It was awkward, sure, but not embarrassing. He admitted he'd never actually met anyone from the site before. I understood. And yet somehow, I wasn't nervous at all. Watching all that bravado from his messages melt the second he saw me in person? That was cute. That was very cute.

We talked until the sun started slipping down and a chill settled into the air.

"Wanna come to my place to talk?" I asked.

"Sure," Henry said.

He'd parked near the entrance. His car was beautiful, like him: a cherry-red 1985 Pontiac Sunbird. He told me he liked restoring classic cars in his spare time. A man who's patient, good with his hands, and willing to take his time making something shine. I made a mental note.

My apartment was less than ten minutes away. We sped down from the park, and it felt like a nanosecond before we were there.

Night One

I don't remember exactly how we got into bed, but we did. His body felt so warm against mine. I fondled him, he fondled me, and that's how I learned Henry wasn't a kisser. At least not an open-mouth kisser. Fine. I left that alone. I had other plans for my mouth anyway.

We were naked, embracing, and he was hard. So I went where I wanted to go.

He tasted like powder. And sweat. The boy had powdered up for me, and the powder didn't stand a chance against him, because Henry was a sweater. But that worked for me. Hey, if it tastes like urine, then we have a problem. Plenty of times in my life I'd tolerated that because I wanted sex. Not with Henry. Henry took care of himself.

So he tasted like powder and sweat, and he was thick and veiny, eight inches or so. I loved that he was circumcised, because I got to taste every bit of him without pulling anything back. He was glistening with my saliva, mixed with a little pre-cum, and he was gently rubbing my head, coaxing me to go that much deeper. I was nestled between his legs, stroking him, taking him in, and I was getting wet just from doing it.

And here's the thing about Henry: he didn't force me. He didn't fuck my face. He didn't try to shove it. He let me take my time. Just like the cars.

Then the shy boy found his voice.

"Sit on me," he said.

So I did. Him being that thick inside of me felt like being impaled. I couldn't stay quiet. I groaned, and so did he, right at the same time. His hands were already on my waist, and his thumb was already on my clit. I started to move in a slow rhythm, like a train engine before it picks up speed, grinding on him while he moaned and ran his hands over my breasts, teasing my nipples between his thumb and forefinger.

Then he held me steady by my waist and bucked upward, so I barely had to move. My eyes rolled to the back of my head. I couldn't stop moaning. He was clenching his teeth, saying, "You feel so good."

He didn't come inside me. When he got close, he pushed me off him, and I jacked him off and tasted him. All of him. The cream spilled out of my lips, down his shaft, down his balls, and I tried to catch as much of it as I could without wasting a single drop. But somehow, even after it was over, he was still leaking.

And I was still licking.

The Drive from Philly

The second time, Henry came all the way from Philadelphia.

It was late. I was excited, but I was also thinking, wow, this is really late. So I changed my mind.

"You know what? It's getting late. You don't have to come," I told him.

"I'm already on my way," he said. "It's too far to turn back."

He was already on the Jersey Turnpike heading past Trenton. The shy boy wasn't so shy anymore. So I stayed up half the night waiting for him. I showered. I shaved. I wanted to feel him deep inside me.

Night Two

When he finally walked through my door, I tried to restrain myself. I did hug him, though. A nice, long, gentle hug, after all that driving.

Then I walked him down the hallway to my bedroom, and the clothes came off. Touching, rubbing. He gave me one of his movie-star kisses, lips pressed, no tongue, and I let it go and went straight to undressing him. The more we undressed, the more I felt his skin on mine, and the tighter we held each other. Then I felt him get hard against my belly.

Once we were naked, I kissed his chest, down to his stomach, down to his cock, and I took him in my mouth again. If he wasn't going to kiss me, my mouth was going to go where it pleased. He was beautiful lying there, all that athletic body, that flat stomach. He enjoyed it. I enjoyed it more.

But this time, once he was nice and wet, he turned me around and fucked me from behind. Hard. I felt every inch of him, against my G-spot, against my cervix. I felt his sweat dripping on me. I heard him groaning. And he didn't stop. Not at all.

Then we went scissor style, and he was so deep inside me that it finally happened.

I came hard.

I got dizzy. I felt everything inside me explode. I was gushing. I knew I was a squirter, but I never thought I'd squirt on a man's dick, much less a big, hard one. I'd never once had an orgasm with a man inside me. Not once, in all those years. I squeezed his nipples without meaning to. My eyes rolled back. I bit my tongue to keep from crying out, but it was no use.

Fuck the landlord. Her bedroom is directly above mine on the second floor, and she could hear me. I could tell. I didn't care. She might be mad at me tomorrow, but that's tomorrow.

And I just howled.

When I finally calmed down, I licked his nipple, and I whispered, "Thank you."

The Encore

Henry stayed until five in the morning. And knowing me, I love morning sex, so when I woke up with him already hard in my arms, I took advantage of that.

I climbed on top and rode him with my eyes closed, just enjoying the encore performance of his cock inside me, my pussy tightening around him, grinding harder and harder. His hands found my waist on their own and held it tight. We met each other thrust for thrust.

And then it happened again. That sweet orgasm. That sweet, dizzy feeling. My sheets were already wet, and they got wetter. I moaned into his neck. "Oh God."

Before I could even catch my breath, with him still inside me, the phone rang.

It was Jenny from work, asking how I was doing.

"Uh-huh," I said.

"What do you mean, uh-huh?" A pause. "Wait. Is somebody next to you?"

"Uh-huh."

She chuckled. "Oh, okay. I'll see you later at work, then. Just checking in."

So that's why I love sucking dick. Sometimes it's the best part of the night. And sometimes, if you're lucky, it's just the beginning.