Page 411 of S is for SEX

KELLI. I can’t really say for sure when I became sexually active. I know in the summer of my eighth grade year, I began to figure out how to perform orally on a guy. My first was Billy Benton, in the summer before freshman year. Having him show immediate pleasure from what I was doing, watching his eyes roll back into his head while he was in my mouth…it was pure heaven. For the first time in my life I knew, for certain, that something I was doing that I was in charge of, was making someone so happy that they reached climax. It had absolutely nothing to do with them, and it had everything to do with me. I was one hundred percent in charge of making that person happy. And happy I made them. Billy came in my mouth after about a minute. Starting that summer, I sucked every guy off that I could.

The next summer was a revelation. A few weeks before my sophomore year, I met a man at the convenience store. He never told me his age. I was fifteen. I lied and told him I was eighteen. I really doubt that he believed me, but we left together. I was driving on a restricted license at the time and was supposed to be traveling to and from school only. My father had provided me, through high school, with a fairly new BMW from the dealership to drive. My early development of boobs, dyed hair, tan skin from the summer, and the car may have convinced the guy that I was eighteen.

I followed him home, and we went into his apartment. He demanded sex, but neither of us had protection. At the time, I had never had sex with anyone, just oral. I acted like I had been active with sex, and he believed me. I told him if he let me suck him off, I would come back later for sex. I remember feeling if I could make him cum by sucking him off that it would be some form of confirmation that I was truly good at what I was doing with all of the other guys my age.

He stood in front of me in the apartment, and I got down on my knees. He unzipped his pants, and pulled out his dick. It was huge. When he first pulled it out, it wasn’t hard, but when I reached for it, I realized it was the size of my wrist. I started sucking it, and it immediately got hard in my mouth.

He had a tattoo on his wrist, “Kate”.

The carpet smelled like the basement in Heather’s house, where it always flooded. I tried not to smell the carpet and closed my eyes. As he got hard, I pulled my mouth away from his dick and looked at it. I was kind of looking at it to admire it. I had never seen anything like it before. When I did, he grabbed my head and forced it into my mouth, shoving it all the way into the back of my throat.

He started talking loud, nearly screaming, and called me a little whore. He pressed himself against me, trying to force me to gag. It was at this time that I realized that I had no gag reflex. I thought he wanted me to gag, so I would cough a little bit, but I did not need to. When I coughed, he would say, “That’s it, choke you little whore”. The choking appeared to turn him on, so I continued to do it. Within a few minutes, he came. After he did, he walked to the bathroom. I got up and looked at my knees. They were covered in blood. I looked at the bathroom, and saw that the door was closed. I could hear the fan running.

I grabbed my purse, and let myself out quietly. I got into my car and drove home, excited, scared, and bloody. The scabs on my knees lasted for a month, primarily because I couldn’t stay off of them. When I found out that I had no gag reflex, and that I could please a grown man, all I wanted to do was be an oral companion to anyone that wanted me to.

Pleasing men pleased me. It was simple. Pleasing the boys in my class was easy; it took no effort, and no skill to speak of. Pleasing a man was a different story. If I could please a man, it was an accomplishment. To please someone with experience by my performance made me happier than Christmas morning. Happier than my birthday. Happier than winning at track or basketball. Pleasing a man made me happy, especially if he was married and disappointed with his wife. When he came in my mouth, I felt like I had truly accomplished something.

I never told anyone about the men that I pleased through my high school years. All of the boys in school shared stories about me, but I didn’t really care. No one could claim that I was having sex with them, because I was not. I was just sucking them off. The more practice I got, the better I became. I watched porn, developed different techniques, and tried them on guys, seeing which one worked best. By my junior year, and through my senior year, I would secretly look at my watch, and see how long it took for the guy to come. If I could make him cum quickly, it was as if I were receiving an added prize.

To me, there was nothing that was more satisfying than knowing that I alone could make a guy cum in a matter of a few minutes. Just my mouth, and there was nothing he could do to stop it.

It was never all that I wanted to do. Later, I did yearn for sex, but I always had to know. I always had to know that I could make each guy cum, and that I could do it quickly. It made me feel like I went from wondering if they were happy to knowing that they were. That confirmation, to me, was extremely important.

Now a college graduate and an adult, I felt like my oral skills were my best asset. Too bad there wasn’t a spot on a Driver’s License for our assets.

Height: 70”

Weight: 121

Eye color: Hazel

Birthdate: 1/13/1990

Best asset: No gag reflex

I would never make it into the bar, if that were the case. The person checking IDs at the door would always want to take me into the parking lot and test me out. My talent was something that I now held in reserve. I didn’t brag about it to everyone that came along, like I did in high school. Now, I just preferred to let a guy be surprised by it and see if they brought it up – after they experienced it, gasped when I did it, or just kept quiet and acted like it was normal.

We had left Erik’s motorcycle at the parking lot for the Italian place and were driving my car to the mall. He wanted to get me a pair of jeans to wear on the motorcycle because he was uncomfortable with me wearing shorts. I have seen plenty of girls on the back of motorcycles in shorts, but he said I would burn my leg on the exhaust for sure.

I parked the car by the Dillard’s entrance to the mall. I always liked to go in through Dillard’s regardless of what I was shopping for, even if I was just going to get yogurt, a drink, or to eat. Walking through the store made me feel luxurious and important. Erik got out, and I walked to his side, and slid my arm through his left arm. It was nice, kind of like holding hands, but we were holding arms.

“You didn’t even have to say anything,” I said as we were walking.

“About?” he said as he turned and looked at me.

“I remembered to get ahold of your left arm,” I answered, disappointed that he didn’t realize what I was talking about.

“I know, Baby Girl. You make me happy. You really do,” he smiled as he said it. When he was done, he winked at me.

When he talked to me like that, it just gave me goose bumps. I felt them rising on my arms and legs and hoped that he didn’t notice. As we walked, I studied his feet, and tried to mimic his walking pattern, so we would have the same pace. I always felt, even though I was tall, that I was falling behind. I decided, as we walked, that he took considerably longer steps. His stride was one and a half of mine. As we approached the entrance, I gave up.

“What the fuck were you doing?” he asked, as he held the door open for me.

“When?”

“While we were walking up here. I felt like I was dragging you,” he responded.

I walked through the first door and into the foyer of the store. As I did, I turned around, smiling, and answered Erik.

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