The Day I Was Unable to Do Oral

Or, There Goes My Last Chance at Straightness, Again.

Warning: TMI Alert & Rambling Awareness set for RED. Take the women, hide the children, run in circles, scream if you must.

So, I only bother putting that half-hearted "disclaimer" up just because this might get graphic. Shit, I've talked at length about sex, masturbation, made bestiality jokes about rabbits and cold twitchy noses (yeah try to sleep with that imagery). This might also being extremely hilarious and/or discomforting (read: awkwaaaaard) to folks that know me in real life so I'm giving you a fair chance.



Okay? Everyone gone? Alright let's talk dir-tay.

I do recall talking a bit about my first REAL relationship with a boy. I'm so not looking for those entries because that's not a particularly painful point at my life but I really do have to wonder just what I was doing. He was the first guy to show interest in me that I've ever shown a remote interest back. It's teenage dating y'all. How serious was I? You'll see in a minute.

I knew OF this guy as he'd gone to my middle school and he knew of me. It was the first day of a new school year and for some reason I talked to him in the stairwell. He was funny and found me funny (everyone does). That particular year was grievously stupid for me in terms of school years so it was nice to have someone who made me laugh, to ease the tension of dealing with punk ass teachers, whack ass principles, and jivin' motherfuckin' guidance counselors (who neither guided nor counseled).

So long story short, after a few initial mis-starts we started "dating". I put that in quotes because at a certain stage we were still just hanging out, more or less, now with the added benefit of making out and groping. Until he learned that I actually just lived down the street from him. Ohhh deeeear~

Understand that no matter how comfortable I am right now, I'm probably going to be figuring out where I lie on the sexual identity plane all my life. I can't. I've settled into being bisexual because it at least allows me to admit I like teh wimmens while the general assumption is that I like guys as well. And that's fine with me even if it's not particularly true. I just don't feel like I'm sexually attracted to guys. When I mentioned the fact that I had caught me a mans, my brother remarked that at least it wasn't a girl (and fuck him by the way). I felt, for a rushed few months, that this was a great chance for me to prove to my family that indeed I was not a freak of nature and perfectly capable of being "normal". Which, as it turned out, is WROOOONG.

This particular guy was a great ego boost since he made me feel wanted even if I felt dubious about his intentions the whole time, and turns out I was right anyway--that's actually a story for another day, and you will laugh hard at it. But the fact is, sure he just wanted to zoom zoom in the whatever--sex. It was a little unnerving but I have to admit I was kind of okay with it. Until I was expected to...

PERFORM.

It came up that maybe we should do this sex thing. No real pressure, I knew how to resist him and put him the fuck out of my house if need be. I'd like to consider myself well informed enough with sex, and at least he had the decency to have a condom on hand. And sure I was curious. But not on the first date homeboy.

So the first date went by and he had to evacuate my premises before I laid hurting on his ass. Second one too. About our 2.5 date (yes it was a half) the issue came up again and I near successfully pulled off a hand job. I felt great. I'd gotten a guy hard and almost made him orgasm! And penes (yeah I know the plural for penis, I'm a geek) feel funny! I say near successful because, no joke, my arm was hurting too much to fully bring him off. I still felt great though staring at his near-orgasm face. I rocked for about 5 minutes.

Later on in the course of our semi-date, I finally decided that maybe I wasn't quite ready for vaginal penetration. He was disappointed sure but naturally there are other ways to get off--like a boob job. Sadly, I have itty B-cups and I'm short so that didn't work out so well. Finally oral came up.

Now...get this. I can receive oral all day long and had nooo problem with that and I don't think I ever will. But me being expected to PERFORM made me realize that in order to make this equal--and I'm all for equality--I'd have to put a penis in my mouth.

Needless to say I was a bit...daunted. Uh, he was pretty large (thus my hand hurting). But after some debate I thought I'd give it the college try anyway and put my lips on it and...

...promptly gagged. What the fuck was that horrible salty taste?! AUUUGH!

I looked and realized my tongue had landed right on the so-called pre-cum aka Cowper's fluid aka God's Way of Telling Me To Repent. I wasn't expecting it to taste like 3 years of salt off someone's brow though. Ugh ugh ugh! I thought if I held my breath for a moment it'd take away the taste but auuuugh it didn't work. I didn't mind the taste of flesh so much as I did THAT. Auuugh! How do other girls (you know, THOSE girls I guess) and gay guys do it, I wondered in awe!

Apparently I did semi-good and much like the hand job couldn't quite bring him off (did I mention my mouth hurt?). He didn't much seem to mind providing oral for me though so it was all good. At least I tried!

It wasn't just the horrible "pearly fluids" that I hated though. It was...everything. The weight, the texture...the feeling of it sliding in and out and feeling like, of all things, a failure despite his insistence that I wasn't. We tried it a bunch of different ways--lying down, standing up, in the shower (hoping the water would take away that aauuuugh taste) and nothing seemed to work. It felt like my Baptist training was coming back and I was having a biblical freak out, even though I didn't mind his penis everywhere ELSE on me that much. I probably wouldn't have even minded it directly in my eye compared to sucking on it.

I was still disturbed, a little. A lot of times if I can envision myself doing something, I can do it fine--this works a lot with drawing and essay writing especially, but, a penis is neither a micron pen nor a pencil so no matter how much I saw myself enjoying giving him a blow job, in reality I just could not. I felt guilty! He could pleasure me just fine but I couldn't seem to return it and that was selfish of me wasn't it? What on earth was wrong with me?

So as it turns out, of course I'm not the only woman with this issue or even the only person. Some of us just can't tongue-lash our lovers like that. It might have even just been that particular penis, but in the end it came about that I just don't like to give oral. That relationship disintegrated anyway so maybe it's for the best that I couldn't so readily hand myself over to him completely. Perhaps one day I'll find that super special penis or even that awesome fountain of youth vagina, but for now it just makes a funny story.

Let there be kink, sort of

Alright, Danz went to bed so that means its safe to talk shit about him. Well, not talking shit really, but I know he may or may not appreciate this in the morning. But he's already seen a great deal of it.

So it seems our boy has a little hero worship, and a while ago I threatened more or less to write some fanfiction *shudder* _{oh god} with him and one of his actor heroes. I couldn't do that with a straight face though so I dropped it. It was funny to watch him virtually sweat though.

Then I picked it up again, for whatever reasons, I've been extremely bdsm/kink inspired. Rather than start something totally new I just went back to this. And I still can't keep a straight face while writing it but now that he's gone I may just be able to finish it. What is it you say? Well shoot, read it why don't you?

It's still got some fanfiction-y elements, obviously, but really I'd think of it less as "fanfiction" and more fantasy gone extremely awry. Technically that's all fanfiction is, but you really have to remove any semblance of familiarity from this or I think you might actually go crazy. In short, I'm depraved and I don't care. If I ever manage to finish the whole thing I'll probably just store it in my writing journal, away from you good respectable readers, but for now have a taste of my sick vision.

_{Note: That intro was all in jest, I'm out to scar your mind.}

Warning: Man-on-man relations, kink, bondage, burning, typos, in-jokes


The throbbing noise of the disappointed and hysterical fans outside died in his ears as soon as he stepped in the room. The door shut behind him mere seconds after he crossed the threshold into the crimson-colored room, dimly lit and sparsely furniture. He cynically noted the blatant cliché, right down to the shag carpeting and faint scent of patchouli in the air. Even the lamps were draped. Was this a meet and greet or the set of a low budget 70s throwback porn? It was hard to say.

What set him off completely was the figure in the shadows, lounging on the strangely modernist, sleek black couch. He was swilling a glass of wine in his hand but looking wholly uninterested at the drink, and the bottle currently lying on its side on the table in front of him seemed to attest to this. But there were other things, like a half-heartedly open pack of cigars, a beautifully designed butane lighter, and a silver case with a European dragon carved on the front. Had he interrupted something? The thought made him a little uneasy as he walked across the room slowly as if on glass.

“Mr Craig?” he said gently. The man peeked up a minute with the sort of bored ennui he’d always imagined actors had for their overzealous fans. Or contempt at least, especially when faced with such a forced meeting. For the first time since hacking his way into this little contest he began feeling doubt, and what’s more, remorse. Could he turn back and leave now, and leave everything he’d ever wanted in the world?

Just as he began moving back, apologies already on his lips and head bowed, the man stood up, setting his glass on the table in the process. He ran a hand through his sandy hair and let out a sigh.

“So you’re the winner are you?”

“Yes sir.”

“Was expecting a girl,” Daniel said with a smirk. “They enter these things in droves, fucks up the results.”

“You’ve got male fans too, you know.”

“Right, of course…” Daniel folded his hands behind his back and began to pace. “What’s your name?”

“D—”

“Do you mind if I call you cheap bitch?”

The words died on his lips. His mind was reeling in outrage, a thousand insults bursting between his ears but only indignant squeaks fell from his mouth. He stared in wide-eyed horror as Daniel came at him far too fast, dressed in a white button down that he just realized was wide open, displaying his fine physique. Before he could make another move his wrists were bound in a fierce grip and he was staggering backwards and would have fallen. Instead he was barely kept on his feet by the painful force around his wrists, cutting off circulation to his hands. And then he was on the ground, thrown forcefully and out of breath. He tried scramble up but his fingers were entangled in the shag—it would have been comical if he weren’t so confused, and if it weren’t for the knee currently pressing down on his ribcage.

“As long as you’re in this room, we’ll call you D. You answer to nothing else. Don’t do anything unless I say so. Don’t even breathe.”

A strong hand wrapped around his throat, effectively cutting off his air. His eyes bulged as he clawed desperately at the hand around his throat, but he was quickly getting light-headed. His struggling slowed then finally stopped completely as time slowed and his vision became blurry. After what felt like several minutes, the hand was gone and Daniel no longer in his line of vision. He coughed and swallowed, his mouth dry and lined with cotton as he lay on the floor in a stupor.

“It’s good you’re putting up a fight,” he heard over his head, but the voice sounded miles away. “The past couple of nights have been too easy for my tastes.”

He heard a door open and for a fleeting moment hoped it was he exit, someone come to save him from this sudden lapse of madness. But no one came. Feeling stronger, he sat up and looked around him. His captor was at the end of the room rummaging in what appeared to be a closet of some sort. Daniel popped back into the main room and shut the black door behind him. In his hands he carried a red ball and his glare was mean and heavy.

“Did I tell you to get up?”

“You didn’t tell me to stay down either.”

Another smirk, this one more sinister. “That’s true. You’ve got a mouth on you, don’t you?”

Daniel crossed the room again and loomed over his victim. D could see that the ball had black straps hanging down from the sides and suddenly everything clicked in his mind. His mouth opened, prepared to let out a horrified scream of alarm, but he didn’t get much more than a gasp before the ball gag was shoved in his mouth, tied so tightly behind his head he could feel it cutting into the bridge of his nose. A second later and Daniel loosened the straps but not by much, and certainly not enough to make the situation any more comfortable. D still managed to howl around his gag, the sound forcing silvery strands of saliva down his chin.

Daniel gripped his victim’s chin and forced it around to look him directly in the eyes. “You can scream until your blue in the face, no one out there is going to come in and save you. In fact, please do scream, I want you to.”

Another muffled scream followed by a short burst of sobbing before D went completely limp. Daniel threw him down like discarded rubbish and went over to the walls. He began to strip the hanging lamps of their warmly decorated scarves. This didn’t improve the dim lighting of the room D noticed, not that it mattered at present. Daniel was coming back over to him and he numbly registered his wrists behind tied over his head. Then he was being dragged across the floor, his head just avoiding bumping into the steel legs of the table. His wrists were bound to the table, which was either very heavy or nailed to the floor; D couldn’t say which from his perspective.

The actor hovered over him now, cigarette lighter and cigar in hand. D blinked bemusedly at the objects, having a vague notion of what could be done with them but not making the connections in his brain. Daniel lit the cigar and took a long drag off it, staring his victim in the eye the whole time. When he was done he plucked the red ball from D’s mouth and hovered close to his mouth, exhaling. The smoke floated to his eyes and made them water, and the smoke snaking into his throat made him hack and cough. The ball snapped back between his lips, smacking his teeth and making him cry out in pain. Daniel smiled over him, a gesture that would have been described as winning or charming by the press, but in this context it felt so horribly hollow. That smile wasn’t for him, it was for his suffering.

Still smiling, Daniel nudged his captive’s shirt slowly, as if measuring the individual inches, feeling the lightly haired young stomach. His fingers crept on the flesh like a growing vine, making invisible etchings and nonsensical words as he went up. The shirt was pushed until it bunched neatly under D’s chin. Dark nipples peeked at him as he swiped his hands over them, carefully keeping the lit cigar out of the way. He pinched and rolled the nubs between his fingers, pulling them in short jerks. D’s breath hitched in his throat in horror, but something deep in his mind responded, more primal than the utter terror he was feeling right now. Against his will he let out a low moan, pausing in horror and hoping his captor had not heard.

The sly smirk signaled he had.

“Like that do we?” Daniel sneered, slapping his victim’s chest. The cigar briefly met flesh and D cried out in pain. It came down against but stayed this time to eat away at his flesh. His screams became louder but hoarser as Daniel made long, cursive strokes all across his chest. By the time he was done D had tears dripping into his ears, threatening to fill them with their salty remorse. Daniel merely laughed and finished the cigar off, then put it out in the hollow of his victim’s throat, eliciting another painful howl.

His hands returned to his captive’s nipples, squeezing them as if he’d bring forth milk or blood. D only clamped his teeth down on the gag in his mouth, determined not to scream this time. That, and he didn’t think he had it in him to make any more noise, it’d already proved quite futile now.

As if he’d read his mind, Daniel looked down with another charming but hollow grin. “You finally stopped screaming. That’s too bad, the best is yet to come. What shall we do next, hm?”