Posts Tagged ‘kneeling’

More of the his story with Ann…


I was young, Ann was a woman, and as she had told me that first night, volunteered it in fact, she would do whatever I asked, anything at all. I gathered my courage to ask her to take me in her mouth, and again, a second time while she was on her floor, she told me she would always do anything I asked. I came in her mouth a second time.

I discovered I had a weakness for fellatio. Must be genetic. Most men suffer from this kind of insufficiency, that’s what women say. And she kept her word. I mean she really kept her word. Whenever I asked, even after we broke up.

Now serious again, why? Why did she continue supplying her sexual favors even after we were quits? First, we’d have to ask her, but my guess, she was a hurting human being, completely out of touch with real feelings, with love. Yes, she was connected to her sexual feelings just fine.

And she encouraged me to be selfish, to be bad that way. And I’m a pretty fast learner. I’d come to see her, say hello, we’d get on her couch, it was almost a bed, soft, really comfortable, we’d kiss for a few minutes, either she’d get on the floor, elbows on the couch, I’d stop and stand up to take down my pants, or we’d get up and walk into her bedroom. But she knew where she was going to end up when she opened the door, she knew what I wanted, so their was no real conversation, only hello, how are you, that kind of conversation.

She taught me I could enjoy fellatio. And I did. A couple of times on campus but mostly in her bedroom again and again.

Ann wanted to talk. Not talk instead of satisfying me. She wanted to discuss sexual politics, and who knows, maybe she was right, except I didn’t want to talk, not just then. I wanted to come in her mouth. This is the woman who taught me how to face fuck, so no, I didn’t exactly want to talk.

And so without asking permission, she’d follow me, we’d both disrobe. Unless I was staying, Ann only took off her top. Blouse, bra, almost always. I don’t remember her doing anything else. If I had asked she would have, and she was sexy, incredibly so, just as she was, even as old as she was. No doubt that was the drugs she took, some really bad stuff. From a pharmacy. All legal. Prescription. Possibly she needed them too, I don’t know.

I’d drop my jeans, pull down my underwear, and sit on a couple of towels Ann provided, then she would kneel down. Usually I held on to her head. Sometimes I’d hold her shoulders or back, or her breasts. At first I tried to be courteous, to not to go too fast, that didn’t last long. She had taught me how to “face-fuck” her.

She had said she was concerned that I was lonely. I was. And when we met, yes, I was backward. True enough. She was good at this except, apparently, she thought she was a coed. She wasn’t. She was smart, yes. She was graduating, yes. She was a lot of things but she wasn’t an ingénue. She just wasn’t Besides, how many ingenue’s teach their date about face fucking?

She was near graduation from business school, she was already working, negotiating labor contracts for various unions. The thing is, did she actually need that business degree? Yes, she was an excellent negotiator. She took all those courses, but did she need those courses? I don’t know. I do know she never negotiated with me, not in bed, not that I can recall, maybe it was part of her plan, to always be swallowing my ejaculate, otherwise I don’t know. Maybe that was her plan. She liked me, I assume she valued my youth, my inexperience.

But whenever I asked, literally whenever, wherever, she gave great head. I was 23, a college kid. She was about 35, maybe 38, and she gave me great head. At school she pretended, maybe even believed herself, to be this great woman, this intellectual lady focused on power for women, on women’s rights. Well okay, but she swallowed pretty good too. And that’s what I liked about her.

In any case I didn’t understand sexual politics then, and I’m still not sure I do now. I’m not sure any man does. So I let her have her career, I went to, I think, two lectures. Lectures on union leadership. Well attended lectures. Except, ah, she was pretty close to being a mobster. No, she didn’t carry a gun, not that kind of mobster. But, ah, out of bed she wasn’t that submissive. To me, for me? Yes. But not to small business owner’s with union workers.

She had small breasts. Sometimes I would hold her head, sometimes her back and chest, giving slow gentle clues congruent to my pumping. Other times I would just hold on to her breasts and she gave me a great deal of pleasure.

I was young. Some nights, while I was officially dating her, we broke up but I liked her taking me in her mouth so I continued to come by for that, because I would be staying the night I’d be naked. I’d sit on the side of her bed, with some towels, and she would wear a negligee she liked. I would peel it back so I could cup her breasts in my hands and we would do our back and forths. I was young. Some nights we did this for hours, of course with me resting mostly, and while she waited for me to recharge she’d turn around, facing the TV. At these times she would rest her head against my ball sack, but I never worried about the effect this might have on the European Common market’s recent crisis. She was careful, so was I. In bed she was a pussy. Yes, out of bed she was a hungry tiger, but in bed she was a pussy. So I was safe.

She had a remote, they weren’t so common then, but she had one. I’d use that to turn the TV off when I was ready again.

I’d just take my pants down, sit on her bed, while she took off her blouse and bra and then she would kneel down, letting me guide her as she began to suck me off.  If I wanted preliminaries that was fine, anything I asked for she did. But after I broke up with her our bedroom habits changed somewhat. Complicated.

Only if I stayed, while I was waiting to recharge would she completely disrobe and if I needed it, usually I did, she’d wash me very gently with a wash cloth and I’d gently pet her head or we’d talk and I’d rub her breasts, stimulating her and she’d want to take me in her mouth again. And if we weren’t getting along, which was frequently our situation, once I was sated I’d thank her and leave. She didn’t like that. No fun for me either.

I suppose I should make this clear, she both encouraged me to be like this and simultaneously hated me for it. I had never done this with other women, of course when we met I had never had fellatio. Once I discovered this, well, that was it, that’s all we did. Selfish. Call it whatever you want, that’s what I was, selfish. As we got to know each other, it became clear that we disagreed on many matters but I could stop all arguments by taking down my pants and un-zipping, or by simply asking her to take me in her mouth. She hated me for being selfish, but that’s the kind of relationship she had worked to create and that’s what we had. I never asked her age, my guess, she was 35, maybe 40. I was 23.

So Ann was a brilliant woman, known in the city for certain civic achievements, but their were limits. Her neighbors saw my car, we weren’t invisible. Once or twice her neighbors banged on her door.

But whatever else had happened that day, when I came to her home, I had only to sit on her couch or go into her bedroom and sit on her bed. Then, as soon as she knew, when she saw me reach for my belt or even if I just opened my fly, she would take off her top and get on the floor. Usually she took off her blouse and bra, she had small breasts but I very much enjoyed the feel of them pushing up against my legs.

Ann taught me stuff. That Saturday morning when I had come over and she wasn’t expecting me, that was a serious learning experience.

I had just came over for the sex, we had a scheduled date that afternoon, but I wanted to get sucked off that morning and her house wasn’t far from school. So I just came over, I never had to ask. She saw me, she knew. That’s the way it was. But she had work clothes on and had been working in her yard, I think she had been gardening, and she was sweaty, like any other hard working person. But still, seeing me, she asked me if I wanted her and getting a yes she took me into her garage, closed the door and sat very low against the wall, asking me to help her brace her head and shoulders against the garage wall, by putting some pillows behind her head, I had to run in to her house to get them, the neighbors may have noticed, in some ways we were pretty open. Though if I had to guess I would say no, that they had no idea what we were about to do in her garage. I put some canvas mats down for my knees.  Her head was about a foot above the garage floor, and she motioned me to come close. I adjusted the mats and came very close. I straddled her and took her very quickly. No further instructions were needed! Both of us rested and then I put my dick in her mouth again. That was it for gardening. We went inside, showered together, and she made me lunch and got ready for our afternoon date.

Our relationship had just started, for us this was a typical date, it was Saturday morning and I had just shown up. Besides this is what I wanted, see, I’d never straddled anyone before. Maybe she wasn’t coy but it was still a lot of fun and for her, directness was both becoming and feminine.

After that day we did a lot of straddling in her bedroom, at least until I discovered this position was somewhat rough on her. Of course I liked it, I liked it plenty. This was what she had taught me that morning in her garage. I could never tell if she liked it, I’m not sure of this, possibly she liked that it was different. A plus, it wasn’t rough, apparently some of her past boy-friends had been rough. I thought that at first. Later I decided it might have been just something she knew, that she did it because she was practiced at it or perhaps being in that position reminded her of a past partner. I never asked. I only needed to thrust for a few seconds, a minute at most. I don’t recall if she always swallowed or not, I mean she swallowed, but I never noticed.

Later, with other girls, I began to notice such things.

The Fellatio Project


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More of my beautiful friend’s story. This was the first. Her name was Ann…


Most of what I describe happened because I started late. This is what I tell myself, this is what I think. Which is my polite way, although as you are seeing, not very direct, not very to the point at all way, of my beginning to say I started late. I started when I was 23, in college, in Florida. That’s where this begins. It’s as good a place as any, except of course lot’s of things happen in Florida, so much so you’d think things didn’t happen at all in say, Georgia. Except don’t think that, because what I have to say is very boring, except here and there.

A friend of mine, an astronomer, actually an astrophysicist, he had a girlfriend, Ann. She was older, probably ten, maybe twelve years older than him, and since she was his girlfriend, not mine, once I looked I pretty much forgot her. Oh, she was interesting, but she was attached to someone else. I remember they would laugh together and they seemed to be good friends to each other, for each other, quite good friends even. Which just shows you how much I knew. Well it was a long time ago, I know more now. Here it is:  If anyone had asked me I would have said they were good friends, that’s it. I was innocent, I really was. That way at least.

My guess, I think she just wanted to be young. That’s not wrong or bad. It is foolish, but not unusual. Of course she wasn’t young, and not just because of her age. She did a few things, different things, she was a business student, near graduation.  Those things she did? Not good.  Not for her, not for anyone. I didn’t know. I found out but I didn’t know, not for months. And, very informally, Ann taught. In her home, she taught. Not accredited, not the way the university was. It wasn’t official, but she taught just the same.

As college students we were pretty much, socially, nearly indeterminate. At least I was. And allowing for Ann’s age difference, we were all just random college students. We’d have lunch maybe one day a week, just casually. I might see them in the cafeteria and go over to talk. Nothing planned. They were friends. After a few days I began to see they were a couple, my friend and Ann. Weeks passed and I observed more and more they were friends, more than friends, an actual couple. It was weeks before I began to get it, they were a tight couple. Because you know, there’s a difference between love and sex and just sex. That’s what this is about. Love and sex, but not love with sex together, which is the stuff new people should be made from.

Actually, not love. Not exactly. This is more about anti-love, or maybe non-love, but don’t think it’s the usual love and sex because it isn’t. For me that was years away. But that is what this is about, transitioning from sex to love and sex, learning about love.

All of this happened while Richard Nixon was President of the United States, except I’m pretty sure my friends didn’t discuss such things, not with each other, and most especially not with him. I’ll try to get into the political stuff later if we have the time. For now though, recognize that he was a man cheated, that he had won that first election, the 1960 Presidential election fair and square, and been cheated. Such things change people. Don’t forget that, because that’s what this is about too.

You think I’m just saying this, but no, this is part of our story. You’ll see. Just wait two years. Key Biscayne. You’ll see.

So getting back to Ann. Ann enjoyed dating college men. No, more precisely, Ann enjoyed doing college men, one at a time. Initially I didn’t know this, I was, well, I was beyond being merely oblivious. But that’s what else this is about, because I was next on her list and I didn’t even know she had a list. But that’s how it was. Ann looked demure, and indeed she was a very sophisticated woman, and she gave lessons. How do I know? I attended her classes. her advanced classes, and I did very well in them.

Remember? I mentioned that she taught. What she taught, the subject, wasn’t sex. No, she taught a kind of anti-love, although yes, some sex was involved. I mean now that you mention it, sex was involved. Okay, it was 100% sex. No love. Sex. Just sex. Because she taught her class of willing students how to avoid falling in love, how to avoid being in love, how to avoid love entirely. How to have sex. How to have sex.

One day, it was the late fall of 1969, my astronomer friend came to see me explaining that he and Ann were breaking up. He must have said this two, no, three times. Three times, minimum. He was expecting me to ‘get’ something. As things happened though, he had to spell it out.

It was later, literally, years later that I discovered some girls didn’t like to swallow. But this woman, and the girls at college, well, as I say it was years later that I discovered some don’t. We don’t have to discuss this now, we can wait. We can do this another time, really.

Moving on…

I didn’t want to pressure my friend at the time, and I didn’t say any of this to him, not with his date in the lunch-room, but looking back I would say their breakup must have been for an actual reason and I doubt if it was a loss of intimacy. Not that I was prepared to discuss the habits of the girls on campus. Interesting? Compelling? Worth all my attention? No question. But some times the right way to proceed is not to look head on, it’s complicated. I just had nothing to contribute, not to that conversation.

Some things, if you want to really look, you have to kind of glance out of the corner of your eye. No, I’m not talking about looking at girls. Not regular looking, at least not the same way a high school kid might do. No, I’m talking about a different kind of looking, looking at their lives, looking at who a couple are, how they fit together. The habits of the girls on campus, that was one of those things. It’s this way, you want to know, you have to experience it. I know, lot’s of things are like that.

It had been his idea, the breakup, no reason given. And then it came out, kind of all at once. She had asked him, as his going away present to her, to set the two of us up, her and I. He agreed to ask so now he was asking. Once he had spelled it out things progressed quickly. We established that I would be where I was most of the time, in a particular computer lab, and that she would come by at 5PM. I could be there or not. My choice. So that’s where I was, in that computer lab.

She and I went to the student union. We just talked, quietly. No under the table feels, no kissing. Maybe one serious but also brief kiss, I think so, but I don’t really remember. This was a long time ago, over 40 years, nearly 45.

We had made a date for a day or two later, for Friday dinner.  I’m generally not a fan of organizing one’s life around the weekend and adhering to protocols of business unless one is actually in business but what could I do, it was already Wednesday or Thursday, so Friday it was.

Swallowing is important. Did you get that? Swallowing is pretty important.

Do you realize that each woman is a work of art? They are wonderful creatures, soft, normally pretty wise, comforting. Plus, they swallow, most of them, and they are wonderful to love. They really are. They are wonderful to love, to care for, to come home too. To be so aggravated from work that you can’t talk and then you come home and your wife meets you at the door and changes everything for you. Wonderful creatures.

So after that date, which was a very formal getting to know each other dinner, she invited me to take her home. We drove to her house where, at her door, she invited me in for coffee. She made a big deal of this, telling me that she didn’t want to have to fight me. Of course I assured her she wouldn’t, that it wouldn’t come to that and that was true, I wasn’t about to force her. I couldn’t. I didn’t. Within a few minutes, less than half an hour, after some easy necking on the sofa, Ann invited me to stay and we went into her bedroom. Ann was a slender woman and she wore an attractive night gown to bed, which was utterly wasted on me as I’ve never wanted a woman to wear more than very simple panties and if she wanted to, a bra. But a man can adjust. I did.

She spent the first few months I knew her teaching me bad habits. I never mistreated her, not those kinds of bad habits. A couple of times she might have been encouraging me to do such stuff, it was very subtle, I’m not sure, but whatever she might have wanted, or not wanted, whatever, what we did was old-fashioned fellatio. Nothing else. politics.

I’m not sure. She said something, that I could hit her. I was unclear, asked her what, and she said something else. No, that’s just not how I was brought up.

This much I’m certain of: she enjoyed kneeling. I say this because she set us on this course from that first night. I didn’t understand at first, and she talked like it wasn’t sexual at all, that it was complicated, with far reaching sexual and even political implications for our relationship and possibly for the world. Possibly she was right, considering that here I am writing about what she did for me so many years ago. She didn’t seem to think our man-woman thing itself was particularly noteworthy, only that she had decided to be completely sexually compliant, that this was important. Indeed.

The second, maybe the third time I came over, afterward, after taking the time to give me all the pleasure I could realize that night, she explained she was sure no other woman I would ever meet would take me in her mouth whenever I wanted. I let her talk a bit, and every time I came over, she demonstrated that she was serious about her promise. Whatever I asked of her, not that my requests were difficult or unusual, they were, I suppose, very routine, but what she had said, anything at all, that’s what she did.

She was older than me, she was experienced, and I was close to being a virgin, but she had chosen me and that’s what she did, she gave me as much sexual pleasure as I wanted, as I could contain.

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