Anatomy of a Blowjob

Joe did not remember me. Since I spend half my life wondering if I’ve fucked that guy smiling at me in the grocery store line, from the adjacent treadmill, or across from me on the subway train, I couldn’t really fault him. But, even though the sexual memory center of my brain was filled with more gaps than slutty Swiss cheese, I remembered Joe. I had seen him pretty regularly, after all, and somewhere in between the second and third time I blow him, a man tends to make an impression on me.

He responded to an ad I’d posted, I wrote back “Hey! I know you…” but apparently he didn’t know me, even after I sent my pictures and described the times I had come over and given him topless BJs. Well, kudos for him, right? A man who has so many college girls blowing him he can’t remember them all is living the good life. Since he didn’t remember me, I went ahead and upped the price by 50 bucks before scheduling an appointment for that evening.

I smiled warmly as I approached the front desk of his building in my black dress and heels. “12B,” I told the doorman. “I can tell,” he responded. I was taken aback: what the fuck did that mean? He just shrugged as I walked past him to the elevator. On the twelfth floor, I knocked twice with no response, then checked the apartment number on my crinkled post-it (the bottom of my bag was a graveyard of post-its like these, reading “Bill, 214 E 55th St,” and so on).

Finally an average white guy answered the door, basically the guyest guy I’ve ever met, so that I can’t even think of a celebrity to compare him to. And yet, even in all his nondescriptness, I STILL knew for sure that I had blown him before.

“Hey,” I said, stepping in and taking off my coat, “do you remember me now?” The look on his face made it clear he didn’t. We stepped into his (familiar) living room and made awkward small talk for a few minutes before I asked “So, should I take this off?” I had negotiated a topless blowjob, but since I was wearing a dress with real sleeves, I didn’t have much choice but to get totally naked. He pressed a button on his remote and a porno in which two chicks in fishnet body stockings gave a guy oral sex came on. He pulled off his pants and boxers and I got on my knees in front of his couch. He grabbed my tits with both hands before I bent down and put my face in his crotch.

The weird thing about blowjob calls is how out-of-context they are. Just coming in and blowing someone is so unsexy for the giver that it might as well be any other household chore like ironing. But as a callgirl, you act like dropping to your knees and blowing your client has you instantly turned on, a facade that feels even thinner to me than it usually does. But the amazing thing is that guys don’t seem to question it. Just a little bit of moaning and smiling while you look up at him and earnestly intone something like “Oooh, I love your cock” is all it takes to convince him that you’re having a great, sexy time, when in all honesty, you’re basically indifferent. You don’t like it, you don’t hate it; you're pretty much just getting through it, like eating granola for breakfast when you’d rather have bacon.

I sucked his cock, licked his balls when he told me to lick his balls, watched my teeth when he told me to watch my teeth, and did my best to work around the left curve of his cock. I made sure to look up at him a lot. Occasionally he would hold my head down at the deepest point of my deepthroat and not let me move for several seconds, so that I’d have to flare my lips out just to breathe.

Finally he pulled his cock out of my mouth and jerked it off against my face, asking me “You want some cum?” Of course, I did, enthusiastically so. He rubbed himself against my lips, and breathed “Open up.” I took him back in my mouth and sucked at the base until I felt him shudder and shoot. I got up and pulled my dress back on as he peeled off the filled condom. I thanked him. Men love this, when you thank them for letting you suck them off.

“That was quick,” he said. “Oh, I could have taken longer,” I responded like a total dumbass, because what he meant was that I had gotten dressed quickly. Stiletto in mouth. I had gotten dressed quickly because being naked in front of total strangers is weird. You’re not turned on, you’re not there to get off, you’re just naked like if you’d walked into your boss’s office and disrobed and then stood there for awhile. I am always sort of cringing underneath the come-hither smile. But it had also been quick, another weird part of a blowjob call is getting paid such a large amount of money for what rarely takes longer than 10 minutes. I always wonder if they have buyer’s remorse once they cum.

I stared at his bookshelf while I waited for him to pay me. Micheal Crichton, Angela’s Ashes…I stopped reading. Then he handed me the crumpled wad of bills and I stepped back into the hall. I made sure to ignore the doorman on the way out.

The Softer Side Of Porn

As a young girl, I eventually aquired one porno tape, Masseuse II, given to me by an enterprising school chum who got a handjob for his trouble. I liked the Randy West and Steven St. Croix scenes a lot because they were both kind of mean and rape-y, if not that attractive. And the plot was good; I still think it’s really hot to roleplay the legitimate masseuse who lets herself be talked into/coerced with money into going further and further. But before I wore out the rewind button watching that thing, I had to rely on my own imagination and whatever I could find on cable late at night to get off.

Let me tell you, there is nothing more frustrating than trying to mentally continue the story when MTV’s Undressed cut off right at the good part. However, there are a few tried and true staples that tend to do the trick (you know which one). My first pick for the all-time greatest soft porn isn’t actually supposed to be porn-y, but it’s always turned me on.



Now before you judge me, listen to the facts.

FACT: This movie is full of hot young boys. These hot young boys often wear tight pants.



Most people seem to like Christian Bale, but in keeping with my nerdy-friend fetish the led me to have a crush on Buddy from Charles in Charge, I’m into this one:



Still, I wouldn’t mind being that horse.



FACT: Sometimes the hot young boys take their shirts off.



FACT: Sometimes the hot young boys are wet.



Strip away the singing and the inspirational story of the newsboys of New York, and you’ve got some grade A primo masturbation material. Maybe it’s sick to be turned on by this, but have you ever noticed every pre-teen girl inexplicably loves this movie? FACT!

Also a FACT:



You’re welcome.