You only get to turn twenty-one once.
Uncle Jon always said that day was one of the best of his life. Seeing as he’d gotten discharged from his military service on his actual birthday (in the process escaping Vietnam alive, and he was sure glad about that part, there being all those stories about guys a week away from flying out and then in that last week they step on a landmine and killed or turned into a paraplegic or something), and that meant he could finally buy a beer legally (tell me why the US Army is glad to hire you on when you’re eighteen but in the ol’ freedom-loving USA you cannot buy a fucking drink at that age?) and he felt ‘free as a hog on ice’ as his own father, my grandfather, used to say.
Yessir, twenty-fucking-one, that Jon back then. Still had his army buzz-cut on his birthday, which he said weirded out some of the hippie-chicks when he got home, especially the ones he was hoping to get intimate with, but he said it wasn’t but a bit of time, maybe six months, before he’d have ‘rectified’ the hair situation, and the old family photos proved that, with him bearded and scruffy and his arm around some long-haired beauty with no bra and bushy armpits that looked like fuzzy brown bunny-tails sticking out from her tight top. So for him turning twenty-one was some mighty major momentous threshold, that’s for sure. For him life only got better after twenty-one.
Although I obviously cannot get into the head of Uncle Jon, and the relief that he must’a had when that fabulous confluence of good luck hit him back in 1970, I was feeling pretty darn good about my upcoming threshold on March 31.
All’s I knew was my own scene: my last year at uni, my degree a couple months away, my driver’s license would now work at The Boar for a drink, and I had a sweet girlfriend. The world was my oyster, or whatever the expression is, although I’m not all that fond of oysters myself. But I get it, pearls, salty slippery tastes, wide open opportunities.
But the best part, the absolutely best part, was the girlfriend one.
Speaking of salty slippery tastes and everything…
Mae Lynn Dickerson was the apple of my eye, my pomegranate of perfection, the princess of pleasure, the whipped cream on my hot chocolate, and not only did I not deserve her, but we both knew it. This type of luck just don’t happen to a backwoods Vermonter boy, that’s for real. I didn’t know how long we would last, but I was determined to enjoy every damn moment.
How the hell did an upscale girl from Tennessee (she would say it ‘Tinnessee’ if she’d had more than a two glasses of wine, especially if there was another southerner around) get to U Vermont?
That is one hellava question and I don’t know the real answer, only what Mae said herself.
She said she went as far away from home to college as her Daddy would let her, and since having met him and knowing that he was paying the bills, I am sure he wasn’t too happy about her being way-up-north-almost-in fucking-Canada territory.
At other times (she got this question a lot at those illicit late night keg parties when folks would hear her accent) she answered different. Sometimes she said hearing about ‘Green Mountain Boys’ made her want one of her own (I usually got an elbow in the ribs for emphasis on this one.) Said once that her own Daddy had gone to UT (University of Tennessee for you ignorant of this fact) and she wanted to one up him in the alphabet department (Vermont’s postal code is VT, gettit?) That one got more laughs than it deserved, but that’s the beer talking.
So anyway, I don’t know exactly why she picked UV but I didn’t give a rat’s ass, we were together as a couple and that was just fine.
But talk about a perfect girlfriend, my luck and everything.
Was she perfect? Just about. Her flaws were limited and minor, save one. The minor ones included the fact that I usually couldn’t get her to go without a bra in public, even though she would have looked dynamite and she didn’t have the kind of chest that would be uncomfortable unsupported and everything. Sometimes she could be a bit contrary, you might say headstrong. And the fact that when she made potato salad she’d put in chopped up onions which I would have preferred she didn’t, but she said ‘old family recipe’ and I can understand heritage and all that.
She had a sense of humor, and that dimple on her left cheek could kill. She’s just two fingers shorter than me, I think we make a handsome couple, her hair just a tad lighter than my brown, fine like silk thread, and when my penis is up her I cannot imagine a more perfect union, ha ha.
So a week or two before My Grand Event she starts asking about a suitable birthday present for me.
I say how about we fuck all day long?
She laughs and says that isn’t exactly possible and she knows I couldn’t do it anyway. I point out the time we fucked three times in a day, and she reminded me that it was three times in 18 hours, the third time on the next morning so that didn’t exactly count as one gorukle escort day, and we got into a minor skirmish which I won’t go into at the moment for various reasons. Mostly having to do with her getting the better of me in arguments, which she did a lot, one hellava smart girl there.
Anyway, now we get to her one main flaw, the ‘major’ one I mentioned, and I am not saying it is a dealbreaker, because it obviously isn’t, and it has to do squarely with my specific birthday request.
“How about you let me cream in your mouth? For the first time? You know how much I would crave that, babe.”
Well she give me a look with that sort of disgusted face that goes along with getting a plate of food, say with boiled snails on it, something not that appealing, and then her eyes give a little flicker, out of nowhere.
“Davey,” she says in that way when she is trying to explain something beneath my comprehension, “this is not the first time you have made this request. Do you have any idea what it might be like to have a mouthful of sperm?”
I did not have this exact experience in my portfolio, at least the way she was asking, and told her that.
“Can you imagine it though?” Her eyebrows hit the ceiling while she stared at me pretty hard.
I could kinda do this of course, but considered that beside the point.
I said that if I were a girl and loved someone enough I could imagine doing things that maybe weren’t all that pleasant but might still do them if I knew it would please my partner, expressing my love and everything.
So she’s looking at me hard, and I am positive she is going to ask me what sorts of things I have done for her lately even though she knew I wasn’t that fond of doing them, and so I try to head that off at the pass and offer up some reasoning, some ‘dialectic’ my philosophy prof would call it.
“Babe, I lick you good, all the way. Till your juices are running down my chin, soaking my beard, my nose buried in your cunthairs. I’m just saying that if you wanted to do a super special birthday present for me that doing the same to me as I do for you would be something grand and special and…”
I paused for a moment, trying for the right word, since I am not especially a poetic type, and finished with “ineffable” which I have no idea where I dredged that word from.
She’s looking at me with those big brown eyes and I see those gears turning and she’s getting just the beginning of a smile going, although maybe not the smile I want, but it doesn’t matter since she starts talking.
“Ineffable, eh? So you would really, really like me to suck that cock of yours,” she even points, “not just as foreplay but all the way, to a fluid soaked completion in my sweet warm Tennessee mouth? So that I take your semen in completely?”
“Babe, that would be extraordinary, my fondest wish.”
She looks at me with sorta wild eyes, then away, then back at me.
“Dave, I will consider this.”
Hot damn. Even getting this far was closer to this little letch of mine than we had ever gone before.
Two days later, while I am over at her place, she looks me in the eye.
“Dave? You said you wanted to be sucked to completion?”
I nodded vigorously and said a thousand times yes.
“I been talking to some friends about this.”
What? My eyebrows must have hit the ceiling and my face registered World War III panic. So now my request to be sucked off is all over the neighborhood? Everyone knows what a pathetic little lover I am to be begging his girlfriend to let him finish in her mouth?
“No, no, not that. I just been asking a couple friends, totally confidential, more really about what it is like to have sperm in the mouth.”
She said this phrase like she was talking about gargling a snot milkshake.
“So what did you hear, babe?” Maybe somebody said something encouraging, like maybe her best friend Julia had said ‘Oh, I just absolutely adore sucking Stephen off all the way. He loves it!’
But that didn’t seem to be the case. Couple folks had said ‘it’s not as bad as you think.’
“But it’s funny, you know,” I thought I detected some possible cause of optimism in her tone. “The folks who really get excited about it are gay guys.”
Jesus, here she goes again, this woman never stops surprising me. She had at least two gay friends on campus and she’s pumping them for intel?
“Mae, so is this little request of mine going all around college?”
No again. Said she didn’t actually talk to any of her real gay friends, just noodled around online in a couple forums and websites. Learned a thing or two about cocksucking from the crew who does it a lot, and the ‘sperm in the mouth’ thing.
“So cocksucking all the way is just a gay thing? Come on Mae, girls are into this too, I know this myself anecdotally, general knowledge and such.”
“Yeah, but with regard to the sperm-in-the-mouth thing,” (I was already getting tired of this particular phrase), “I’ve found more, ah, enthusiasm on gay altıparmak eskort bayan discussions of this specific practice than amongst the women. That’s all. And I figured I’d learn a thing or two.”
“Well, learning is never a bad thing, I reckon you and I have learned some things together.” This was true enough.
She twirled a stray piece of hair, then looked at me. “So I think this might be possible. This sperm in the mouth thing.”
She closed her eyes, compressed her lips a little and said, “I will give this wish to you.”
I almost got down on my knees in front of her, like guys do when proposing marriage, and thanked her and told her that this was what love was like and how I was so honored and appreciative of her willingness to do something that was not necessarily her own number one wish but that she was doing it for me, and how grand a gesture it was, “noble” I even said.
And she smiled that beautiful smile of hers, just a little gap between her front teeth, and already my mind is going into overdrive and imagining my handsome tool wedged tight in that lovely mouth of hers and how nice it will be to be pushing my shaft along those lips and being able to send my sperm forth completely without holding back.
And, naturally, I was so excited that I went and pushed my luck farther than it maybe should have gone and said something about maybe doing an “early” birthday present, and there is no time like the present, and now is always better than later, and all that.
She laughed and put her hand on my knee.
“No, not early. I want you thinking about this for the next week. You know how things you are anticipating are so much more fun? Like Christmas coming when you are a kid? I really want you to enjoy this, so can’t happen until the day.”
She considered a moment. “Actually, not your official day, since the 31st is a Friday, but the day after.”
I was still beside myself.
“So you are saying, Mae Lynn Dickerson, that you will suck me completely, as a special birthday present, this coming Saturday?”
“I promise your sperm will be drained to the last drop.” I would remember these exact words later. The smile on my face maybe would belong in one of those renaissance paintings in the museums, ‘beatitude’ or something being the caption.
I am not afraid to say the next week was one of unbearable excitement.
I could literally not sit still. Nor my prick, if you really want to know. Every time I had a spare moment (and there are plenty of those if you are in, say, a statistics class lecture and the prof has gone off on some stupid tangent.) I found myself imagining what it would feel like to be erupting a good load of sperm into Mae’s sweet mouth. And once you have done something the first time, you can do it again, and my mind filled up with the idea of regular semen divestiture events, courtesy of this very special and handsome girlfriend of mine and how fortune has smiled on me in a way for which I was totally unworthy.
I was chuffed, I think that’s what the Brits say.
So it’s Friday night, March 31 in bed, and I am hot to trot with sweet Mae. We’d gone out to our favorite Italian restaurant, had a nice meal and dessert even and I was thrilled to have her make a fuss over my birthday. I even was able to pull out my ID for real so we could have a bottle of wine together. She was a couple months older than me, so already could do the legal alcohol thing, so I had been the impediment at bars and restaurants until now, but that was all over.
I want to make love to her when we get back to my place but she says no.
“I am stuffed Dave, and you know that is never the best time for lovemaking. Besides I want you good and worked up for tomorrow.”
My pleadings went for naught, reminding her of how it was absolutely no problem to dump plenty of semen inside her regardless, and her sheer handsomeness and attractivity quotient was so high that there was a near endless (pretty sure I emphasized that word) supply of semen for my fondest human being in the world.
Anyway, she won out as usual, as any of you guys know if you have stubborn or smart girlfriends, and I went to bed with an erection, the only thing sating me was the thought that the next day was going to be something special. At least she kissed me goodnight with a “happy birthday Dave” on her lips.
So the big day arrives and I am hot to trot, my early morning erection hoping for birthday wishes. I express a willingness to commence but am rebuffed.
“No silly. Not yet. I have plans for you, but they will play out as the day goes on.”
I am asking about her plans and it turns out they involve a few more details than I expected.
First of all it involves going over to her friend Cooper’s house. Mae says Cooper is away for the weekend and we will not only be ‘house-sitting’ there (it was a gorgeous upscale place, beyond normal student lodging status, with a view of Lake Champlain, nice furniture, all nilüfer eskort bayan of that) and feeding Cooper’s cat ‘Zeitgeist’ but will have extraordinary privacy the whole weekend in a way not possible in our own on-campus housing with apartment mates coming and going, all of that.
So we can indulge all weekend long. She gives me this long wanton look and I am sure my tongue is hanging out.
“But,” she says. Always a but.
“Since I am giving you your birthday wish, you have to let me do it the way I want.”
So now there are strings attached? Or some hedging on this promise? I point this out to her about her promise, her word, and everything and she reassures me that my handsome anxious cock will get thoroughly discharged into a warm waiting mouth, but that since this is a first for both of us that it has to be handled in a special way.
Okay, I am fine with this.
We pack our weekend bags and head over to Cooper’s house.
Now this Cooper girl, I have to tell you something about her. She is a high-roller, from Chicago, rich and handsome and status-infused enough to pretty much have any boy she wants at UV. I am not that fond of her personally, and she and Mae are slight friends, but not super-tight, so she wasn’t in our scene enough to be hard to deal with.
Rich, high-end types are unusual at UV, and Cooper (she had the nickname ‘Kinky Cooper’) had let it be known that Daddy had more than once delivered her on his small private jet to the tiny Burlington airport, so that put her in not just the one-percent category at UV but maybe the zero-point-five percent along with the senators’ and judges’ sons, and she oozed sex and power and attractiveness, which put me off a little, I guess you would say.
Anyway, nice place for sure, and I wander about the three (three!) rooms this girl had to herself as off-campus housing. I put my bag down while Mae explores, and she calls me in to the master bedroom, huge bed-frame, mirrors on the walls, etc.
“This is why I am so glad to have this place as the site of your ‘special birthday.’”
The room has two closets, one filled with clothes and shoes and girl detritus, but the other fairly empty one that Mae is showing me, well…
I took in a breath.
Tall, pocket door, hardwood floor, but with a bizarre kind of special wooden rack that Kinky Cooper has apparently installed on the back wall. A couple pegs on a side wall are holding a whip, a blindfold, and some hand restraints. I whistled.
“Jesus, Mae, is this the sort of thing Cooper is into? I’ve heard some rumors and everything, but still…” My imagination went a bit wild.
Mae was grinning like a banshee. “How bout it, huh? Do you think Cooper is the one who likes to be tied up and flogged? Or the other way around?”
This was not a difficult opinion for me to voice, and I told her I knew exactly which position Cooper assumed. I imagined her with some knee-high boots and jodhpurs maybe, topless, nothing else but a whip in her hand while some blindfolded UV stud with big shoulders was getting worked over. I shuddered.
We retreated to the living room and sat on the couch with a view out over the lake. I cozied up and put my arm around sweet Mae.
“You dying for your special present?” she says, eyebrows raised, bit of a smirk on her face.
“You bet, babe. Any time your little heart desires.” Damn this was hot.
“Let’s have something light to eat for lunch first. But I have to remind you, we’re doing it my way or not at all, okay?”
This part was getting on my nerves a little.
“What do you mean, your ‘way?’ How many different ways does it take to suck an anxious penis to culmination?”
“Well, just that as I am the one who will undertaking the onerous part…” Wish she hadn’t accentuated the ‘onerous’ word, it was sounding more and more like she was granting a super-divine wish or something.
“I have to take steps to make sure I am comfortable and everything. Surely you can understand that?”
She had put a hand to my crotch a minute or so before, and it hadn’t taken but a little pushing along with our anticipatory discussion for things to start to develop down there.
Of course I would have promised her anything at that point and almost did.
“Sure babe, that’s fine. But it’s like it’s Christmas eve and the waiting part, you know…”
A little kiss. “Of course Davey, I know how hard it is to wait.” Then laughed at the adjective she had just used as it applied to the insistent bit in my pants too.
We found some nice French cheese in the fridge, made ourselves sandwiches with some high-end mustard and a couple rolls out of the bread basket.
I was looking at Mae the whole time, trying to keep the drool in my mouth from overflowing. She had on a tight sweater made of that tightly woven soft wool stuff and I could see her nipples moving around underneath, a rare no-bra event today, a splendid look. She had to be wearing this just for me.
Cooper had the thermostat set fairly high compared to normal Vermont winter standards, so the place was warm and comfy.
After lunch Mae, with an absolutely deviant grin, placed me on the couch, told me to stay put. I sprawled out, put my head back, we were doing to do the deed on Cooper’s nice couch? Fine by me.