Behind the Wheel of my Ford Focus—October, 2024
As this self publishes, I will be driving into central
Indiana to do a two-week gig there. Driving
always gives me time to think. I love to
mull over the unwritten posts, figuring out what made them even slightly different
from another. Making notes on a clip
board I keep handy.
I do have a few September adventures to write up and,
as of yesterday, two from October. Which
is a good thing as I am not sure I will have time to do much in that line while
in Indiana. However, I know I have one
day off and that will be spent at the Fornication Party being held in
Chicago. If all goes to plan, I will be
playing with some familiar porn names on next Sunday, once again. Keep your fingers crossed it all works out.
*
The first cock I ever sucked was my own. As I write this, I don’t know how I ever
thought to try. There certainly wasn’t
any kind of picture porn in the early 1970’s that I could get my hands on as an
adolescent. My dad did buy the first
edition of Oui magazine in 1972, the offshoot of Playboy, and there were two
naked men, not erect, in that issue. They
were the first I’d ever seen. I was
fascinated, finding it tucked under his bureau.
For I was on the lookout for sexual material that my
dad brought home, as I had found a fair amount as a kid and then more, as a
teen. David Reuben’s Everything You
Always Wanted to Know About Sex…was in his closet. I read the homosexual chapter and was
appalled. (Now I’m appalled at the mis-information
he spread in that chapter.)
But my dad had actual porn. Never pictures. He had novels. The first two I found, in a brown paper bag,
stashed in the barn, had luridly drawn covers of men and women getting ready to
jump into bed. The covers were barely pornographic,
published in the late 1960’s. And I was
too young to bother to read them—I just kept looking at the drawings. (I finally read one of them—and even at 13 I hated
that “His turgid member forced its way into her maidenly valley…” kind of writing.)
In the early 1970’s, the genre of books I managed to
find (under the front seat of his car, in the camper stored in the barn, in a wardrobe
down in our Michigan cellar) began to change.
They were bi-sexual. And I began
to read them. In another year, they were
gay—with covers that ripped off Tom of Finland in style. And now, at 13 or 14, I devoured those.
So likely, in one of those stories someone self-sucked. And I
wanted to try it.
I could not just sit there, lean over and
connect. Being really, really thin and
flexible got me close, but I couldn’t even lick the head.
I certainly tried rolling up on my back and pulling my ass/hips forward. Nope, not quite.
But going heels over my head, with my dick coming down at my open mouth, and with my head on a pillow—I could just get the glans into my mouth. I licked and licked.
It was reading one of his gay books, that gave me my first orgasm. I was sprawled on the couch on my stomach, fully clothed. My pelvis began grinding the cushion as I read -- and it happened. I was shocked. The feeling was overwhelming—I thought I’d given myself some sort of heart attack. I went right to Mr. Reuben and figured it out. It was a dry one—or the tiniest bit of wetness.
That changed fast.
Especially as I combined jerking until I was almost there, with rolling
up and over and finishing in my mouth. Easier
clean up, too—no holey sock needed to mop up the jizz.
I got out of the habit in high school. (I never touched another man until college.) Self-sucking was uncomfortable; even as bendy as I was,
it ground my vertebrae into my thin mattress.
I told my life partner all about this early on in our
30 years together. Of course he wanted
to see me do it. And at 21, I still
could. And suddenly he was eating my
exposed ass as I self-sucked. Bam! And it was suddenly back on the sexual menu
for a few more years…
And I never even attempted this one…
No comments:
Post a Comment