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I used to practice with my favorite dildo. Lying in the dark, first I'd get a good buzz on, then I'd slowly reach a hand across the mattress to where I knew it lay, but in my mind, it wasn't a dildo. It was a guy I just happened to be lying alongside, who'd shown no interest as far as I could tell. But then my hand brushed warm hardness, and my internal monolog would break into a giggle.
"What's that?" I'd ask, all innocence and sunshine.
"What do you think it is?" He'd reply, and I'd throw out a few possibilities as my fingers explored my discovery. "Your elbow? Your knee?" Then my fist would close around it and I'd laugh. "I don't know. Give me a clue."
"I will if you close your eyes."
So I did, and alone in the darkness, I'd raise the toy and very, very slowly, start bringing it towards my mouth. Which is easier to contemplate than it is to actually do. Even with my lips parted in anticipation, or my tongue flicking in search of contact, I was more likely to feel the thing brushing my nose, or pressing against my chin, than anything else.
But that was all part of the fun, because my hand would grasp it and guide it to my mouth and, for long ecstatic moments, I would lick and kiss and nibble the tip, or let my lips slip over it to suck just a little. Pause to whisper my excitement and listen as he echoed back his. And then I'd start to push it in.
It's amazing just how realistic that thing was. Perfectly in scale, exquisitely moulded... one night, with my tongue sweeping under the ridge beneath his cock head, I stopped to nibble him there. Another night, I drilled on the delta at the back. And other times, most of the time, I just thrust him deep inside my mouth and fucked my face as hard as I could, while my fingers twisted my clit to a climax, or dug my nails into my nipples, as though they were sharp teeth.
Then a final push and I'd freeze and gulp, swallow the come that my mind could almost taste, before taking him out for more licks and whispers. And that's not only how I learned to suck cock. It's how I kill those lonely nights during the droughts between fresh conquests.
Because they are droughts and, when you're not conventionally pretty... which I most definitely am not... they can go on for a while. It's hard to admit, even to myself, but women my size (and, I confess, with my sense of style and very visible taste in music) usually end up with just two types of guy.
Either they're so desperate for a fuck that they don't care what you look like... and yes, I've had my share of those, because I feel exactly the same. Or they're the ones you just know spend their empty nights searching "fat goth chick sucks cock" on their favorite porn site, while jerking their cocks to a standstill. And I've had a few of those as well.
Tommy was different. I met him a few years ago... well, I say "met"; in truth, he commented upon a remark I'd made on what was, until it suddenly vanished, my own favorite internet hang-out, the very accurately titled SexFail.com. Because that's what it catered to - people who'd just had the worst sex of their lives (or at least their week, judging by the regularity with which certain contributors popped up), and who wanted to tell the world about it.
Some of them even had video evidence, and that's what I really enjoyed, just one blooper reel after another, of cocks falling flat in the middle of a fuck; faces contorted by the sudden taste of come in their mouth; an involuntary piss interrupting a nice round of pussy licking; and some positively grisly gag reflex moments. And so much more.
Thankful that my one appearance in a sex video, back when I was at college, went off without a hitch, I had no compunction in joining in the general merriment surrounding such things, and didn't really pay attention to the number of "likes" my comments received until one of the ... I suppose you'd call them "likers"... private messaged me through the site.
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