The Afternoon I Discovered My Taste for Oral

Thanks for all the lovely messages you left me about the previous stories. Several of you asked me the same thing: whether what I tell you really happened to me or whether I make it up. I’m not going to answer that. I’d rather leave you with the doubt, which is where the fun is. But I will confess something else to you, something more intimate, something I almost never tell.

I’m going to explain how I discovered that I loved using my mouth. And I say “discovered” seriously, because I wasn’t born knowing it. I was taught. I owe it to two very different men, and from each one I learned something that still stays with me. This time I’m talking about the first. The second one can wait for another day.

The first was my boyfriend at the time. Let’s call him Bruno.

***

Back then I had just turned twenty and was in my first year at university. I’d known Bruno for a long time, from the neighborhood, but that year we ended up in the same classes and everything sped up. We had this strange kind of closeness, the kind you can’t really explain: we laughed at anything, we told each other what we liked with no filters, no shame. And that, believe me, is what really makes sex work.

We met up almost every week at his place, with studying as the excuse. Sometimes we studied. Most of the time, not so much. When his mother was around, we’d lock ourselves in his room and behave almost well, between laughter and hands forced to stay still. But on the days she wasn’t there, the books never even opened.

With Bruno I also started discovering how much I liked doing it in places where we could get caught. He was really into that game, that adrenaline rush of doing it in secret, and it rubbed off on me before I even noticed. But I already talked about that in other stories. That afternoon was different, calmer, more ours, and yet it’s the one I remember best.

I’ve always been the kind who enjoys watching the other person come apart with pleasure. And with oral sex I found my perfect place, because I can look at his face, feel how his breathing changes, notice every movement, hear those sounds that slip out of him without meaning to. There’s something powerful in that, in knowing that the person in front of you depends entirely on what you decide to do in the next second. No one ever complained to me, so I must be doing something right.

That particular afternoon, his mother wasn’t home. We knew it as soon as I crossed the door, by the way he looked at me. We went straight to his room, he locked the door, and we started kissing standing up, unhurried but without pause.

His hands ran all over me, from my shoulders to my waist, stopping where he knew I melted. While we kissed, my tongue played with his, sometimes slowly, sometimes hungrily. My hands didn’t stay still either: I touched his arms, his chest, his back, and above all I loved feeling desire start to show on him just from kissing.

He began undressing me with that lovely clumsiness that comes from wanting it too much. He left my T-shirt up over my eyes, blocking my view, and unclasped my bra. With his hands and his mouth he explored my chest, slowly, and I could already feel my head starting to spin.

“At this rate I won’t be able to take it and I’ll do you with your clothes on,” he murmured against my skin.

“Didn’t you say you wanted to try something new today?” I answered, half laughing, half sighing.

“I know. But you really turn me on, Marina,” he said, without stopping kissing me. “It makes me want to let go and just go for it.”

“Like that afternoon in the parking lot?” I reminded him, pressing closer to him. “We can do that again tomorrow. Today was supposed to be your surprise.”

He thought about it for a second, and you could tell that the idea of that other time appealed to him too. But curiosity won out.

“You’re right,” he said. “We’ll leave it for another day. Besides, I did want to try this.”

***

He finished taking off my T-shirt and threw it on the floor. He looked me over, biting his lip, as if he regretted not having given in sooner. He grabbed my pants and underwear at the same time and pulled them down in one decisive motion. Then he lifted me by the waist, kissed me, and before I even realized it we were both on the bed.

He took off his shirt and settled me on top of him. While one hand kept stroking my back, he brought his mouth to my ear, kissed me just below it, and said it to me softly, in that tone that unraveled me.

“Down.”

We exchanged a look that needed no words. I started lowering myself slowly, leaving a trail of kisses over his chest, his stomach, stopping wherever I knew his whole body would react faster. I wasn’t in any rush. I liked the journey as much as the destination.

I kissed him over his clothes, feeling how he responded to every touch. When I finally freed him, I did it taking my time, looking him in the eyes. I stuck out my tongue and started slowly, running it over him, while with one hand I helped him along without ever stopping touching him. He breathed deeply, letting out little sounds that told me I was on the right track.

I took him into my mouth little by little, enjoying the moment more than anything else. I was so turned on I felt like the game had turned into hunger. My head moved up and down in its own rhythm, and he rested his hand in my hair, not pushing, just leaving it there, like someone keeping pace beside you.

During a pause, while I kept using my hand, I looked up.

“And that new thing you wanted to try?” I asked, genuinely curious.

“I can’t tell you,” he answered with a naughty smile. “It’s a surprise. You just keep going.”

I went back to what I was doing, which by then had become my favorite place that afternoon. It was a good while, long and unhurried. I tried everything: sometimes slow, sometimes more intense, letting him know with my eyes how much I was enjoying myself. This wasn’t a chore. It was something I really liked, and he could tell.

I loved the weight of the situation, the warmth of his skin, the way his breathing cut off whenever I changed the rhythm. Every so often I’d stop for a second to look at his face, to watch that mix of pleasure and impatience playing across it, and then I’d go back. It was like a game in which I was in charge, and he let me lead him with delight.

***

At some point I felt his hand change. He wasn’t pushing, but he wasn’t letting me pull away either. He kept me right there. I heard him moan a little louder, felt his whole body tense, and then it happened.

A sudden, thick warmth filled my mouth. I felt it hit the roof of my mouth, my tongue, without warning. It was the first time someone had finished in my mouth. I knew the taste from before, from other times, but never like that, never all at once and all the way through.

And there I was, eyes wide with surprise, not quite sure what to do. The funny thing is that instead of scaring me, something in me lit up even more. I couldn’t help teasing a little before lifting my head. I let him go with my mouth closed and looked him in the eyes.

“Mmm, that was so good...” he said, breathless. “Don’t look at me like that. That was the surprise. I wanted to finish in your mouth without warning you, to see how you’d react. And I loved your face. That, and... let’s see if you’ll dare to swallow it. Tell me what you think.”

At that point, I was too turned on to think much. So I did it. I swallowed as much as I could in one go and then finished it off with my tongue, slowly, never taking my eyes off him.

“Well? How was it?” he asked, with a mix of nerves and pride.

“Honestly?” I said, my heart still racing. “Not bad at all. Much better than I expected. I could get used to this.” I paused and added, “Though you’re pretty shameless for not warning me.”

“You’re amazing, Marina,” he replied, laughing. “I like you more every time. Don’t worry, I doubt I’ll warn you next time either.” He winked at me. “And we still have the afternoon ahead of us. Now it’s my turn.”

***

The story ends there, although I confess Bruno and I kept going for quite a while longer, and I’m keeping that part to myself. What I wanted to tell you was exactly that: the first time I swallowed and the strange, hot feeling of discovering something new about myself.

Because that was what happened, in the end. It wasn’t just an act. It was realizing that there was a part of me I hadn’t known, one that enjoyed that surrender, that closeness, seeing the other person lose control over something I gave them. I took to it quickly. And over time that liking grew, sharpened, became something else. But that, truly, is material for another story.

As I said at the start, the second one was taught to me by a very different man, older than me, with a different kind of patience and different tricks. From him I learned something that with Bruno had never even crossed my mind. But that’s another story, and I owe it to another afternoon.

I hope you enjoyed this confession. Until next time.