My Roommate Taught Me to Desire Him with My Mouth

I always considered myself an ordinary girl, or even less than that. In school and high school, no boy ever noticed me, and I took refuge in my room, inventing romances that were never going to happen. I was incredibly thin, almost without curves, and I had convinced myself that desire was something reserved for other girls.

Sex had never interested me. If a steamy scene appeared on television, I changed the channel. If my friends talked about boys, I invented any excuse to leave. The odd one, they called me. And they were right, though for reasons I had never told anyone.

At thirty, I left my village and moved to the capital to work painting nails in a small salon, from nine in the morning until midafternoon. It didn’t pay much, barely enough for a room in a shared apartment twenty minutes from the salon.

The apartment belonged to a very bad-tempered woman who, fortunately, almost never showed up. There were three bedrooms: one was always empty, and the other was occupied by Adrián, a guy my age who worked as a radiology technician at the hospital across the street. Our schedules fit together almost perfectly, so we ended up seeing each other at home every afternoon.

***

We cooked and ate together, and little by little those meals stretched into after-dinner conversations, then into dinners, and later into talks that went on until late at night. We became friends without realizing it. One afternoon he told me that he worked in obstetric radiology, spending his days looking at ultrasounds of pregnant women, and I remember the entire conversation because I blurted out without thinking:

—What a coincidence.

—Why is that a coincidence?

—Sorry, it’s just… —My face burned simply from beginning.

—Don’t worry. If you don’t want to tell me, that’s your right.

—I’ve had a problem down there since I was a child —I finally said—. A malformation that keeps the entrance practically closed. It hurts at the slightest touch. I’ve seen a thousand specialists.

Adrián set his cup down on the table and looked at me with a seriousness I hadn’t expected.

—I’m so sorry. It’s uncommon, and if it’s complete, the prognosis isn’t simple. Did they suggest surgery?

—Too risky, because of the way the tissues are. I accepted it years ago. Nothing can get in there, so I ruled out sex forever. —I laughed so I wouldn’t cry—. That’s why I never dared try anything with a guy. What do you tell someone you like when you know you’ll never be able to fuck him?

—You shouldn’t limit yourself like that —he replied gently—. There are other ways to enjoy yourself. There are mouths, hands, skin. You just need to find the right person.

The right person. I kept thinking about that sentence much longer than I should have.

***

They were the first nights of summer, and we slept with the window open and the shutter lowered. Both bedrooms faced the same inner courtyard. One night, as I passed his door on my way to the bathroom, I heard a muffled sound that stopped me dead. A deep moan, barely smothered against the pillow, and the rhythmic creaking of the bed frame. Just girlish curiosity, I told myself. I went over to my window, stretched up on tiptoe, and through three poorly closed slats I managed to see him.

Adrián was on the bed, naked, with the computer screen lit on a wheeled table. Two bodies moved on the screen: a woman on her knees swallowing a guy’s cock whole while he held her by the hair, her cheeks hollowed out, a strand of saliva hanging all the way down to her tits. There was no need to guess what he was watching. Below, in a slow, almost careful motion, Adrián was jerking off, sliding his fist up and down the full length of his dick, squeezing the tip when he reached the top and moving back down to the base with his hand closed around it.

It was enormous. Huge and thick, purple at the tip, shining with how wet he had made it. He worked it with obscene deliberation, as if measuring every caress, and with each pass of his fist his stomach tightened and a hoarse moan escaped him, one he tried to swallow. He spat into his palm and wrapped it around himself again, faster this time, and the wet smack of his hand on the soaked flesh reached me clearly through the gap.

I turned red, my whole face burning, and then for the first time in my life I felt that thing people had described to me so many times and I had never understood: arousal. A current ran down my belly, lodged between my legs, and left me breathless. My nipples hardened suddenly, so much that they hurt against the fabric of my nightdress. Without thinking, I slipped my hand between my legs, over my panties, and found myself soaked, as if I had wet myself. It had never happened before. Never.

I slipped my fingers beneath the elastic and began rubbing myself on the outside, in circles, very gently, because any greater pressure would have made me cry out in pain. I knew I would never feel what the others called an orgasm; my body had never allowed it. But that night I didn’t care. I watched Adrián stroking that enormous cock, and a warm, dull vibration rose from my navel to my throat. Across the courtyard he sped up, lifted his hand away from his body, spat again, and grabbed himself from the base, squeezing hard as if he wanted to wring it out. His balls tightened against his hand. The tip shone more and more.

For the first time I enjoyed myself, in my own way, trembling against the window frame and biting my lip so I wouldn’t make a sound. I imagined myself kneeling in front of him, with that dick in my face, and something inside me contracted in a deep, almost painful pulse.

Half an hour later I watched him come: his back arched, his head fell back, and thick white spurts leapt onto his belly and chest, one after another, four or five of them, until he was covered. A long, deep moan escaped him before he collapsed. He spent a while touching the tip with two fingers, coaxing out the last drops and smearing himself with them. Then he turned out the light. I didn’t sleep a wink. My panties were soaked, and I had an image burned into my mind that wasn’t going to let me go.

***

The next morning I got up early on purpose so I could run into him, and when I saw him come out of the bathroom with a towel around his waist, I confirmed that the image wasn’t going to leave me. My eyes drifted to the bulge showing beneath the terry cloth, and I had to turn my back so he wouldn’t see me blushing. I made him coffee and, almost without meaning to, began looking for excuses to stay close to him.

The following days became a strange, sweet routine. One afternoon he came home from work arguing on the phone, beside himself. When he hung up, I asked what was wrong, and he sank onto the armchair.

—My ex —he said—. She wanted to talk, and we ended up worse off. She cheated on me with several guys. She left me for a very specific reason, you know? She said I wasn’t enough for her. That she preferred… something else. Bigger cocks, she said. She got tired of mine.

—You don’t have to tell me if it hurts.

—It’s absurd. —He ran a hand through his hair—. We’re obsessed with measurements, with comparing ourselves. And in the end, the only thing that mattered to her was that, the centimeters. She made me feel inadequate for months.

I looked at him and saw, for the first time, that he too carried his own idea of not being enough. I had seen him the night before with that cock that had seemed enormous to me, and I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. Something settled inside me that night. We weren’t so different.

***

A week later, over dinner, the subject of my breasts came up. I joked about how flat I was, about the estrogen that had never fully developed me, and instead of feeling awkward, he became excited like a scientist.

—There’s an interesting line of research —he said—. They’ve been conducting studies for years on natural hormonal stimulation. Certain hormones that promote breast development are naturally concentrated in semen and absorbed through the walls of the stomach.

—Are you telling me that… swallowing cum would give me bigger tits? —I burst out laughing in disbelief.

—It’s only been measured in couples, of course. In pregnant women who took their partners’ semen orally. The ones who swallowed cum regularly gained a cup size, and kept it afterward. At least in most cases. —He shrugged, amused—. Science has some strange things in it.

—What a shame I don’t have a donor handy —I said, looking him straight in the eye, bolder than I had ever been—. Although, with everything else ruled out, it would be perfect for someone like me. Just suck and swallow, no complications.

A heavy silence fell. He swallowed. I watched his Adam’s apple move.

—I’m starting to look at you differently —he murmured.

—I love it —I replied, my heart pounding like a drum.

***

It took me days to gather the courage, but one night I told him outright: that I liked him, that with him I had felt desire for the first time, so why not try? Adrián lowered his eyes.

—There’s something I find hard to admit —he said at last—. I have my own issue too. A genetic condition: I produce too much semen. I need to release almost every day. If two or three days go by without me coming, the pain in my balls becomes unbearable; I end up vomiting because it hurts so much. That’s why my relationships always fail. At first everything goes well, but afterward I have to jerk off when the other person doesn’t want to fuck, and I’d rather be alone than feel like a burden.

I moved closer and took his face in my hands.

—Then we’re made for each other —I said—. You give me what I need, and I’ll give you what you need. I have a mouth, a tongue, and two hands, and I’ll put them at your service whenever you need me. I promise I’d never leave you with swollen balls. And I would never, ever cheat on you.

—Are you sure you won’t get bored? Only one way…

—I’m going to learn to suck you better than anyone. I swear.

Then he kissed me. He kissed me like a storm, my first kiss at thirty, his tongue pushing deep into my mouth, and my knees buckled. I had to hold on to his shoulders so I wouldn’t fall.

***

We reached the bed soon enough. We kept kissing as we clumsily undressed, and finally I saw him whole, naked, his hard cock pointing at me, much bigger and thicker up close than it had looked through the gap. To me it seemed enormous, though he insisted it wasn’t. It was so taut that it curved slightly upward, swollen veins running along it, the tip purple, a clear drop hanging from the glans. His loaded balls hung heavily between his legs.

Before we went any further, he asked permission to look at me “as a technician,” and opened my legs with infinite tenderness. He examined me closely, without lust, with the professional gaze he must have used so many times with a patient.

—It’s complete —he confirmed quietly, almost to himself—. Not even the tip of a finger could get in there. But let me try something.

He lowered himself, scattering kisses over my belly and groin, and when his tongue brushed my pussy I flinched. It wasn’t pleasure: it was unbearable, extremely uncomfortable tickling, as if I were being scratched from the inside. My body closed up, as it always did. He tried with touching patience, the tip of his tongue sliding very softly over my lips, searching for an angle that wouldn’t make me jump, but it was impossible. In the end he moved up, kissed my forehead, and smiled.

—Relax. We’ll invent our own way.

I kissed him again and felt him harden against my thigh, hot, pulsing, wetting my skin with the drop oozing from the tip. And I knew what I wanted to do.

—Guide me —I asked—. I’ve never done this.

—The only rule is that you enjoy yourself. As much as I do, if possible.

I slid slowly down his body, kissing his chest and belly until I was kneeling between his spread legs. It was right in front of my face, pointing at me, throbbing with his pulse. I grasped it at the base and felt it burning hot, much hotter than I’d imagined, so hard it seemed made of stone wrapped in silk. I brought it to my mouth, stuck out my tongue, and licked the drop shining on the tip. It tasted of metal, salt, and something alive. A shudder ran through his entire body.

Then I opened my mouth and took it in. My lips stretched around the glans, my tongue pressed against the underside, and the sensation of something so warm and taut filling my mouth completely undid me. I began as best I could—a disaster, I know that now—choking, accidentally biting him, without any rhythm, but he told me in a hoarse voice:

—Like that… slower, watch your teeth, cover them with your lips. That’s it. Hold it with your hand and move it at the same time. When you lower your mouth, move your fist up. As if it were one movement. Very good, yes, fuck, like that.

I did as he said. I closed my lips tightly around the shaft and began moving my head up and down while my hand did the same from the base, and soon we found a rhythm. Saliva began running down my chin and dripping over my hand, while deep moans escaped him and raised goose bumps all over my skin. I licked the tip, ran my tongue underneath it, following the thick vein that ran along its entire length, and he let out such a deep groan that I felt it vibrating inside my own mouth.

I thought of all the times my friends had talked about this, of the images I used to avoid, and I couldn’t believe it gave me such pleasure. My legs trembled from kneeling. My nipples had become so hard they hurt. Then I began to feel deep little pulses, far inside, in a place that had never awakened, as if something inside me were beating in the same rhythm as I sucked him.

—Those are micro-orgasms —he explained afterward, stroking my hair—. The pleasure you feel in your mouth travels down your spine and discharges inside you. For a girl like you, it’s the closest thing to coming.

I had never even kissed anyone, and I was already experiencing the biological substitute for an orgasm with a cock in my mouth. It was incredible. I never wanted it to end. I could taste his skin, feel his heat in my mouth, and my own heat burning through me. With my free hand I caressed his loaded balls, held them, and slowly rolled them in my palm, and he arched his hips, pushing himself deeper.

—Do you like it? —he asked, panting—. Do you like eating my cock?

—Like nothing in my life —I answered without taking it all the way out, speaking against the tip and spattering him with saliva—. I want more. I want all your milk.

—Fuck… —A muffled laugh escaped him—. Then I’m going to explain the important part. When you start sucking hard, don’t stop; keep the rhythm until I warn you. As soon as you feel me coming, slow down, hold the tip inside, and keep sucking very gently without pulling away. Swallow it all. I hate girls who pull away when it spurts. That isn’t desire, it’s gymnastics.

—I don’t know if I’ll remember all that —I said, dizzy with arousal.

—Just don’t choke —he smiled, placing his hand on the back of my neck.

I took it all the way in again, so deep that I felt the tip bump against my throat. I sucked hard, my cheeks hollowed, and began pumping with my mouth and fist at the same time, fast and without stopping. Adrián writhed on the bed, his hands tangled in my hair, guiding my rhythm with his hips. His balls contracted against my palm. His cock swelled even more, if that was possible, and a thick vein began throbbing against my tongue.

—I’m… I’m going to come, don’t stop, don’t stop, fuck…

And he came. He came inside my mouth in a powerful release, a hot jet filling it all at once, then another, and another. He filled me, overflowing, and I pulled back a little in surprise; one spurt splashed my lips and chin. I did none of what he had told me—it was a complete disaster. I swallowed with difficulty, coughing, cum hanging from the corners of my mouth and dripping onto my flat tits. He was still spilling in spasms, the tip throbbing against my lips.

But afterward we both laughed, embracing, sweaty and happy, with the sheets stained and my face sticky. It was my first time, and everything had to be learned.

The taste was unlike anything else. Thick and salty, with a bitter undertone that clung to my palate. At first it was difficult, both because of the flavor and the viscous texture sliding down my throat, but as the days passed I discovered that I loved it, just like the first bitter beer or the first sip of something strong that you eventually come to enjoy.

***

As the weeks passed, I learned to make love to him while we both enjoyed ourselves to the fullest. I learned to take him all the way without choking, to play with my tongue on his frenulum until I made him tremble, to suck his balls one at a time while jerking him off myself, to lick that thin cord running underneath him all the way to his ass, which he hadn’t even known drove him crazy. I learned to tell from the throbbing of his cock how close he was to coming, to slow down just before so I could draw it out, to bury it in my throat when I felt he couldn’t hold back any longer, and to swallow every drop without losing a single one.

I managed to make those pulses inside me grow more and more intense, deep waves that shook my entire belly whenever he came in my mouth, an insane pleasure I had never believed my body could give me. Some nights he made me suck him with my tits bare, and when he finished he came all over them, smearing them, and afterward I gathered the cum with my fingers and brought it to my mouth while he watched me. He stopped trying to lick me, because it didn’t work for me, and gave himself entirely to our way of doing things—the way we had invented together.

We’ve been together for four months now, and I’m deliriously happy. At last I enjoy sex and make my guy feel better than anyone ever has. Sometimes I think about that incredibly thin teenager shut away in her room, convinced that desire wasn’t meant for her, and I want to hug her and tell her she was wrong. That the right person exists. That sometimes he lives in the room next door, and all you have to do is look through the gap.