more often! It was quite distracting, at restaurants, or at my summer job, constantly wondering how the guys I was interacting with would feel in my mouth. But I didn't
do
anything about that till the next term, when I found Paul.
Paul?
It started in the very first week of term - we'd found him wandering campus, quite intoxicated, during Frosh Week. For a couple of years my friends and I had made a habit of seeing to it that drunk frosh got safely back to their rooms, mostly the girls, but sometimes guys. Paul was one of those, and we took him back to his residence. That was it, then, but he was pretty cute, and I couldn't help but think that he looked, well,
tasty
, and the thought of what I
could
do if I chose kept coming into my mind. A couple of days later I happened to be passing his residence on the way home from class, so I went in the building, and there he was in his room. He recognised me, which I was not expecting, and he was pretty sheepish about the whole thing, very embarrassed, which just made him all the more adorable. It was when he called me his "guardian angel" that I decided this was definitely happening!
So this is where we get to number two of thirty-six?
Well...yes. I asked him how he was feeling now, and he said "pretty good" and I said "let's try for very good, shall we", which just made him look confused - until I stepped inside his room and shut the door. I could see his mind racing, probably thinking that he hoped he knew what I meant but couldn't believe it! I walked across the room to him, and as he started to stand up I just said "nuh-uh-uh!" and put a hand on his chest, and he sat back down, his face still a combination of doubt and hope. I didn't see his face a whole lot after that, because I knelt between his legs and started undoing his jeans - his zipper was already straining because of his erection. I pulled his jeans and underwear down a little, freeing him up, then I looked back up at him and he just looked wonderstruck - I felt immensely powerful! And then I smiled, leaned down, and enveloped about half his erection in my mouth all at once.
Hnn!!
Yes, that was more or less what he said. And you know, although I hadn't decided for sure that I was going to do it, I had given quite a lot of thought to what I'd say
if
I did it. So I said - I still remember this, it was so much fun - I said "you know, I have - *sshlup shlupp* - a rule for - *sshlup shlupp* - situations like this" and then I started really trying to make him ejaculate, which hardly took any time, and when he seemed just about to, I pulled my mouth off, looked up at him, and said "I only swallow someone's cum if I know his name". He practically yelled "PAUL! It's Paul!" and I plunged my mouth back down and seconds later I had a
very
big mouthful to deal with. And so of course I looked up at him, and smiled - and I swallowed. Because he had told me his name.
Fuck! Did you actually have that rule?
Ha! Well, it was consistent with all the data points until then, since I knew the names of my two boyfriends and Jacobi. Now, I know you're probably thinking of that as very slatternly, but what I felt - what I still feel - is that it reflected me as an empowered sexual agent. I was only a couple of years older than him, but that made me feel sophisticated and worldly. It felt, in some way, like a first time. His was the fourth penis I had had in my mouth, had had finish in my mouth, but it
felt
like a first time. So I felt like I was glowing as I stood up, smiled at him, said "nice seeing you again, Paul" - and left. It was an almost-perfect experience, really, I have only the tiniest small regret about it, once of those "l'esprit de l'escalier" moments.
And what was that?
It didn't even occur to me at the time that he still didn't know
my
name. Actually, that just made it better for me. When he did realise that, the second or third time, I made a joke of refusing to tell him, and even though he eventually did find out, I still pretended never to acknowledge that he was right. Later - much too much later - it occurred to me that it would have been just perfect if, that first time, he had asked my name as I was leaving, and I had turned at the doorway and said "you can call me angel". That would have been
so
good, don't you think?
I see that, yes, but I admit I was more intrigued by your casual mention of the "second or third time". You sucked him off more than once, obviously.
Oh my gods,
so
many times! I was so excited by the experience I wanted to go back later that night, and the next day, and the day after! But I made myself wait - two weeks I think it was, because it was after class again, walking past his residence, and luckily he was there alone in his room again, and his face lit up. I just put my finger to my lips, shut his door, and other than the dialogue it was a repeat of the first time, swoop in, have him, leave. I really wanted to be this phantasm that would just appear from time to time to swallow his semen and then disappear.
Hnn!
Are you sure you are writing all this down in the comments section? You sound preoccupied. In any event, my visits became a regular thing. I still had
some
inhibitions, after all, but also the same fantasies, and with Paul there was no risk. Dropping in after class every week just became part of my routine, and of course he came to know when I was going to show up. Much as I wanted to be entirely mysterious, it became impossible, especially after he started lasting longer, not to engage in
some
conversation. He turned out to be a fine arts student - he gave me that sketch of a bird I have on the shelf near my desk, I still smile to myself sometimes looking at it. Still, I did my best to keep some mystique, to remain an apparition that appeared to satisfy herself, and him, and then disappear.
So how did you end up sucking thirty-six cocks? Worked your way through his dorm? Had him invite friends over? Put a sign-up sheet on his door?
No, no, of course not. As empowered as I felt, we live in a Madonna and whore society, and I certainly wasn't looking to be seen as the girl giving out free blowjobs. I never explicitly asked Paul to keep it quiet, and I'm sure the guys in his dorm must have noticed me and realised more or less what was going on - it went on all year, after all - but I wasn't advertising the fact. But weeks of having fun with Paul did not make me
stop
fantasizing about going down on various guys that I met - if anything it made me fantasize more. Still, I didn't have a plan. The next one just kind of happened, but I guess then that became a plan.
A plan that led to you sucking off thirty-four other guys? Apparently there are thirty-four more, since you've only mentioned two so far.
Oh good, you are keeping accurate notes - but remember that's an approximate number. Not that I'm going to tell you about all the others individually - I couldn't if I wanted to. Fortunately they fall into a couple of particular patterns, so I can give you a sense of them. I don't recall the next guy's name, to be honest -
Does that mean you didn't swallow his cum?
Ha! Very funny. As far as names go, my stated rule turned out to be an early correlation in the data which was not entirely borne out on further experimentation. Well, no, that might not be true. I expect all of them
told
me their names, I just don't remember them now. I'm sure I must have known the next fellow's name at the time, for instance.
It is important to keep some standards.
Aren't you just supposed to be asking questions, not passing judgment? I was at a party, and about a half a dozen of us ended up sitting on the back deck talking. Let's call him "party-guy" - party-guy and I ended up being the last two out there, and he seemed like a nice guy, and, well, I'd been fantasizing for weeks, and it just seemed like an opportunity I shouldn't pass up. We were sitting on the stairs, and I moved over to lean against his legs. It didn't take terribly long from there - he started stroking my hair, I said how nice that felt and stroked his leg, he said how nice
that
felt, and it was a pretty natural progression, in only a little bit of time, for my hand to slide further up his leg and into his pants, to pull out his cock, and to put it in my mouth. He lasted longer than Paul had, but after a bit of very pleasurable time with hands, lips and tongue, I tasted my fifth different sample of sperm. I loved it! He did ask for my number, but I just told him we were bound to run into one another again.
You should have said "call me angel".
Ha! That hadn't occurred to me by then - but it wouldn't have been nearly so apropos in any case. Still, my experience with party-guy became a model for me, as I realised that I could probably do pretty much the same thing again. It was a university town, there were lots of parties and dances, and after party-guy I decided I wanted to suck
as many
cocks as possible. I was still concerned, though, about not being known as, well, "blowjob girl". I didn't want people talking about me, I didn't want a reputation, most of all I didn't want anyone
expecting
anything. I just wanted - I know this sounds fanciful - I just wanted to be a mysterious figure who swooped into their lives, gave them some delight, and then magically vanished, you know, the whole phantasm thing. It was
so
much fun to take guys by surprise.
And that worked, I take it?
Well, I couldn't just say "hello, would you care to be fellated", but a
lot
of guys were pretty oblivious to hints. Things became easier when I realised that any time a guy said "do you want to see the balcony" or "the roof" or "the backyard" or "my gaming system", or anything like that, somewhere in his mind was the thought "I might have sex". So mostly I just had to find someone who didn't seem like a jerk and wait till that happened. Either that, or go somewhere semi-private with a small group and hope that I ended up being the last one there, like with party-guy. If I did end up alone with someone, well, then the real threshold seemed to be a kiss - if we managed to be kissing, I could make it a pretty smooth transition to putting my lips around his cock. Mostly me on my knees as he leaned against a wall or tree, but sometimes me nestled between his legs as he was sitting on a chair or the steps of a building or whatever, if that visual is of any help to you,.
