First Lick

I owe my entry into the pleasures of oral sex to an obscure piece of Victorian pornography. My fertile but stunningly inexperienced nineteen-year old mind was unsettled by reading the sexual autobiography of a 1880s era English aristocrat with a fondness (the term is inadequate) for womanly charms.

The book

My Secret Life

, the author employing the pen-name of "Walter," is described by bibliographer Patrick Kearney as "one of the strangest and most obsessive books ever written." My sophomore literature class, "Biography Through the Ages," had assigned this gem quite inexplicably.

We met twice a week to discuss this item, and the other more mundane works listed on the syllabus, in a dark, airless basement classroom. I was one of only four males in the room, including the instructor, and always wondered what the females, some of whom possessed rather strident feminist perspectives, made of it all. Ostensibly the goal was for us to sample the "flavor" of late Victorian London street culture. "Flavor" we got.

I made sure my copy did not come home with me over winter break. If my parents had discovered it, my spell at college surely would have come to an early end. "Filth!" my father would have thundered. "Trash! Obscene! Why are we spending good money on you to go to college to read this sort of thing!"

A visiting friend from down the dorm hallway, recognizing it on my nightstand one October night, picked it up, turned to his companion and said, "I dare you to open a page of this book and not find a description of fucking, or some mention of 'cock' or 'cunt' in there somewhere." His sweetie, luckily not a prudish type, after several minutes of page turning, eyes growing wider with each paragraph, found it impossible to disagree.

Among other things, I was struck by the quaintness of the manuscript, even though I had read some other Victorian literature. What "Walter" understood about sex, despite hundreds of experiences with different women, was startlingly uneven -- vastly detailed in some areas but just plain wrong in others. For example, he thought that women ejaculated in their orgasms like men, just producing a different kind of sexual fluid and far less. Pregnancy could not occur unless both partners had climaxed.

The descriptions and terminology were fascinating. "Cock" and "cunt" were ubiquitous of course, but nouns like "pego" and "quim" lay scattered about the pages. (This last term proved immensely valuable to the relationship I was forging with my new girlfriend Marla. To my dismay, she detested the word "cunt," calling it "a vile and despicable word." She was agreeable, even slightly intrigued, when I adopted the anachronistic word "quim" for her nether parts, and this saved me a good deal of aggravation.)

Prostitutes were "gay" women. Women didn't wear knickers, so getting a dress up out of the way was all that kept a randy Londoner male with a stout erection from a good "poke."

And then "Walter" started describing gay French women. How much more experimental and playful they were in Paris compared to their English counterparts. The Parisian whores would routinely lick a man's penis ("minette") and regularly expected customers to lick them (the entirely unwieldy French slang word "gamahuche.") I salivated over these descriptions.

Here are a few random passages:

That fetched her. "Oh! I'm coming,--oh! it's a coming," she gasped, and laid her head over my shoulder. I felt her bum and belly wagging, and a perfect torrent of cunt-liquor ran down on to my balls. I had not long began my fuck, so was slower than with the first woman, and had fetched her a second time before I had finished her standing up against the railings.

- - - - - -

What enticed, and incited me I don't know, I never shall know why dozens of women I have had I never have done it to [licked their cunts], but I was taken with the feeling now. I looked, fingered, titillated, kissed it, out went my tongue; it played lightly over the clitoris, then baudy frenzy seized me, and I licked and sucked her cunt. She wriggled, scarce knowing what I was about, when pushing my head away she cried out, "oh! mon Dieu, ah! quelle bete! aho!"

I had never done it willingly but to Martha, now the letch seized me furiously, every day afterwards I had my mouth to her, and when I was so fucked out, that I could come no more, would lay and lick her till she was worn out too with spending.

- - - - - -

(I should so like to experience the feeling a woman has as she sits and talks with her cunt full of sperm, does it feel so very pleasant sitting so?)

I need hardly mention that this was powerful stuff for me at that time. Now with the internet you can read it online with a search for

My Secret Life.

I kept this increasingly well-thumbed book next to my bed and naturally read far beyond the passages assigned. Marla, my first real love, was attending college in the next town over, far enough away that we usually only got together on the weekends. My poor starved penis had to endure a five-day separation during the week, and I often couldn't make it.

My Secret Life

was an aid, a salve, a lust-extending catalyst, an eye-opener.

It wasn't that I was unaware of the idea of oral sex, my upbringing was small town but not that sheltered. But my own pre-college sexual forays had been tentative and my girlfriends less than daring.

Marla and I were still quite new to each other, only a few months together as a couple, and our weekend time represented that lovely, new-partner exploration stage that is so entrancing. We were discovering sex together. She was Catholic, had made it clear early on that copulating was morally out of the question, but that didn't stop me from hoping that as our time together lengthened her thoughts might alter.

I am fairly short, five-foot-five, and Marla was two inches taller than me. She had lustrous, long dark hair that made a thick, wrist-size rope when she braided it down her back. Kind brown eyes, a serene demeanor. Slender sweet legs, creamy skin, yet of course she was quite unaware of how handsome she was, how young and fresh she looked.

Her chest was almost completely flat. In fact, my own pectorals, honed by hours of bench-press work at the gym and previous years as a wrestler, were larger and more pronouncedly round than hers. Everyone laughed about this incongruity, but I knew it bugged Marla. It didn't matter to me, I got to stroke her marvelous thick hard nipples and delight in feeling the smooth surface of her breasts anytime I was able to coax her out of her shirt.

We hadn't gotten very far along the love-making trajectory. I had learned to please her with my finger (I insisted there was nothing in the Bible that prohibited that) and she would sometimes masturbate me with her hands. More often, it was just me humping against her thigh while I kissed her madly while fondling her breasts and fingering her. Sometimes I straddled her chest while I pushed my penis along her shallow furrow, or even just along the outside of her well-furred channel, but not in it.

It was better than no loving at all -- any orgasm, however it is generated, is always better than none, and all this was accomplished with an eager lover -- but ultimately it was scarcely satisfying. I cursed friends who had more adventurous sexual partners and pondered why I couldn't find better ways of advancing my own lusts. Would I remain a virgin forever? How come everyone else at college was fucking away madly?

But then this book came along. The author, purportedly a wealthy gentleman, possessed all the bottled up lechery generated during an extremely repressed period of British history, and was a regular Don Juan. He paid prostitutes, solicited all sorts of loose woman, chatted up stray wenches off the street, seduced servants, and had all manner of lascivious pleasures.

But it was his descriptions of oral sex, both giving and receiving, that captured me most of all, sentencing my penis to a perpetually erect state, fueling my arousal to a white-hot intensity.

So one Friday night in bed, fierce with desire, after getting Marla good and worked up with my fingers, her quim slippery, swollen and excited, I nestled my way down between her thighs, the infernal book inciting me to action.

Her smell was intoxicating. Deep forest-floor loam, damp, fertile and clinging. My nose closer to a quim than ever before. I wished the bedside light was on for a better look, but Marla never liked much exposure during our clumsy, amorous thrashings.

My mouth hovered a few inches away from her entry. Her soft groin hair felt smooth in my hand as I stroked her mound.

Unsure of the reaction I would get, I extended my tongue and ran it up and down her lips, ever so lightly. A little shudder rippled through Marla's slender frame. Emboldened, I continued to explore, delighting when I hit a good spot and her hips began to quiver. I had already gotten her quite aroused before my tongue had even come into play.

Little teasing licks I gave, her taste and smell like red flags in front of a bull for me. My penis was uncomfortably erect, pressing into the mattress. I kept on, keenly attentive to the feedback Marla's body offered me.

I knew the topology of her quim by touch from my hands, but it was entirely different to explore by mouth and tongue. Valleys, folds of skin, the main juicy channel, all oily wet and aromatic. Lips that parted, an entry that opened and twitched while my tongue slithered up it. The feel of her tickling groin hair against my nose. Her strong, earthy taste and smell. All up close and immediate.

The sensation my tongue-tip provided her clitoris, strangely pearl-like in texture, proved far more intense than anything my fingers ever had been able to do. I played it gently, even sucked it lightly, as her hips squirmed gratifyingly underneath me.

Then, really before I was ready, before I wished, she started breathing heavily and pushed her quim strongly into my face. I licked, she kept pushing rhythmically, increasing in violence, her mouth making energetic noises above. My tongue, while it had explored up her channel a little, was not inside when she exploded. Still, the contractions from her groin were sudden and stunningly powerful.

I licked slowly, gently, as the wave subsided. Then, a bit reluctantly, I left off, her taste in my mouth, hoping for my own pleasure, my penis grown stiff and unbearably hard while I had worked Marla.

Marla's kisses and embrace were intense. She fingered my penis to a splendid climax, my arousal so elevated it did not take long.

The next night was a repeat, better even than the first. I had been thinking all day about how I would pleasure her, the things I would do that I hadn't tried the first time. Again a powerful climax from her. And no complaints were voiced, our new discovery an unspoken, deliciously shared secret.

During the next week I wandered about in a daze, between classes and on walks around campus, with my mind fixated on Marla's quim, her taste, her smell, what I would do to her the next time we got together. No drug in the world is more powerful than the early stages of love.

I had hoped, eventually, for reciprocation, but hadn't the faintest idea about how to broach the topic. I am dumbfounded at my hesitancy looking back. Neither of us were very good about asking for something we wanted or talking about close personal matters. We were quiet types and mostly were just careful to pay attention to each other, divining what our partner wanted by subtle, non-verbal cues.

Finally one Friday night, after several weekends of quim-licking, to my great pleasure and unexpressed hope, while we were busy kissing, Marla abruptly left off and moved down my body.

Her tongue and lips worked her way down me. Little nibbles to my chest, my flanks, my hips. I held my breath.

A pause, then a tongue to my penis. I inhaled deeply. I felt as if at the gates of heaven. She quite tentatively licked her way along my shaft, around my cock-head. My legs were rigid, the built-up tension in my body of astounding intensity. It was all of five minutes, perhaps not even that, but every dainty lick, every wet tongue touch, every movement she made kept me at the edge of the cliff. Her lips slid over the head of my cock. I was in her mouth.

I had no idea that a penis could be offered such pleasure. Every experience before this night paled. Wet, warm, soft, affectionate lips and tongue, gliding up and down my penis. It was a red carpet unrolled for me with buckets of chilled champagne bottles set alongside the path.

I did not dare think that she would continue licking me to climax, that would have exceeded all dreams. I knew instinctively she would not want my sperm in her mouth. She eased her way back up alongside me as she sensed my upcoming inevitability. We kissed and cuddled, my gratitude intense, her fingers running lightly along my saliva-slicked penis, wetted further with my own seeping fluids. Too close for comfort myself, I elected to slide down her own body this time and brought her quickly to a shuddering climax.

After a lengthy embrace together, side by side, she responded by licking me again, followed by a lovely finger-job on my aching pent-up cock. I exploded all over us, dousing her hands, her chest, myself, with far more semen than I had ever previously produced.

We were hooked.

It was only after some weeks of indulging our new-found practices that we finally talked about it.

One night before bed she asked why I had suddenly decided to lick her. She peered at me closely. I confessed that the damn book had done it. What book? I hadn't mentioned it. My face grew red. Could she see this book? Her eyes grew wide as she read, she looked at me uneasily. This is for a class? Why? Is this all a true account? We discussed it at length and she came to enjoy perusing it at times, occasionally as foreplay for our upcoming evening.

But the most important thing had occurred, we had discovered that when mouths and tongues are applied to genitals, some of the most intoxicating connections between man and woman became possible.

We learned all sorts of things. Although I best liked seeing her hair loose about her head, spread out over the pillows, if she would be sucking me it was more convenient to have it back in a ponytail or braid. I needed to be a little restrained with hip movements or hard erect things would get rather too vigorously poked into the back of her throat. That a penis could get sucked (on the sly) outdoors sometimes, behind a tree or sheltered by a sand dune, but that it took more privacy for a quim to be attended to. I discovered which of my teeth were most apt to snag a stray pubic hair from her thick, unbridled groin thicket.

I was over at her place one night, at her college in the next town, when her roommate was away for the weekend. (Normally she came to my place, since I had a single room and didn't have to do the roommate-dance business.) We were visiting a dorm friend of hers with her boyfriend down the hall, sharing beer and wine and snacks.

Randy was a tall, skinny Boston tough, quick-witted and street smart, although college material only by the most optimistic reckoning. Barb was small, red-headed, lively in tight jeans and a loose white peasant blouse with braless breasts moving about enticingly underneath. We talked all over the map until it was time to retreat to Marla's room.

As we undressed and got into bed, I found Marla more talkative than usual.

"So, do you like having your penis licked?"

What kind of trick question was this? The real answer was "Of course! I wish you could do it all day long! And take my sperm in your mouth!" but I was wary and too shy to answer quite so literally.

I indicated my great pleasure with her lingual attentions, praised her delicate mouth work, the fond tingling sensations she produced.

"Barb says her Randy absolutely loves getting his cock sucked. His favorite thing in the world."

I was astonished. This was new on many fronts. It meant Marla was talking sex with her friends. "Why shouldn't she?" I thought, but it had never occurred to me that this sort of private information would get tossed about among her acquaintances. So Barb probably knew all about my penis. But I was also intrigued to know that Barb was happily sucking Randy's cock too.

From then on, I could never see either Barb or Randy, especially together, without picturing them with their clothes off, his cock pushing in and out of her mouth while she worked him. It made for uncomfortable conversation at times with them, while we chatted about classes or football or movies while my imagination ran wild.

There was one amazing weekend when Marla and I stayed at her parent's place on the south shore. They were away for several days and knew that Marla would be there Saturday and Sunday to keep track of things, but not that I would be along for the ride. We slept in her own bed, feeling quite illicit about it all, and licked each other to several orgasms under the covers Saturday night. By this time I had learned that if I kept my mouth clamped on Marla after she came and continued to lick gently, I often could coax another climax out of her, sometimes two or three in a row. Lucky girl.

We slept late the next morning. Marla got up first and went to the loo. I sat by the side of the bed and lay in wait for her. As she came by me to gather her clothes, I suddenly grabbed her hips and pulled her into me. I nuzzled at her quim, right at face level, and began licking her. I forced her back against the wall and right then and there on my knees gave her a surprise, quick, intense climax. She cradled my head in her hands, threw her own head back against the wall and moaned a long breathless pleasure to the rest of her room, the one she grew up in.

The zenith of our lovemaking, intensity-wise, was discovering the sixty-nine position. We tried a few different ways and found that it was best when she was on top of me, my penis standing up and easy for her to take into her mouth, however deeply she wished. Or she could just lick or play me with her hands while I sent my own tongue up her channel. I loved how fiercely she would smash her quim down into my mouth while she was coming, her hips curling into me. My hands on her ass-cheeks could sense the violence and pleasure of her climax, my whole body feeling her tension release from stem to stern.

When close to my own end, I would disengage my penis from her mouth and hump it along her chest above me, while she rubbed my testicles. I would discharge my slippery sperm into the crevices between our overheated bodies, so that we slid together like two greased surfaces. It felt marvelous to have her body on top of me, warm and tight, while I erupted between us, at the same time that my face was still buried in her quim. Clean-up afterwards was often an amusing if haphazard activity, and then we slept like the dead, arms around each other, reeking of sweat, sperm and quim.

We stayed an item for over two years. I was sorry when she decided to move on from me. We taught each other all manner things relating to the give-and-take of pleasure, and while neither of our virginities were lost to each other, we did just about everything short of the Great Penetration. She was an endearingly sweet girl, but I still have to credit an assist to our lovemaking -- that singularly arousing book,

My Secret Life

.