by Meghan Quinn
“You can touch.”
There were moments in your life where you wished you could have an out-of-body experience and see everything you were going through from above. This was one of those moments. I was slightly drunk, but I knew what was happening was odd, not normal, not something I’d read in one of my romance novels.
Usually, when the man and woman began their sexual encounter, it was more romantic, more smooth, more hot and heavy but right now, I felt like I was conducting a science experience. The things I do for research. Delaney will be proud of me.
Going with the flow, I straddled his legs and leaned forward so I could inspect his penis a little closer. If he thought what I was doing was weird, then I would blame it on the booze, but from the way he stroked himself and continued to grow, he didn’t care what I was doing.
“Rosie, the way you look at me, it’s too much . . . and your cleavage . . . it’s just spectacular.”
I looked down and saw I was giving him a great view of the ladies and frankly, I didn’t care.
I lowered my head even farther and surprisingly, licked him. I’d been going for the side of his penis but missed and licked his leg. Damn margarita.
His chest heaved from the one lick. What possessed me to do so, I would never know, but I liked the way he reacted, so I licked him again but on the other leg, like I was trying to lick an ice cream cone.
“Oh bonita, you tease me.”
Was I teasing him? I wasn’t quite sure. I thought about taking him in my mouth, but his hand was still wrapped around his cock, mostly at the head, so I decided to work the base of his penis but was stopped by his hand that was now pumping harder. I stuck my tongue out again and licked his leg once more since that was my go-to licking spot, but this time, he moaned out loud and got more comfortable on the bed.
Well if anything, I was good at licking legs, something to put on the old sexual résumé.
Rosie Bloom: still had a brand new hymen but could lick a man’s leg like it was her job.
Energy filled me and a new sense of purpose ran through my mind as I eyed his entire “muse.” I was going to do this. I was going to get down and dirty. Since his stick was occupied, I decided to lick his balls.
I dipped my head down farther, eyed the fur pie staring me in the eyes, and stuck my tongue out once again. My tongue ran across the thick, coarse hair and tried to find his actual nut sac but was having a hard time with the tangled mess.
“Yes, yes, bonita. Lick my balls.”
“I twying,” I said with a mouthful of spit. Saliva ran down my tongue and into his pubic hairs, making the texture an even worse experience for me.
Licking hairy balls was just as unappealing as it sounded . . . I learned that really quick. Noted.
I pulled my tongue back in to try again—never being a quitter—and that’s when I felt a hair on my tongue. Knowing that one of Alejandro’s ball-sac pubes was on my tongue had me dry-heaving in seconds, but Alejandro didn’t notice as he put his hand on my head and pushed me back down.
“Lick my balls, bonita. Don’t tease me.”
Coughing and trying to release the hair slowly traveling to the back of my throat, I pressed my tongue out again and tried to dive down into the squirrel tail covering his balls. The combination of the hair in the back of my throat and the wet texture of his ball hairs did it.
I was gone.
I tried to pull away, but he wouldn’t let up. Sweat coated my skin as I dry-heaved over my date’s hairy-covered cherries.
“I ma troll up,” I muttered as my tongue collided again with his briar patch.
“Yes, hum on them,” Alejandro said as he pushed my head down again.
My stomach revolted on me, the margarita roared with a vengeance, and in the matter of seconds, my belly convulsed and I heaved all over my date’s genitalia. Screams of horror left his mouth.
I watched as the tacos—I earlier thought delicious—covered the once-beautiful comforter and mixed into Alejandro’s lap.
Oh this was so not good.
I could almost guarantee this would be the last time I saw Alejandro.
“What is wrong with you?” Alejandro yelled as he scampered across the loft, pants around his ankles, dong flying about, and balls hanging low.
I didn’t have to answer. I didn’t need to answer. What I needed was to get the hell out of his apartment and fast. Without looking back, I grabbed my purse, slipped on my shoes, and took off for his front door.
There was no care for what I stepped on, or the way I knocked things over in my pathway to escape. All I knew was if I didn’t get out of his apartment fast enough I was going to break down right there on his floor.
In my haste to retreat, I didn’t happen to see the self portrait of his penis, lying on the floor so in the midst of my run, I added insult to injury and accidently slammed my foot through one of his smaller paintings, dragging it along with me, all the way down the stairs of the loft and out to the street.
It wasn’t until I’d hailed a cab, told him my address and took a second to gather myself, did I pull the picture off my foot and set the punctured penis to the side. My head rested against the cab window and a large, yet sad sigh escaped me as the lights of New York passed me by.
I didn’t think about what happened, how I just threw up on my date’s private parts, how I had a pubic hair stuck in the back of my throat or how I ruined yet another chance at being with a guy. I couldn’t stomach it, rehashing yet another fail.
The ride to my apartment was longer than normal, thanks to traffic, but once I arrived, I paid the cab driver, grabbed the dick picture, and walked to my apartment with a heavy heart and lighter stomach.
The apartment was dark so I went straight to my room, realizing it was quite late. We must have spent a good amount of time at the restaurant for it to be so late already.
I was now sober, thank you, puke session, and ready to just crawl into bed where I could put this night behind me.
I flipped my switch on and nearly screamed my life away when I saw Henry, sitting on my bed with a sullen look on his face.
“Henry, what the hell are you doing sitting here in the dark?”
His eyes bore into me when he looked up, and for the first time since I’d known him, he was angry . . . with me.
“Why didn’t you tell me where you went?”
Shit, I didn’t text him in my haste to get out of the office.
“I’m sorry, Henry. I forgot my phone at work.”
“Do you know how worried I was? That this guy might have done something to you? I had no way of getting hold of you, Rosie. No way of checking on you.”
“Henry, I’m a grown woman, I can take care of myself.”
“That’s not the point.” He spoke sternly and stood while running his hands through his hair. “I want to make sure you’re okay, that no one is taking advantage of you.”
“No need to worry about that,” I said while I tossed my purse and the picture on the floor and went to my dresser to pull out my pajamas.
“Where are you going?” Henry asked as he walked after me.
“To the bathroom, to change and wash my face. Do you mind? Or do I need to get your permission first?”
He stopped in his pursuit, a disturbed look on his face. “What’s your problem?”
“You. Just leave me alone, Henry.”
I walked into the bathroom and slammed the door, making sure to lock it because knowing Henry, he would just let himself in. I hated being angry at Henry, but I wasn’t a child. A virgin, yes, but I wasn’t completely stupid. Mostly I was so angry that I’d had three dates and had embarrassed myself so completely at each one. And Henry would probably laugh again at another Rosie Bloom disaster. I’m not ready for that. I’m not ready to show him I’m such a failure.
Taking my time, I washed my face, brushed my teeth, went to the toilet, and changed into a pair of short shorts and an oversized T-shirt with an American flag on it. My puke session was on rep
lay in my head. How? How is that even possible? How impossible was my luck? Did that really happen to me tonight?
It did and honestly, it wasn’t entirely my fault. I wasn’t the one forcing my head into his lap. He was forcing me, I gave him fair warning, but he wouldn’t let up. Maybe it was a good thing I threw up on him. Maybe that was my body’s way of reacting to his pressure. Although the mere thought of that hair on the back of my tongue had me gagging again.
I applied lotion on my face and started to giggle from the last view I had of Alejandro—his dick swinging about while he shuffled to the bathroom to clean off. It was actually slightly comical. If I wasn’t so ashamed, I would be in a full-on belly laugh mode right now.
Satisfied with my nightly ritual, I walked out of the bathroom and into my bedroom, expecting to see Henry waiting for me, but my room was empty besides a small book that was on my nightstand. I went to look at it and saw it was a book about sex: a small guide on intercourse. I opened it up and saw on the inside a note from Henry.
Love,
Thought this might help with your research. If you have questions, don’t be afraid to ask.
Love you, Henry
Guilt washed over me. Henry could be a little too concerned at times, even though he’s my best friend, but he had good intentions. Taking a deep breath, I tamped down my stubborn pride and walked out of my bedroom and into Henry’s where his lights were off, the only glow in the room coming from the moonlight peeking through his window. My eyes landed straight on his bed where he was laying, back toward me.
“Henry?” I asked as I walked forward. “Henry, I’m sorry. I just had a bad night and I took it out on you.”
Without a word, Henry rolled over, propped one hand under his head and lifted the covers, inviting me in. There was no need to think about it, cuddled next to him was where I needed to be.
I snuggled in and placed my head against his bare chest, something very familiar to me. During college, sometimes I went to his bedroom to snuggle when I was feeling lonely or having a bad day. He would stroke my hair and talk to me quietly until I fell asleep. And thankfully, he didn’t fail me with the same kindness tonight.
“What happened?” he asked, his voice now light, rather than angry.
“I don’t even know if I can tell you. It’s too humiliating.”
“Can’t be that bad, I heard you giggling in the bathroom.”
“You heard that?”
“Yeah,” he said while kissing the top of my head. “I was going to check on you, but when I heard you laughing I assumed you were fine.”
“Not really fine, not at all. When I was in the bathroom, I was just thinking about how ridiculously insane my night was.”
“Does this have anything to do with that crushed up penis picture in your room?”
“Oh God, I forgot about that.” I covered my face. “Yes, it has everything to do with that.”
“Alejandro wasn’t the man you were expecting him to be?”
“He was at first. We had such a good dinner, and he wasn’t lying when he said those tacos were amazing. Their margaritas were even better.”
“You drank? Did you get drunk?”
His hand combed through my hair, helping me relax into his chest, and God, I loved these moments with him. Beyond all the teasing—and recent inuendo—this was the best part of our friendship. Complete comfort.
“I only had one, but it was really strong. I mean, really strong. Next thing I knew, I was in his loft, looking at his art, which can I tell you was naked women in all different shapes and sizes. I saw so many different variations of nipples that I feel like I have a nipple fixation now. I need to see all nipples and study them.”
“How do my nipples compare?” Henry joked while puffing his chest.
“Well, they’re not green.”
“You saw green nipples?”
“Yes, and green vaginas, but that’s beside the point. So, he says to me, ‘Do you want to see my self-portrait?’” I used the best Spanish accent I had, making Henry chuckle. “So of course, being the polite person I was, I said yes. But Henry, these weren’t self-portraits.”
“What were they?”
“They were portraits . . . of his penis.”
A deep laugh bubbled up through Henry’s chest. My hand that was resting above his heart reaped the benefits of the delicious rumble.
“No way. He paints his dick? And keeps them? Is that what that picture is?”
“Yes, a little memento from the night. I accidently stepped on it and stole the hideous thing during my attempt to flee his apartment as quickly as possible.”
“Why were you fleeing his apartment?”
This was the part I didn’t want to discuss, but knowing Henry, he’d get it out of me at some point, so might as well divulge in the dark where I couldn’t see his full reaction.
“Okay, you have to promise me you won’t tell Delaney, because I don’t think she’d ever let me live it down.”
“I promise.” He kissed my forehead. “Your secret is safe with me, love.” One of the reasons why I love this man so much.
“Okay,” I let out a deep sigh, “well, he, uh . . . decided to show me the real thing.”
“The real thing?”
“Yes, his muse, you know, the penis. The real-life portrait, not the painted one.”
“Like he just pulled his pants down?”
“Yes.”
“Fucking creep.” His voice stung with anger. “Guys are so fucking weird.” Softly he added, “I’m sorry, Love.”
“It’s okay, I was actually fascinated, to the point that I decided to, um, lick it. Well lick in that vicinity.”
“Lick it?” Henry asked surprised. “Love, you touched your first penis.”
“Not really, more like just licked his legs because his hand was wrapped around his cock, not giving me a chance to actually touch the muse. Once he fully pulled his pants down, that’s when I realized there was a wooly mammoth staring back up at me. Henry, you were right, some guys didn’t care about shaving.”
“Oh shit, really?” He laughed.
“Yes, like, a brillo pad.”
“Fuck, that’s nasty.” He chuckled and ran his fingers through my hair.
“So nasty, but I still licked it. I licked his nut sac. I’m going to blame it on the margarita and extreme curiosity.”
“Let’s just stick with the margarita.”
I nodded and continued. “So I licked it and drooled a lot because the hair was too much to handle and when I pulled away for a breather, a pube was stuck in the back of my throat.”
“Oh, I’m going to dry-heave.”
He’s not the only one.
“I did the same thing, but Alejandro had the wrong idea and pushed my head back down to continue to lick him.”
“He forced you?” Henry tensed, but I soothed him by rubbing his chest.
“He did . . . but I think he learned his lesson.”
“How, did you bite his balls off?”
“No, just puked all over him.”
Henry stilled and turned to look me in the eyes. “Are you serious?”
“Yes, I dry-heaved so bad that my stomach said that was enough and I puked all over his genitalia. I left him with a puked-up penis.”
Studying me for a second, Henry was silent. But then his head flew back and he laughed a pure and genuine laugh. I joined him. Together, our laughs echoed through the room, easing the worry of the night from my mind.
Finally, Henry pulled me in close and whispered, “That’s my girl. Fuck, that is so great. Fucker deserved it.”
“Yeah he did. After he realized what happened, he yelled something in Spanish and dashed to the bathroom, decorated penis wobbling about. While he was taking care of himself, I ran for the door, punctured one of his pictures, and dragged it out onto the streets of New York where I hailed a cab.”
Still chuckling, Henry continued to stroke my hair. “Even though you had a bad night, I’m glad
you were able to take care of yourself by throwing up on your date. What better way to tell him no by tossing your tacos all over his precious work of art.”
“His muse.”
“Exactly. I love it. Good job, love.”
“Thanks, I guess.” I chuckled.
We lay in silence, staring at the ceiling together. It was comforting having Henry next to me, knowing even though I might have had a bad night, he would always be there for me.
“Thanks for the book and for tonight. I feel much better after talking to you.”
“Of course. Maybe tomorrow night we can look over the book together. Learn some new things. I’m always looking to educate myself on the subject of sex.”
“That doesn’t surprise me,” I said, nuzzling in closer. His grip tightened around me as he sighed in contentment, I knew we had something rare and special. I could deal with bad dates, as long as there was this. Cuddling, sleeping, and relishing in his company as I hoped he did with mine.
Chapter Twelve
The Hyena Call
June 9, 2018
I saw a real-life penis for the first time last night. It was interesting. It was a little floppier than I’d expected it to be, like the kind of floppy a soggy baguette would offer. I wish I’d actually touched it rather than licked around it, because my eyes really had no clue about texture. Therefore, I couldn’t confirm or deny my thoughts on how rubbery a dick was. Even though his penis was sitting on top of a patch of lap broccoli, I was still able to get a good look, and what fascinated me the most was how it was hard but still had loose-ish skin. What’s with that? Did my vagina have extra skin?
I tried giving her a good look earlier this morning with my compact mirror but was startled when Henry banged on the door, causing me to drop my compact and break my powder. After that, I left mt vagina alone and just assumed her skin was normal. She didn’t feel loose down there.
I started a new book today, and it jumped right into the sex. I’ve found reading some erotic novels were more about the sex and less about the storyline, and do you know what? For an interested girl like me, I rather enjoyed it. The only drawback was when I read at lunch, Sir Licks-a-Lot sat on his perch, aka my filing cabinet, and licked himself while keeping his eyes on me the whole time. His little leg stretched in the air as he licked his balls. It was rather uncomfortable, as if he was trying to tell me, this is how sex really went down. So now when I read about a woman going down on a man, my first thought is of Sir Licks-a-Lot and there is something entirely wrong with that image on many levels.
