'Thinking Off. When I was a sophomore at Cornell one of my frat brothers came up with the idea. He was the manager of the squash team and never had any dates. So he was all the time whacking off. Got so his pud was sore. Then some eastern religion course he was taking brought this idea into his head. He never could perfect it. Some of us tried it out-thought the least we could do was try to help him with his technique-but we couldn't do it either. Then a guy who was a junior-horn-rimmed glasses type-told us it was metaphysically impossible. He was a philosophy major so we believed him.'
'So you can't do it.'
'Nope.'
'So there was really no danger you were going to shoot from just looking at me?'
'Son of a bitch-you knew where you were going all the time.'
'Naturally. And I know where I'm going now, too. Lie down.'
CHAPTER THREE
Andrea straddled Sean with her cunt hovering over his face. She placed her fingers gently on either side of his cock at the base and extended them down to glide over his balls. She spent a second staring at the slightly curving shaft of his rod as it poked up at her looking like a cross between the charging head of a rhinoceros and a limb of a new-born baby. Then she pursed her lips, placed them over its tip, and slid effortlessly down.
The delicious warmth, the insistent sucking, the wild tonguing, made it impossible for Sean to draw things out. Four, five, six strokes of his rod down her throat, and the storm in his genitals broke loose. Her fingers found just the right spot on the tubes that ran from his balls to the base of his cock and added that wild, dizzying surge that makes the come blast out in exuberant jets. For a brief flash Sean thought he should try to control the power. It would choke her. But then he remembered her merciless grinding on his face, her total abandon, and he knew she wanted him to be the same way.
He swiveled his hips and let his whole body swirl away to the rhythm of the rapid, maniacal drums that pounded between his legs. He was going to shoot so hard her stomach would be full of come before she could swallow.
Andrea wrenched her head back and forth and vibrated her tongue against the top of his shaft. Sean's hips started bucking. He reached up and grabbed her ass and watched her cunt as it bobbed above him.
With the first gush Andrea opened her throat wide. The hot spray, salty, tasting faintly of mint, flowed furiously in.
Hahaha! It was like when you were a kid and you left your water pistol out in the sun and then wanted a drink out of it. You stuck it into your mouth and pulled the trigger. (Was that why some women were afraid to blow men? Were they secretly afraid the guns would turn out to be real?)
Andrea drew up and sucked hard and swallowed as the second and third and fourth blasts came. Her swallowing squeezed Sean even harder.
Her mouth and throat flooded with gooey slime. She couldn't swallow fast enough. God, he had so much come! Her cheeks puffed out and the pressure broke the seal of her lips on him. Rivulets of semen flowed down his shaft and into the dark blonde of his crotch hair. But still she held on and kept stroking, her whole body wracked with his spasms-her nostrils flaring, her eyes wide and desperate, her hair flying around her shoulders and brushing across his legs.
This was really it: tasting, smelling, feeling, even hearing the eruption of a man's most primitive passions. You knew it all first hand when you took it in your mouth.
Sean had forgotten where he was, who he was with, what day… month… year… century it was. He thrashed and grunted. His cock ran away with him like a wild horse he was tied to with a piece of rope. His body bounced through clouds, sluiced through the warm water of a tropical ocean, drifted in bottomless expanses of flower petals.
Then, slowly, the feeling began to ebb.
His cock went limp and became part of his body again.
Andrea finished swallowing. She wiped her lips and cheeks with the back of her hand.
She wandered off and returned with a box of tissues. She cleaned them up and stretched out next to him on the floor.
'Lady,' Sean muttered, 'you give one hell of a blow-job.'
'One hell of a short one this time,' she observed.
'Only attests to the high quality. Damn, what a touch you've got with that tongue.'
Andrea reached out and grabbed a small brass urn from the coffee table. 'Feel like smoking a joint?'
Sean leaned back on his elbows and grinned as impishly as his rugged features would allow. 'If we can possibly get any higher, let's do it.'
'The sky's the limit,' Andrea said, and lit up.
Then Sean thought of something. 'But if I get stoned, I warn you, I'm going to get hungry. And thirsty. This was supposed to be a dinner-date, if you'll remember. And I haven't had anything all day since a pastrami sandwich for breakfast'
'A pastrami sandwich for breakfast?'
'Writers tend to eat what they have lying around.'
Andrea looked down at her pussy. 'I'll say.' She took a hit on the joint. 'Dammit,' she said from between clenched teeth, 'I rolled the fucking thing too tight.' Sean watched her breasts flushing and heaving as she struggled to suck the smoke in. 'Look, we could send out for something to eat… ' She passed the joint to Sean.
'Sometimes if you roll them back and forth in your fingers like this… ' He pinched the joint between his thumb and forefinger and spun it rapidly. 'It loosens them up.' He took a hit. 'I know just the place to call. Where's your phone?'
Andrea watched his cock as he got up and she answered, 'In the kitchen.' It bounced around and then settled to hang straight down between his legs. When it was soft it didn't look much more than average size, but it had an incredible expansion factor.
Andrea mused about cock sizes as Sean finished another deep toke on the joint and bent over to return it to her. She'd heard a lot of talk about 12-inchers but she'd never had the least desire to see one, much less be in bed with one. On the other hand, she didn't share the sentiments of lots of her girlfriends who liked small ones better than big ones and said that men with small ones generally fucked better. Sean had a good, fat eight-plus inches hard, and that was just perfect for her. She'd have to open herself up a little extra to accommodate all of it, but that was fine. In fact, it was exciting. But more might have been painful. Sean wandered off toward the kitchen, giving Andrea a chance to assess his physique from the rear.
Sean's body was lithe and slender and smoothly, thoroughly muscled. He had broad shoulders obviously built up by some kind of athletic activity. The only thing a little strange about his body was that the muscles joining his shoulders to his neck were more prominent than usual. Andrea could see he hadn't been a wrestler or a weight- lifter; his muscles weren't bulging or knotty and they weren't rock-hard. They gave the impression of lean, enduring strength concentrated in his upper body-strength that could last through endless repetitions of strenuous but graceful activity. His hips were slender. His ass jutted out slightly. But for that he would have had the shape of a torpedo. When he turned sideways to walk into the kitchen she noticed that his chest was deep and his stomach flat. His movements were sure and his body seemed to conceal some kind of bidden tension that indicated lightning-fast reflexes.
From the kitchen Sean mumbled a few words into the phone, hung up, and rejoined Andrea, who by this time was holding the roach of her joint delicately between her fingernails and casting her eyes about the room in search of a roach clip.
'This it?' Sean asked, picking a scissors-like surgical clamp from among a pile of empty record jackets on an end table.
'Yeah. How'd you know?'
'The end's black. Besides, lots of people use these. And I figured you didn't perform too many operations in your apartment. Some food will be coming along in about half an hour.'
