By Nick Christian
“Let go” she slurred attempting seductiveness, climbing slowly down my body, looking like the opposite of what John Mayer sung about in “Your Body is a Wonderland,” or anything, really. The sheets clashed against her auburn hair and all that clearly remained in my eyesight were her fierce green eyes sparring against the moonlight. And Sportscenter. But I wasn’t watching Sportscenter. Even though, by the way her back was positioned, it looked as if her butt was holding up my TV, like a gag gift in a Sky Mall catalog. In a moment she gasped and took hold, causing me to shiver in an instant of pleasure and reflect on how we arrived back in my bed.
It was 1:30 a.m. in a little coast-line bar situated against a vacant Cape Cod beach. The breeze moved in from the ocean and a gentle gust made way through the sea-side shack. Both of us were alone. My friends stumbled their way towards the sand, searching for a party among the light of the dunes. She, I didn’t see her until the kid behind the counter yelled closing time, because Cape Cod loves their mom and pop sensibilities. She wore a sundress. It was red and had a little yellow and white floral print. Stirring the remnants of her rum and coke, she listfully sat watching the room. Far and wide she scanned the bar, casually looking to the door as if she expected someone. All I could think was “this has to be the saddest person wearing a sundress that I’ve ever seen.” It’s lying somewhere next to my bed now.
I smiled when I heard her name. It was Amber. Amber. Was it Amber? My eyes lowered to the woman bobbing her head up and down, siphoning fluids from me while injecting an unfettering desire. It was only right that I asked. “Amber?” I whispered in the air. Her eyes arose. Yes! Got it right. I gave her a quick thumbs up and told her “You’re doing a great job” slightly moaning through the last syllables.
She told me that she had been left at the altar and that this was the first night she had been out on her own since then. Her friends had forced her along to bar after bar, hoping that a little girl’s night out would cure, as she put it, “The most massive rejection of my life,” but it never did. According to her, to Amber, her recent singleness came down to one certain aspect of their relationship.
“He said I gave a bad blow job” she indignantly maligned, as if she took pride in her oral handiwork. She grasped my shirt tightly, popping open a button, and pulled me close, imploring to me “I give a great blowjob!” The young bartender looked up from his draw down and smiled. It was only right that I give her a chance to prove herself. It seemed chivalrous. Modern chivalry, that is.
After one more drink at the bar, two in my living room, and turning on the TV to see how Buc pitched – by her request, Amber and I arrived here, with Amber striving to retain her credibility and I allowing her a platform to do so. We were intertwined, engaged in a magnificent synchronicity that made the moment a monument to everything we wanted for each other and ourselves. It was glorious. Her lips tightened and my eyes widened. Up and down she moved, sending wave after wave of undeniable pleasure coursing throughout my body. How could someone not love her for this? How could someone deny marriage because of a blowjob? How could…
“Ow!” I audibly exclaimed.
A sharp metal stab pierced my skin and I lost all focus of my fever dream. Amber, drunkenly, brought an arm to my chest in a misguided attempt to shush away my insolence as if she were a school marm and I some disobedient child. What was that? A tooth? Did I imagine it? Eventually I calmed myself and relaxed. Amber also ceased to hesitate. She cradled and caressed and kissed with a twitching tongue, tempting myself to completion. And I. I wanted to…
“Argh!” I writhed.
This time two successive stabs pierced my phallus and I definitely felt myself lowering to expectations. Amber dug in, unrelenting to her detractor, grasping her arms upon my thighs and bracing her legs against the bed post. What was in her mouth? Was it braces? Did she have braces? My mind flashed through moments that occurred during the night. Did she eat something? Nope. How did she drink? Lips closed. Laugh. I made her laugh! It was before we left the bar. What did I say? It was the Zoolander impression! It was the Zoolander impression and I leaned against her going “Mer-Man! Mer-Man!” She laughed! But she covered it. She covered it with her hand. Fuck.
“Fuck!” I exult. The stabs were becoming thrusts and the pain grew deeper and consistent.
“Soon baby,” she mumbled with my staff in her mouth.
I can do this. I can push through. I need to give this woman her groove back. I was going to Taye Diggs the hell out of this blowjob. The pain intensified with each contraction of her lips. Why the fuck am I not a masochist right now? Why couldn’t that be my kink? The pain exaggerates and I feel my world becoming caught in the metal in her mouth. How could she not be feeling this? I just need to…
“Yes!” I scream.
Amber rises and sits back on her knees. Her lips quiver as if she can’t place the taste in her mouth. “I think you’re bleeding,” she blurts out, surrendering a dribble of a pinkish liquid down her cheek. Anticipated shock enters me.
“What!” I jump out of bed and fall to the floor. The knife fight to my grown caused a bit of equilibrium issues. Naively I lunge towards my bathroom mirror. Grasp after grasp I pull myself towards truth – towards full knowledge of the unrelenting pain at the center of my pleasure. The bathroom floor does little to ease any sensation and I prop myself against the counter and pull myself to my feet.
“My dick looks like a junkie’s arm!” I scream back to my bedroom.
Amber rushes into the bathroom, “It was good though, right?”
“I feel like I am watching the color drain out of my light saber.” I guide myself back to the floor.
“Let me just ask you, was it worthy of calling off a wedding?” she asked, placing towels around the wound.
“I don’t know, you seem like a nice person. Obviously it’s a red mark, but I don’t know if it is a deal breaker. I’d just discontinue oral for a period.” I feel my eyes fluttering.
“That’s what I said!” She looked happy. “Do you need an ambulance?”
“Probably. I mean the room is spinning.”
Amber rushes out of the room and I hear her talk to the 911 operator. She yells questions to me but I only half hear them. I focus on objects around the bathroom, doing my best to maintain consciousness. I move from the mirror, to the shower, and focus on the sink. I look at the toothbrush and listen to Amber’s voice.
They told me I was laughing when the paramedics arrived.