I whipped back the sheet and carefully maneuvered the hospital gown out of the way. And there before me was his cock, reaching upward like a church spire, set in the finest nest of reddish blond hair. I took it in my hands and gently moved the loose flesh up and down.
"God, you don't know how long it's been…" he muttered.
"Tell me about Oriental women. Is it true…?"
"Honey, they'll do it sideways, assways, anyways, or that's what the fellows tell me. Now I wouldn't know."
"You're putting me on."
"I'm not. I'd sworn to be true forever to a pretty girl in Wyoming and she shafted me for a rich rancher."
He sounded serious, but I wasn't sure. Anyway, I said, "Don't cry tears, baby, cry sperm. That'll do us both more good."
"Let me kiss you first," he begged.
That made me feel all soft and tender. Some guys are still romantic in the old-fashioned way, and I rather like it, even if I'm not exactly romantic.
Our lips met, mine on top of his, and almost instantly our mouths opened and we exchanged tongues, mingling our saliva, passionately twisting our faces together. His hand reached to one of my breasts, which was about as far as he could reach, and beneath me I could feel the furious pounding of his heart. At last we separated, exchanged a glance of warmth and tenderness.
I liked this guy, but, of course, I wasn't going to get hung up. And for me, sucking a cock isn't romantic in the usual way, it's a kind of erotic religion or something. In giving myself this way I purge myself of my disappointments and bitterness. So I not only give, I take. I feel on these sick guys, not only eating their high-protein sperm but letting them give me something that nourishes my depraved… oops, I meant to say deprived soul.
I looked again at that glorious tool, upright as ever. Then I waved my hand over it and watched as it moved toward my fingers. An involuntary reaction, of course, but I like to dispense with scientific explanations and pretend it's magic. His cock is drawn to my hand by mysterious powers, beyond his or my control. And the same is true with my mouth. I approach the lower edge of the bed, then lean over with my tongue hanging out. And it reaches for my tongue; it wants it.
I can hardly wait to get it in my mouth, but I don't forget the usual precautions, like locking the door and putting out the sign so nobody will come in. It's amazing that some of the old girls on this floor don't know what that sign means. They think it's for enemas or something… well, there are guys who get their kicks that way, but they're just not of the same calibre as the guys who want to get sucked off.
I savor the sight of that tough, purple member for as long as I can stand it. It's going to be awkward, since I don't dare sit on the bed, but I can lean over. And so I do. Anxious as I am I do it in sensuous slow motion, my mouth greedily opened and ready for its ritual meal.
"Oh, baby," he groans.
I don't answer. I just lower my gaping mouth to the head of it. Instead of clamping down hard, I let my tongue travel in tiny circles, teasingly, oh so gradually, centering in on his most sensitive spot. And when I get to that tender ridge he howls like a dog who's just heard a siren. So I dart away, lapping at the sides, the edge of the crown, everywhere but where he really wants it most. Too much too fast and I'd have a mouth full of love-juice in seconds, and a rather embarrassed guy on my hands.
This must be sustained. That's the secret, giving a guy just enough to keep him excited, making him wait in exquisite suspense while his mind carries him to his favorite fetishes and fantasies. The bigger the buildup the bigger the explosion.
I make my tongue almost as pointed as a pencil and explore its varied landscape of bumps and ridges with the curiosity of someone just landed on an unknown planet. Every cock has its own special character, unique and indescribable. It's not a question of some being superior to others; my own peculiar perversion is that I love them all. Each time, the one I happen to be sucking is the greatest and most beautiful cock in the world.
"Do you know what you're doing to me?" he groans now, with the slurred speech of a man losing his rational powers.
I smile back at him with my eyes, just the slightest squint. Nothing could make me take my mouth away from what I am doing.
And I continue with the delicate preliminaries, knowing that I'm driving him wild but not stimulating him too much. God, I wish he'd tell me what he's thinking. I don't care whether he thinks of me or not. I hope that I evoke the most madly erotic imaginings from the inner reaches of his mind, stirring desires he didn't know existed. Yes, he probably had an aunt or a cousin, a little older, and very sexy in her Western riding boots and all… She broke hearts as easily as teacups, ah, but to her younger sweet young male relative, she was always good. She was kind and gave him candy, never dreaming that he spent hour after hour in the privy, imagining her with her legs spread apart, her boots still on… and, faster and faster, he jerked his arm until the geyser of sperm let him know he was really a man, and he didn't care what the preacher said or; what anybody said, because he knew damn well it wouldn't drive him insane permanently, only for a few moments, and it was well worth it…
How well I know how a man thinks and feels. Is there something wrong in that? My fantasizing their fantasies? Surely not; surely it's because I like giving, I like cocksucking, I like men.
He wants more. I know now that his mind has departed the room for some remote world of pure eroticism and he wants me to take all of him in my mouth at last. At last!
But slowly, very slowly I lower my tensed lips over this marvelous prong, protecting its delicate flesh from my teeth.
"Suck," he screams almost. "Suck! Suck! Suck! Suck me!"
For a fleeting, insignificant moment I hope that no one is passing by the door…
Then I suck, pulling upward oh so tenderly scarcely moving the loose flesh, then down, down, down, as far as I can go, wishing I could get it all in. Up again slowly, and then down, teasingly, with what must be almost excruciating sensuousness for him. Because he's dying with anticipation for more his mind a step ahead of what I'm doing. Is it torture? Who's to say?
In reading the narrative of this young woman, the most striking feature is not the acts she is describing, but the language in which she describes them. Her appearance is quite sweet, almost virginal. The archetypal young Mexican-American girl complete with soft brown eyes and a shy smile. The complete antithesis of the foul-mouthed cynic she shows us.
Considering the situation, though, it is quite possible that her choice of words, the bluntness of her description, her use of the "gutter" Anglo-Saxon terminology, has a deep psychological reason. As C. G. Jung pointed out in his Basic Writings:
Common speech, as we know, is full of erotic metaphors which are applied to matters that have nothing to do with sex; and conversely, sexual symbolism by no means implies that the interests making use of it are by nature erotic. Sex, as one of the most important instincts, is the prime cause of numerous affects that exert an abiding influence on our speech. But affects cannot be identified with sexuality inasmuch as they may easily spring from conflict situations.
Upon close study of the narrative we find that there are several quite unusual factors. To start with, the subject makes very little attempt to justify her acts. She states that she performs oral sex on her patients simply because she enjoys it. The only slight traces of justification shown are her statements that the hospital staff is generally aware that the nurses are performing oral sex on the patients.
Another unusual factor is her constant fantasizing during the performance of the oral sex act. This indicates that, while she repeatedly and emphatically states that she performs the act simply because she enjoys it, she actually has some very deep-seated emotional conflicts which she brings to the surface during the sexual episodes. Inside, she is actually wishing that she were someplace else, doing something different, with someone else. Add to this her statements that she usually receives sexual gratification and release only from masturbation and a new pattern begins to form.