When I met Kivvy, I was in my late twenties and working as a youth pastor at a large evangelical church. Not the youth pastor, just an assistant youth pastor, a position I'd felt stuck in for five years. I did my best for the kids, but they didn't find me very interesting. I'm tall and plain-looking. I have a slow, serious way of talking. I can't tell jokes. I don't pick up on popular culture. To be honest, I'm not good with people in general. I'm better with facts and figures.
My relationships with women hadn't been any more impressive. The ones I met were all church ladies. Three types showed any interest in me: subprime young husband-hunters, single moms scouting for a father substitute, and divorced older women looking for a young man to mother. I dated some of each, but they didn't turn me on. I didn't turn them on, either. My sexual adventures were few, restrained, and short.
Kivvy landed on me as a counseling job. She had barely turned 18. Her parents were staunch church members, but I couldn't recall ever meeting their daughter. She had never attended any of our youth functions or my Bible classes. I was given to understand that she had been in increasingly serious rebellion for over two years. Truancy, hanging out on the streets, sexually active, using drugs. Her parents thought she might be a lesbian. They had used all their leverage, including threats of no college and non-support, to get her to agree to sit down with somebody for a review of where her life was going. They would have preferred a more senior pastor, but I was the only one with time available then. I'd done this kind of counseling before but never with great success, so I didn't promise much. I said I'd meet with her once to try to open a dialogue. Anything beyond that would have to be at her request. The parents asked if they should accompany her. No, I said. I want her to feel free to open up.
I didn't think any more about it until Kivvy showed up at my office. She turned out to be tall, skinny and awkward, with an enormous cascade of crinkly red hair. There seemed to be as much hair as girl. Her face was long and plain, like mine. She had a wide mobile mouth, and blue eyes that looked everywhere but at me.
My very first thought, I'm afraid, took me by surprise: I'd like to fuck her hard. I'd had sexual yearnings for specific women before, but never so immediate, and never in those crude terms. I promptly banished the idea. I had a job to do.
Kivvy wasn't about to help me do it. She was monosyllabic and evasive even through a simple conversation starter. Getting basic family background was like pulling teeth. She apparently thought she was going to get out of there faster by frustrating me. After a few minutes, completely on impulse, I decided that I wouldn't play her game.
"Who's the last person you had sex with, Kivvy?"
For the first time she looked straight at me, her blue eyes open wide and her mouth working without anything coming out. Finally she gave a kind of choking laugh and said, "What business is that of yours?"
Before that day, I would have answered, "I want to help you" or some such platitude. But, with her, I shrugged and said, "I just find myself . . . curious about you."
She looked at me for a while longer. I looked right back, wondering what the hell I thought I was doing. Finally she took the bait. "OK. The last person I fucked was a black boy who calls himself T.H.E. If he has another name, I don't know it. Who's the last person you fucked?"
I was stupid not to have foreseen the question, but instinct told me to just blurt out the truth. "I masturbate," I said, as coolly as I could. "Unfortunately, it's all I have."
Somewhere inside, there was another me, watching this scene with horror and thinking, This can't be happening!
A slow smile spread over Kivvy's face. There was a little triumph in it, but also a little understanding. "Well," she said. "You're the last person I would expect to use that word."
I thought for a moment. "OK, our cards are on the table. Are you willing to talk about sex, then?"
"Wouldn't you rather do it?" she shot back.
"Well . . . not now, not here."
"But you want to?"
"Everybody wants to. But there has to be an element of judgment. And commitment."
"In other words, right now you'd like me to tell you how I do it, so you can go home and masturbate thinking about me."
"Well," I said slowly, "whether that's true or not, Kivvy, how would you like me to think about you?"
She laughed, this time with pleasure. "Ooooo-kay, pastor. You don't have to be such a lawyer with me. Actually, there's a game like that I've played with some of my friends. Everybody has to tell a fantasy they have about somebody else in the circle, until somebody breaks down and starts touching herself. Or himself. Once they start, they have to finish. It can be fun. But first, you have to tell me: are you cut or uncut?"
This pushed it into a different zone. "I'm . . . uncircumcised," I said uncomfortably.
"Cool. I like a foreskin. More to play with. More taste, too."
My inner minister suddenly panicked. The situation was slipping out of control. I needed to end it before this young lady cost me my job.
"Kivvy," I said. "Let's get this back on track—"
She stared at me. "It is on track, pastor. You're the one who brought up fucking. I'm just telling you how I like to fuck a boy."
Quickly I asked, "And how about girls?"
She laughed again. "Oh, my parents! Their last great hope—maybe their daughter is only fucking girls! Well, I've done a few girls, but I'm hetero, no doubt about it. Nothing I like as much as a dick—in any hole."
"There are big risks in that, Kivvy."
Her look was withering. "Of course there are. There are big risks in asking me how I fuck, too, but you're taking them. Now, which of my holes do you want to use in your little fantasy?" She and looked straight at me, the corners of her mouth turned up a little mockingly.
I was having trouble breathing. Part of it was panic, but part of it . . . well, my cock was stiff. Kivvy was everything the church ladies weren't. She wasn't soft and nice, she was raw and real. Her angularity and awkwardness and plainness and her almost translucent pale skin made me crazy to see what she looked like wearing nothing but that massive hair. She hadn't even taken her coat off, but I still could clearly visualize her nubbin breasts with their dark red pointy nipples and her curly auburn crotch. I may have imagined it, but I actually thought I caught a whiff of something tangy.
All I could think of to say was, "Ah . . . well . . . whatever you would like to talk about . . ."
Kivvy laughed, this time loudly. "Good call, pastor. I know more about this stuff than you do. Well, my guess is you haven't had many, if any, blowjobs, cuz the women you'd know—like my mother—don't like to give them. So maybe you could use some research there. After your blowjob, if you're up to it, you could fuck my main hole. In fantasy only, of course! Anal . . . you might like it, might not, but you've got enough on your plate already. So . . . let's get started!" She leaned toward me, her hands on her knees, her big mouth grinning, her eyes snapping blue.
I was a loss for words. Partly because I was distracted by a frantic desire to unzip my pants and stroke my rigid cock.
"By the way," she said, "there's no reason you shouldn't unzip your pants and stroke your cock. The door's closed. I won't see anything—your desk's in the way. You're just listening to me talk about whatever's on my mixed-up little adolescent mind. We can both say, completely honestly, that we never touched, never even got out of our chairs. I didn't even take my coat off."
I know this sounds terrible coming from a minister, but the situation now had an almost heaven-sent feeling. Kivvy was actually acting excited about it, and I had never in my whole life known what it felt like to have a woman act excited in my presence, that is, in my presence as a man. Without letting myself think, I eased my zipper down. I had to shift around to let my cock out and get a grip on it. I tried to give her a bold stare, like, I'm on. I was nervous as hell, but there was also a feeling that I could put into words, only much later, as: Wow, something's finally happening!
"All ready?" she asked. "OK. Now, we start with me kneeling in front of you. One thing I always insist on is that I get to unzip the guy, unbuckle his belt, unbutton his pants. There is such a feeling of power in that. It's like, you can't wait for what's coming, but I get to make you wait while I get myself into the right place, mentally. You'll be more than ready by the time I let you loose. And you'll appreciate it more when I let you finally take over."
She paused. "Now, don't go too fast, pastor. This story is going to take a while. I don't want you to finish up before I really get into it.
"And in case you're wondering—yes, doing this makes me wet. Really wet. I hope you like the thought. After all, it's my pussy you're going to fantasy-fuck. Don't worry about me. I know how to take care of myself. You just take care of yourself." Her hand slid under her coat, at chest level. "You think you masturbate? I doubt you can keep up with me.
"Now, where were we? Yeah, I was getting you ready. Well, I take my time, rubbing my hands up and down your pants, your shirt, gripping your butt, stroking between your legs. Of course I touch you now and then where you really want it, but not a lot yet. I want to draw it out. You can put your hands on my head—I know you can't take your eyes off my hair—but don't try to take over at this point. Let me lead. It's a turnoff if you get over-eager right now."
I swallowed. My wrist was moving back and forth. It felt good. But even better, my eyes were locked with hers. She was challenging me to hold her gaze while we both touched ourselves. For the first time, I was actually enjoying looking into a woman's eyes. And what eyes! Blue, ironical, and at the same time, excited, like a kid showing off something new.
"OK. Now I pull your shirt out and reach up and stroke and tickle your belly. I can feel the little hairs there, the ones that get much thicker lower down. Those hairs excite me. I unbutton your shirt so I can press my lips onto your belly, feel those hairs on my lips. . . Yeah, breathe deeply. I'm feeling it, too."
There was a moment of silence. "Use your other hand to brush your nipples," she said. "Even through your shirt you should feel something nice." I did so, cautiously. It felt funny emotionally—a kind aching, yearning feeling—but basically good. New. You may not believe it, but I had never discovered my nipples before. No woman had ever done anything to them. I thought only women's nipples could be sexually stimulated.
"I'm making noises now, under your shirt, kissing and licking your belly. I'm shoving all my fingers down under your waistband in back. I can smell a little of the soap you showered with this morning. What I'm really enjoying is the taste of your skin. Yeah, I can taste you here, I mean the oils on your skin, but it's just a little of what I'm going to be tasting later."
She paused and licked her lips, looking at a spot on the front of my desk. She seemed distracted. It looked like her fingertip was making slow circles under the coat.
"A . . . slow . . . zipper-pull . . . is one of my favorite moments. I love the sound of a guy's zipper coming down. I love knowing we're hearing it together. Of course I can feel your bulge. It's always bigger than I think possible—how can you have all that under there, where there was, like, nothing a few minutes ago?? I love feeling the way it strains at your pants. I love thinking how badly you want it out, and how I'm the one who's going to let it out!
"Pinch your nipple, pastor. I'd like to see you do that. Pinch it kind of hard, like I'm gonna pinch mine. You won't hurt it. Mine are a lot bigger and have a lot more nerves than yours do, and I love the thought of you pinching and pulling them. Listen, did you know you can train your nipples to be super-sensitive? That's what piercing and rings are all about. But you can just do it just by rubbing and pinching yourself a lot, too. That's how I got mine this way. God, they are so, so sensitive!" She exhaled and swallowed hard.
"OK, now, your zipper is open, your shirt is hanging out, your hairy tummy is all wet. I use both hands to work your belt buckle open. And I unbutton your pants. I pull them slightly open, so I can see the top of your shorts."
She breathed in slowly and deeply through her nostrils several times. The front of her coat continued to pulse slightly. She closed her eyes and seemed lost in the sensation. We could hear the clock tick. My left hand was inside my suit jacket playing with my right nipple. My fingers gently glided up and down my cock, keeping it hard but not hurrying. I understood the game now, and was entirely willing to let her call the plays.
She swallowed, opened her eyes, and resumed. "Now, I want to just rest my head for a moment against your body. I want to hold onto you and feel secure. Gently pat my hair. Murmur something kind of cooing, like 'I'm going to take good care of you, baby.' Everything up to now has been tease, great fun for me, but it's about to turn more serious. This may be hard for you to understand. When I release you, from there on you're going to start to take over. It's what has to happen, it's what I want, but I still feel a little scared of it. Of you. After all, this is going to end, like, with you pounding me with all your strength. You're going to be up inside me with that thing! I know I'll love it, but now, while your strength is still held back, I have a little trouble believing that I'm going to let you do that. This is, like, the point of no return."
I had quickened my stroking. I wanted to say something appropriate to the moment, but I couldn't find my voice. Anyway, my mouth was hanging open. Her eyes had glazed and she seemed to be twisting her nipples, first one, then the other. There was again a clock-ticking silence while we played with ourselves. Then slowly took her hand out of her coat, smiled, shook her head, looked down, and put both hands on her lap.
"But, c'mon, I told you I'd give you a guided tour to fucking me, and I've got to keep my head a little bit clear for that. So . . . now that I've given myself a moment to regroup, I look up to let you know it's go, and then I suddenly yank your pants down. I like to do it fast and hard, to show I'm ready. Takes too long to get you out of them. Just leave them around your ankles. Just don't forget and trip, OK?
"I see you're a boxers guy. Can't see as much of your nice trim male outline or your muscle-y thighs as I could if you wore briefs, but boxers have their own charms. One is, they're better to slide over your thing. So I do that for you, looking up to see if you like it. I take hold of you through the cloth. It's so cool to finally feel what you're like! I squeeze you firmly between my fingertips, cuz I'm always amazed at your hardness. I slide my fingers around and feel where your foreskin slides back and the thick little bulge it makes around the middle. I swear, this is where I start salivating. And, suddenly, I feel really, really, really eager.
"One of the nice things about boxers is the way you can poke through, exposing yourself to me while you're still, kind of, clothed. It makes it feel like I'm giving you a quickie in a men's room. Yeah, I've done that. So I pull open the little door, and wiggle it around a bit to find the end, and—wow, there it is, popping out into my face! I have to dodge to keep it from poking my eye! Oh, you're beautiful! You're long, and absolutely rigid and straight. Your head is already free of its cover. Oh, God, it looks so big and brutal! I can't wait to feel my lips sliding around it! Or have it ramming into my sensitive cervix! Oh, my God, you're already dripping! Now I'm so hungry for you!"
I swallowed hard. I was so close I was suddenly afraid of losing it. I had to get my mind off this for a moment. "Kivvy," I muttered. "Slow up."
"Oh? Too much? Yeah, I need breather, too. . . . Say, can I smoke in here?"
"Sorry," I said. "We're smoke free."
"OK. I'll just take a nicotine tablet." She reached quickly into her coat pocket, popped a little white pill in her mouth, and made a gulping swallow. She smiled, a little guiltily. She looked abstracted for a while, staring at the floor. It went on long enough I began to wonder what I should do. I couldn't very well continue to sit there stock still with my dick in my hand. I got so self-conscious my erection was starting to shrink.
"OK," she suddenly grinned. "Better now? So, it's time for me to give you what you've been dying for me to do. I'm opening my mouth." She opened it wide to show me, her eyes closed, her lips pulled in slightly, covering her teeth. Her bright red tongue wiggled a little. Then she opened her eyes and smiled again, right at me. "I want you to put it in--gently, please. Just a little way, so I can, y'know, taste some precum and suck a little on that big, smooth, purple head."
I was fully hard again.
"Oh, golly, I love the taste of your cock! The head alone feels like a full mouth! How'm I gonna to take the rest of you? Your precum has a slight acidic taste. I'm told that's from your piss—hey, don't worry about it! A little piss is sexy!
"Now I'm going to try to fit more in my mouth. God, my cheeks bulge and I wonder, how, how, am I going to do this?? My lips are so sensitive, I can feel every new detail they slide over, every fold, every vein. I'm also starting to pick up that neat foreskin taste, a little earthy, a little sweaty. I'm using my tongue like a mother cat, slowly massaging you all around your head, especially right under it, where it drives you crazy!"
She paused, opened her mouth, closed her eyes, and slowly waggled her tongue for me again. Her hand crept inside her coat, now at lap level. She was rocked her hips a little, twisting from side to side, sliding her legs together. Her look was distant. When she resumed she sounded a little breathless.
"After a while, I pull my head back to breathe, and also to take a good look. Cuz one of the things I like is seeing you all shiny with my spit. A girl is proud of her work. I look up to make sure you're noticing it, too. I want you to watch me while I lick your penis, slowly and carefully, with the pointy tip of my tongue, carefully spreading my wetness around. Then I, uh, bend forward and slide an even bigger piece of you in. I wrap my lips firmly and suck. My tongue is reaching halfway down on your underside, curling up and moving your tasty foreskin around with the tip, loving the way I can make it slip and slide. I drool like a fool when I'm giving head--my saliva collects in all your creases and pockets--another reason I like an uncut cock! There's so much spit hat some starts leaking out of my mouth. When I pull away for a breath of air, there's this string of slobber from your cock to my lower lip. That's how tasty you are, pastor!
"Hey, one of the things I like best is when the guy makes noises. Could you do some groaning or deep breathing or something?"
"Uh," I said, stupidly. "Uh. Uh."
"Yeah, well, it's a fantasy . . . You'd do better in real life. OK, now I'm gripping your base with my fingers and working my mouth up and down, fast. When I pull back, I give your shaft a sliding, twisting pull with my hand. Everything's slippery wet now. Your wet foreskin makes a neat sleeve to work you with. And my tongue never stops. The aim here is for you to, like, ejaculate in my mouth, you know!
"OK, and while I'm doing this, I look up at you a lot. Partly because I like the view--you towering over me, your eyes half-closed, your mouth making half-finished words like "oh, God" and "fuck, fuck." I like seeing you're really into it. I didn't have you take your shirt off, so I can't see your bare chest. Too bad, that's a nice part. Another reason I look up, though, is, I want you to know I'm here for you. I want you to see my big innocent blue eyes looking up at yours, and I want you to think: She actually likes doing this to me!"