If 6 was 9 (The Great Fakers)

If Six was Nine

(The Great Fakers)

Jeff D Buchanan

His favorite thing, as he was doing now, was to run his tongue in circles around a woman's clit. Following the always tantalizing game of hide and seek, finding it with a careful exploration of fingers, he would settle into a luxurious play of his mouth on a woman's sex, with a special fascination on the magical properties of the tiny organ that was the nerve center of a female. There it was, tucked away in the folds of flesh, lovely and mysterious, coyly hiding, yet waiting and hoping and wanting to be discovered. What would follow was a long, languorous feast of licking, with tender kisses of the lips against the vulva, pressing his face into the loveliness. With the feel of warm thighs against his ears, the legs engulfing him into that other world, the weight of his lover pleasantly cupped in his hands beneath her ass, manipulating her to gain the most with his mouth on her, he would masterfully draw the partner up into her arousal, with the welcome increase in the squirming of her body and the breathing becoming heavy.

He would feel himself getting painfully erect at her pleasure, denying himself even a touch of his penis, teasing himself without relief. Then, just as she began to climax, when she had arrived at that place where the orgasm was inevitable, when the body loses control and enters into that unstoppable bliss, her pleasure assured, he'd stiffen his tongue, like an erect appendage, and surprise his lover with a determined, firm plunge up inside her to feel the engorged flesh walls of her vagina contract around this muscular organ of taste. As her body writhed in a tightening of muscles, back arching, toes curling, the grab of sheets in fists, he would be selfishly finding his own pleasure in the clamping down of her pussy around his tongue, sucking him up into the womb. Then, after a few moments suspended in that euphoric high of pleasure, the body would settle, calming into remnant twitches as she came down off the illustrious joy, his mouth and chin drenched with her wetness. Yes, this was his favorite thing.

Then, after that glorious sensation of feeling her orgasm clasp her pussy around his tongue in tight, unrelenting hold, with slightly less enthusiasm, he would push his erection up inside her, taking pleasure in seeing her face go flush with a new sensation being added to the mix, eyes wide in having a penis now push apart the inner canals of her cunt that had squeezed downed to accommodate the smaller girth of his tongue. Or he would get up on his knees and, as if the various women had all studied at the same carnal school, without words, they'd eagerly bend and take him in their mouth, anxious to render the same pleasure for him that he had just brought to them. But it didn't matter to him. He'd had his joy, he'd felt the contraction of their pussy clamped down in firm grasp of his tongue, like a flesh vise, as if the vagina itself was on some independent desire to coddle and embrace this lovely thing inside it that had delivered such pleasure. Yes, his pursuit of this, which suited women just fine, them believing it to be merely some masterful technique of a consummate lover, rendered to arouse and pleasure them, was in fact, his own pleasure. The clamping down of those vaginal walls, engorged with the blood of arousal, gripping his outstretched tongue with their fleshy hold was the height of sexuality for him, the sweet honey the aperitif--each woman with a distinct and particular taste and scent. Yes, without question, his favorite thing was eating pussy.

He'd learned a long time ago that after having driven his partner to her wild pleasure with oral copulations, if he didn't demand or exact some selfish pleasure by having his own orgasm, his partner would think something strange, or wrong, inviting all kinds of insecurities and self question. The few times he settled back on the bed after having performed oral sex on a partner, with the kind of relaxing and contented demeanor of a man who has just relished a good smoke, savoring the tobacco of sex on his fatigued tongue, without any interest in furthering the encounter, had resulted in an odd mix of reactions, everything from frustration to anger. He realized there were certain expectations and assumptions. So, he'd learned it was easier to pretend he was still aroused and fuck them, or let them suck him off. He'd add some heavy breathing and generate a lot of theatrics when he came, but it was all show--for them, so they could feel complete. In a sense, although he would have an orgasm and ejaculate, he was, for all intents and purposes, faking it.

He was an anomaly. He knew this. As soon as he had become sexually active he had always had a penchant for going down on women. Pussies fascinated him. Cunts were a magical place, an alluring private cavern hidden there at the meet of a woman's thighs, dark and hot. He would marvel at the way they wetted up at his touch, at the involuntary contractions, as well as the welcome opening up to take something in there. He was enthralled how the slightest flick of tongue or tender kiss of the layer of lips could send a woman over the top and leave them gasping for breath, often exclaiming all kinds of sorted and nasty and contradictory things; damning him, cherishing him, blessing him, begging him, often with "no, no, no," followed immediately by "yes, yes, yes." Sometimes he'd take a turn at the anus, the canal there holding its own kind of intriguing convulsions at the touch of a tongue, but the vagina, that's where he loved to dwell with his mouth.

Much to his delight he'd discovered that being a man who was known to spend a great deal of his time during the course of making love with his face happily situated at the gateway to that glorious female cathedral, he didn't have a lot of trouble finding willing partners. Word of mouth traveled swiftly in his circles and women found ways to put themselves in his path, curious to find out for themselves. So, between new conquests and the healthy backlog of phone numbers for those who had experienced the phenomenon, he was rarely without a woman.

However, despite the wonderful dalliances that provided a steady turn of the revolving door of his bedroom, which kept his bed warm with wanting flesh, he felt something was lacking. It wasn't the women, with their entertaining array of vaginas, each with their own individual character--some with long lips, some all tucked up tight, some shaved, others trimmed, and some with all their natural unkempt hair--as well as the fascinating contrasts in how they responded sexually--from ardent screamers to quiet comers--the wildly varying range of sexual preferences--from simple and straight forward to nasty, fetishes, tender to rough, toys, doggy style, on top, tied up, out in public, front seats of cars, etc. etc. etc., all so tantalizingly wonderful--something was amiss in his satisfaction. He had a perfectly fine penis that became erect easily, and he enjoyed having an orgasm, but it just never satiated him the same way as having the fleshy wet walls of a woman's cunt, plumped up by arousal, closing down around his tongue in wonderful strangulation did. That drove him so mad with lust that more than once he'd come without so much as touching himself. He thought of this estrangement from typical satisfaction from time to time, keeping it to himself for fear his male friends would look at him funny for any complaints, given their envy for the steady stream of women passing through his apartment, into his arms and onto his tongue. So he continued the deceit in his carnal activities, keeping the secret to himself and playing perfectly the role of the male. Ultimately, he feared that he was some kind of sexual freak.

One day, while sitting in his apartment, there was a knock at the door. He got off the couch to answer it. When he opened the door an attractive woman of about thirty was standing there. She had wavy brown hair, beautifully mysterious eyes that shown with a kind of intelligent luminance, a wonderful figure, and smooth skin. She paused a moment too long, doing a quick elevator of him from head to foot, pleased with his good looks and fine physique.

"Yes? may I help you?" he asked, readying himself for the pitch, or the call to God, or who knows what.

"Are you Bo?" she asked.

"Yes."

The woman paused, mustering courage, "Well, this is going to sound very strange, but my girlfriend said you are a wonderful lover, with a certain fascination with vaginas and a real gift for cunnilingus."

Looking at her, without changing his expression or uttering a word, he reached out and took her by the hand. He gently drew her into the apartment and closed the door, then led her, without saying anything, to the bedroom.

"I'm not bothering you, am I?" the woman said awkwardly, as though she had maybe bitten off more than she could chew, not realizing her bold approach would be met with such instantaneous response.

Without taking his eyes from her, he reached down and pulled back the top cover of the bed.

She stared at the inviting, clean, neatly-tucked sheets, and without realizing what she was saying, offered rather sheepishly, "Because I could come back," utterly unconvincing.

He then began unbuttoning his shirt. The woman, understanding that what she had said at the door, aside from being somewhat unretractable at this point, had gotten instantly and honestly to the core of her visit and, being that there was nothing much to converse on beyond that, surrendered, following his lead and unbuttoning her blouse. As their clothing fell away they came to the amorous smiles that accompany the excited anticipation of a new sexual encounter.

Strangers, face to face, standing naked before one another. A touch, a caress, and then a kiss provided formal introduction. After that simple formality the tempo and ferocity of the moment escalated rather quickly. They found themselves on the bed, feeling of the other, a hand on a breast, cupping an ass, fingers running through pubic hair to find the other's sex. And then, as if on cue, that glorious glistening that erupts on the soft lips of the vagina, accompanied by the glorious scent, this one new and different, yet strangely like the others. She was pleased when his cock grew to impressive hardness in her hand.

After some lovely feel of tongues in ears and on necks, her body began that luscious descent down his and her head of bushy hair found him, her lips running all over the skin of his penis, wetting it with saliva. Then the tickle of the head with a lashing of tongue, and, after a great tease, the mouth enclosed him and began a most delicious sucking, the inside of her cheeks clamping down around his member, feeling like a warm and snug womb.

He was duly impressed at the masterful way she moved her head, twisting as she drew him in and out, with ever more raucous gyrations of almost lyrical movements that generated a new tingling of sensation on the shaft of his cock that felt rather nice. She took a pleasant detour to lick his balls, to which her breathing increased in tempo, her mouth becoming a wet and sloppy opening, the jaw loosening to better facilitate taking him, the lips pliable, the tongue and teeth a carefully orchestrated ballet of oral stimulation. With his cock back in her mouth she began a slow and deliberate taking of him. When the head hit the back of her throat, she pushed herself further onto him. He felt his cock slide down her throat. It felt like a lusciously ready vagina, the muscles and flesh a perfectly snug fit. He watched, amazed, as her lips slid further and further until, quite incredibly, her mouth pressed up against his groin, flattening the pubic hair against his stomach. No woman had ever managed to get him all the way into their mouth. This was a most surprising first for him. Adding to the excitement was the fact that she was emitting beautifully succulent sounds that were commingling with her alluring moans; the poetry of passion. They were the distinct moans of a woman coming to her pleasure. He studied her body, writhing in response to the feel of his cock in her mouth. She got up on her knees, her back arched beautifully, the sight of her perfect, round ass granting a visual stimulation for him.

He realized with a kind of suddenness that he was experiencing the best blow job of his life. But what really did it for him was the fact that she seemed to be so thoroughly enjoying the act herself. It was a very different sensation than a woman performing this merely out of a sense of duty. When the blow job went well past the appointed time most women traditionally allotted to this aspect of sex, this woman kept on. She seemed in no hurry or want of getting fucked. She was quite content, as evidenced by her increasingly voracious mouth and the muted, guttural moans of "mm's" and "ah's" that were muffled by his cock filling her mouth.

After what seemed like forty-five minutes of this most consummate blow job, he finally twisted himself away from her, pulling his penis from her mouth, which, whimpering, she leaned into in order to try and continue the act, licking her lips in want of more. When she realized he now wanted to explore her she somewhat reluctantly allowed herself to be laid back on the bed. He made the first step toward that grand cavern, takin his time in pleasured descent down her sculpted body, tongue performing a tender licking of nipples before tracing wet trails across her stomach en route to her castle. He surprised her with a rather forceful and firm push of her thighs, spreading her legs apart, leaving her wonderfully and completely exposed to him. The cool air brushed her opening. He sat back on his knees for a moment just to marvel at her vagina, cocking his head slightly, the way an urbane gentleman visiting his favorite restaurant might regard a feast of roasted pig placed before him, or how an ardent student of fine art might regard a painting hanging in the Louvre. His fingers then went about a cursory exploration, feeling of the dripping wetness that had been roused with her oral frolicking of him. Impressive, he thought, for her to have gotten that turned on giving him head. He then looked at her with a delightfully nasty look in his eyes, as if to say, are you ready for this? Settling to the bed, his face pressed down between her thighs and his mouth fell on her.

His first titillation of lips, gently and playfully touching here and there, soon progressed to the wandering of his tongue, entering into that oh so sweet game of cat and mouse, tongue and fingers searching through the folds. Her moans had settled into a kind of passive breathing as she played with his hair. He wondered if perhaps she had tired herself out in her rather impressive performance, a bit too much showing off in an effort to impress him. He dove in and found all her right places, her body squirming in response. Soon, the little bugger appeared, and he greeted his familiar friend--albeit in a new body--kissing it, caressing it lovingly, for this was the magic, this was the thing that made life worth living. With lips and tongue and fingers all working on her, he became aroused, his cock hard, pressed against the bed. He lost himself in his exploration of her, his mouth doing its virtuoso thing, playing her vagina with his tongue like that of a musician's fingers strumming the strings of a harp, delivering the music of lust; the gentle panting, the occasion moan of ecstasy hinting at approaching abandonment. And yet, in all this mastery of her pussy, he had the distinct awareness that, although pleasured, her exhales seemed more controlled than when she had been taking him in her mouth. Perhaps, he thought, it was because it was harder for her to catch her breath with a cock in her mouth, obstructing the airway. But there was something else. Her body seemed to be settled now, whereas when she was sucking his cock, it was alive with gyrations and sinuous movements that spoke of primal, uncontrollable lust. Unaccustomed to this type of reaction from a woman, where usually, by this point, they would have drifted off to some place in their heads wild with passion, screaming all kinds of obscenities--the devout thanking the heavens, the atheists suddenly and repetitively finding the word God in their vocabulary--he went to task with more intent. His increased endeavoring was rewarded with only slightly heightened modulations of breathing and what seemed like an actual falling off of interest on her part. After a few minutes of this, he ventured into something he'd never done. He asked, "Does this feel good?"

She answered somewhat passively and a bit too reserved to be convincing, "Yes, it feels wonderful."

He resumed, his tongue playing with the little sailor in the rowboat, diverting to do a swirling magic on her vaginal walls while fingertips massaged her G-spot. Eventually, he discerned the rhythms of her breathing were being drawn up into a heavy panting and her hips began that beautiful dance of involuntary movement. He carefully led her up onto the ledge, balancing her there as he continued his dalliances of tongue, closing his mouth on the little sailor and softly sucking, then pressing his tongue flat against her and running it up and down the length of her vulva. Then, that glorious trembling that signals the coming of it all. He felt her body jerk and twitch, felt her body now doing its own thing. He held off until the final possible second, waiting to ensure her body had surrendered and was on the beautiful collision course with climax. As she shuddered with orgasm he pushed his tongue up inside her as far as he could, his face crushing into the perfect mound of soft hair on her smooth hood to feel her vagina clamp down in spasm and grab the length of his tongue on all sides, holding him tight. Then, after the glorious but fleeting moment, the slow descent from the high of orgasm relaxed the muscles of her vagina and the flesh walls released their firm grip of his tongue. She gradually settled her writhing body, sweated with perspiration, onto the bed in a quivering of delight.

As good as the orgasm had appeared to feel to her, he was suspect. It seemed a bit of a show for his benefit. He pulled himself up alongside her in the bed and stole a glance at her breasts. There was not the fairly reliable test of a flushed chest to indicate she had climaxed. He wondered, given that her moans of pleasure had not quite reached the highs and intensity of when she was sucking him, that perhaps she had faked it.

He slid himself inside her and they enjoyed a round of sex in a number of inventive positions, she eagerly taking him in her mouth between each new situation to wet him. After a pleasant half hour of straight fucking he came, or rather, pretended to come, and they both fell back in the bed, catching their breath.

They exchanged some simple banter, some idle chit chat as they came down off the high of sex, each offering the other niceties in the vein of 'that was great,' 'yeah, that was great.' But somewhere in all their post coital attitudes there was something unsettling to him. As they lay there, bathing in the aftermath glow of heated sex, she fondled his softening penis. She seemed as enamored of it in its placid state as when it was erect. She playfully stroked it, feeling her sticky wetness on him.

"You seem to really enjoy sucking cock."

"Hmm," was all that came from her as she continued her fondling, eyes on his penis, playfully running her fingers along its contours.

"You're one of those pleasant finds; a woman who genuinely enjoys the feel of a cock in her mouth."

After a long moment, she responded, "Well, to tell you the truth, I really do love it."