On the Dishwasher

My friends had told tales of giving men "blow jobs" but I knew little about the actual process, nodding my head and smiling as I pretended during such stories to be as knowledgeable and experienced as all the other young women around me. When you almost writhed at my touch, I started using both hands and then moved closer. I took the tip of your little head between my lips as I understood the intent of a blow job to be, but my initial efforts were admittedly not the best, understanding only a little later that it was you that was supposed to blow, not me, and it wasn't the kind of blowing that I was imagining.

Fortunately, you were looking at me the whole time with such desire in your eyes and you gave me gentle advice on what felt good ("Ooh, there!") and what didn't ("Oh, no teeth!" Sorry!) and I soon had a good rhythm kissing and stroking, and once I took the big helmet fully in my mouth, caressing, bobbing, and sucking. I loved looking up into your eyes and seeing your joy and maybe even love shining back at me as I did it. You touched my shoulders, my neck, and my hair, but never pressured me to try to take more than I was comfortable with, and then, before too long, you bent forward and caught my boobies again and caressed them as I tried to maintain my bearings on the job at hand.

Harder and harder you seemed to become as I drove you on, maybe not doing it great but doing it well enough for you to continue moaning softly in response. I enjoyed your swelling in my hands and in my mouth as I tried to suck your essence from you; to see you squirming at my efforts was a real treat. I'd initially been concerned that I might not be able to do it, but you were clearly enjoying it by then before you said, "Renae! I'm about to come!"

That was a problem in that I'd never seen anyone ejaculate before and I had no idea what it entailed or what to do so I pulled off at just the wrong moment to ask. I felt the pulse in my hands and then was amazed to see you blow, just like a volcano or a whale, the white jet flying almost straight up in the air, with some landing on me, more on my skirt and leg, a little on my sweater, and the rest splatting on the floor (thank goodness it was tile instead of carpet!). Figuring it the prudent thing to avoid more mess, I got you back in my mouth by the third or fourth (much smaller, thank goodness!) eruptions, only catching a little on my face and in my hair.

Witnessing it, I felt like a little child seeing fireworks for the first time and I grinned and clapped at your wondrous display when you pulled out of my mouth and thanked me with your smile and your words. With a mouthful of your cum but wanting to tell you how much I enjoyed what we'd done, I swallowed it right down. I didn't think until later that I could have spit it out, but it was you, your essence, and it wasn't objectionable so I did it with a smile that reflected your own.

You pulled me up and kissed me, your taste still on my lips and tongue. That you didn't care, that you wanted me then and there, meant so much to me later as I learned more about sex with you and my private research online (you didn't think I figured all of those things out over the years entirely on my own, did you? Ha ha!). Anyway, that meant a lot to me and still does, and now, ten years later, I'm proud to say that I've never spit since then either.

We stood there holding each other for quite some time before I grabbed a clean dish towel from the drawer and wet it with warm water. We cleaned each other and I was about to get dressed when you said, "No, no, Babe. We're not done. Now it's your turn."

You put your hands around my waist and picked me up like I was as light as a feather, set me on the countertop right over that dishwasher, flipped my skirt up, and...well, perhaps that's a memory I'll share another day since it's getting late and I want to get to bed to have my wicked way with you (yes, I'm sure you've figured out by now that I typed this "last night" when I was "working" in my office since I wanted to give it to you this morning. I'd insert a little devil emoji here but have no idea how to do it!) before you fall asleep.

My love, I learned three things that day.

First, while I made the choice to free myself from my past, to experience pleasure with you, to give as I could and to receive as you could give, I realized that, as far as we were going, I did not want to go all the way. Remember, we spoke about this in the days and weeks that followed so I won't belabor the point other than to say that I chose to wait to until that night to experience any type of sexual activity because it was how I'd been raised, but it was my choice to make a change, to do what I wanted rather than what I'd been taught, and I did it that evening.

The other part of the choice was to wait to have sexual intercourse until I married, not because my parents had insisted on it or impressed it upon me, not because of religion or morality or any other outside influence, but because that was MY choice too. I wanted to wait, wanting to someday give my husband (you, I'd begun to hope) my virginity (however one feels of the concept, whether antiquated or not), and, more importantly, the joy of seeing me experiencing actual, all-out sex for the first time, just as I hoped I might experience his (again, yours, I hoped) for that same first time.

That was, as I said, a choice, but it wasn't what I learned. No, the learning part was that we could have a whole lot of fun without having actual intercourse. The way you learned to pleasure me so well with your mouth and fingertips—

*****

Martin smiled, remembering that he hadn't a clue about the actual details of oral sex on a woman, being just as new to it as Renae had been with him. What he knew was that he wanted, above all else, to treat Renae right and help her enjoy his first efforts just as she'd done with him, learning on the job, taking his hints and directions from any instructions she provided ("But please, not inside me.") and the clues her actions and body might give.

~+++~

and improving our skills over the weeks that followed was a wonderful experience. I still smile when I recall a couple of weeks later when we finally figured out what sixty-nine really meant!

The second thing I learned that evening was that, while my idea of using the sweater as padding under my knees on that tile floor helped, it didn't help much! Yes, a pillow is much, much better on a hard floor, and doing it together on a couch or in bed is much better still.

And come to think of it, let's make it four things that I learned: I loved how you reached down and held and caressed my boobies while I made love to your cock with my mouth and hands. Me kneeling on the floor in front of you isn't exactly the best position for that, but you bent forward enough where you could hold me and play with my nipples a bit until you finally had to let go and grip the edge of the countertop to keep from collapsing under my efforts. Seeing that made me smile and my heart sing and I learned that I loved doing it for you.

And finally, number three (well, number four now), while I appreciated you loading the dishwasher for me that evening, it was obvious from watching you and from the end result that you had as little clue on how to do it to get dishes clean as I did on how to give you a proper blow job before I did it that night.

With you being the only son of a stay-at-home mom and having seen how your mother rules her kitchen with an iron rolling pin during our visits to your parents' home in the years since (did you know she still doesn't let me help hand wash her good china, even though we've been married for so long!), I now understand how she probably never let you even get close to the dishwasher as you were growing up. Therefore, that night after you left, I reworked the placement of the dishes in that little dishwasher so everything would get sprayed and we wouldn't have all the cups, glasses, and bowls fill up with water. I also removed all of the dishwashing liquid from the dispenser cup and put in the proper detergent to avoid the sudsy water spilling out and making a mess all over my floor. When I was done, I started the wash cycle and promptly forgot all about it...until last night, anyway.

As an aside, I'll add that, unlike so many of my married female friends and coworkers who complain of working full time and being the primary parent for their children, they end up doing almost all of the household chores while their husbands watch a TV show or a ballgame, play video games or cards, or sit around and drink beer, we've always split our household chores so equitably, with me doing my part, including the dishes, and you always doing your list without ever complaining (well, except for when the clothes washer broke and you had to go to the laundromat for two weeks while we waited for the part and the repairman to return and install it. You complained some during the early part of that period, but never at me, particularly after I started doing my best to improve your mood by keeping your cock happy and a near perpetual smile on your face). I appreciate you, my love, for all you do for us and I know that you'll be a wonderful father to our daughter when she arrives in a few more weeks.

All that said, thank you so much for loading the dishwasher last night to help me and for reminding me of that wonderful time we had that night long ago. I appreciate it so much, Martin, but (yes, there's a but, sorry!), it's obvious you haven't learned a single thing about putting dishes in the dishwasher to get them clean since my first attempt at giving you a blowjob ten years ago. Therefore, please see the attached printout that I found online that has some good hints on how to load dishes efficiently so they'll get clean. Rework what's in the dishwasher a little like the sheet says and when you think it's close enough to the examples, please press the Start button. Then, when I get home tonight, I'll see about pressing your buttons over and over and showing you how much improvement I've made with my blowjob technique over the years.

I hope you're looking forward to that as much as I am!

Sweetheart, I love you,

Renae

*****

Late that morning, Martin was in the office struggling to get his work done, his mind continuing to drift to Renae's letter and the memories it had stirred when his phone vibrated with an incoming call. It was Renae so he took it.

"Hi, Babe, how'd it go?"

Renae whispered over the line, "It went great! Mr. Reynolds was very appreciative of our efforts and he's probably in the air on his way back home by now. Mrs. Floyd told me Mr. Reynolds loved my presentation and our proposal; she said he'd be pushing for it in the home office so she gave me a gift certificate and told me to take the afternoon off with pay."

"That's great, Babe! Maybe that will let you catch up on your rest from the long hours you've been putting in."

"Hmm. We'll see," she said, causing him to wonder what she meant. "Say, sweetheart, did anything interesting happen to you this morning?"

There was a little giggle over the line when she asked that. "Yeah, my favorite lady in the whole wide world sent me a really hot love letter."

"You liked it?"

"Absolutely loved it," he replied. "It reminded me of such a great time with you and I've pretty much been hot and bothered ever since reading it. Heck, I was almost late to work. Of course, part of it was reorganizing the dishes in the washer but the rest was taking and then recovering from a cold shower trying to ease off on a little problem."

There was another giggle when he said that.

"A little problem, eh? If I had my guess, I suspect it was a much bigger problem than you're letting on." She giggled again. "Hmm, you know, if you liked it that much, maybe I actually will write you another letter sometime? And, say, don't you have a bunch of comp time stored up that you need to use? If Mr. Robards will let you take the afternoon off, I think we might be able to come up with a solution for your 'little'—or whatever size it is—problem. How about if we start with the one I suggested in the letter, let you have a turn too, if you'd like—"

"Mmm, yeah, I'd like that!"

"—and then we'll proceed from there to make some brand-new memories together?"

The End

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Endnotes:

This story was written for the Pink Orchid 2023 for Women-Centric Erotica Challenge

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