Thanksgiving Head

Thanksgiving Eve. Staring out at the first few frosty flakes slowly drifting onto the runway, I was lost in reverie considering all of the things for which I had to be thankful.

My brain bounced to a movie from more than a quarter of a century ago: Porky's. In this film (whose cast, coincidentally, included a very young Kim Cattrall, later of Sex and the City fame), a character says, "You know my motto, 'Give me pussy or give me death.'" Substitute the word "semen" for "pussy" and, if I'd ever thought about it before, it'd have been my motto, too.

Before long I realized a guy at the airport lounge had been speaking to me while I was in creamy dreamland. I was enjoying the daydream too much to entertain the interruption.

"Listen," I said to him, "Joshua, was it? I've known my -- and more than a few other women's -- share of men and hearing you tell me that it's a 'memorable member' is cute. But unless it's scratching your sternum and you can count its output in ounces why don't you go back to your buddies?"

"OK, so it's notthat big, but my umbilicus salutes each time the flag pole's raised!" he insisted with smiling bravado buoyed by a few beers.

"Umbilicus?" I responded, raising my eyebrows and nodding slowly with an insincere smile, "Big word. Ooh, you must be a med student."

Then dropping the pretense, shaking my head, I simply said, "Not impressed." Deciding that flirting with this cute (and, I admitted to myself, slightly hunky) twenty-something was not what I needed at the moment, I added, "Just let me have my drink in peace and quiet -- and maybe they'll clear us for take-off before too long. Have a nice flight."

With my most saccharine I've-seen-it-all smile, I pointed back to his buddies' table in the airport bar.

Nice kid, I thought, but not tonight. I was aware of the irony that he and his friends were only about ten years (give or take) my junior, but after the two weeks I'd had on the road I just wanted to get to my family's annual Thanksgiving get-together in our New Hampshire home before this typical fall storm made getting anywhere impossible.

Once he'd gone I remembered the evening's semen-besotted soiree that had ended this business trip. After the quarterly meeting where I'd been awarded the customer service rep of the year award (the CSA as we knew it) -- and its concomitant hefty bonus -- we (the eight or nine reps I knew best and I) went to a strip club to celebrate.

At first I was apprehensive, but once inside it was clear that this was not a spur (sperm?) of the moment thing. It had all been choreographed down to the private room in the back with its own mini-stage, bar and DJ. In addition, we had our own three private strippers (Lanaya, Bambi, and Diamond) each with her own enormous pair that seemed to get bigger as you moved in order from one to the next.

(Pardon the aside, but with all the years of piano lessons as a kid, this order had some musical instrument significance. For a long time, the five most widely available Steinway grand piano models in the US were the S (5'), M (5.5'), L (6'), the B (7'), and D (9'). I was told by our piano tuner who often came over smelling of alcohol (I think of him fondly as "Nip/Tune.") that he used a mnemonic system to remember them: Small, Medium, Large, Big and Damn big. So here we were face to face, as it were, with the surgically enhanced high-end trio: Large Lanaya, Big Bambi and Damn big Diamond.)

It was a surprise-filled night. First of all, I was still high from winning the CSA (customer service award), given my relative inexperience with the firm. But, I had worked hard and I did feel that, if hard work were the major criteria along with exceeding my sales goals and very content customers I did deserve the award.

Another surprise was a fellow sales rep I had not seen in a year. He was known as Big Mike (deservedly -- in all directions) and I had last seen him right after he'd thrown up on his wife's brand new and very expensive living room chair. This was also just a few minutes after I'd deep-throated Big Mike's cock and enjoyed a brandy snifter of his semen. (But that's another story.)

Though I couldn't say anything about his manhood at the moment, "Big" was probably not a moniker to be used for him, save for his height. He'd probably lost more than 100 pounds. What was most surprising about New Mike was his demeanor. He used to be a, pardon the expression, "puke." But in the past couple of days at the meeting he was polite, funny, and actually quite charming. I don't know if it was therapy or the rumored divorce proceedings under way, but he was a new man.

In any event, at that same party I'd deep-throated all the other reps on a dare and a good time was had by all.

So, here we were: a year older, wiser, some a bit wider, but in Big (New?) Mike's case much thinner -- and celebrating my award. As an oral sex aficionada, though, I had been hoping we were going to head back to someone's hotel room for a round of blowjobs. I'd provide the mouth; they'd provide the semen. Given that my rare sexuality connected my libido to my mouth and my sperm consumption it would have been a satisfying time for all.

The guys had really planned this out, however, and after a round or two of drinks, an extravagance of exposed ecdysiast epithelial, and some terrific oldies selected by our DJ, I was feeling wonderful -- and increasingly and inexorably horny.

Yet, it was when the DJ handed New Mike a mike and he deftly hopped onto the stage, that I knew why I loved these guys. (Who knew New Mike could sing?) The DJ put on karaoke versions of a bunch of tunes, and there was Mike in his tie, his hips swaying, doing a great rendition of a tune I hadn't heard since I was a kid.

The lights are on, but you're not home,

You're mine, not your own.

Hot sweat, body shakes ...

(Addicted to Love -- Robert Palmer)

While doing this successful tribute to an entertainer who died long before his time, several of the other guys also got up on the stage. Helped by the strippers (though by this time they were more like post-strippers, clad in matching outfits: shoes. What more was there to take off?), each of the guys began to strut their stuff, slowly and sexily being denuded by Moe, Larry and Curly. (OK, OK. They were Lanaya, Bambi and Diamond. Yet it really was as though they were cartoon versions of women, thin and nicely shaped, but with soccer balls glued to their torsos.)

You like to think that you're immune to the stuff, oh yeah,

It's closer to the truth to say

You can't get enough you know

You're gonna have to face it you're addicted to love.

By the time Mike got to a second Robert Palmer tune, I was alone in the audience and all nine of them plus the trio without the Y-chromosomes were naked up on stage. Each appeared to have a harder hard-on than the one next to him. And none of them was even looking at me. They just couldn't get enough of the balloons bouncing between them.

She used to look good to me

But now I find her simply irresistible.

The woman is invincible

She's so fine there's no telling where the money went.

She's so fine there's no other way to go.

Her methods are inscrutable

The proof is irrefutable.

(Simply Irresistible -- Robert Palmer)

Each girl was now kneeling in front of three guys, jerking off the two on either side. The one directly in front of her was pressing her boobs together so he could get some titty-fucking action. I couldn't fault them on their multi-tasking ingeniousness.

But it was when the music changed and Mike, the one person on stage still clad, shifted rhythms that I couldn't decide whether I was really drooling or my vaginal secretions were in some bizarre way overflowing my body. (There had to be some double meaning in the fact that this tune was in the Reservoir Dogs soundtrack, right?)

Ouga chaka, ouga chaka, ouga, ouga, ouga chaka

I can't stop this feeling

Deep inside of me,

Girl, you just don't realize

What you do to me.

When you hold me

In your arms so tight

You let me know,

Everything's all right.

(Hooked On A Feeling -- Blue Swede)

By now Mike had removed his tie and shirt, and I was definitely creaming in my panties. Remembering how huge his dick was, I surely hoped he hadn't lost any weight between his thighs.

The music shifted to an old Beach Boys tune and, though occupied by the ministrations of those talented-orbed women, the guys provided the backup singing.

I'm pickin' up good vibrations,

She's givin' me excitations.

Good, good, good, good vibrations.

(Good Vibrations -- The Beach Boys)

The nine of them forming the back-up singers, some playing air guitar, some playing cock guitar, provided Mike a moment to take it all off and he did not disappoint. His cock was standing at attention and he was saluting straight at me.

You're still the one I want to talk to in bed

Still the one that turns my head

We're still having fun and you're still the one.

(Still The One -- Orleans)

This show had been put on just for me, but I wanted, no, needed at that moment, to be more than a spectator. I needed those cocks and I needed their cum.

I quickly tore off my clothes. (It's weird. When everyone else is naked and you're completely clothed, you feel, well, naked. That makes no sense, but I'm sticking with it.) Yet, some crazy place in my brain warned me to worry about broken glass. (Go figure!) So the shoes went back on and I hopped up on stage.

I headed straight for Big (Now that he'd lost weight everywhere else -- and had become a nice guy on top of it -- he seemed to be even Bigger) Mike and started to kneel in front of him. But suddenly one of the titanic-titted trio (Was it Bambi?) produced an adjustable stool with wheels, appropriately lowered so that someone of my 5' 6" height would be sitting eye to eye with the little one-eyed guy. But being an observer had played itself out watching all these naked boobs and hard-ons. I wanted to be a participant so badly, I think I heard a squishing sound as I plunked myself unceremoniously down on the proffered stool. And before he even knew what was happening I had several inches of Mike's dick deep in my mouth.

The DJ put regular oldies back since none of those in the room (except for the poor lonely DJ himself) was concentrating too much on singing. Of course, my ears were still attuned to his fine work.

As pretty as you are,

You know you could have been a flower

If good looks was a minute,

You know you could have been an hour

The way you stole my heart...

(The Way You Do The Things You Do -- The Temptations)

I wasn't thinking too much about how I looked, but hearing this great tune by "those temptin' Temptations" -- as my mouth and tongue went to work seriously at the hefty piece of meat I was temporarily annexing -- my mind did what it often does during sex: thinks of other things.

It's amazing how I can revel in the pleasures of the flesh and have enormous orgasms -- with or without clitoral stimulation -- but part my brain will often just keep itself entertained its own way.

Well you could have been anything that you want to

And I can tell

The way you do the things you do.

Now that I'd wetted this gorgeous cock well, I began the throating process. Given his circumference as well as his length, Mike is not an easy swallow. It takes more than just determination and a control of the gag reflex with someone this large. Yet, I'd done it before, knew I could do it again and was determined to have his pubes tickling my nose in short (sorry Mike, didn't mean that one) order.

Yet, my brain went to work on our hostesses.

I was vaguely aware that most or all of the room's tetrads -- which included one pair of breasts and a trio of penises -- had stopped their manipulations and had formed a circle around Mike and me. Lanaya, Bambi, and Diamond. My mind wandered. If they were cars they could be Lexus, BMW, and, hmm, what? No, I just couldn't think of a top-of-the-line car beginning with D. Of course, there was the Daimler Maybach 62S with its 12 cylinder, 6 litre engine, but that didn't quite count, did it? (I really must curb this brain multitasking thing!)

Mike's head was slowly snaking its way into my esophagus, but I needed to take a breath and that caused me to snake him, elegantly of course, back out. This gave me a second to look around and focus some of my other nutty senses.

Got my mojo working, but it just won't work on you

I wanna love you so bad till I don't know what to do

(Got My Mojo Workin -- Muddy Waters)

Over the sound of Muddy Waters himself (or Eric Clapton, was it? Nah, the recording sounded too old.) I could hear (a) the sounds of sweet grunts from the guys, each playing now with himself, (b) the sounds of higher pitched moans from the BEAST (There went my brain again: Breast Enhancement and Augmentation Strip Team) each of whom was fiercely doing clit rubs. (I began to wonder if all their nerve endings surrounding those saline sacs were of little use to the brain's pleasure centers, but fortunately I dropped that train of thought. Too much else going on, I figured.) and (c) the sounds, getting increasingly more violent, of penile flesh being rubbed, lubricated by some pre-seminal fluids and/or saliva perhaps.

I was also aware of the smell of sex, being at groin level surrounded by 10 cocks and three pussies (plus my own), there was a lot of stuff emanating from all those glands (Were those called apocrine glands? OK. Stop this!) The smell was almost intoxicating.

I'm going down to Louisiana to get me a mojo hand,

I'm gonna have all you women right here at my command

Back to work, I thought, but lo and behold, my oral sex techniques had been working all through this diversion. Mike was now a virtual fixture in my body: my nose was pressing into his now-hard abdomen, his dick in places usually reserved for meals and endoscopes.

The pace around me was picking up too. It felt like a group simultaneous orgasm was right around the corner. I began to think about the lost opportunity to suck each of my co-workers, to thank them for this wonderful party.

You show us everything you've got

Baby, baby, that's quite a lot,

And you drive us wild, we'll drive you crazy.

(Rock and Roll All Night -- Kiss)

Before long I had a good sense that Mike was just on the verge of blowing his load and I knew it was going to be a winner. I love cum and the last thing I wanted was to waste it blasting down my throat, untasted and unsavored. I slowed my now quite rapid mouth-fucking movements (As an exercise fanatic I have my hair cut pretty short. When I'm seriously giving a blowjob (and, though there is to my mind no other way to give a blowjob, there are the easier, slower movements at the beginning) and moving my head rapidly to get what I need out of that cock, I'm always glad not to have my hair flopping in my eyes and mouth. I just had an aside within an aside. Cheesh!) and gradually let him slide out so that just his large head was contained in my mouth. I began to use both hands to manipulate his cock and gently rub his hefty balls.

I thought love was only true in fairy tales

Then I saw her face

Now I'm a believer

(I'm A Believer -- The Monkees)

It also became clear that there had been a brief pause in the activity around me when I'd been deep-throating Mike, during which at least two of the big-busted babes, seemingly amazed at my talented throat, had shrieked aloud in their current, hyperactive states.

Not a trace,

Of doubt in my mind

I'm in love, I'm a believer, I couldn't leave her if I tried.

To me it seemed like a natural thing, having a cock deep in my mouth, but I do love watching it. It is an amazing thing to watch. (I began to think about the trio again. What if they were the Ivy League? Diamond could be Dartmouth, Bambi Brown, but what about Lanaya? Was there an Ivy school that began with the letter L? Was Lehigh or Lafayette an Ivy? No, I thought. Hmm. I've really gotta get this divagation under control.) I, too, wanted to have my own smashing climax and I could feel it moving down the pike. Yet, I wanted some cum to make that happen.

It was at that moment that it all began to happen. I looked around as best I could at the fascinating phalanx of phalluses focused on me and suddenly one went off. Just as suddenly I felt the world go into slow motion, just like slow motion cum shots in porn videos. The DJ seemed to have the prescience to know what to play next as life alternated between slow-spacey and hard-heavy.

Picture yourself in a boat on a river,

With tangerine trees and marmalade skies

Somebody calls you, you answer quite slowly,

A girl with kaleidoscope eyes.

(Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds -- The Beatles)

Mike spurted a few preliminary volleys and then came the flood, but it didn't jet into my mouth. It was more like a hose being turned on in my mouth, the floor of which was slowly filling with delicious, warm semen. It was as though he'd turn on the faucet at medium pressure for several seconds, turn it off, and then begin again.

Lucy in the sky with diamonds

Lucy in the sky with diamonds

With this tripped out forty-year old Beatle song, it began. Just as Mike's cum was pushing me over the edge, I became aware of sights and sounds around me. It appeared as though every one of these cocks surrounding me was coming concurrently. (To tell the truth, though, I wasn't counting.) My own orgasm began and I opened my mouth to do a bit of moaning. It was just then that Mike released one of the longest, largest spurts of semen I'd ever seen. ("Boy, I'm good," I flattered myself.)

The incredible DJ had just switched to an old boogie tune and I switched into "raving oral lunatic lady."

I don't know what you've got,

But it don't take a genius to see,

That whatever you've got, it's hot

And it's meltin' me.

(You Bring Out the Boogie in Me -- Sonny Terry and Brownie McGhee)

Mouth agape I tried to suck every cock as it was coming. Clearly it was a losing battle, but I was not going to take it without giving it the old college try. (Cornell ends in two els, would that count for Lanaya?) They were just coming and coming. It was almost like having a collection of water pistols aimed at your mouth, but shooting semen. It doesn't get any better than this.

My own orgasm was virtually taking over my body. I think I stopped any hand movement and just tried to follow the bouncing heads as best I could with my mouth, all the while relishing the delicious taste and my own prolonged climax

When you prance like that

In your pants like that

Honey, you could make a blind man see,

You're love has shook me,

And you bring out the boogie in me.

On they went, shooting and shooting for what seemed like hours. Well, minutes at least because I know the music changed to a swing tune. (This DJ was amazing.)

It ain't the meat, it's the motion

That makes your mama wanna rock

(It Ain't the Meat It's the Motion - Maria Muldaur)

My mouth filled three or four times and I had to swallow each time, lest I lose any. I love that delectable white liquid.

It ain't the meat, it's the motion

It's the movement that gives it the sock.

Things began to slow down and I became aware of something going on behind the groins I could see. In my head I did a mental calculation and realized that I only had about five or six cocks in front of me. I wanted more. Where were the rest?