Five minutes. Or I cum.
Sgrayeff
In NJ. Goes to Pa for BJ.
"No, it only takes five minutes," she said. She explained a husband who needed more couldn't be her husband.
That's stayed with me over the decades. The five-minute blowjob. The skill involved. Her ability to deliver completion in just five minutes. Not just her either. The man too.
Not that five minutes or fewer makes it better. I've surely enjoyed the marathon. The long, slow, wet tease. The building crescendo. The climax delayed - even denined - but only for a time.
Perhaps the most important sexual relationship of my life was my junior year in college. She was a wackjob out of Berkeley, Calif. And beautiful. To walk with her was to watch men's heads swivel. Sexy. And nuts.
This isn't the nuts part. She loved sex. She was imaginative and giving and demanding. One of her unnegotiable demands was that we always come together. Always. It was a demand on both of us. Whichever of us was getting there first either had to hold or had to coax the other into coming now. I learned to control myself to the point that I could come on demand. Long after we left school, I was wowing new girls with my ability to hold off - or to come - whatever she or the situation required.
So when I heard Nina describe what it takes to get that daily blowjob, I knew could be the beneficiary. Of course, Nina was never one of my favorites. And that was long before I became a stripclub regular. That talent, however, was for life.
In the club, I've learned that my control is my friend. Though 20 bucks a song isn't a fortune, it's $20. I'm able to manage that part of my spend by managing my cum. If I go to a third or a fourth song, that's because I want it. Most of the time, I'm aiming to spend whatever tip we've a agreed, plus $40 for the room whether it's BJ or fucking.
It's funny because the other half of my hobby - Asian massage parlors - gets an entirely different approach. There I hold out till time is done. No blowjob is going to make me come unless I want to. I'm fucking through multiple positions as long as I dare.
But in the stripclub, I measure the girls by that two-song standard. Waste time undressing? Useless chit chat? It's coming out of your two-song limit. I don't tell them that. I'm counting all the same. We've agreed on oral. Your mission is to get it done before the third song. Most do.
It's sad when they don't. Because if we're back there, it's because she already has something I like. In the most recent case, it was a ripe young AA girl. Pretty. Glowing. Face perfect. Figure perfect. Breasts bigger than they should have been on her frame and shaped to arouse. Doesn't blink when I suggest oral. Doesn't demur at the price. On the contrary, her eyes are in sync with the affirmation coming through her lips.
So disappointing. Chalk it up to youth. Chalk it up to too much chatter. Chalk it up to inexperience. She didn't do anything wrong per se. She's just no Nina Hartley. Way better looking. Much better tits. Just goes to show what technique can do.
It's okay. I'm still going to fuck her. I want to show her I'm a good guy. That and the fact that I'm horny degenerate - a degenerate who still can come pretty much on demand.
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