I know it’s a terrible simile, but it was as if she were a cock sucking washing machine with extra suds.
She would bob down, move back up and her tongue would then swirl around my cockhead, and then repeat… the entire time somehow producing this crazy oxymoron: an abundance of wetness, and yet her lips were like a suction cup.
Although I had enjoyed Portia’s mouth bobbing on my cock and she’d made me cum like crazy, she was clearly an amateur compared to Ms. Chan.
Not surprisingly, in no time her masterful lips and tongue had my balls boiling like a volcano about to erupt.
And like said volcano, when the eruption hit, it was a massive explosion. I warned her just seconds before blast off, respecting her more than I did Portia, “I’m about to come.”
Her response was nonverbal as she simply shifted into full speed suction bobbing.
She milked my cock, and a few more bobs were all it took for my warm cream to be deposited into her mouth, even as I wondered if I should have pulled out and given her the homemade cream in her coffee.
She easily swallowed my load, her bobbing not slowing down at all. When I was finally completely drained, she slowed down and leisurely bobbed for a couple more minutes, reluctant to part company with my sacred cock.
When she finally removed me from her mouth, the first thing she said was, “Delicious!”
I began tucking myself away, but she stopped me. “No, leave it out. We can talk for a while, but you still owe me the taste of Round Two.
“Do you really enjoy the taste of cum?” I asked.
“It’s my favourite snack,” she said in the afterglow, still relishing the taste of mine and licking her lips.
“I read somewhere it was salty, tart and gooey,” I said, having done some research on the taste of male and female cum.
“It can be all those things, but for me it’s more addicting than chocolate,” she answered.
“I see,” I said.
“But moving on. Do you want some advice?” she asked.
“Sure,” I said, curious about what kind of advice she’d be able to give me.
“You could be more confident,” she told me succinctly.
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“You’re too nice,” she added.
“And nice guys don’t get the girls?”
“Correct. Not at your age,” she agreed.
“My Dad gets the hottest women, and he’s a complete asshole,” I pointed out.
“It’s the nature of the beast,” she said, giving my exposed cock a playful tug, “literally.”
“Do all girls like assholes?” I asked, still not understanding the psychology of why women would go for disrespectful jerks. Maybe Ms. Chan could enlighten me on this mystifying enigma.
She sighed ever so slightly. “Truthfully, it’s pathetically simple. Most women, and please keep in mind I’m stereotyping here, live a parallel existence to a man’s.”
“How so?” I asked, going to a chair and sitting down, my cock still on display, although Little Kevy seemed content to rest for now.
“First, women want it all. A good and caring husband who can provide for her and the kids, as well as a great sex life where the man understands her needs,” she began.
“Of course,” I nodded.
“Unfortunately, more often than not, a good, loving, caring man can’t give her the sex life she desires, no matter how badly he might want to.”
“Why not?”
“He loves his wife and puts her on a pedestal,” she explained.
“And that’s a bad thing?” I asked, getting more confused.
“At most times no, that’s what women want,” she continued, “but in the bedroom they often want the opposite.”
“I’m not comprehending this at all,” I said, feeling more than a bit slow. This must be what all those annoying football jocks must feel like in math class or when reading Shakespeare.
“I’m not doing a good job here,” she admitted. “Okay, so have you ever heard the saying that a man wants a wife who is a lady in the parlour but a freak in the bed?”
“No,” I admitted.
“Regardless, women are like that. They want to be treated like a princess in public and a submissive slut in the bedroom,” she finally clarified.
“All women?” I asked.
“Almost all,” she answered, “although many won’t admit it or ever let themselves succumb to their internal, carnal lust because they think it’s not dignified, or it would be a hundred steps backwards for the feminist movement.”
“I wouldn’t believe any of this if I hadn’t learned my Mom’s secret,” I admitted, as I processed this. “Do you know she still allows my Dad to fuck her? She can’t even stand him, but apparently all he has to do is whip it out and she turns into a needy slut. That’s not like her!” This was something I normally wouldn’t tell anyone in the world, but Ms. Chan had always been like a mentor to me (although never a sexual one until now) and she’d assured me many times over the years that all my secrets were safe with her.
“Yes, so your father has told me. Juggling their expectations against their needs is a frustrating conundrum for many women, what they want almost always being at odds with what society expects from them as they try to decipher all the complex hats they’re expected to wear.”
“Hats?”
“Yes, it’s a lame metaphor, but there are so many mixed messages given to women from a very young age,” she continued.
“Barbies,” I joked.
“For starters,” she nodded. “Girls are supposed to be cute, wear dresses, let men open doors for them, and yet also to be independent. Growing up female is full of oxymorons.”
“I never thought of it that way,” I admitted.
“Why would you?” she says, “you live in a parallel male universe where you’re supposed to hide your feelings, never cry and always man up… you have different rules you’re supposed to follow but they’re still nonsensical rules, and the only real difference between the societal trap you’re stuck in and a woman’s, is that you have a more privileged status.”
“I’ve never seen myself as privileged,” I said, although I agreed with the male expectations bullshit, and was beginning to grasp the idea of different rules but same trap.
“You’re white and male,” she pointed out.
“I guess,” I said, having thought we’d moved past this sexist, racist hierarchy by now, although that was obviously a foolish thought.
“Trust me. I’m Asian, female and disabled,” she explained, not in a woe-is-me way, but as simple facts.
“I don’t see you using any of that as a crutch,” I appraised, “although you’re always polite, you’re also very assertive,” always having thought she was one of the strongest women I knew, after my Mom.
“No, I try to avoid crutches, except for my unavoidable wheelchair,” she agreed, then continuing with, “I’m just trying to explain how the world works. It’s still easier to be a man than a woman, as the men primarily hold the power.”
“In my world I see the opposite,” I said, thinking of the entitled cheerleaders.
“I can see why you would. But if you’d let a few girls know what you’re packing, you would ascend in the hierarchy very quickly,” she said.
“But how does that happen?” I asked,
“Ay, there’s the rub.”
“Quoting Shakespeare,” I smiled.
“I try,” she shrugged. “Women want to enjoy sex, but they get derailed by the idea they’re supposed to be this sophisticated, evolved woman.”
“How did you eschew it?” I asked.
“Nice SAT word,” she smiled.
“I try,” I shrugged with a smile. I like this woman! And even though she just finished sucking my cock, she really understands things.