Like many amazing discoveries, it happened purely by chance. At the time I was giving throatpussy. That’s what my boyfriend of the moment liked to call it – and he liked it a lot. Sometimes I think he enjoyed just saying the word, like one of those impossible but delightful German compounds of strung together, otherwise unrelated, words – throatpussy – as much as the act itself.
“Okay, baby, get up off your knees, lie back on the bed, tilt your head back, and give me some throatpussy,” he would say. “You love to give me throatpussy, don’t you, baby?” And I would smile and nod. And then he would say it again with gusto: “Throatpussy.”
We were in a beautiful, antique sleigh bed at in a romantic, cozy country inn. My head was nestled in a pile of pillows stacked against the headboard, which my hands clasped for dear life as if the bed was indeed a sleigh plowing down the steepest of slopes. With his knees straddling my shoulders, his cock sliding into my mouth, and his hands on the headboard to steady himself, the slippery ride began. But no sooner had it begun, then it was over, alas. Just a few forceful pumps and vigorous thrusts deep down my throat, his cock unloaded a huge, huge wad. He must have been saving up just for me.
And he must have been as surprised as I was at the quickness of the climax, for he let his cock linger in my mouth. I could feel it getting limp. When he finally pulled out, the rubber slipped off, and my tongue was suddenly coated with cum.
“Whoops. I’m sorry,” he said.
“That’s okay.” I smiled. “It tastes really good actually.” That totally surprised me. In the past, with other guys, I never particularly relished the taste of cum; I didn’t spit it out or anything, but it certainly wasn’t a taste I found savory, like chocolate, for instance. That hackneyed porno teaser – “Hot, Horny Babes Crave Your Cum” – always made me laugh. For me, the occasional taste of cum was just the cost of doing business, for I did so love giving good head. Everything was soon to change.
“Mmmm…yummy,” I said and took my fingers to wipe the dribbled cum from the edges of my lips. Then, deliberately and slowly, I licked each finger, all the while staring into his eyes.
This brought a smile, then grin, that captured his whole face. He reached for the spent condom now lying on the bed and still filled with most of his load. He hung it directly over my mouth, turned it upside down, and then began to squeeze as if it were a tube of toothpaste.
“Here, baby, stick out your tongue and get every last drop,” he said. “We don’t want to waste any of my precious essence, do we, honey?” I did as he said. The creamy texture coated and lingered on my tongue, even long after I had swallowed every drop. Despite the metallic aftertaste, I wanted more. Was this simply because I had hardly eaten all day? I was on one of my sporadic, but seemingly never-ending, diets, and I had managed to curb my appetite that particular day in anticipation of a lavish, five-course dinner at the country inn. It was now well past dinner time, and I was starving.
“So is your cum the appetizer for the fancy dinner you promised me?” I laughed.
“How about a second serving?” I could see he was good and plenty hard again.
This time dispensing with the need for a rubber, I took the cock plain, au naturel. And before my mouth was once again full, my tongue darted out to greet and welcome the cock, to lick the glaze from the previous ejaculation, like icing on a cake.
“Mmmm…just like desert,” I said. “The last course first. Sinfully delicious.”
Of course, the throatpussy lasted longer this time — so long I worried I was getting pubic hair burn on my nose and chin. But it was especially fun, as my banged brain entertained not simply the usual oral sensations of pleasure, with no meaning beyond the sensations themselves, but the notion of nourishment. I was hungry, and his pounding cock was the chef preparing a delicacy.
When he finally did unload, he expertly pulled his cock from deep down my throat to my palate, so I could savor before swallowing. Although the volume seemed substantially smaller than the first offering, the taste was even better than before — a finer consistency and texture with a decidedly more delicate flavor. Delightfully bittersweet, not so salty as the first helping, and not at all sour. I was becoming a cum connoisseur.
Though famished, I didn’t gulp it down all at once. I felt like a squirrel or chipmunk with cheeks puffed out full of nuts, food to cherish and store for the cold winter months. I swallowed slowly, a bit at a time, as if at a fancy dinner party nibbling the daintiest of bites. Then, on his now limp penis, I sucked and I sucked, to get every last drop.
“Wow, baby,” he proclaimed, finally removing his cock from my mouth and lying down beside me on the antique sleigh bed, exhausted. “You’ve become a real cumslut! I like that.”
“And I’m suddenly not hungry anymore.” I announced, genuinely surprised. “Let’s just skip dinner, okay? I’m trying to lose a dress size, you know.”
“Well, that may be fine and well for you, but you’ve worn me out. I’m starving.” He paused and smiled. “Besides, I’ve got to replenish my bodily fluids if I’m to be the deli for your all-cum diet.” He laughed.
“All-cum diet…hmmm. Maybe we’re on to something really big here, sweetie. The revolutionary, new diet that will change women’s lives forever.”
“Okay, babe, let’s talk about it at dinner.” He started getting dressed. “You can just sit there while I eat, if you insist. At least we can share some wine.”
“I think a nice, chilled Chardonnay would go well with the cum.” I laughed, but I had never been more serious.
I redid my makeup, adding extra coverage over the post-throatpussy redness on my chin and nose, and slipped on my little black dress. Astonishingly, it seemed less snug than the last time I’d worn it. I didn’t even need his help with the zipper. I didn’t have that bloated feeling after snacking all day. I know it must have been my imagination, but, yes, I suddenly felt slimmer, trimmer, more youthful, toned, and athletic. Then, in the dining room while scanning the menu, I realized that’s where all diets must start – in the imagination, picturing your new, sexy body in the post-diet mind’s eye, a la a Jenny Craig motivational tape:
“The lobster thermidor jumps out from the menu. It is so, so enticing. But stop and think a minute. Which would you rather have, which is more important? The lobster? Or your body looking fantastic in snug jeans and that new bikini? So forget the lobster. Replace it with a mouth-watering image of your new self as size six. Cum will provide nourishment in a never-ending, self-sustainable, environmentally-correct cycle.”
I sipped wine and picked at my salad. Yes, a salad: “It would look funny if you didn’t order something,” my dinner partner and had insisted. And we talked about food. I had always heard the key variable determining the taste of cum was the man’s diet.
“Tell me, sweetie,” I asked, “what have you had to eat in the last twenty-four hours?”
“Not much really. That’s why I feel like ordering everything on the menu right now.”
“Yes, you have to eat. Lots and lots of calories! We have to maintain your energy level. Otherwise, I’ll starve. So graze like a milk cow. Whoops. Wrong image. How about a bull being fattened for slaughter? Whoops, again.” No metaphor worked; my new diet was truly unique, unprecedented, revolutionary even.
He told me he had eaten mostly fruit for breakfast and only a turkey sandwich for lunch. Plus, he had taken an early-morning jog, and gulped down several glasses of water. Was that why his cum had tasted so yummy? I had always heard that pineapple juice and celery also produced especially flavorful jizz. On the other hand, coffee, too much alcohol, smoking, and a sedentary lifestyle were supposedly what made you want to spit out the cum. Just old cocksuckers’ tales?
I took scrupulous mental notes of everything he ingested at dinner. The fun part, of course, would be correlating these empirical observations with the comparative cum taste test. I was now embarked on a true scientific inquiry. The possibilities were endless. Maybe my study could be published in a prestigious medical journal? Maybe there was even a best-selling book here, and I would become rich and famous, a talk-show celebrity, espousing the very latest, hippest diet fad. Men would tune in, too – their fantasy come true. Starving women would be begging to suck cock. The continual positive reinforcement of a quick jizzy snack would transform them into cum-hungry experts at giving good head.
And think of all the money everyone would save. A couple really could live as cheaply as one, in regard to groceries anyway. Men would no longer pay prostitutes to do all the oral tricks that wives refused to do. And women would have no need to pay fitness trainers, since any man with a hard cock can keep them in shape. For a vigorous, five-minute blowjob burns at least a hundred calories, I calculate, while the calorie intake from an average load of cum is only twenty to thirty calories– a fact I learned among the findings of my subsequent research, which also revealed cum is nutritionally good for you. A teaspoon of cum (the average load) contains more protein than a pork chop. In addition, there’s fructose, citric acid, alkaline, as well as other sugars and minerals. Plus – would you believe? A recent medical study indicates semen may be an antidepressant. And there’s anecdotal evidence that its ingestion can lead to healthier hair. A girl could get addicted.
But, alas, it turns out I’m not the revolutionary pathfinder. After a bit more investigative legwork, I discovered: A little old lady who solicits cum donors on the internet; she’s not interested in cock – just the cum; “sperm treats,” she calls the cookies she makes from the Fed-Exed cum. A would-be doctor soliciting BBW (big, beautiful women) volunteers for “a medical trial” of an all-cum diet – the bastard stole my idea! Then the dietary supplements called Cum D’Licious by Sweet Secretions and Semenex: “Designed to treat your lady, making your spunk palatable, if not scrumptious…. Guys who use it know how important it is prime the pump before having a lusty lass suck down the suds…. Finally, an answer to the ‘I don’t like the taste’ argument.”
Instead of the lone visionary proselytizing others, sadly I now have to begin worrying whether there’s really enough cum to go around.