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The Man Who Ate Women
by DG (dionysian1@hotmail.com)
***
Amy asked, "Let me get this straight; Steve would be
lying blindfolded on the bed, and we would just go in
there anonymously and sit on his face?" "Yes, and if he
correctly identifies all the women by taste alone, he
wins a special prize," said Seth, ever the wit. (M/F+,
oral, humor)
***
I don't drink much these days, but five years ago, when
this tawdry incident happened, I was at a time in my
life when I drank heavily almost every night. The
prevailing wisdom in my social circle was that you
couldn't have a good time without alcohol, and we all
considered ourselves harmless social drinkers.
If you'd asked me the definition of an antisocial
drinker, I guess I'd have described someone who throws
up on your shoes or crosses the double yellow line and
turns you into road-kill. Anyway, the point I'm trying
to make is that I was loaded.
It happened at one of John Kindle's infamous weekly
house parties, the ones where he would invite maybe a
dozen people and fifty or sixty people would show up.
Kindle was a college buddy of mine who had told us all
that the internet was going to be the Next Big Thing. We
had ignored his advice while he was busy putting his
money where his mouth was, and now he never had to work
again.
I was a regular guest, and while you never knew
everyone, I had enough buddies, male and female, to feel
relaxed and comfortable. The atmosphere was a sort of
post-college hip thing - people two or five or even ten
years out of school trying to recapture the feeling of
freedom and belonging of those undergraduate days.
Dressing down was the absolute rule. The guy in the
muscle shirt and high-tops might be a corporate lawyer
on the fast track to partner, and the woman in the tie-
died shirt and clogs could easily be a buttoned-down
drone with Anderson Consulting. I was in grad-school at
the time, so as I saw it I had a right to wear loose
jeans and sandals and a "Legalize Pot" t-shirt.
There was plenty of sex at these parties. Not as much as
you might hear about the next day, of course, but I know
how to separate fact from bragging by now, and there was
plenty of fact. All those people trooping up and down
the stairs to the second floor weren't inspecting
Kindle's famous record collection or checking out the
new wallpaper in his study.
I guess I got about my fair share. I didn't try as hard
as some guys, and sometimes that works out better
anyway. My God, with guys like Jerry Shauhnessy or Guido
the Italian Stallion, if they didn't have a real solid
line on some trim by ten or eleven you could see the
panic in their eyes, like a hunter on the last day of
deer season. My normal pattern was to wait until things
thinned out a bit, maybe 1 a.m. or so, and then take a
casual look around to see who might be available. Lately
it had been Amy Hauder more often than not, and I sensed
I might be drifting into a relationship in my usual
aimless way.
We were down in the basement, where the laid-back cool
regulars hung out, and the conversation was moving right
along. Just the right mix of edgy critical people like
Jennifer Chase and Seth Jabovic to stir the pot, and
type-B conciliators like me and Doris and Amira to calm
things down and smooth over ruffled feathers when the
pot started to boil over.
You can just about set your watch by the topics. From
nine to ten its all gossipy chit-chat: "Did you ever
meet...", and "Did you hear what so-and-so did last
week," that sort of thing. When that gets old we move on
to politics and issues of the day. Imagine a younger
McLaughlen Group sitting around in beanbag chairs with
drinks in their hands, smoking up a storm.
Once the budget is balanced, the trickier foreign policy
issues have been settled, and pot is legal and available
in every supermarket, the boy-girl thing finally bubbles
to the surface. Call it midnight. And once you get on
the topic of sex and relationships you never get off it,
because nothing ever gets settled in *that* area.
We had more gals than guys in the circle that night -
Jimmy and Big Herman were at a Blackhawks game, I think.
The previous night there had been a strange incident at
one of the fraternities on the local campus, and the
rumors were flying.
"It's called a train," said Seth. He waved a thin white
hand dismissively, sending a trail of smoke floating
upward. "Disgusting, really, but certainly not a crime."
"Sounds like the police think it was a crime," said
Jennifer. "I heard they dragged a bunch of hung-over
frat guys in for questioning."
Seth shrugged. "Of course, if the woman files a
complaint afterward, they have to investigate."
"Investigate what?" asked Amy. "Can someone tell me what
the hell a 'train' is?"
"A gangbang, of sorts" said Seth. He pushed back a lock
of dark, lank hair and went into professor mode. "A
woman at a party decides she wants to take on all
comers. She'll go into a room, and the guys will line up
outside the door to take their turn. A whole train of
guys, one after the other."
"But why?" asked Amy helplessly.
"I don't know, you tell me," said Seth. "Must be a deep-
down female fantasy."
"I don't think so," said Doris, and other girls shook
their heads as well. "It's repulsive."
"Lack of self esteem, probably," said Jennifer. "Some
girls get so brainwashed by our male-dominated society
that they into equate putting out with being popular."
This was a typical Jennifer Chase troll, and everyone
ignored it.
Brad shifted in his beanbag and said "I was in a bar
once and a girl got up on a stool and announced she was
going to give a blowjob to every guy there. She said she
lost some kind of bet, but obviously that was just a
silly excuse."
Jennifer raised an eyebrow. "And?"
He shrugged sheepishly. "What do you think? I was like
third in line, out of a dozen. It's not like she was
wasted or high or something - she knew what she was
doing."
Jennifer snorted. "Oh, so then it's OK."
Brad looked embarrassed. "So what, you think I shouldn't
have?"
"I wouldn't expect anything different from a man."
"I can't believe a woman would ever do that," said Amy.
"So demeaning."
I spoke up. "If she does it of her own free will, and on
her terms, is it really demeaning? I mean, if she has a
fantasy about a gangbang or whatever, can't you give her
credit for feeling liberated enough to act on it?"
Several people spoke at once. Fatefully, it was Jennifer
who raised her voice and continued to speak.
"How can you think a woman could really enjoy something
like that? How would you like performing oral sex on a
dozen women you hardly know, one right after the other?"
I felt a little lurch in my stomach. Back then, I had a
sort of policy of always speaking my mind and telling
the truth, no matter what. I think I was under the
influence of some subversive writer. Walt Whitman, or
maybe it was Ayn Rand.
"I'd love it," I said. "This may shock you, but that
happens to be a deep dark fantasy of mine."
There was a predictable round of laughter. They all
thought I was kidding, except for Seth, who isn't easily
fooled.
"It might be dark, but it isn't deep any more, Steve-O,"
said Seth. "It's right up here on the surface where we
can poke it."
"Very funny, Steve," said Amira in her faint Hindu
accent. "But really, come on."
"I'm serious," I said. "Really. So it doesn't seem so
odd to me that a woman might fantasize about the same
thing."
In a loud voice, Jennifer said "You're telling me, you
would go up to one of the bedrooms right now, and we
could go announce to everyone you were going to... going
to do a..."
"Taco train?" suggested Brad.
"...Oh, very nice Brad. A cunnilingus train, and you
would service any woman who went up there?"
"Sure," I said. "But no women would go for it. You
chicks are all so dainty and refined. Only men have the
sturdy mental outlook required to take advantage of
free, no-strings-attached sex."
"You're lying," said Amira. "I bet you wouldn't do it."
Her voice was accusing, but I noticed a twinkle in her
brown eyes.
"Oh, I bet he would," said Seth, winking at me. "Don't
underestimate our Steve. He's right, though. None of you
women would have the guts to take him up on it. Unless
maybe if he was blindfolded, so he couldn't see who he
was eating..."
I felt my cock start to worm its way down the leg of my
jeans like it had a life of its own.
Amy said "Let me get this straight - Steve would be
lying blindfolded on the bed, and we would just go in
there anonymously and sit on his face?"
"And if he correctly identifies all the women by taste
alone, he wins a special prize," said Seth, ever the
wit.
"A case of Scope," said Amira, and everyone laughed.
"It's an amusing idea," said Jennifer. "But I guarantee
he won't get any takers."
"Only one way to find out," said Seth.
Jennifer looked at me challengingly. "What do you say,
Steve?"
I swallowed hard. "Is the blindfold necessary?"
There was a chorus of yesses and nods.
They were all looking at me. Seth and Brad were amused,
of course. Jennifer, the sturdy field hockey player with
the firm jaw and blue eyes, looked triumphant, like she
was about to win an argument. Amy, the skinny blonde who
was the only one I had gone down on before, looked
embarrassed. Mindy and Doris just looked curious. Amira
was the only one who looked like she was turned on by
the idea. When our eyes met, she dropped hers and
smiled.
"Let's do it," I said.
"Good man!" said Seth with a chuckle.
I went up to the second floor with Seth and Jennifer,
who seemed to be the self-appointed referees for each
gender. We found an empty bedroom and cleared the coats
off the bed. Seth found a scarf and tied it around my
head, almost burning me with his cigarette in the
process. He left a generous gap at the bottom, and I
could look down and see my shoes.
"Can you see anything?" asked Jennifer.
"Not really. You want to go first?"
"No way. I'm going to go tell all the women it's free
head, no conversation needed. We'll see if you get any
customers." They left, turning out the overhead light
and leaving the room in semidarkness. I went over to the
bed and lay down, moving awkwardly with the blindfold.
Nothing happened for a while, and I started regretting
the whole thing. Ever since I hit puberty and the
hormones started to rage, I'd been fascinated by the
idea of eating pussy. It seemed like such a perverse,
unnatural thing to do, and yet it had such potential to
give pleasure to women.
Ah, women. Fascinating, ethereal, creatures, superior to
men, or at least to boys, in every way. Able to humble
us with a sly look, or a toss of the hair. They seemed
to have some ancient knowledge passed down to them
regarding relationships and men and sex, so that a girl
of thirteen or fourteen somehow possessed the
accumulated wisdom of generations while us boys had to
flounder and blush and stammer as we slowly figured
things out for ourselves. But it seemed to me that these
godlike creatures had an Achilles heel, and that it was
the very thing that was also the source of their power.
I sensed from a young age the uneasy relationship women
had with their genitals. They were ashamed of the way
they looked down there, and the way they smelled, and
tasted. They couldn't understand how men could be
attracted to the oozing slot between their legs like
bees to a ripe, pollen-heavy flower.
To nuzzle between the legs of one of these creatures was
to upset the balance of power. It was to worship at the
altar of womanhood, and at the same time it was to
strike a rebellious blow against the all-powerful spell
that held men in the thrall of women. If you were
sucking a woman's cunt, you were sacrificing yourself
for her, and yet she was in your power.
As I matured, I naturally discovered that things weren't
quite so dramatic. Women weren't all-knowing creatures
after all, and they weren't the enemy. They were subject
to base desires and cravings just like men. But like so
many things that affect us strongly when we are young
and malleable, my fixation remained long after the world
view that shaped it had shifted. I still craved the act
of joining my mouth and tongue to a woman's secret musky
inner regions. It was submission and power combined, and
it was my constant fantasy.
But lying there alone in the dim bedroom, I was having
second thoughts. Some fantasies should remain just that,
and I was almost relieved that no women were taking me
up on the offer. A few more minutes and I could rip off
the blindfold and claim a political victory.
There was a thump outside the door, barely audible over
the base vibration from the big speakers downstairs. Two
female voices, each trying to shush the other.
The door opened, brightening the room, and I swallowed
hard. Drunk female laughter, and then the door closed
again.
"He's in there!"
"I told you. Now go on..." The rest was muffled.
This is humiliating, I thought. I'm out of here.
The door opened again, and this time they came in and
shut it behind them. I could hear their heavy breathing
as they looked at me.
"Hi," I said.
"Party Girl here wants to sit on your face," said one.
"I'm just her chaperone." This struck them as funny, and
they both broke into choked laughter.
"Is that what you want?" asked Party Girl. "I mean...
really?"
"I lost a bet."
"Oh...OK. So it's not like you really want to..."
It would be easy to say something that would get me off
the hook. Even through a haze of alcohol, she was
hesitant about inflicting her cunt on a stranger.
"No, I want to. Besides, I can't settle the bet until I
actually get a bunch of women to sit on my face."
"Shit, what the hell then. Is the door locked?"
"Yep," said the chaperone.
I heard the rustling of clothing, and then the bed
shifted sharply. Through the crack in the blindfold I
could see she was wearing a short skirt which she had
rolled up around her waist. All she had taken off were
her panties, and maybe her shoes. Her thighs nestled on
either side of my head, and I caught the first whiff of
her pussy. It was pungent, with a faint undertone of
urine, but not unpleasant. She had probably showered
before the party, but had of course been dancing and
drinking since then.
She kneed me in painfully in the ear, apologized, and
then her pussy was in my face.
I licked up at her awkwardly, pushing my tongue into the
damp folds. The taste was tangy, the smell stronger now.
Pubic hairs tickled my nose. For the first few minutes
it didn't go very well. I couldn't really reach her clit
without straining my neck, and she kept squirming
around, alternately pulling away and then mashing her
cunt into my face as she tried to get comfortable on the
soft mattress.
"Hold on a sec," she said.
She wedged a pillow under my head, and then scootched
forward a bit. Then she sat back down, lowering her
pussy into just the right position. Dinner is served, I
thought. I dove back into her wet and pleasantly musky
cunt, and went to work on her clit. Before long she was
grinding herself gently against my mouth in a pleasantly
familiar rhythm.
"He's good at this, Cheryl," she said huskily,
forgetting about staying anonymous.
"Oh yeah? Are you going to come?" Cheryl the chaperone's
voice was teasing.
"Maybe..."
About a minute later she did, with a short, high-pitched
groan that was equal parts surprise and pleasure.
Putting modesty aside for a moment, I'm really very good
at eating pussy.
She rolled off me, giving me a needed breath of air, and
then she kissed me briefly on the lips and said "Thanks,
stranger."
Cheryl was laughing. "You little slut, I can't believe
you just came on his face!"
Emboldened by my success, I said "I bet I can do the
same thing for you."
"I wish I was wearing a skirt," she said. "Maybe I
would. But I'm not taking my pants off."
"You can wear my skirt, and I'll put on your jeans,"
said Party Girl.
There was a moment of silence. Cheryl had clearly been
trapped.
"Sit on my face," I said. "I promise you won't regret
it."
"Well hell, I guess its just one of those nights my Mama
warned me about," said Cheryl. I heard the welcome sound
of a zipper going down. Some rustling and giggling, and
then another warm shape looming above me, and another
unique fragrance.
Cheryl's pussy wasn't as pungent as her friend's, but it
was amazingly wet. As I stroked my tongue up her slot,
her puffy lips opened, releasing a warm gush of pussy
cream that soon was running down my chin.
"Oh wow," said Cheryl. "Stranger, you sure know how to
make a girl feel good."
"Told you so," said Party Girl.
Cheryl settled herself in more firmly, and the world
narrowed down to a wet pussy, a firm little nub, and my
tongue. Somewhere above me, Cheryl started, "Oh... oh...
oh..." at regular intervals. My cock was a constant
throbbing lump in my pants, far in the opposite
direction.
When she came, she tensed up and became completely
still, an orgasmic response that was uncommon but not
rare. I loved it, because it allowed me to sense the
minute changes in her physiology - the sudden thickening
of her outer lips, the swelling and even the quivering
of her clitoris.
"Oh fuck yes!" said Cheryl. We were both gasping for
air. "That was a fucking ride!"
"I want to go again," said Party Girl. "Shit, what I
really want to do is take this guy home and lock him to
my bed."
"I'm supposed to serve all comers," I said. "But if no
one else is waiting..."
As if on cue, there was a knock at the door.
My two new friends swore under their breath and pulled
themselves together. Then there was a low-pitched
conversation at the door.
"Guess what?" called Party Girl.
"A line around the block?" I ventured.
"Not quite, I mean women aren't quite so bold as to
stand in line, but the word is that you've got some more
customers waiting."
"Better send 'em in, then."
And in they came, in a continuous stream, sometimes
alone, more often in groups of two. I ate pussy steadily
for the next two hours, or so they told me later. As far
as I was concerned, time pretty much lost meaning.
How many? I honestly don't know. At least twenty. Twenty
new pussies: twenty new smells, twenty new tastes. There
were cunts so hairy that it was like eating out a broom,
which was sort of a drag, and there were a few that were
shaved slick and bare, which isn't really my preference
either. There were small cunts with tightly-folded lips
that had to be teased open with a rigid tongue-tip, and
big cunts with soft lips that enveloped my tongue and
nose in a warm, musky embrace.
Some of the women were obviously just doing it on a
dare, and they would just climb on and then back off
after a cursory tonguing. One women was so drunk that
she kept losing her balance and felling off the bed -
the second time that happened I sent her away. Of those
that actually allowed themselves to get into it, I was
able to make about two out three come, which I thought
was pretty damn good under the circumstances.
One girl ground her pussy into my face for about ten
minutes straight, stranded in the lonely territory just
short of orgasm, swearing like a sailor and gasping out
instructions which I followed to the letter. Despite our
best efforts she was simply unable to come.
"I'm just too fucking drunk," she said finally, with
endearing honesty. She was close to tears with
frustration. "Don't take this personally..."
She lifted herself up a few inches off my face and
started rubbing herself. I watched through the ever-
growing gap in my blindfold, fascinated, as her fingers
savagely rubbed and pulled at her cunt. When I sensed
she was finally about to come, I slid down and jabbed my
tongue up into her slick hole as far as I could. She let
out a guttural shriek and went off like a Roman candle.
She was one of the women who insisted on giving me her
phone number.
The door opened, and someone came in and loosened my
blindfold. I found myself looking up at Amira.
"How's the man of the hour?" she asked. "The gang wants
to know how you're holding up. Jennifer Chase wants me
tell you she's going to have to reconsider her entire
world view because of this."
I smiled at her and sat up. "My face is sticky, my neck
is stiff, and my tongue and jaw are exhausted. Other
than I'm great."
"I thought you might be working up a thirst," she said,
holding out a cup of beer.
I took the cup gratefully and downed it in one long,
delicious gulp. "God I needed that."
She chuckled, her teeth showing white against her dark
skin. "Ready to get back to it?"
"Actually, I think I've had enough."
"Aw, too bad. I guess I'm too late, then."
"I didn't realize you were here as a customer," I said,
looking at her with new interest. Amira was one of those
women who are all curves, and she looked too young to be
in law school. Dark, arched eyebrows over liquid brown
eyes, full red lips, a round face framed by thick wavy
hair. Full breasts, round hips and thighs, but a
surprisingly narrow waist. My cock, which had been up
and down all night, began hardening again.
She sat down next to me, and said "Steve, I just wanted
to say that you've got a lot of guts acting out your
fantasy like this."
"You think so?"
She dropped here eyes, and said. "Please don't tell
anyone, but I have a similar fantasy. Like the girl at
the fraternity the other night."
"You want to be train fucked? You're kidding!" The idea
of sweet, quiet Amira taking on a whole fraternity
seemed beyond crazy, and I couldn't help laughing.
"It's just a fantasy," she protested. "That doesn't
actually mean I'm going to do it."
"So you don't think you'll ever go through with it?"
She shook her head. "No way. For me, a fantasy like that
should just be a fantasy. Besides, I'm a virgin, and I
won't lose my virginity until I'm married."
She smiled at the surprise on my face.
"It's a religious thing. I choose to honor it, but I
also choose to use a very narrow definition of
virginity."
"Ah, I see what you mean. Would you like to be my
caboose then?"
She wrinkled her forehead for a second, then laughed.
"Yes, I'd be honored to be the last car on your taco
train." She wriggled out of her tight jeans and then
peeled off her black silk panties with a self-conscious
look on her face. I eased her onto her back and spread
her legs.
Her pussy was sweet and clean, with a spicy fragrance
that suggested she had dabbed some perfume down there. I
took my time, enjoying the feeling of being on my
stomach rather than on my back, steadily bringing her
closer to orgasm with a newfound confidence in my
abilities. When she began to squirm and pant, I
concentrated on her clit, sending her over the edge with
a final swirling flourish of my tongue.
"Wow," she said simply, a few seconds later.
"Practice, practice."
She rolled onto her side, raised her head on her hand.
"Let me ask you, have you had any... relief tonight?"
"Nope. With me it's all give and no take. I just give
and give and then give some more."
She giggled. "Would you like some take, for a change?"
she asked shyly.
"God yes."
"OK, you just lie still and let me take care of you."
I lay on my back and stared at the ceiling in happy
exhaustion as Amira unzipped my jeans and delicately
extracted my cock. She crouched over me, her dark hair
shielding her face as if by modesty. Her tongue was warm
and soft, her motions tentative and unpracticed. She
held my cock gently inside her mouth, like she was
afraid of damaging it, and moved her head up and down in
a slow and steady rhythm. In the state I was in, it was
enough. I closed my eyes and allowed myself to drift
along patiently with the sensation.
"Here it comes," I said.
Amira lifted her head and took over with her hand,
stroking my slippery cock with a firm grip. I groaned
and spilled out my load in a prolonged spasm of
pleasure. When it was over, the room seemed to be
spinning in lazy circles, and I felt drugged. I lay
there limply while Amira cleaned me with a towel and
zipped me up.
"You're an angel," I said.
She smiled. "If my mother could see me right now, she
wouldn't think so."
***
The next morning I was hung over, sore, and vaguely
depressed. Instead of leaving me fulfilled, the escapade
sent me into a funk that lasted for weeks. I remember
thinking that Amira had it right - it was much better to
let a fantasy remain a fantasy, and to remain true to
your morals.
I called up Amira a few days later and asked her out.
She turned me down, politely but firmly, which only
reinforced my feelings for her. I obsessed over her for
a while, and then I eventually came to my senses. Still,
I was shocked when, a year later, I heard that she was
dropping out of law school because she was pregnant.
Today I look back at the incident with a strange mixture
of distaste and pride. Should you act out an extreme
fantasy when you have the chance? You're asking the
wrong guy - I still haven't decided yet.
The End
© Copyright 1999 by DG (dionysian1@hotmail.com)
Author's notes:
1) This story has been growing slowly on my hard drive
for the past year, expanding now and then by a few lines
whenever inspiration hit, like a ball of sourdough in
the back of the refrigerator. I'm glad to be posting it,
finally.
2) Please email me at dionysian1@hotmail.com if you have
any comments on this story. I reply to all emails.
3) You can find all my stories on my web page:
http://baird.pair.com/dg.htm
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
It's okay to *READ* stories about unprotected sex with
others outside a monogamous relationship. But it isn't
okay to *HAVE* unprotected sex with people other than
a trusted partner. 4-million people around the world
contract HIV every year. You only have one body per
lifetime, so take good care of it!
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
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