First Taste


Devon Strafford

 Daphne insisted that it tasted like vanilla extract.  “And I should know,” she added emphatically, “I’ve swallowed enough of it.”  Nicole disagreed.  She thought that it had a sour taste, like vinegar diluted with warm cream.  “But,” Nicole conceded, “I’ve been seeing the same guy for a year now, so maybe I’m just used to his taste.”   

      Despite their points of contention, my two roommates agreed about a few things. For example, they shared the view that every man’s cum had its own distinct flavor, and they both acknowledged that what he’d been eating or drinking beforehand invariably affected the taste.  In fact, Nicole claimed that she could tell when her boyfriend had been drinking beer, just by the taste of his cum. 

      The longer I sat there in the living room of our apartment listening to my two friends, the more uneasy I became.  It was not long before they posed to me the very question I feared most of all. Nicole glanced over to the corner where I had been sitting quietly.  She smiled in surprise, as if she’d forgotten I was present. “So, Emily,” she said, “what do you think cum tastes like?”  

      I gave my honest answer.  My roommates were flabbergasted.   

      “You’ve never tasted it, Emily?  Never ever?” Nicole exclaimed, her eyes open wide with disbelief.  Daphne laughed and shook her head in despair.
      “Never.” I answered. 

      Nicole quizzed me: “You’ve never even swallowed a drop or two by accident?”  She pulled her robe tightly around her shoulders, as if exposed to a sudden chill in the room.  

      “No, I’ve never swallowed any of it,” I said. 

        This was the last straw for them.  They did not want to hear another word from me about my inhibitions.   

      In my roommates’ eyes, I was the perennial late bloomer.  For the past three years I had stood by as the admiring witness while my two best friends maneuvered adeptly from affair to affair, always relating their exploits to me in lascivious detail.  My own sexual experiences had consisted of a few brief encounters with undergraduate males who suffered from major premature ejaculation problems.  In my entire life, sad to say, I had come a grand total of once while having sex with a man.  That singular event had occurred one evening during the previous summer, thanks to the virtuoso performance of an older grad student.  Unfortunately, he abandoned me promptly after our one-night stand.  A lingering pain replaced the intense pleasure of that experience for me.  My roommates had long ago lost interest in hearing about these dismal events from my past.    

      “Graduation is just two weeks away!” Nicole declared. “Emily, we can’t let you graduate from college in such a state of inexperience.  You’re totally unprepared for the world!” 

      “What are we going to do about her?” Daphne wondered aloud.  “This is so serious.  We have to think of some incentive can we offer to get her over this.” 

      That’s when they came up with the wager.  

      They knew that I was going out with Ryan that evening.  “It has to be tonight,” they insisted.  As an incentive, they each offered to pay me fifty dollars if I swallowed Ryan’s cum that very night.  I was aghast at the proposal, and I expressed my deepest outrage. But my continuing resistance only brought a deluge of arguments down upon me.  They were merciless.  Eventually my resolve dwindled, and I agreed. 

        Ryan and I were not strangers.  He shared an apartment with Nicole’s current boyfriend.  Occasionally we spent time together in a group of friends, but I had never gone out with him alone before.  I knew Ryan as a quiet person.  He was a year younger than I was, and I was aware that he had not been involved with anyone for a long time.  Earlier in the week he had asked me to go with him to a concert, and it had all seemed very appropriate.  I liked him well enough, and I accepted his invitation.  
      A few hours later I found myself seated next to Ryan as the audience slowly filled the concert hall. I was petrified by the fear that some odd tone in my voice or an unguarded expression on my face might betray a clue about my secret objective for this evening.  I tried to chat with him as casually as I could under the circumstances. 
      As we talked, I was pleased to learn that Ryan loved Debussy as much as I did.  This was fortuitous, as the program for the evening included several works by Debussy.  It was to begin with the “Nocturnes” and end with “La Mer.” As it turned out, every piece was wonderfully executed. 

      The music of Debussy inevitably carries me off into elaborate reveries. Absorbed in the sounds, I move quickly into an exotic world where nothing distinguishes the natural from the artificial.  This night the music plunged me into a dream state unlike any I had ever experienced.  I found myself immersed in a suboceanic landscape.  Shifting currents carried a myriad of strange images before my eyes.  Drifting vegetation mingled with other shapes of an outlandishly erotic nature.  Surrounding me I saw cocks, tall and thick like the trunks of trees rising in clusters to meet the sunlight.  Spiraling plants and schools of multi-colored fish floated among the giant shafts.  One glistening cock caught my attention and, to the accompaniment of twinkling notes from the flute section, it drew me forward. I examined its skin, veined like polished pink marble.  Suddenly it moved toward me and brushed against my face.  My mouth grazed its surface, and I discovered that it felt warm and smooth against my lips.  I licked my friendly cock and paused to gather an impression of its taste.  The next thing I was conscious of was the sound of thunderous applause all around me.  The concert had ended.  The lights came on.  Ryan leaned over from the seat next to mine.  

      “That last Debussy piece really grabbed you, didn’t it?” he said.  “I’ve never seen someone so entranced by music.” 

      “Debussy always affects me like that,” I said.  “It stimulates my imagination.  I see things.” 

      “What did you see tonight?” 

      I paused.  “Sea creatures.” 

      “Really?  What kind of sea creatures?” 

      I had to think quickly: “Porpoises.” 

      “Porpoises!” Ryan exclaimed.  “That’s so strange.  I was thinking about porpoises, too.  I guess that means we’re compatible.” 

      “Perhaps it does,” I said. 

      We stopped at a deli for a late-night snack.  It was then that I really began to panic.  I was sitting at a small table, looking over across the room at Ryan.  As I watched him pay for his order I could think of only one thing: I’m going to swallow that man’s cum tonight!  For a moment I seriously thought that I would have to excuse myself and then disappear out a side door. 

      Instead, when Ryan sat down at the table I said, “They have wine here.  I’m going to get some.  Would you like something to drink?” 

      He smiled politely, “Yes, please.  A draft beer would be great.” 

      A half-carafe of wine later, I began to calm down.  Ryan turned out to be much more sociable than I had anticipated.  We talked about our parents and siblings, music, books, movies, and future plans.  We had no major disagreements about anything.  He was politically liberal, and he came from a suburb that seemed much like the one where I had grown up.  Oh yes, and he wasn’t bad looking, as I had noticed before. His eyes were a lovely hazel that glowed deeper and brighter the more he spoke. He was fit and trim – and about six inches taller than I was.  He made me laugh when he told me about a disastrous job interview he had endured earlier in the week.  As he talked there wasn’t a trace of guile in his wistful expression.  Now and then I caught him gazing at me with increasing interest, and I didn’t mind that at all.  

      At around midnight Ryan ran his fingers several times through his wavy brown hair.  Then he glanced at his watch and said, “Would you like to come over to my apartment for another drink?” 

      “No thanks,” I said.  “But why don’t you come over to mine?  Both of my roommates are out for the evening.”  Much to my surprise, I managed to say this without a catch in my throat. 

      “Okay, sure.  That sounds nice,” he said.  

      A short time later we were inside my cozy apartment, seated side by side on the futon-couch and listening to Chopin’s Mazurkas.  I was feeling pleasantly seductive in my short black dress.  On the coffee table in front of us his stocking feet stood upright, separated from my bare toes by a few inches of highly charged empty space.  We had been discussing the erratic development of Debussy’s early piano music when suddenly he turned to me and said: 

      “Emily, do you remember when the concert ended tonight, and we were talking about the images that ran through our minds during ‘La Mer’?” 

      “Yes,” I replied, curious to know why he was bringing this up now. 

      “Well,” he continued, “when I told you that the music made me think of porpoises, that wasn’t true.” 


      “No.  I wasn’t imagining porpoises, or fish of any kind for that matter.  I had a different vision.” 

      “And that was . . . ?” 

      “Well, it was related to the sea -- like what you imagined. But what I saw was like this: I could see beneath the surface of the ocean.  Down at the bottom of the sea I saw rolling sandy hills, and then there was an expanse of dense vegetation.  I passed through a tangle of grasses until I came to a long furrow cut into the ocean floor.  Inside this crevice, toward one end, there was an opening, like the entrance to a dark cave.  I couldn’t tell where it went -- .” 

      “Ryan,” I interrupted, fixing a stern expression on my face, “What’s a woman to infer when she hears a man tell her something like this?” 

      I turned to face him, and his eyes locked upon mine.  He continued to stare intently at me, a fierce glow in his eyes.  I returned his gaze with equal force.  Then he leaned forward and pressed his lips to mine.  My tongue quickly worked its way into his mouth before he had a chance to enter mine.  I caressed his slippery tongue from every angle while electric shocks rippled through my body.  We moved together in a tight embrace. My pulse was thundering in my ears and my heart was thumping away with such wild abandon that I thought he must surely hear it. 

      As I clutched at Ryan’s back my fingers began to tremble uncontrollably. They fluttered around his shoulders like wings of frightened little birds.  Meanwhile his more confident hands stroked my back, calming me with their soothing rhythm. In slow deep draughts I inhaled the sweet fragrance of his hair.  I was incredibly happy.  Of course everything boded well for the wager.  But something much more significant was happening here.  I felt more aroused than I had ever been in my life. My nipples were pressed like two small pointed stones against the airy filigree of my bra.  Down between my legs the inside of my underwear was already coated with moisture.  

      We enjoyed a long kiss.  While his lips were pressed to mine his hands began to massage my breasts through the layers of my clothing.  How grateful I was for those kind hands of his at this moment!   Nor were my fingers idle.  I casually experimented with his fly, pulling the zipper downward inch by inch.  When I had his belt unbuckled and his waist button opened, I broke off the kiss. “I think you’ll feel better if we take these things off,” I said. His pants and white jockey briefs disappeared in a quick rustle of cotton.  

      Now my fingers could freely explore his anatomy.  What I found down there was not quite what I had expected.  My fingers detected it first, and then I saw it.  His penis was limp!  I shifted abruptly into a disciplined mode of thought.  “Act as though nothing is wrong,” I told myself.   

      Ryan must have sensed my surprise.   

      “I guess I’m a little nervous,” he said. 

      “So am I,” I said.  And this was true.  “And you know what?”  I added, “I think the fact that we’re both so nervous just makes it all the more exciting.”  Not a bad line, I thought, and I meant it. 

      In hopes of resolving Ryan’s problem, I leaned forward and gently nudged him back until he lay flat on the futon.  Snuggling up beside him, I reached for his soft little male part and began to work on it with a steady milking motion. My efforts were promptly rewarded. When I had first touched his penis, I had found it soft and flimsy, like the empty finger of a silken glove.  Now it felt as if a thick hard bone had been inserted inside the thin fabric, and the delicate sheathing was stretched to its limit.     

      “You have a nice one, Ryan,” I said. 

      “Oh, in what way?” 

      Now I really had to think quickly.  I had actually not yet had a chance to observe him in his fully erect state. 

      “Well, it’s very long and straight and smooth,” I said. 

      “Oh, thank you,” he replied, noticeably relieved.
      So with Ryan’s hardness assured, I slid down to the end of the futon and knelt there with my bare knees nestled into the thick carpet.  As I rose up between his legs, I saw his cock hovering over his belly.  It was poised there like a jet about to lurch skyward off a runway. Now I could see that his cock was really quite nicely shaped.  It was an average-sized one, very symmetrical, straight and sleek. I reached out and grasped it by the base, my hand resting gently on his balls. 

        Leaning forward, I stood the shaft upright and looked down upon the pink dome of the head.  It glistened below me, the top round and smooth except for the tiny slit cut into the uppermost tip.  I noticed two ridges of thick skin curving around to form a cleft on the underside of the head. In all Ryan’s life, I wondered, had anyone ever viewed this little cleft as closely as I am now? 

      When I slid my wet lips down over the cock’s head, Ryan’s whole body stiffened.  Sinking lower, I encircled the shaft with my lips.  The head fit securely between the roof of my mouth and my flattened tongue.  I held still until I felt some of his tension ease away.  Then I reversed direction and dragged my lips slowly up the shaft.  When I tugged on the rim of the cockhead, Ryan let out a loud gasp of pleasure.  I tried this move again, my lips pulling more tenaciously on the rim of the head.  Ryan gasped even louder this time. I was quite pleased with his reaction, and I repeated the tantalizing move over and over again until I was moving up and down in a steady rhythm.   

      Later I decided to give my lips a rest.  It was time to put my tongue to work.  First I used two fingers to pull down on the skin of the shaft until it shone like stretched silk.  Then I explored with my tongue everywhere, licking here, flicking there, ceaselessly teasing him until no spot was spared.  Whenever my tongue grazed along the little cleft on the underside of the head I would hear more of Ryan’s startled cries of delight.   

      I must admit that I found all this to be great fun.  It was as if I had assumed a new role: Emily the Sex Goddess.  As Sex Goddess, I decided that I must combine the results of my research and create one exquisite caress, an ultimate caress -- one that could not fail to bring about the result we all desired.  So with each upward move I pulled on the thick rubbery rim of the head and simultaneously flicked my tongue against the little cleft just beneath the head.  The first time the Sex Goddess tried this maneuver, Ryan nearly jumped off the couch. 

      “Oh my God!” he cried out. 

      That should be, “Oh my Goddess,” I wanted to say to him, but my mouth was preoccupied.  Under my expert ministrations Ryan was soon writhing with pleasure.  I was gloating over my success when suddenly he yelled out, “Stop!” and abruptly pulled himself out of my mouth.   
      “What’s the matter, Ryan?” 

      “I was about to come.” 

      “That’s all right! I wanted you to come.” 

      He moved back, as if wary of me. 

      “Ryan,” I said, “I wanted to feel you come in my mouth.  I was really enjoying this.  It was very exciting for me.”  As I spoke, I saw that his once proud cock had tilted to one side and was shrinking dramatically before my eyes.  

      “Are you all right, Ryan?  Did I do something wrong?” 

      “No,” he murmured.  And then, after a long pause, he continued, “Emily, it’s just that . . .  I’ve never come . . . like that before -- in a woman’s mouth.  You see, I’m not very experienced in these things.  It’s a subject I feel so awkward about.  You can’t imagine how silly it makes me feel to be telling you this.” 

      I said nothing.  Instead I took Ryan in my arms and kissed his sweet lips. As we kissed, I began to rub my bare lower leg against his crestfallen penis.  It slid limply back and forth.  We still had a problem.   

      I tried some sexy talk.  That only seemed to scare him.   I used my hand.  No progress.  Even my tongue wouldn’t work any more.  

      “I’m sorry, Emily,” he said.  “I just feel like I’m out of your league. You’re clearly much more experienced in all this than I am.” 

      When he said this, I was still holding his perplexed little penis in my mouth.  I dropped it as I looked up to speak, “Ryan, what makes you think I’m so experienced?” 

      “Well . . . the way you were using your tongue and your lips a little while ago, before we stopped. You’ve obviously done this a lot.” 

      “Ryan, I was just trying to be competent.” 

      “You were a lot more than competent.” 

      I realized there was only one thing I could do now.  I had to tell the truth – or at least part of it. 

      “I have something to tell you, Ryan,” I said, taking a deep breath.  “I want you to know I’ve never had a man come in my mouth before.  So I feel as awkward about this as you do. 

      His eyes brightened with surprise.   

      “But,” I added quickly, “I would still really like to finish what we were doing before.  Do you want me to?” 

      “Yes.  Yes. I do.” He moved his hand down between his legs and with slow deliberate strokes began to massage his penis. 

      “Would you like some help?”  I asked. 

      “Please,” he answered eagerly. 

      I fondled his balls while he diligently squeezed and tugged on the tip of his penis.  Some perceptible growth was already occurring.  As I assisted Ryan in his resurgence, I discovered that he had another highly sensitive spot. This one was just behind his spongy scrotum pouch.  As I rubbed him down there I could feel the root of his cock swelling beneath my fingertips.  

      A few minutes later I was leaning over Ryan’s revived erection.  I hadn’t forgotten any of my Sex Goddess moves.  Soon I had him moaning as exuberantly as before.  In fact, when his butt began to levitate right off the couch, I realized he was more excited than ever.  I could tell he wanted to start thrusting into my throat, but he restrained himself, thankfully.  I couldn’t have handled that.  

      Some new and strange things were happening to his cock. It was expanding and contracting like a living, breathing creature.  The head had swollen to be incredibly large.  I felt as if I had squeezed a whole ripe juicy plum into my mouth.  Then my tongue, like a seismographic device, detected the first tremors of his approaching upheaval.  

      The flat surface of my tongue lay poised to receive the first drops.  I didn’t have to wait long.  I felt a single strong throb.  Nothing happened.  A second powerful contraction followed, and then it started.  A warm spurt hit the roof of my mouth and fell against my tongue.  Ryan let out a long sweet orgasmic cry as jet after jet of his cum sprayed into my mouth.  The stray drops collected on my tongue until it all spilled over and flowed in a stream down my throat.  As I gulped him down I encountered the mildly sour taste of cum for the first time in my life.  I drank greedily until I was certain I had swallowed every drop.  Ryan’s ecstatic cries gradually faded into sighs of contentment.  When I looked up to see him panting away, exhausted, I couldn’t refrain from breaking into a triumphant smile.   

      It took Ryan a few moments to catch his breath.  Soon he recovered, and what happened next caught me by surprise.  He lunged at me.  Grabbing my shoulders, he pulled me up on the futon and maneuvered me down so I was flat on my back. I found myself in exactly the same position he had occupied a moment ago.  Then I felt his fingers take hold of the waistband of my underwear.  He slid my panties down my legs and threw them into a remote corner of the room.  The hem of my dress was tossed up over my waist, exposing me from my belly down in all of my naked splendor.   

      Now it was Ryan who knelt on the floor at the end of the futon.  He spread my legs and I looked down to see the upper half of his face pop up between them.  His eyes hovered over my glistening bush while his mouth moved inexorably toward the steaming core of my pussy.  That first touch of his lips felt so exquisitely cool on my burning skin!  He parted my slit and slipped his tongue deep inside my gaping tunnel.  He probed where no tongue had ever gone before, and I encouraged him in his exploration.  Soft cries from deep in my throat guided him until his tongue caressed the most delectable spots at just the right angles.  Wordlessly, I urged him to linger while I ever so gently rocked my hips in rhythm with the thrusts of his tongue.   

      Then he withdrew his tongue and it began to travel slowly upward.  My whole body grew tense with anticipation.  His finger lay nestled along one side of my clit while he flicked his tongue gently at the other side.  The feathery strokes turned up my heat even higher, and I lay simmering for a delightfully long interlude.  

      Finally, my dear tormentor flattened his tongue and pushed directly against my blazing little bud.  Now he was intent on transforming me into a shrieking madwoman.  Abandoning myself to his lovely tongue, I bade farewell to the last shreds of my dignity. I let him take over completely.  He had unleashed a wild storm between my legs, and he made it rage.  A massive wave swelled up, lifted me into the air, and brought me crashing down.  I came in a multitude of rippling spasms. Minutes must have passed before my joyful screams subsided.  

      A short time later I was cradling Ryan’s face in my hands and adoring his clear hazel eyes. It was then that I said, “I have something to tell you, Ryan.  I’ve never come like that before, and never from oral sex.  It felt wonderful.  Thank you.”   

      “What a sweet thing to tell him, and true at that!” Nicole said as I completed my detailed rendition of what had taken place in our living room the previous night. 

      “My congratulations to the two of you!” exclaimed a beaming Daphne.  “It sounds like you both had a wonderful time.” 

      “We did,” I assured my roommates.  There was no doubt in their minds that I was entitled to the hundred dollars. 

      As they handed me my winnings, I had to tell them, “There’s just one thing about last evening that bothers me, though.  I never told Ryan about the wager.” 

      When I said that, my roommates looked uncomfortable.  I grew suspicious. 

      “Are you two hiding something from me?  Is there something going on here that I don’t know about?  Nicole?  Daphne?” 

      “Okay, okay,” Nicole broke down first.  “You’d probably have found out about it sooner or later.” 

      “About what?” 

      “The other wager.” 

      “What other wager?”  I screamed. 

      “Ryan’s wager,” Nicole replied. 

      “Do you mean . . . ?”  I became speechless.  It was instantly clear to me what the other wager had been.  Nicole’s words confirmed it: 

        “You see, Emily, Ryan’s roommates set up a similar wager for him.  He was as much an oral sex virgin as you were.  His roommates promised him one hundred dollars if he . . . how should I say it . . . succeeded in making the earth move for you, orally, last night.  That was the other wager.  Ryan was apparently very nervous about the whole thing.  He spent all yesterday afternoon reading sex manuals.  And by the way, he didn’t know any more about your wager than you knew about his.” 

      I stood up and glared at my roommates.   

      “I’d strangle both of you here and now,” I said. “Except for one thing.” 

      They looked up at me in silence. 

      “Except that your plan worked so beautifully,” I said. 

      The following Saturday Ryan and I took the train from New Brunswick into New York City.  In the evening we went to a concert at Lincoln Center.  It was an all-Mozart program.  We loved it, but we could hardly wait for the performance to end.  Our two hundred dollars helped to defray the cost of a very nice hotel room. We left the concert hall, rushed to our room, and dove between the sheets of our big hotel bed.  We licked and sucked and fucked all night long.  And I came and came and came.