In grade 10, I had got together with a very cute and innocent boy in grade 9. I worked after-school at the pool and he was on the swim team, so we had gotten to know each other that way. A lot of the staff at the pool were all involved one way or another (interfering) during our long courtship. It was all very adorable when we finally shared our first kiss during one of the high school dances. After that, it was pretty much just the two of us together, all the time. The “L” bomb was mutually dropped very early in our relationship and thrown around rather cavalierly:
Love you too.
Love you more.
Love you so much.
After about a month, we had discussed the possibilities of taking it to the next level, physically. We behaved like naughty children that knew they were talking about something that they weren’t supposed to; he would blush easily. At that age, there really weren’t many private opportunities that you could have with your boyfriend, since you usually shared your house with suspicious parents and the car option was still another 2 years away. So, we had made an elaborate plan to take a picnic lunch and a blanket and go to the center of the corn field that was close to his house.
We had thrashed our way though quite a few rows of corn that towered over our heads. We found a patch where there were smaller stalks and flattened them to lay down the blanket. We didn’t kiss for very long, as we both wanted to get to our goal: Giving him a blow job.
I un-zipped his jeans and he helped take them off. I knelt down in front of him and after 1 last mutual glance of approval, I went for it. He wasn’t a very verbal guy, so when I heard some moans, I thought I must have been doing something right. I had very little idea what I was doing... only basic knowledge from school yard conversations and seeing a few minutes from a friend’s parents’ adult video collection. Even though I'd been waving my lady bits in boys' faces for a couple of years by this point, I never returned the favor; I wasn't interested until now.
I did it for as long as I thought was necessary. I didn't mind it, but got a little bored and my jaw was cramping up.
I have a short attention span.
I didn’t know that there was usually a ‘grand finish’ and was supposed to continue until then. I had had enough, so I stopped. He didn’t offer any advice or encouragement to continue, especially when he was very shy to begin with. We just continued with our picnic lunch and then when home.
It was quite a long time before I learned about the ‘end goal’ when giving a guy head (Thank you, Australia). I just thought it was about the journey, not understanding that there was a final destination. When I finally found out, I felt so terrible! The poor guy must have suffered from a nasty case of blue balls after our corn field adventure (and a few times after) and just suffered in silence. Now, that was love, right? Poor kid. ;)