by Daniel James Cabrillo

I meet Lorna while I'm waiting for a marriage to fail. A woman I've been seeing tells me she's going to marry the other guy, a mistake. I give them two years, tops, and decide to wait. Smart, right? What's two years?

Lorna is perfect for waiting. Cute. Pleasant. A little on the shy side but bright, interesting. Easy to be with. Likes sex, good at it, game for anything. No commitment, no demands.

In the summer I rent a little house at the beach with friends. I invite Lorna to come out every other weekend. This proves I am not serious about her.

First Friday she comes out, I pick her up at the train station and we drive to the beach, walk, don't talk much. She breathes deeply to cleanse her lungs of city soot, and when they're clean we find a niche in the dunes and watch the sunset. Under the golden-orange sky we mess around a little, liberate her tits and my prick so we both have things to play with.

As the fat sinking sun drops into the ocean Lorna lowers her head to my lap and takes me in her mouth. I'm delighted; this is just what I was hoping she'd do.

But 'delight' doesn't come near covering my response.

Almost from the start it's like, What... is she doing? I mean, what is she DOING? What... ? How... ? And... oh. Oh. What in the name of... is... she... How does she... What did she just... Whoa. Ho. Oh God.

I'm no kid. I've been around. The Sexual Revolution has been won, and the blowjob is a well-integrated aspect of foreplay. I've had plenty of them, many memorable, have never felt shortchanged. But this is different. It is definitely not foreplay. It's a stand-alone thing, complete in itself. Art, maybe. Not maybe, that's what it is. Move over Sistine Ceiling.

God, God, God, and God. These are not exclamations. As long as I'm in the Sistine Chapel, I might as well pray.

I come like a spastic. She swallows the first jolt, lets my prick slide from her mouth into her fist and takes the second shot in her hand, sucks the head back into her mouth for the next, which she swallows as she rubs the remaining spurts and oozes into my prick and the skin of her pretty little tits.

History has been made. I have just experienced the blowjob of a lifetime. There will never be another like it.

Until two Fridays later.

I wonder if she knows how much in charge she is, I think, as I watch her work on my cock. She is in complete control of me. With her lips and tongue and fingers she turns my prick into the gearshift of my very being. She's driving. She could take me anywhere. I'm going, I'm going. Vroom, vroom, vroom. She's taking me somewhere I've never been. Vroom, vroom, vroom. What a ride! Vroom, vroom, vroom. VROOOOOM, vrumvrumvrum, vroom, vroom, VROOM, VROOOOM, VRAHHM, VROOM!

Whew.

So now I know it was not an aberration. Perfection once can happen by luck. Perfection twice is proof of expertise, virtuosity, even genius. She is the world's greatest cocksucker, and I tell her so.

She says 'Thank you.'

I ask how she got to be it.

She shrugs and says it just must come naturally to her. I don't buy it. There's got to be more -- a graduate school course, a private tutor -- something. But I don't push. I don't need to know. I just need to be blown.

The next weekend is an off-weekend. I mumble through it, cursing my stupidity for not asking Lorna to the beach, dreaming of next week and her mouth's return to my desperately lonely cock. Like a junkie I think about it all the time.

I speculate about what it is about Lorna's cocksucking that makes it so extraordinary. If I describe it beat by beat it sounds like any nicely modulated blowjob, a sex act between mouth and prick augmented by fingerplay and judicious attention to balls. Lorna does nothing to me that has not been done before; yet the whole of her blowjob is something new, something unique and perfect.

It must, I decide, be a matter of choreography. The elements are the same, but she balances and times them better than anyone else. She knows exactly when to suck, when to kiss, when to lick, when to engulf, when to release, when to ease up, when to get a little rough. She knows exactly how soft to make her lips and how curly to make her tongue, how much saliva is beneficial, how to use her fingers and the palms of her hands expeditiously, how much and when to include the balls. She even pays attention to the audio-visual aspects. She knows how squishy to make it sound and how to augment its appearance. She knows when to look squarely at my prick, when to close her eyes, when to open them and gaze up into my eyes and smile as she watches me watching her making magic with my prick.

She knows everything.

How could I not have invited her out this weekend?

This is hard to believe, I know, given my excitement and expectations, which probably are unreasonably high, but the next blowjob is the best yet. It is too good. So good that it makes me irrational.

We have scarcely settled into our niche on the beach, she has scarcely begun sucking my cock, when I begin to swoon with the pleasure of it, and the pleasure is so great that I begin to panic.

What if she stops? What? What if right now this moment she stops doing it? Why would she stop? I don't know but what if she does, what if she just releases my cock from her mouth and says that's that and ends it? What then? She's not going to do that. I know she's not but what if she does? I will have to kill her. But how will she ever suck you again if you kill her? Well then if she stops I will drop to the ground at her feet, beg and cry and grovel for her to continue, promise to give her anything I own, sign over future earnings and unborn children, please, oh just do not ever stop! Please let me die now, right now, don't stop and oh...

She knows me. The better she knows me, the better she gets.

Back in the city in September, the woman who married the other guy calls. It's in her voice, things are not going well. She wants to have lunch or something but I don't have lunch these days; every spare moment is spent in expectation of my next blowjob. I say: I think it'd be best for you just to play it out, your marriage I mean, I mean I shouldn't be part of your decision.

Come on, I say to Lorna after she's transported me yet again to the farthest reaches of the known universe, something must have made you this good. By this time we are seeing more of each other and are more comfortable with each other, so she tells me.

I meet this guy, Tony. A little stuffy but cute. We go out a few times, and you know, one thing leads to another and we're ready for sex. So we're fooling around and just when we're about to start, he stops to make a confession. He's sort of engaged, he says, he wants to tell me so it's all out in the open. I'm a little annoyed about when he chooses to break this news -- we're already naked, or just about -- but I ask him what he means, 'sort of' engaged He says he's unofficially engaged, but it's going to happen. OK, fine, I say, and we go back to what we were doing. I mean, I don't love the guy, but he's cute and I'm horny so why not? It's pretty good, a lot of fun.

Well, for a guy who's sort of engaged, he sure comes around often. I ask him what the problem is with his girlfriend -- doesn't she like sex? He says no, she doesn't. They do it, but she really doesn't like it, it's too sticky. I don't mind sticky. What Tony likes better than anything is having his cock sucked, so I ask him if his fiance has a problem in that department, too. Yeah, Tony says, she does. She'll do it if he insists, but she doesn't like it at all. By now I've completely lost respect for Tony for putting up with this frigid bitch, but for some reason, the fact that his girlfriend and future wife isn't into sucking his cock turns me on.

From that day forward I am inspired. I study him while I blow him, watch what he likes, practice this and that, make mental notes. I read the literature, improve, refine. I am determined to make my blowjobs so memorable that for the rest of his life every time Tony feels like having his cock sucked, my cocksucking will come to mind. Every time his wife won't suck his cock, he'll think of how enthusiastically and expertly I did. And best of all, every time he nags his wife into it -- every time she says Oh all right! and sucks Tony's cock just to shut him up -- he'll compare her cocksucking to mine, always unfavorably. For the rest of his life my blowjobs will remain with him, perfect, lost.

It was a side of her I hadn't seen. I liked it.

The woman who hadn't married me meets me for lunch. She cries. It's over. Only a matter of time. We wind up back at my place so I can kiss the tears away. In bed she sucks my cock. Part of the foreplay. I glance over at the clock. Right now I'm Tony, thinking of a perfection not present here. I lift her head away, lay her on her back and fuck her so she can go home to her husband and out of my life and leave all the room for Lorna.

Lorna and I get married. Marriage does nothing to moderate the quality of her cocksucking. Her blowjob remains the gift that keeps on giving -- although it is a gift that should officially be designated a lethal weapon. She is either madly in love with me or trying to kill me and I don't really care which.

After one near-fatal orgasm I am lying naked on my back, my eyes closed, not one hundred per cent sure that I am alive, when the phone rings. Releasing my shrunken wet cock from her mouth with a tiny plop, Lorna answers the phone.

No, she says, I told you no, I'm married, you're married, and that's that. Don't call me again, okay?

Tony? I ask when she hangs up.

She nods.

Creep, she says.

Oh I don't know, I say. I owe Tony a lot. He made you the cocksucker you are today.

Sort of, she says.

He inspired you, I say.

Yes, he did, she says.

You perfected the art on him, I say.

No, I perfected the art on you.

That's sweet, I say, but if there hadn't been a Tony first... I mean, you practiced on him.

Tony wasn't first. I practiced on you.

Well I uh what?

In the summer. Remember how I would only come out to the beach every other weekend?

I thought I was uh...

The weekends I didn't come out, I saw Tony. The weekends I did come out, I practiced on you.

Oh.

Practice made perfect, right?

Right.

I'm going to get some ice cream, she says, giving my flaccid cock a little lick, hopping out of bed, and going off to suck something sweet from a spoon.

Lucky spoon, I thought.

Lucky me.