Blow Job

Believe it or not I was a late bloomer. I was painfully shy with guys I liked and tended to put myself in the role of “one of the guys”. I was a tomboy complete with a skateboard and my Van’s. I remember one of my first crushes was on Joe Lopes. I had met him in the pages of Thrasher magazine. And in my 6th grade mind, he was totally “dreamy” – a rough and tumble skater guy who was old enough to drive. Really it was his board that I had a crush on, but nonetheless, I considered him my first crush. I used to take my Joe Lopes skateboard everywhere. I was 12 and didn’t really know how to ride. But I had saved up all my babysitting money just to buy the board. I would meet “the guys” down at the park near my house and we would ride together.

Finally, in 8th grade, one of the skater boys invited me to his place to skate on his half-pipe in his backyard. We actually never got around to skating. As soon as we got to his place, he kissed me. It was my first. I remember the look on his face as he pressed his lips against mine. As we stood there lip-to-lip, I had my eyes open until he stuck his tongue on my mouth. My eyes then shut and I could feel my toes curling and my heart beating against my chest. I was “in love” at least for the next hour.

I remember floating down his driveway after I realized I was late for dinner and rushing to get home, so I wouldn’t get in trouble. Oddly, I stuck my thumb out thinking that hitchhiking a ride home would the best solution for getting home closer to on time. And of course, the first car to pull up was the police. Yes, being arrested for hitchhiking after my first kiss may have contributed to my hesitance in getting involved with boys. If a kiss could get me arrested, than what next?

It wasn’t until high school when I would kiss a boy again. The first week of my freshmen year in high school, I invited my friend to spend the night. The plan was to sneak out to meet a couple other freshmen boys at the park. We snuck out the window and started to walk down the street toward the public park. I remember the rumble of the engine of the Mustang that pulled up along side of us. It was two senior boys. They asked us if we wanted to go for a ride. Being young and very naïve, we said yes. They took us to the local public pool and we hopped the fence to go skinny-dipping. One of the boys held my hand and this is when I had my second kiss. This time I wasn’t floating so much. I was nervous with this older “man”. We kissed for a while until he placed my hand between his legs. I could feel him getting harder, but I really had no clue what to do. He then unzipped his pants and pulled himself out. I remember just staring. I was now looking at his dick and then looking up at him. Then he whispered, “Give me a blow job” as he pointed down at himself.

Not wanting to come across as inexperienced, I naturally did what seemed the most logical thing to do. I puckered my lips and brought them close to the head of his dick and then I lightly blew. Nothing happened. I then blew a little harder but this time I blew up and down the entire shaft. Still nothing happened. I was perplexed. So I took in another deep breath and blew a bit harder. This time he asked me “what the fuck are you doing?” I responded, “um, giving you a blow job.” He then stated, “you are supposed to put my dick in your mouth.” I remember thinking that there was no way that thing was going in my mouth. And I think the only sound I could mutter was “oh”. I think my lack of enthusiasm over this prompted him to take my hand and stroke him up and down. Eventually he “popped” and I washed my hands off in the public pool. We climbed back over the fence and I hugged him goodbye. My friend and I walked back to my house as I told her about stroking him, purposefully leaving out the part about blowing on him.

The next day at school someone had written “slut” on my locker. Apparently, between leaving him at the pool and arriving at school the next morning, it was now rumored that I had lost my virginity to both him and his friend during the course of the evening. And not wanting to out myself as totally inexperienced by revealing the actual events of the night, I let the ink stay for the week. I never did date any guys from my high school from that point forward.

A Lap Dance for Jesus

On a typical Friday night I am usually kicking it with my best friend James at some dive. Since we have known each other since before I was old enough to drive I am sure you can imagine how many years of this we have clocked in together. We usually meet up at one of two dives in the financial district in San Francisco and then slowly make our way to the "better" dives of Oakland. For many years, Smitty’s was the bar of choice. Decent juke box, cheap shots, pool table and a great cast of characters. Recently James initiated a change of venue. I was skeptical about this new place until I met Jesus.

There were a few of us gathered around the pool table enjoying our beverages and playing rounds of pool. Then Jesus walked in; a fairly tall, thin white guy with a beard and long straight brown hair. He was the white archetype of Jesus in his white toga and hemp sandals. We were intrigued. I was first to notice and quickly pointed out to James that Jesus was drinking PBR. I was a bit surprised by his beer choice. For some reason I had always thought the son of God would have chosen a better tasting brew, but perhaps he was used to wine and didn’t have a palette for ale. Jesus then sat himself next to the pool table on a bench seat alone directly across from my little posse. We all agreed… Jesus looked sad. Certainly given the state of our planet we could all surmise why Jesus would be sad, and we all felt something needed to be done.

We ruled out buying Jesus a drink since he had just obtained one and buying Jesus PBR in a can seemed a bit sacrilegious. Then my friend Erin began rifling through her purse and pulled out $2, turns to me and says, “you need to give Jesus a lap dance!” And before I could answer, James slaps another $2 on top of Erin’s and says you should do it for $4. Now, just so everyone is clear, I have actually never given a lap dance, but even given my lack of experience I felt I was worth a bit more than 4 bucks. I say no way, minimum is $20. But my friends know me all too well and count on the fact that I can’t say no to any challenge, especially one such as this. How many opportunities in this lifetime do we have to give Jesus a lap dance? I decide I am still worth more than four and let them know that for four dollars I can make Jesus genuinely smile and for $20 I will surprise him by shaking my ass on his lap. And while my friends know me, I also know my friends and I knew they would rather spend their money on more booze than on a dare.

They went for the smile. So I strolled over to Jesus and plopped myself down right next to him. I turn and smile and say, “Jesus, my friends and I were concerned that you seem really sad and thought it might make you happy if I give you a lap dance.” Jesus lets out a little smile as I continue, “they even offered me $4 to do it although between you and I, despite my lack of experience, I think I am worth at least $20.” At this point Jesus begins to point and says, “see that girl in the toga over there?” I nod yes. “She’s my girlfriend, so I will give you $10 if you don’t.” I say deal and take his $10, we are both smiling as I stroll over and grab the 4 bucks from the table. Not bad for a typical Friday night.