The first time a woman went down on me in a car we were parked in front of the house she shared with her parents and sisters. It was winter, the sky and the stars extraordinarily clear and bright. She was kissing me, and then her hand was fumbling with my belt, freeing me awkwardly from my jeans, wrapping tight around me. Then I was enveloped in the warm wetness of her mouth.
I was, in that moment, most worried about being caught. It was late at night, but not so late that her father might not glance out of her bedroom window and see what we were doing. In this part of town the council turned the streetlamps off after midnight in a bid to save money, but it was a clear night and we would have been, I imagined, quite adequately spotlighted by the glow of the moon. And, of course, it was not so late that someone out walking their dog might not wander past at any second and see us. What would they do? Hammer on the window? Call the police?
But I didn’t articulate these worries. I couldn’t. Her lips were wrapped around my cock, the head of me all the way back in her throat, and she was sucking firmly and swirling her tongue around me. I had been hard for the best part of the last few hours. We had kissed intermittently as we wandered from one closing pub to the next. Kissed again in the middle of a deserted high street, our breath pluming cold and our hands buried under the thick layers of one another’s winter coats. But it was a first date, and when I asked her if she wanted to come home with me she said, “I want to, but I shouldn’t.”
And that was fine. We would kiss and touch and nothing more, I assumed. And kept on assuming until suddenly she was lying across the passenger seat of my car with my cock in her mouth, gripping the steering wheel with her spare hand. This was something that had never happened before. Something about it was vaguely lurid and filmic – but the thrill was complicated by the fear of being caught, of being seen.
I looked up. Scanned all around the parked car, the windows of which were already slightly misted with our breath. Not a soul. No lights on in the house. In the perfect quiet of the suburban night I could hear the sounds of her mouth on me – wet noises of spit and skin. The slight grunt as she took me deeper – a noise I felt in my cock as well as heard. I could hear my own hitched breath as well. Slight sounds. In the distance, at the far end of the road, cars hoved silently back and forth on the main road, sweeping their beams ahead of them.
She turned her head a little. I could see the roots of her hair meeting skin at the nape of her neck. I could see her mouth, her parted lips, my cock going into her, her eyes shut, the dark wings of eyeliner there still immaculately drawn. I swept a stray hair behind her ear. She was warm and heavy in my lap. I looked up at the stars, and I was looking at them still when I realised that I was going to come. That she was going to make me come – not a reaction that I had the slightest shred of control over. Not a choice.
I looked down at her once more. I should, I thought, say something. Warn her. But I couldn’t seem to find the words. And then I was coming. I felt it rising up sharply from the pit of my stomach and shivering through my hips. I heard myself groan. I was squirting into her now, and she was swallowing. In the utter quiet of the empty street I could hear every gulp of come as she took it and let it slip down her throat.
Afterwards she lay in my lap for a moment, still holding me, breathing heavy. The interior of the car was as intimate as a bed. The windows had fogged into near-opacity, hiding us away from the world outside. She sat up, becoming a shadow in the darkness, her lips shiny with my come and her eyes wide and wild.
“Goodnight,” she said, smiling, as though nothing more exceptional had happened between us than a goodnight kiss. She reached for the door handle. My cock was still out, semi-hard, and I shifted awkwardly in my seat to put it back inside my clothes. We kissed lightly as she left. The saline flavour of my own body on her lips. And then the door slammed and she was gone, off up the path to her house. I sat there for a minute or two after she had disappeared inside, regaining my breath. Then I started the engine, and used my sleeve to clear our mingled breath from the windows.
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