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My Second Penis


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I actually held onto my virginity past Christmas my freshman year in college, which is more than I can say about most of my roommates. That thing with Robby I spoke about in my last story was fun, but he was a friend, nothing more, and he remains a friend to this day. He is married, like me, and has two children, like me, and never told his spouse I was the first to give him a hand job, like me.

We still see each other, but again, platonically.

My first real sexual relationship—let me be frank, blow job—came under an entirely different set of circumstances. Penis #2, if you’re looking for a succession of events, belonged neither to Robby, a high school football star, or even a first love at college.

It belonged, rather, to my college roommate’s father, a man thirty years older than me. I was 19. He was—50?

My dear friend Kathy. We are still friends to this day, much like me and Robby. I love Kathy. I loved her then. She was the sister I never had, and I was the sister she never had. It’s just the way it was between us. We became close very quickly, and told each other secrets. We still do to this day. We were best friends almost immediately.

She has long chestnut hair and lives an hour from me with her husband Tom. She lost her mom many years ago, and when I was first invited to her house that cold wintry Christmas vacation, it was just me, Kathy and her dad. For purposes of this story, I’ll call him Stan. And when I met Stan, he was widowed, since the young age of 45. Kath and I were to spend the holidays between my house and hers, and we chose her house first. Her dad was lonely, after the loss of his wife. Never picked himself up again, and was having a rough time.

Stan, old enough to be my own father, was remarkably handsome. He was in shape with wisps of gray I found simply intoxicating. In one way, he was so much like dad. And in another, he was a very handsome and sexy man. Older, yes, but with that came many charms, like kindness, maturity, and self confidence—so many virtues I find missing in younger men. I admit, I was only 19, but was smitten almost immediately.

My chance encounter with him happened night two of my three day stay there. Now, I do admit, as a petite little blonde, it probably wasn’t the best thing that I find myself at two in the morning in a teddy in front of their living room, reading a magazine in front of the fire. Yes, that was a mistake. The teddy was pink, and my legs were curled up on the couch, with just my little painted toe nails sticking out. True: I really was having trouble sleeping.

So when I heard the “Oh, excuse me!” behind me, I wasn’t sure who startled who more. Kathy—well, she was sound asleep. And Stan mosied downstairs in his less than forgiving pajamas.

“I thought I left the light on,” he said.

I looked up and smiled. “I’m sorry. Just reading a bit. Had trouble sleeping.”

The fire crackled and sparks went up the chimney. It was so cozy warm, and it took the chill out of the room. Stan stood there in those stupid pj’s, not moving, frozen in time. I knew he wanted to talk, but was embarrassed.

“You can sit down and join me,” I said, tapping the couch next to me. I closed my magazine and put down my glasses, so he wouldn’t think he was being a bother.

“Sure?”

“Absolutely,” I said.

And he stepped around the couch and sat next to me, and kicked his legs up.

We made small talk about college and Kathy and how we feel like we’ve known each other forever. I’m not that stupid. I now he was looking at my exposed leg tucked under me. And then his arm just slid around me, and he froze.

“I’m so sorry, Sierra” he said.

The light flickered. “It’s okay,” I said.

“It really was an accident—”

“It’s okay,” I repeated, and I did something I never thought I’d do—I leaned over and kissed him, right on the lips. He kissed me back! I picked his hand up, and placed in on my breast, and he turned to let his other hand rub my thigh. I was still a virgin, but somehow this all felt so natural.

Then, I saw it—by accident or not, a large, brown-skinned erection poking through the hole in his pajamas. I leaned over and grabbed it. It felt so strong.

“Sierra-I never–.”

“Shhhh”, I said, looking at the stairs, to make sure Kathy wasn’t waltzing down.

And I went down on my knees and knew what I wanted to do. What I really, really wanted to do.

I peeled his pajama bottoms off, while he adjusted himself and leaned back. His cock was pointing in the air, straight up, like a tower in the night. His balls were beautiful. They were so perfectly shaped. His scrotum was a brown with wisps of light gray hair, such a contrast to my thin hand holding it.

I wanted this man more than anything. I wanted to feel him in my mouth, to make him come, to take a part of him in me. In a very odd way—maybe you understand this, maybe you don’t—I equated his penis with my best friend, the sister I never had. She came from this penis. It gave her life. And without these balls, she wouldn’t be. And it was with this in mind, I bent over and began to suckle the smooth tip into my mouth.

At first, I didn’t know what to do. His cock hardened in my mouth, and the large tube on the bottom flexed. My nose was almost planted in his stomach hair, my elbows propped on his muscular thighs. It was a little hard to breath and took awhile to get used to. Out of awkwardness, I began to use my hand, jerking him off in my mouth, until I remember that stupid Cosmo article—”Bob your head, you fool!”

I slid down father, suddenly aware of me and him and a lit fireplace, and I pulled my head up, then down again.

Stan moaned, so I figured I was doing something right. Keep those teeth hidden.

But Stan was a man of control, and most older men are. They know what they want and how to get it, and he took control. This was a welcome change for me. He gently stroked my hair and my cheeks, and I just held still. He would pump a few times, then back off. Then slide it in a little to the left and a little to the right, and then back off again. He cupped my chin, and gave slow rotations in my mouth. In hindsight, I’m not sure if he was being slightly dominant or just enjoying himself. This, I suppose, was a nice, slow mouth fuck.

Stan was working up to his orgasm. And not just any orgasm. He wanted to give it to me good.

I grabbed his balls, and massaged them gently. They were tight and cool to the touch. Stan touched my temples and stroked my hair, and said, “I’m going to come soon. You can pull away.”

But that was not on my agenda. I wanted him bad. As he gently stroked my cheeks with the palm of his hand, I went down as far as I could, smelling his scent, when I felt the head of his penis swell—yes, it really swells! And this penis that was so pliable moments ago got stiff, his balls tightened, and he started to ejaculate in my mouth while stroking my cheeks. Now I know what he was working up to.

He was gently sobbing as he squirted. The roof of my mouth got plastered pretty good, and then it pooled on my tongue. I swallowed and my mouth filled up again. Then I swallowed a second time. Then a third. He continued romantically stroking my face as he fed me. I held his penis in my mouth and let it finish the job. I wanted him to relax, to remember me, to remember this orgasm of his. There was so much stress in his life, I wanted to drain him of it, to take his offering completely. For me, this was almost spiritual.

I suckled on his cock until he started to soften. And when I looked up, Stan was sobbing quietly. My mouth was sticky and dry from the semen. I figured he wouldn’t dare kiss me. But I also didn’t insult him by asking for a glass of water. Besides, it tasted pretty good.

But I had a belly of his sperm, and he was sobbing. A nice sob. A muffled sob.

I took his penis out of my mouth, and it lay soft in the light of the fire over his large brown scrotum. I gave the head one last kiss for the evening.

He sobbed because he had sadness in his life.

He sobbed because that was one of the biggest orgasms he’s had in years.

He sobbed because I swallowed him, his sperm, and wanted to.

He sobbed because I made him feel young again.

With one last kiss on his thigh, I snuck back upstairs.