A BJ Story. Yes, It is What You Think

Secretia over at Secret Story Time asked her readers to tell her about the time they learned about sex. This is definitely worth a blog post.

I am sure I learned about sex and reproduction at some point, I just can’t remember the actual details. Maybe my parents talked to me, maybe I learned it in school. My mom wasn’t big on talking about sex, she just told my sisters and I over and over again that we were not allowed to have sex. End of story.

There is one conversation about sex that I remember fairly vividly. It was the first time I learned about blow jobs. Or head. Or blowies. But when I was 12 and just learning all about BJ’s, no one ever called it Oral Sex. I mean, come on, we were all pubescent teenagers. Of course we aren’t going to call it oral sex.

When I was growing up, I had a group of friends from my street that I would hang out with on weekends. Okay, maybe not friends, I mostly just tagged along with my older sister. They were all older than me, they were definitely bad influences on me, but for some reason my parents loved them so it was okay that I hung out with them. I was 12 years old and on the weekends and during the summer we would hang out until well into the middle of the night.

While we were together we were usually doing super innocent stuff like laying in the middle of the street looking at the stars, playing ghost in the graveyard (we thought it was super funny to yell BLOODY TAMPON instead of GHOST IN THE GRAVEYARD. We were so clever), playing spin-the-bottle, or just walking around the neighborhood. It was during these times that I had my first kiss. But since there were four boys, I don’t remember who my first kiss actually was. I was always too nervous to French kiss, so maybe those kisses don’t count as my first kiss after all.

Things weren’t always so innocent though. I distinctly remember playing Red Rover in Tony and Brian’s backyard and having Brian try to talk me into saying swear words. I eventually gave in and repeated them back to him, but I did so in a whisper which made everyone laugh at me and call me a baby. My sister Elisabeth stood up for me though, which seemed to make it all okay.

Another time we were all hanging out, pulling a late night. We couldn’t find a bottle to play spin-the-bottle with, so we ended up walking around the neighborhood. Eric, who was 14 at the time, asked me if a friend of mine thought he was cute. We talked about her for a little while, and then he asked me, “Do you give head?”

“What’s head?” I asked.
Eric laughed at me and then made sure to tell everyone I didn’t know what head was.
“Head is a blow job,” Eric said.
Not learning from my first admission I asked, “What’s a blow job?”

Again, more laughs. I was so embarrassed. I was the youngest one in the group and I always tried so hard to fit in and act older than I was, and here I was, throwing months of acting out the window. Stoltz came to my rescue. He got the guys to shut up and stop laughing. As I hung back from the group on the walk home, he walked with me.

“So, are you gonna tell me what Eric was talking about?” I asked him.

“Probably not, you are a little young,” Stoltz said. Stoltz was the oldest in the group. The same person who was explaining blow jobs to me was actually my babysitter at one point. How fucked up is that?

“Really? You can’t let this happen to me again. I need to know what they are talking about so they don’t think I’m a baby. I’m 12, almost 13. I can handle it,” I said.

So for the rest of the walk back to our street, Stoltz told me all about blow jobs. He told me that some people spit and others swallow, and if I was ever asked which one I did, I should always say I swallow, even if it was a lie. He told me that most guys liked blow jobs better than sex, so if I wasn’t ready for sex I could just give a blow job. He told me that when I do give a blow job I should remember to fondle the guy’s balls. He told me the only time I should use teeth during a blowy was if the guy forced his dick into my mouth. If that happened, he told me to bite the damn thing off.

While he was telling me all of this, I was trying to remain calm and cool. I didn’t want him to know how grossed out I was at the thought of putting a guys dick in my mouth. I just smiled and nodded and took in the info. There is no way in hell I am ever doing that! I thought to myself. Yuck!

The conversation came in handy though. I was able to teach all of my friends about blowies. And if some older boy at school was ever being mean to me, I just told him to cut it out or I would bite his dick off. Worked every time. Occasionally some asshole would ask me if I spit or swallow and since I was prepared all I had to say was “your dick will never have the pleasure of being in my mouth so that really doesn’t matter.”

Maybe my friends from my neighborhood weren’t such bad influences on me after all. My midnight tutoring on blow jobs did come in handy and I learned a lot about the person I wanted to be from hanging out with them. Which basically meant that I decided I would rather be a prude than ever put a dick in my mouth. And I was a prude. Up until the day I met Leland.