The True Joy of Giving Head...

As women (particularly as African American women) we suppress our sexual desires and urges because women shouldn’t enjoy sex openly. And giving head is something that only hookers, hoes, and nasty women do.

Well I recently had the best sexual encounter to date. The incredible part about this experience was I found it more self gratifying to me (internally/emotionally) than the actual fact that I physically came too many times to record. My mission was totally to please him and show my gratification for being such a great guy.

For the first time, I saw myself focusing solely on pleasing this man. It wasn’t about keeping score/track of who did what and making sure all actions were reciprocated. While I had an idea of how the sex would go down before hand and what I wanted to do, all pre-planned thoughts went out of the window.

Have you ever made love to a dick before with your mouth? For the first time, I can raise my hand high. While I am no stranger to giving head, it was normally done based off what I seen in porn or how I was feeling (which was usually when is it my turn). However, this time was an experience I couldn’t even see myself doing in my wildest dreams. It was straight out of a Zane novel, now that I think about it.

I enjoyed this man’s dick for what had to be hours (never been this long before). I took every second of every minute within the hours that passed savoring all aspects of this man’s penis. I did it slow, steady, with much conviction, and fed my appetite that hadn’t been filled in months. Nothing you would ever see in porn. I’ll admit, I have mad feelings for this guy and it helped encourage me to go all out.

For the first time, I came just watching this man enjoy my head game. For the first time, I didn’t have any real hang ups- or inhibition. While he made sure my needs were being met as well. For the first time, it didn’t really matter. For the first time I didn’t expect the man to initiate the oral sex. For the first time, I didn’t care if he ate me out or even penetrated me; for I was just happy giving him some head.

Because I pushed all of my wants and needs aside and focused on him, our sex was unbelievable. It was that kind of sex; you can’t help but think about all of the time. That kind of sex, where you don’t want to sex anyone else because it will taint that last wonderful experience. That kind of sex, that proves good loving is out there. That kind of sex, that if you were a couple, no third party could ever satisfy your needs. That kind of sex, that you damn near think didn’t really happen. That kind of sex, where you don’t wash your bed sheets for a day or two because you can still smell the scent of that man or woman. That kind of sex, you could only have with a person you are truly connected to mentally. That kind of sex, that makes you want to run a front page national ad in all major city newspapers about the good sex. Hell, it was that kind of sex that made me write

Letter of Songs