Johnny Manley watched Dominique Thomas make her way up the stairwell. Fresh from Barbados, she had creamy dark skin and a slim athletic build. She’d told Johnny she was nineteen, but he didn’t believe her.
“The one on the right,” Johnny murmured as they hit the final landing.
Johnny kept his voice low, so as not to wake the old lady on three. Dominique looked over her shoulder and smiled. If she was nineteen, then Johnny was ten years her senior. He hoped that a younger girl, a teenager, might help him solve his problem.
She looked nervous.
Dominique was a good girl and Johnny knew just how to treat her. That was a big part of his problem. He’d spent most of the day wooing her. He’d taken the crosstown train to her home in the projects earlier that afternoon. Met with her sisters, a flock of thick-armed women, all living in the same apartment, wearing the same blue hospital work uniforms. They’d cooed over Johnny and made a big fuss. Fed him some dark stew with simmering knobs of bone, a light skim of grease.
Johnny loved the good girls.
When he fell in love, he liked to give his girl all that he had. He gave his paycheck first. Soon after came his undying attention, and then an open heart followed. Johnny gave it all. He couldn’t help himself. He held nothing back.
Johnny once gave a girl his ’74 blue Chevy Nova. He’d just made the final payment.
Johnny knew he had a problem.
Dominique entered the apartment. She passed through the tiny kitchen and into the living room. Johnny flicked on the overhead. Save for a single recliner pushed against the wall, the living room was empty. Four walls of nothing. Two bare windows overlooked the deserted street below. Dominique laughed, a lyrical, happy sound.
She went on laughing a little too long and Johnny looked at her.
“I’m sorry,” Dominique said, her voice contrite.
“I’m just starting out,” Johnny said. He was surprised by the pang of shame he felt at her amusement. Johnny flipped off the overhead and two pale rectangles of streetlight reached across the floor.
“Want something to drink?” he asked. There was only water.
He handed Dominique a glass of tap water and then sat in the recliner. Dominique stood in front of him holding her glass, looking uncomfortable. She was an attractive girl in modest clothes: A button down cotton blouse, a light knit sweater. Designer jeans. She’d straightened her coarse hair, teased it into a giant pillow framing her face. She looked like a fresh daisy.
She didn’t know where to sit. He invited her into his lap with a wave of his hand. Careful not to spill her water, she tucked herself into the chair, her hip on his groin. She didn’t weigh much. He could smell the coconut scented conditioner she used in her hair.
Johnny had met her at Bronx Community College. Night classes. He liked her because she was from a small town, on a small island, somewhere in the middle of the sea. Dominique missed everything about Barbados, even the strict father she had left behind there. When they talked, Johnny could hear the longing in her voice. He enjoyed telling her about Carnal, the small town where he grew up. Where his own large family still lived. When she would ask why he’d come all alone to New York, he always changed the subject.
He liked her. But he didn’t want to tell her about his problem. Johnny wanted to love her, but not too much. He had no idea what a healthy relationship with her might look like.
Leaning over the arm of the chair, he set his water glass on the floor. When he came back up, he kissed her gently on the mouth. Put his fingers on her chin. Tilted her head up.
She sighed. Kissed him back.
He took her glass and set it next to his on the floor. He put one of his hands on her thigh, the other on the small of her back. They necked, his tongue deep in her mouth. She eagerly returned his kisses. But when he slipped one of his hands between her legs, she locked her ankles together and squeezed with all her might. She wouldn’t let him pet her breasts either.
Johnny took it all in stride. It wasn’t sex he was after.
“Don’t you like me?” he asked. He kept his voice low, just a murmur. “It’s okay. I mean, it’s totally cool. I completely understand.”
“Wait, whoa—” Dominique said. “Hold on.”
She shook her head. Bit her lip.
Dominique wanted her green card. Many of her friends had simply married to get one. But Dominique was a good girl. She could only marry a man she truly liked.
“I do like you,” she said.
Johnny considered this for a minute. Dominique put her head on his strong chest, cuddled closer to him. Johnny idly stroked her back.
“Well, then, what’s wrong?” he whispered.
“What do you mean,” she wanted to know. She raised her head, met his gaze. Her voice was low, wavering. She looked confused.
“It’s like a wrestling match,” he said.
Dominique swallowed. She looked shocked to hear him describe their behavior this way. She didn’t respond.
He grinned and shrugged his shoulders.
“Let’s get up,” he said. Dominique looked crestfallen.
She obediently stood and Johnny followed her to his feet. “Come on,” Johnny said. He took her hand and headed into the bedroom. When she saw where he was headed, she stopped short. “We’ll be more comfortable on the bed,” he said.
Her eyes went wide, and he almost laughed.
“We don’t have to do anything,” he said.
She didn’t say anything. A distant car alarm wailed somewhere in the night.
“The chair is killing me,” he said.
She laughed softly. The chair was uncomfortable.
He dropped her hand and headed into the bedroom alone. Flopping onto the bed, Johnny kicked off his shoes, then crawled to a sit against the back wall.
She followed him inside. Sat on the edge of the bed, her back straight.
She wouldn’t look at him. Her hands were in her lap.
“I can’t,” she whispered.
“Can’t what?” he asked, genuinely unsure what she meant.
She looked at him. Running her hand across the bedspread, she stretched her body out next to him on the bed. Propping herself on her elbow, she looked around the bare room.
“It’s a bad time for me,” she said, emphasizing the words bad and time. She was looking away from him, though there was nothing else in the room to see.
She shrugged. “I just—” She turned to look at him.
He wasn’t sure what she was telling him for a minute and then he got it. “Menstruation?” He laughed, genuinely amused. “We could take a dip in the red river,” he said.
She snorted, aghast, and then laughed herself. Her face flushed. “I’ve never met anyone like you before,” she said.
“I have plenty of towels,” he added hopefully.
He liked the music of her laughter.
“What should we do?” he asked. He reached out to her. His fingers danced along the buttons of her blouse. She allowed it. Soon he was tracing her small breasts through the fabric of her top. He kissed her softly and opened her top button. Dominique lay still, hardly breathing, as he unfastened a few more buttons on her shirt.
“What about oral sex,” he murmured.
His finger drew an invisible line from the wire in the base of her bra to her bellybutton. Her body stiffened. She licked her lips. For a beat no one said anything, and then he looked her pointedly in the eye.
“I already told you,” she said. Her voice was a hoarse whisper now. “I can’t.”
“No, I mean me,” he said.
He grinned. His cock twitched in his pants.
He reached two of his fingers into her bra, the soft pad of his fingertips finding her nipple. The room went quiet again.
“Sure,” she said. Her voice sounded clipped. Determined.
“Okay,” she added.
He was surprised, wanted to laugh with delight. But instead, he stood on the bed and unzipped his fly. He wasn’t completely sure she’d follow through, and he didn’t want to give her any easy excuses to back out.
Pulling his cock out, he stroked it. Let his pants fall to his knees.
Dominique averted her eyes as she swung her legs under herself. She sat on her heels, then finally allowed her gaze to settle on his cock. He stroked himself. When his cock rose and rolled from his groin, he let it go. It was pink, long as a carrot, and swaying in a thick thatch of golden hair.
He put his hands on his hips and waited.
Dominique rose to her knees. She pursed her lips, then licked them. She put one of her hands on his naked thigh, and with the other hand she took the warm shaft of his cock. She held it in her hand like a little bird. Felt its small weight, its warmth.
Looking up at him with a shy grin, she quickly looked away again. Couldn’t meet his eyes.
He watched her take his cock in her mouth. Her cheeks went concave. He felt a sudden and immediate discomfort, a white hot pain shooting between his legs. She was sucking on his penis as if she were siphoning gasoline.
“Hey—” he said. “Hey!”
He gently but firmly pushed her head away from his cock. He laughed, cupping his penis protectively in his hand. “—what the hell?”
Dominique sat back and covered her mouth with the back of her hand.
“What are you doing?” he asked.
She didn’t answer and he chuckled.
Her face flushed. She laughed, raised both her hands in a helpless gesture.
“Sucking it,” she said. Her voice was a whisper. “I’m sucking your . . .” She stopped, not quite sure how to say the rest. “Dick,” she giggled.
He laughed merrily. Something about her inexperience awakened something in him that was equal parts tender and silly. He wanted to save her. Coddle her. Place her high upon a pedestal of his own creation. But Johnny knew none of that would do.
“It’s not a goddamn vanilla milk shake,” he laughed. “You think you’re at McDonalds?”
She laughed, lowered her head, and put her hand to her forehead. She stayed like that for a beat and then dabbed at the corner of her eye with one of her fingers. He saw the tears and immediately regretted his language. He’d meant to sound cavalier, but it came out sounding too harsh.
“It’s okay,” he said. He took her chin in his hand. Tilted her head up.
“They call it ‘sucking’,” he said, “but it’s not really accurate. It’s more like fucking, than sucking. But instead of putting it in your vagina, it goes in your mouth.”
He shrugged. Grinned.
She looked at him contritely. Her shirt was open. He could see her black bra, the creamy skin of her breasts. He was idly stroking his cock and it was starting to recover, returning to a thick stalk in his hand.
“Come,” he said. “Try again.”
Dominique got back onto her knees. Sniffed. She made her way toward him. Just before she took his cock in her hand, he pulled it back, out of her reach.
“No biting,” he said in a mock stern voice.
She laughed. Reached for his dick again, but he kept it cupped in his hand.
She looked up at him. Looked him right in the eye this time.
“No biting,” she dutifully repeated.
He grinned. Put his hands on his hips.
She took his cock in her hand. Her hands were warm and soft and she moved the skin on his cock in ways he hadn’t expected, the slack stretching taut even as she stroked it, the soft bone of flesh underneath the skin getting longer all on its own. Licking her lips, Dominique took the head inside her mouth again. He could feel the warmth of her mouth, her rough tongue and the hard ridge of her teeth. This time she was more careful with her mouth.
He placed his hand on the back of her neck. He wanted to be careful about her fancy hair but he soon realized there was nothing that could be done to protect it. Taking her head in both his hands, he crushed the pillow of hair around her face.
He began to gently rock his hips.
“You see,” he said. “It’s just like fucking, but I’m fucking your mouth.” He enjoyed saying the word ‘fucking’ as he rolled his hips, drove his cock into her face.
“Fucking your pretty little mouth,” he whispered. “Fucking.”
Dominique’s head was immobilized. She was breathing through her nose, her hands on his hips. His cock slid in and out of her mouth. His dick was getting harder. He watched its length disappear into her mouth, then come back, wet and slick from her saliva. He felt powerful as he rocked his hips. Whispered that her mouth was his to fuck, to fill with his cock.
This was, Johnny thought, the way to treat a good girl.
“Or,” he said. “We can do like this.”
He stopped rocking his hips and let go of her head. Keeping the head of his dick in her mouth, he took his cock in hand and stroked himself, his fist stopping just short of her lips. He placed his other hand on the top of her head. Johnny’s fist was a dull blur as it worked his cock.
Dominique obediently folded her hands on her lap and waited.
He could hear his own breath, huffing toward release. He intended to pull himself from her mouth, tilt her head back, and spray this sweet girl’s bare throat and chest.
Suddenly Dominique shook Johnny’s hand from the top of her head. She let his wet cock drop from her mouth. Johnny used both hands to reach for her head. His cock jammed against her cheek, her closed lips.
Dominique took his warm penis in both her hands. She looked up at him, then licked his hard shaft. She used both her hands to pump his cock.
Johnny was annoyed.
He’d been about to peak, to pull his cock from her mouth. To finish. Now she’d taken over and was using a different motion. He tried to take his erection back, replacing her hands with his own, but she wasn’t having it. It was her first cock and Dominique was enjoying it. Johnny grudgingly allowed it. He felt he had to. He wondered if it would be selfish to interrupt. She closed her eyes, slathered the head of his penis with wet, useless kisses. Nibbled the soft sack of skin at his testicles.
This went on for a few minutes.
Johnny could feel his passion begin to wane. She was just a kid and this was her first blow job. He wondered if she even understood how to make him ejaculate. He put his fingers at the base of his cock. Even this tiny bit of pressure helped to revive his flagging lust.
Dominique had her eyes closed and worked her mouth and head earnestly. She wanted to give good head. Wanted her mouth to be the perfect pussy.
Johnny considered coming in her mouth and his dick swelled a bit. He knew it was bad form to come in a girl’s mouth without warning, especially this girl, who couldn’t possibly expect it. He felt a mild pang of shame. But once the thought of ejaculating into her mouth entered his mind, he found it too intoxicating to let go. Dominique was a good girl, from a good family. Johnny thought of her sisters, the greasy meal they’d prepared for him this afternoon. What would they think if they could see their little sister now, kneeling on the bed, eagerly working his cock, soon to receive a salty meal of her own.
“Good girl,” Johnny whispered.
She liked the encouragement. Responded eagerly to his praise. She contorted her lips into a smile, despite the fat cock stuffed into her mouth.
He wanted her to use her own hands and mouth to call the cream from his dick. He found this thought so lusty he softly groaned and his dick swelled. Any remorse he may have felt about filling her mouth with his semen disappeared, wiped away by his own needs.
He was close. Reaching below and just behind his balls, Johnny applied gentle pressure. He felt his nuts contracting, his orgasm rising.
“Good girl,” he whispered.
She tilted her head to the side and took as much of him into her mouth as she could receive. Her hands lightly rubbed his thighs.
The muscles in his ass and abdomen clutched, and Johnny felt the jism jet from his groin. Even as it was happening, he regretted his choice. He looked down and saw Dominique had that same earnest expression on her face, her eyes closed. Such innocence, such beauty. Truly a good girl. Ashamed with what he had done, he opened his mouth to silence his groan. The ridiculous idea that maybe she wouldn’t notice passed through his mind, just as another load of sperm gushed up through his shaft. He involuntarily ground his hips forward. Clenched his bottom. Felt himself empty. Drain.
Again he opened his mouth to mask his groans, to hide the orgasm racking his body. His eyes rolled back into his head. He licked his lips. Felt himself bathed in a warm wash of shame.
Dominique let his dick fall from her mouth. When he opened his eyes, he saw she had her hands clasped to her chest. She was breathing heavily.
“I came in your mouth,” Johnny said.
He wanted to add I’m sorry but he didn’t. He couldn’t. There was something both powerful and weak about ejaculating in an unsuspecting girl’s mouth. He knew this. If he apologized, he acknowledged his weakness. Lost any trace of power he may have won in the act.
“You certainly did.” Dominique said. Her voice had a shaky quality.
Johnny felt selfish, terrible. Some small part of him had died. He wasn’t much different from his own father, really. For a moment Johnny wasn’t sure what she would do, but he resolved to take whatever she decided to dole out. She was still kneeling, clutching her hands to her breast and breathing hard. In the next instant, she threw her arms around his hips, rested her head against his waist, and held him tightly. Johnny wasn’t quite sure what to make of it. Her arms were locked around him, her head pressed firmly into his groin.
Johnny made a luxurious exhale himself. The further he got from what he had just done, the easier it seemed to bear.
Maybe being just like his father wasn’t such a bad thing after all.
More than anything else, he wanted to reach between his legs, milk the last vestige of orgasm from his spent cock. Instead, he petted Dominique’s broken helmet of brown hair, crushed now, a pretty flower ruined.
He wanted her to feel better. In making her feel better, he felt a little better himself.
“Good girl,” he cooed. “Good girl.”
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