i scream, you scream

I was 13 years old the first time a boy went down on me. He was also 13 and it was on the cross-country trail that connected the middle school we attended to the high school we would be attending in a year and a half. A couple of girls in our class came looking for us, and while they knew we were messing around, they were not prepared for what they rolled up on that fateful winter’s day. Thank God for curiosity. Had they not been snooping, no one would have believed it otherwise: that a boy went down on a girl. Even then I had to wonder, “Who taught him this?”  There was never even any pay back, it was so quick and suddenly there were two girls watching us with their mouths wide-open in disbelief. You have to understand where that put me in the order of things. It would still be at least another year before the advent of oral into the average teenager’s diet, and that was still mostly girls going down on boys. The first vestiges of experimentation is usually attributed to the girl, as soon as she gets her braces off.

While playing the vision of his bobbing, blond head lapping me up, I began to think about what it must be like down there. So while laying in bed, I reached in with my finger and tasted it. I knew, even then, that I was embarking on a charmed sexual existence and I had to be sure that my pussy tasted good. Thankfully, it did.

I have to admit, I check myself every so often. Whether on the lips of someone who has just indulged or the trusty finger-test. A friend of mine was shocked to hear that this, I was more shocked that she hasn’t ever wondered about her own vaginal flavor and indulged.  No well-trained chef would put the sauce out there without knowing that it tasted good and fresh. Why should I be any different?