Last night with the girls started the usual way, proper loud and messy in some random Shoreditch bar that smelled of sticky floors and cheap perfume. We were three bottles in and already taking the piss out of each other when this bloke caught my eye across the room. Tall, dark hair, that quiet confident look that always gets me. One of the girls gave me the classic nudge and mouthed “go on then,” so I did. Banter was easy, laughs came quick, and before I knew it we were in a cab heading back to mine in Hackney. I was already buzzing, that familiar flutter low in my stomach, thinking this might be another high-energy night to tell them about tomorrow.
Inside the flat the kissing kicked off straight away, proper good kissing that made my knees a bit soft. Clothes started coming off and I was all in, ready for whatever. Then he dropped his jeans and I properly froze. I am not exaggerating when I say it was the size of my forearm. Thick, long, the kind of thing you see in those ridiculous videos and think no chance that is real. I just stared for a second, then let out this little nervous laugh and said flat out, “No way. Absolutely no chance.” He took it well, to be fair, no pressure, just that same quiet smile. So full sex was off the table, but I was still properly turned on and he was still rock hard, so I did what felt natural.
I dropped to my knees on the bedroom floor, the carpet rough under my skin, and wrapped both hands around him just to steady myself. The heat of him was intense, skin smooth and tight, and the sheer size made my mouth water and my heart race at the same time. I started slow, licking along the underside, tasting that clean salty skin while my fingers could barely meet around the base. When I took the head between my lips it already stretched my mouth wide, and I had to breathe carefully through my nose as I eased him further in. My jaw ached almost immediately in the best way, eyes watering a little from the effort, but the soft groan he made above me sent a proper thrill straight through me. I worked him with my tongue and hands together, bobbing what I could manage, spit making everything slick and messy. Every time I took him deeper my throat fluttered and my own body responded hard, thighs pressing together, that sweet ache building between my legs just from the act of giving him this. I loved the power of it, the way his fingers tightened in my hair, the way his breathing got ragged while I stayed in control. It felt filthy and intimate at the same time, my lips stretched, my tongue working, the weight of him heavy and hot on my tongue until he finally came with a low curse, filling my mouth in thick pulses that I swallowed without thinking.
We stayed like that for a minute after, me catching my breath with a stupid grin on my face, him stroking my hair all soft and grateful. The rest of the night was still great, hands and mouths everywhere, me shaking through a proper orgasm against his fingers while he kissed me like he meant it. He left around three with my number and a promise to text, and I lay there in the dark still buzzing, body humming, already knowing the girls would lose their minds when I told them.
This morning I am still smiling about it, even if part of me is laughing at how ridiculous the size was. I refused the full thing and I stand by that, but the blowjob alone left me properly satisfied and a little idealistic again. Somewhere out there is the tall dark one who will fit just right and stay for the cuddles and foot massages after. Until then, nights like this keep the hope alive and the stories flowing.
