There were moments of hesitation.

I asked him to lean back, get comfortable.  I slid over his ridiculously large console, the leather of my jacket rubbing against the leather of his console.

Below me lay obstacles that were the bane of my existance: a fastened belt, a taut button, and a reluctant zipper.  I had not mastered them, much like young boys had not mastered the bra.  I don't have to contend with these obstacles because they are long removed and are pooled down to ankles before I can say, "Ahhhhmmmmmmm."  Most of the time, anyway.

I stared at his belt in dismay until he unfastened it for me.  I fiddled with the button until it popped free, gently zipped down his fly, then unpeeled his black underwear (I didn't get to see if it was briefs or boxer briefs).  I fetched out his dick, which immediately nestled itself on his belly.

A nice size, and thick too.  Uncle Sam would be proud.  It had, as cocks go, perfect form.  His pulsating blood had filled it to full rigidity, as it would not relent under my tongue's firm ministrations.  He was curved more too, which left me with the predicament of gently holding it to my mouth or following its curve into his belly.

I dove in.  I could take him all the way easily, thanks to all the face fuckings my ex-boyfriend provided me with.  My gag reflex was reveling in his cock as well, I could tell; it was absent the whole time.

I immersed myself upon his dick.  There is nothing more natural, for me, than to be kneeling between a man's legs and sucking him.  It's my slice of heaven, it's like coming home, it's my hypnotizing trance.

My mouth slipped over his head and my tongue explored his ridges.  I worked my way down slowly, lavishing and salivating on his dick until it glistened and gleamed.  His dick was prepped and ready and I took him in whole again.  If I could only breath during deepthroat, I would have heaved a great sigh.

Something I discovered after tasting his cock: he smoked.  It was not at all off-putting.  I doubt he was a heavy smoker, perhaps approaching moderate, but I could taste it.  It lent him a certain flavor, other than the normal male sex scent.  It was more mesquite than char-broiled, and I liked it.

Suck.  Lick.  Slurp.

I looked up.  "What's the motions that get you off the quickest?"

"Fast and hard."

I go back sucking contentedly.

Suck.  Lick.  Slurp.

"Is there anything I should know if I want to swallow?"

"Nothing.  You don't have to swallow."

"Yes.  I do."

I return again, sucking happily.

Suck.  Lick.  Slurp.

"You don't make much noise, do you."

"No, not usually."

I sucked his cock into my mouth and continued.  I'm vocal when I'm pleased, and I moaned up and down his cock with unabashed pleasure.  I could hear his ragged breath pausing and his thighs twitching as I came up and tongued his head.  His fists clenched and made rasping noises against the seat.  He was quietly, breathedly moaning now.  He laid a hand on my back and over the course of a few minutes, it crept lower to my jeans.  It felt good, it felt solid, like the organ I was hungrily pumping.

I was happy.  I looked up once again and asked, "I thought you said you are quiet."

He gave me a weak shrug and replied, "I usually am."

I faithfully went back to my fellating until I couldn't handle it anymore.  I couldn't balance myself properly and the damn console was a pain in the side.  We moved to the backseat, he putting it down.  It looked semi-retarded.  The passenger's side was elevated while the drivers side of the backseat was flat.  He propped himself between the two while I crawled in and straddled his legs.

I had to peel down his underwear again and I did so petulantly.

"What?  Would you have wanted it out when I was out of the car?"

I nodded.  Hard dick should be readily available when I wanted it, damnit.

I eagerly went back to work.  In between strokes and hand switches, I peeked at him with his head leaned back, looking blissful.  I love the physical, aural, and visual cues a man gives you.  His hand twitched and clenched, he sighed and gasped, and his legs trembled.  Oral sex makes me feel triumphant.

I think I fellated his dick for over half an hour.  I didn't have a watch nor did I know what time I started or ended, but it was late.  We both had to get up early.

I lied back next to him, exhausted.  All my effort and hard work and not even a teaspoon to swallow.

"I don't usually orgasm by oral," he explained.  "It rarely happens."

"Oh," I said.

"Having sex guarantees me an orgasm though."

Damnit!  I wasn't prepared to fuck him.  I don't want another notch, another scratch in my sex bed post.  Granted, there is only three males and two females scratched upon there, but I was hoping my fast tongue could wrought what my tight pussy inequivocally, undisputedly delivered.

"You're pretty good though."

"Well, you're the second guy I've ever given a blowjob to."

But my aim, as always, is to please, and I strive for perfection.

I hope to have him again before Iraq takes him into her hot and sandy arms, molding him from a man into a soldier.  I want to give him some kind of hope, or at the very least, satisfaction.