Kisses, m.
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| hot mouth. 2013. |
Don’t
(2-6-2011)
Benjamin Norman was an unremarkable man with a fondness for picking out what didn’t belong. He was a deeply ordinary man with a critical nature that went straight to the core of his fibers. One might believe that he had been schooled in the fine art of critique upon speaking with him. Benjamin always seemed to wear his shirts partially un-tucked and wear his shoes two sizes too big but that seemed perfectly appropriate to him. He knew what worked and what did not and he was quite direct about his meaning with everyone he met.
You must understand that Benjamin Norman wasn’t the type of daring man you’d find on safari in the world, but he was too afraid to let on that he was wrong. He wasn’t a particularly interesting or great man. As a matter of fact the only thing of interest about him was that he just so happened to have two last names. Two last names most women will never forget because of what he might tell them. I know I’ll never forget because it changed him as much as me.
To say what happen to Benjamin would be unfortunate. But it wasn’t without its own coincidence.
One day in the middle of the grocer’s I walked straight into this man with a penchant for critique. People often wonder what it is about someone when they first meet them. How the cut of their suit works? Or what their particular haircut might tell you about them. And Benjamin certainly isn’t one of those people.
Now when two people meet they say there is an instant chemical attraction or aversion. On that particular day while in line at the grocer’s he happen to catch my eye. And when I met him I’m not sure what the draw was. It wasn’t the kind of food he was buying that day in the grocery line or the way his shirt rested un-tucked. And it couldn’t have been the way he spoke to the cashier in that condescending drawl that made her want to immediately close and go onto break. What is was I’ll never know but I let him take me home.
The thing about Ben was that he wasn’t a complainer. He was an analyzer. And this extended directly into every aspect of life including the bedroom. From the first moment I laid naked before him he reviewed me from head to toe. He would tell me things a man might tell his lover much later if there’s another moment. Not the things you might say if you were about to be intimate. But he said those things to me and I thought, “there’s always room for improvement” as I listened.
Benjamin Norman paid exceptional attention to direction in one particular area. One area, without question, he was more preoccupied with and demanded the same devotion from a woman.
Most men might tell you “you’re amazing” after you’ve spent any given amount of time on your knees paying tribute to their smarter half with the inside of your mouth. They might stroke your hair with a few words of encouragement. But not Benjamin. I’d been around a man or two in my time that weren’t satisfied with what they were getting but none had ever had the audacity to review my technique quite like Benjamin.
When it came to head time he was a man about to direct a symphony with a woman on her knees. Not simply any symphony, a masterpiece. The first time he gently scolded me with hint of sensitivity. “Don’t. Not like that” before his hands carefully insisted on keeping the same time and movement for me. Although tired I nursed a little more with the tip of my tongue gently changing pressure. His guiding hands pressed tightly into my jaw until he was satisfied.
Benjamin directed my every move while I was in the middle of a masterpiece. And I listened to every instruction.
Don’t.
More.
Less.
Don’t.
Faster.
Slower.
Don’t.
Stop.
Start.
Don’t.
Not like that.
Until it wasn’t enough. It was never quite right. And there was nothing more I could do except force his hand in his own instruction.
And that final time when Benjamin spoke his words sharply as he conducted the ups the downs and lefts and rights I made sure he took review in his own stock.
He tells me “Don’t. You’re not doing it right,” before leaning over my head like a schoolteacher surveying a student taking an exam. I refocus my efforts as he watches without further guidance. Me watching him watching me as I control myself. Both his eyes watching my hands as they move a little quicker up and around before taking him in my mouth once again. Carefully I’m watching his body recline back. His eyes slowly roll close once I find the rhythm. Before long he’s leaned forward again gently rubbing my head to indicate slower then faster. Moving my hands upward I match his while letting out a slight moan to warn of my tired jaw.
At last stopping me to tell me loudly that “It’s all wrong!”
“You’re not telling me what to do.”
“Then you’re not listening. You know you don’t....”
“Alright, I don’t know. Look, if you could do better, why don’t you give it a try?”
“Probably should. I could do a better job than you. If I do will you finish?”
“You don’t say, you could? You could, now. And I’ll finish you off real good.” I threw out the dare like it was born all on its own never to become. But deep down inside of me, I wanted him to show me. Show me what he could do. That it would be so much better. And some part of him wanted to get even with me for telling him. I could see something snap inside that unremarkable man’s eye and I knew that once he said he could, there was no changing his mind.
Benjamin Norman analyzed everyone and everything in a situation but never the situation itself. At any rate he was a resolved man without any question when he decided to show me how to satisfy his needs correctly. And there was something sinisterly sad about Benjamin when he curled up and leaned forward with his mouth. Both arms behind his legs and working with his might. Yet Benjamin seemed quite proud and to be enjoying himself. Moans and groans of pure contentment as he completes his own circuit. Where one thing should end it no longer does. All seemed great until he became quite ambitious in his efforts to prove my technique flawed. Almost too ambitious I’m afraid. Lips tighten with a gag. The limits of his jaw wears tiredly. And without a thought his bite snaps as a reflex. There’s nothing quite like a grown man screaming with something stuck in his mouth.