“The Hand Job” or “That Time I Only Thought I Was Winning”

About five or six years ago, I got into a pretty good thing with a female co-worker. It started with some coy glances and fearless innuendo (“In fact, I DO have a package for you!”) and eventually led to booze-fueled romps of epic proportion whenever we ended up traveling together on business.

On night on the road, I dropped by her room for a little late-night TV watching. Which is obviously code for rimming her within an inch of her life. After rolling around on the Marriott King Comfort Bed for what seemed a couple hours, I got into a groove and worked my mouth and tongue down her body. Moving slowly down her neck, between her breasts, across her stomach, pausing slowly as I dipped gently below her waist. Then I got down to business.

So I’m going down on her furiously, hearing her moan and feeling her hips rise and fall to meet my face and assume I’m doing just what she wants. Then, despite the dark room with the shades drawn, I catch something out of the corner of my eye, fluttering in the air. I pray to God it’s not a bat or a butterfly, as both of them cause me to jump up and shriek like a ten year-old girl and, trust me, nothing crushes the mood quite like that.

Then I sorta pause to take a closer look.

It’s her hand.

To be specific, it’s her hand in the air, close to my head, with a couple fingers making slow circles, going through the motions of playing with herself.

So I stop for a moment and ponder the situation. I mean, I’ve had women who I’m sure pretended they were with another guy whilst I went to town. But I couldn’t recall any woman imagining that she was working herself over.

A blow to my ego? You could say that. But, needless to say, I kept on going, tonguing her furiously until she arched her back, screamed, squeezed my head between her legs, then collapsed in a heap on the bed.

The next day, flying back home, my curiosity got the better of me. So I bit.

“Last night, when I was… uh… going down on you?”

“Yes?”

“I noticed that you were kinda moving your hands around like you were playing with yourself.”

“Oh. Was I?”

“Yes.”

“Hm.”

And she turned back to her issue of People. So I got back to my book. And never brought up the subject again.

And that, as they say, is that.

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