How I Got Here
1.
You already know where the story ends, I suppose. Or at least, you know unless you’ve been living under a rock for the last five years. But you probably don’t know where it begins.
So here goes.
It begins at bar trivia night.
A few things to keep in mind. Five years ago, I was an average guy with an average job. I worked in the academic resources office of a local liberal arts college. I dated on and off, but at the time everything started to happen I was single. I wasn’t thought of as terribly good looking, or ugly. I wasn’t unusually popular, but I wasn’t friendless. I was just ordinary.
You may recognize some of the other names as I tell this story, but remember, just like I was ordinary, so were those people. You may know about them now, but when we first met, they were regular people just like me.
We were all just ordinary people living ordinary lives. Until I stopped being ordinary.
But, back to bar trivia night. I regularly met some friends after work to play trivia in a local bar. I wasn’t a big drinker, but it was a fun, social event, and I had a good memory for random facts, so we usually did pretty well.
That week, I had showed up on the early side, so I was alone for the moment. I nursed my beer as I watched the other regular trivia-players filter in. One of the Diaz brothers was already here. He had seen more movies than anyone else I’ve met, and remembered every one. Past him were the Hipsters (at least, that’s what I thought of them as), sitting quietly, as if afraid to enjoy the bar un-ironically.
And there was the pack of paralegals and law office staff, sometimes big enough that they formed two or three teams. I noticed them in particular that night because one of them, a cute petite blonde, was looking at me. After a moment, I revised my evaluation; she was staring at me.
At first, I met her eyes and acknowledged her with a little nod. I was pretty sure her name was Carrie. She was a bar trivia regular, and we’d chatted once or twice. I had been working up the courage to ask her out when she slipped in a casual reference to her boyfriend. Well, no biggie, there were other fish in the sea. I just wasn’t a very good fisherman, or something. I didn’t have the right hook. Or maybe there was something wrong with my lure, or my bait had spoiled. Chuckling inwardly, I added to myself that at least I had a big enough rod. I abandoned the metaphor before I ran out of fishing terms I didn’t quite understand.
Anyway, when I glanced back over after my brief introspection into dating as fishing a moment later, her attention was still on me. I met her gaze again, and she held it. Most people, caught staring, will look away, but Carrie was having none of it. She was just looking straight at me and making no attempt to hide it. It wasn’t a glare, and it didn’t even look like a stare at first; just a casual glance up at something that caught her interest. But she never looked away.
I admit, it was really disconcerting. I looked away, but the suspense of not knowing if she was still looking at me or not was overwhelming, so I had to sneak little checks in a few times a minute. Every time, she was still zeroed in on me. Once, I caught her as one of her companions tried to pull her attention away. She turned her attention to her friend for a moment as they laughed about something, but as soon as the interaction was over her gaze swiveled right back to me.
It was a very strange situation, and it started getting to me. I decided that I needed to flee the unrelenting pressure of her attention, at least for a moment. I didn’t smoke, and I still had half of my first beer left, so my options were limited. I got up to use the can, down a little corridor towards the back door. The bar wasn’t large, so the facilities were a pair of single use affairs with locking doors, one for men and one for ladies. Someone had grafitti’d ‘Or whatever’ under each gender label on the sign in an attempt to be progressive, and the bar had left it up.
When I finished my business, washed up, and opened the door, I nearly died of fright. Carrie was standing in the corridor outside the bathroom, right in front of it. If the door had swung the other way, it would have hit her.
“Hi!” she said, brightly.
“Umm, hello,” I replied, catching my breath from my start. I started to edge my way around her, but she made no move to enter the bathroom I was leaving. “Are you waiting for...” I queried, gesturing behind me, my shock replaced with confusion.
“No, I want to show you something,” she said. She had an enigmatic smile that I liked having directed at me.
“OK, what’s that?” I replied.
“Come on,” she said, and took my hand and headed for the back door. The physical contact was so natural and casual for her that it took me a moment to notice that it was unusual.
Did she have something in her car? There was a little parking lot behind the bar, but I thought she and her friends usually walked from their office building.
We left the bar but instead of heading out into the lot, Carrie turned and headed along the side of the building. I followed, puzzled. She turned a corner and led me into an alley. I looked around. For a moment, I had the idea that Carrie, the sweet little paralegal who I saw most weeks at bar trivia, was leading me into a trap, and that someone was waiting behind the dumpster to leap out and mug me. I shrugged it off. That was too ludicrous to consider.
“What are you going to show me?” I asked, looking around. There was nobody hiding behind the dumpster.
Carrie turned, looked me straight in the eye, and said, her tone even and not betraying her intentions, “I want to show you how far your cock goes down my throat.” Then she pounced.
I could have stopped her. It took her several seconds to loosen my belt, unzip my fly, and fish my dick out. I could have intervened at any time. But I didn’t. This was even less plausible than the mugging theory, but it was happening. To this day, I cannot tell you if I was unable, or unwilling to stop it.
What I did manage was to start to ask several questions, then give up on them because the answers were obvious.
“What are...” (you doing?) That was a stupid question. She was about to give me a blowjob, and that fact was very obvious to both of us.
“What about...” (that boyfriend you told me about?) Whatever the answer was, I didn’t actually want to know at this moment. He was out of the picture, or she was cheating on him.
“Do you really...” (want to do this here?) Obviously, since by this time she had freed my member and leaned in to literally slurp it into her mouth, all in one go.
At this point, I stopped even trying to ask questions. My physical response was lagging behind her eagerness a little, and I was fully engulfed when I was just starting to grow stiff, despite how willing I was. This meant that Carrie had no trouble completely swallowing my cock, her lips pressed up against the base, her nose tickled by my pubic hair.
Unlike the other girls who had blown me up to that point in my life (a number too small for me to to be willing to recount it here), she didn’t draw back at all, just kept her lips there and worked me inside her mouth with her tongue. I swelled in her mouth, rapidly filling the available space and reaching deeper down her throat.
Carrie began to gag softly, tiny little coughs almost completely muffled by my cock in her mouth, and her breathing through her nose grew louder and more labored. I started to draw my hips away, but she grabbed me and held herself close. After a moment, she recovered her equilibrium, and began sucking and rolling her tongue.
The sensation was unlike anything I had felt before, and the entire situation was just strange. I was in an alley behind my favorite bar with a hot girl crouched in front of me, obviously struggling to deep throat me but absolutely committed to doing it. My sex life was never previously very adventurous, so this was an entirely new experience.
And I liked it a lot. In fact, I liked it so much that I’m a little embarrassed to specify how soon it was that I felt my nutsack go tight and prickly. I thought about pulling out or warning Carrie, but when I looked down and met her gaze, her eyes widened, telling me she knew what was coming, and it was clear she wanted to stay right there.
So I groaned and came down her throat. She sucked and swallowed as I did so, and the added sensation on top of the orgasm was almost painful in its intensity. I spurted for several seconds and Carrie kept up the whole time. When I was done and rapidly softening, she gently let me slip out of her mouth. The cool evening air was a shock on my limp and wet dick.
Carrie stood up in front of me, still not speaking. She swallowed one last time, and licked her lips. Then, she leaned in as if to kiss me.
I was deeply aware of where her lips had just been, and I instinctively recoiled. She laughed and pulled back as well, the move clearly just a head-fake to provoke me. She reached out and booped me on the nose with one finger, then turned and walked into the bar without another word.
I stood there for longer than I should have, pants undone and dick hanging out. After some time, however, during which I was fortunately not discovered, I redressed and headed into the bar myself. Half of my team had arrived during my absence, and I joined them.
Carrie was back with her friends, smiling and laughing. I could almost imagine that the whole thing never happened, except I could feel the clammy dampness of Carrie’s saliva slowly drying on my cock. She caught me staring and gave me a shy smile, then her attention returned to her friends.
I wasn’t very good at trivia that night, but my friend Chad carried us into a tie-breaker against a group I didn’t know, a table of middle-aged men in casual clothing. After several exchanges, I was able to keep my head clear enough to secure our victory by knowing that Louis Pasteur developed the germ theory of disease, after Chad was able to correctly guess (I hope it was a guess) the number of episodes of Friends. I had never seen an episode of Friends, but now I knew that I had never seen 236 of them.
I had grown intent on the game, and after we won and were given our prizes, I realized that the paralegal team had left for the night, including Carrie. It occurred to me that I didn’t have her phone number or even know her last name. I had no way of reaching her to talk about our encounter.
But I did have a lot of time to think about it. I couldn’t make heads or tails of it, but I was never good at reading women. Maybe she wanted a relationship, or even just a fling, and had been sending me stronger and stronger signals that missed, and so she decided to make it absolutely clear. Maybe it was a dare from her friends. Maybe…No, nothing fit. Whatever happened, I was missing far too much information to be able to understand it now. I needed to talk to Carrie again to understand.
I resolved to try not to worry about it too much. I did find myself looking forward to next week’s trivia night with unusual excitement, however. I would have answers then. And maybe, I would have more fun. Little did I know my life would get more interesting well before then.