BJ Dreaming by Django Miller

When you work in publishing, you tend to be surrounded by women most of the time. I don’t know what it is, but they seem to make better editors. I have a hunch that it has something to do with how having one less extremity to compete with their brain for blood helps them concentrate better.

Anyways, once a company I worked for flew in editors from four other cities for a series of conferences, and I spent six hours in a conference room with 13 women. Now, if you’re a man that sits anywhere center or left on the Kinsey scale, and you’re in a situation like that, it’s not long before you tune out completely from what’s going on around you and start daydreaming about all the different holes there are in the room that you can stick it into.

"Lolly pop, lolly pop, oh what a lolly pop. . ." (photo by Flickr user emmasbound)

Now for me, it was the tail-end of a long week. I was exhausted, and had no energy to participate, so blowjobs were much more my thing. After all, if you’re going daydreaming, you mind as well be able to lie back and close your eyes. In any case, these are a few of my imagination’s most notable entries:

First off, if my wife (if anyone ever agrees to marry me, that is) looks as good as my boss did when she’s that age, I’d be a lucky and insecure man. I couldn’t see her sucking dick, though. She’s much more the type to lie back herself, and force my head down between her legs. And I can’t say that I’d put up much of a fight. There’s just something irresistible about beauty and smarts coming together with power.

Then there’s the local editor, a strong-headed, intelligent woman with curls that you just want to grab, pull, and tug at. She wouldn’t suck cock because she liked it or wanted to, but because it would be appropriate for the time and place. It would be what the situation called for: standard operating procedure, plain and simple. She’d be thorough and efficient, arguably pneumatic, and she wouldn’t look up to make eye-contact once. It’d be cold and impersonal, and when she was done, I’d be left feeling used and empty—but in a gratifying way. I’d ask for more, and she’d just sneer. Then I’d say please and she’d snicker. Then I’d cry.

Then, of course, there’s the data-entry girl, who’d suck dick because the opportunity presented itself. Now, I’m not saying that she’s a skank or a whore. Who knows, she may very well be, but it’s not why she’d suck dick. She’d suck dick for the attention and validation. It’d be an eager technique, and evertime she looked up to make eye-contact, she’d worry that she wasn’t paying enough attention to what she was doing. She’d also swallow, and when it was over, I’d be racked with guilt for letting her do so.

The web-integrator, however, would provide for an entirely guilt-free experience. She’d go down on me because the mood was right. It’d be passionate and she’d enjoy it as much as I would. It would be inspiring enough for me to reciprocate, and afterwards, as I’d watch her bare ass sway as she strolled across the room, she’d be glowing not because I got off, but because she got some.

The real pièce de résistance, however, would be the work of the editor from out west. Those voluptuous, pouty lips and big brown eyes would make for an unbeatable duo. She’d suck cock because she wanted to, and she’d enjoy making me enjoy it. She’d be focused and determined. Her lip-work would be methodical, make me feel like a big man, and her eyes would shoot innocent and helpless glances my way just often enough that they’d be novel each and every time. The finishing touch, however, would be the look she’d shoot me right before, well, finishing. It would ask permission, and then look away just in time for her lips to form an air-tight seal at the base of my shaft that she’d drag all the way back to the tip. It would drain all my will and energy. Then she’d kiss me with the taste still on her breath. I would have just become her bitch.

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Django Miller is a Montreal-based writer who hides behind a pen name so that his scuppie peers never find out what really goes on in his head.