Rimming is what separates the Kings and Queens of Freak from the pretenders to the throne. Though many men aspire to anal penetration, not nearly as many clamor for the taste of rim. Which inspired my rule #2—anywhere you want your cock to go, your tongue has to go first.
If I’m feeling generous and frisky, I don’t ask if I can rim. I go for it. During a blow job, it’s a natural progression, following the seam of the perineum down to the pucker. I’ve had men tell me no, not for them, during conversation, but I’ve yet to have one pull away fro me as I tongue his ass and stroke his cock.
Why rim? Because it feels fucking good. Amazing, even. Thousands of nerve endings are waiting to give you pleasure.
I was 24, he was thirtyish and a devilish black Irish drunk. He took me home to his depressing basement efficiency, and after some perfunctory petting, my pants were in a pile on the floor and he was devouring my cunt. And then…and then.
Could it be? Was he? No. Yes. Yes, he most certainly was. Oh, God. Oh my GOD.
Pussy eating was sometime thing in my early twenties; most of us were still just figuring it out and sex was fun for its novelty. Not a lot of cunnilingus in those years, though; mostly blow jobs and hand jobs, kissing and clumsy fingerings.
But Mike was not clumsy; Mike was showing me what he could do. What he could make me do. His tongue, taut and soft and insistent, all over the place, all at once; fluttering over my clit, gently twisting into my asshole. It was too much and I came like a freight train, shaking, howling, so loud he clapped his hand over my mouth. “Ssshh,” he said. “You’re going to wake up my landlord.”