'being Sian' - The Blowjob Confession!

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‘Being Sian’ The Blowjob Confession The cult religion I grew up in was too oppressive, so I left. It had suffocated me for too long. My personality had developed as I grew up, and I realised that this ‘religion’ strangled the life out of my mind. The final push came when I attended a ‘meeting’ at the local congregation, after months of being absent. I only went because my mother asked me to. The ‘lecture’ was about ‘sex within God’s holy arrangement’- marriage, or what was left of it, after the long list of ‘don’ts’. Everything was forbidden, except for basic penetration. The way they were going on, it made me wonder whether we had to say prayers after sex, to apologise to God. The specific banned acts were named out loud, to a cowering audience, who listened with their heads bowed, in mortified shame. The general vibe was that the only reason they were allowing it at all, was because a total ban on sex wasn’t practical. They’d never get away with it, and how would they manage to justify it to potential parents wanting children? Their attitude was one of begrudging tolerance. ‘If you have to do it, we’ll permit the act, but if you enjoy it, God will punish you.’ The amazing thing was, these ‘elders’ (or ‘priests’) were not required to be celibate, to hold their position as ‘heads of the congregation’. As much as I hated to think about it, I did wonder what the sex life was like with their unfortunate wives. I suppose premature ejaculation would be considered

3 necessary, because a prolonging of sex might lead to the ‘banned acts’ mentioned, including foreplay. As the years went by, my mother constantly checked on my sex life, both literally and through vigorous questioning. I got into awful trouble once, when I went to a pub drinking with my mother and I had a private conversation with an older guy, when she had gone to the toilet. I was about twenty, he must have been thirty nine. I had too much alcohol flooding my brain, which made my mouth work too well. It always had that effect, my tongue loosened and I stopped thinking about what came out of it. I do not remember exactly how I started the conversation, but I told him that I gave my boyfriend a blowjob recently. I wasn’t ashamed, in fact, I enjoyed the look on his face, shocked at my openness in telling him. Unfortunately, somehow, he managed to tell my mother about it, ‘behind my back’, and there was hell to pay. My mother was quiet for a while but when we left the pub, she challenged me about it. As we walked, her face was her usual dark, brooding expression. Then she ‘came out with it’. ‘That man said something to me just now, about you and James.’ She had this nasty habit of implying more than she actually said, like a Head Principle would when you were called into his office, ‘I’ve been told that you were up to no good. Would you like to tell me what you did?’ This tactic made me realise immediately that she knew, so I’d better admit to the crime. I didn’t, of course. I lied through my teeth, saying that the guy twisted my words, and misunderstood or exaggerated what I was saying. This led to intense questioning about ‘What had I been saying?’ which wore me out, and ruined the feel-good buzz of the drink. I vowed never to say anything again, with her around. I remember the time when I gave my first blowjob. It was done in the sickest environment- my mother’s kitchen. Irony would be the word. She

4 had gone out with a guy called Joe, who she claimed not to be dating, but admitted later to falling madly in love with. (I wondered what she would do to his libido if they got married. Secretly I hoped that it never happened, for his sake.) I stood in the kitchen with James. It wasn’t planned. I think it started with a kiss (on his face), to begin with anyway. Somehow, it ended up with his trousers down, and me deciding that the best course of action was to bring him off with my mouth. I think this was because it didn’t involve my pleasure, so if my mother came home early on a suspicious ‘hunch’ to ‘catch us out’, I wouldn’t have to be left frustrated in a half fuck, after doing an emergency ‘pull out and get-dressed-fast’. I remember him ‘coming’ quite quickly, probably because he was also worried about the front door opening, and a crazy bitch mother-in-law holding a kitchen knife to it. I felt the lukewarm jet of liquid fill my mouth in a split second, and wondered whether it would offend him to spit it out. Also, the image of it ‘sticking’ to the sides of my mother’s sink, spat out in a messy hurry, requiring the chore of scrubbing the metal with insane guilt, put me off. So I swallowed. I could actually feel it go down into my stomach past my tightened throat, and tried not to think about that. The sea salt, slightly fizzy taste lingered horribly in my mouth. I wondered if swallowing my saliva several times would help to ‘wash it down’. I was afraid that by drinking a glass of water, James would guess what I was trying to do and be offended- also, I didn’t want any ‘rim smudge’ on the glass. I never gave a boyfriend this privilege again. I usually settled for a ‘half job’ intended to arouse to the point of near climax, so that I could finish by inserting him inside me. This suited me better. Sex fascinated me, and I was amazed at the pleasures it could bring. I knew that I could never do without it forever, and become a sexless being like my mother. The thought crossed my mind that surely she has to be doing ‘something’. I’d heard that even older people are active well into their seventies, so I couldn’t imagine being frustrated like her, for twenty years since her last

5 experience. I tried not to think about it too much, because a feeling of disgust would rise in the pit of my stomach, but I thought that if she had never ‘given in’ to masturbation, she would have to possess a super strong will power.

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