Page 117 of The Fed Sex Man

I grinned. “Okay.”

“Hand-jobs are awesome, because you’re in charge, and you can see your successes. It’s not very often that you can be sure that you’ve pleased a man.”

“Tyson has an orgasm every time we have sex,” I bragged.

“That doesn’t mean that you pleased him,” she argued. “He might have pleased himself, and you were just the tool he used to do it. The only way to know if you please a man is to give him a handy.”

“That’s the only way?”

“He can fuck your pussy, and he can fuck your mouth, but you drive the hand-job, one hundred percent. It’s the only way to know.”

I’d never looked at it that way. It made perfect sense. “That makes sense.”

“With a hand-job, you know you’re in complete charge. If you can make a guy come with a handy, you’re set. It’s a good thing to fall back on from time to time. It builds self-esteem, too. Nothing’s more satisfying than watching cum shoot out of the tip of a guy’s dick.”

“Thanks for all the help,” I said. “I’ll watch some hand-job videos this afternoon.”

“It’s the least I can do,” she curtsied. “I was like you once. When I was twelve.”

I was grateful that I had a wealth of sexual knowledge to spend my days with, even if she did occupy her idle time smoking pot and watching Andy Griffith.

* * *

“She actually believes the crap she tells you?” Tyson reached into the refrigerator and grabbed a bottle of beer. “That’s the most ridiculous shit I’ve ever heard in my life.”

I wondered if it was truly ridiculous, or if he was afraid to tell me that I’d learned the sexual secrets of what made men tick. “Nobody goes to the doctor and gets the pressure relieved?”

He tossed the lid to his beer bottle in the trash. “Nope.”

“Ever?”

He shook his head. “Nope.”

“How do you know?”

“Because I have a dick.”

We sat down across from each other at the kitchen table. “Maybe you haven’t had a massive buildup,” I suggested. “How long is the longest you’ve gone without, you know, having an orgasm or whatever?”

“Forty-eight hours.” He sipped his beer. “Maybe less. Definitely not more than two days.”

I wasn’t surprised. Before I met Tyson, I masturbated a few times a week, unless I was distracted by work. It seemed reasonable to think men would be the same way.

I gestured toward his crotch with my eyes. “Maybe if you went a few weeks without any relief, you’d bulk up down there.”

“I’m not willing to find out.” He took a long drink of his beer and then set the bottle aside. “What else did she tell you? Sperm’s got protein in it?”

“Does it?” I asked excitedly.

He shook his head. “Nope.”

Saddened I wasn’t going to enhance my daily protein intake from sucking Tyson’s dick, I lowered my head. Midway through my session of sulking, I remembered Jenny’s recommendation.

“Oh,” I blurted. “She said I need to get you to suck my clit. That way I’ll have a good idea of what it’s like to have a dick.”

“How will having me suck your clit…” He shook his head. “She’s insane.”

Saddened that he’d let the air out of my clit-sucking sail, I slumped in my seat.