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Earthquake Blowjob
© 1999 by W.  S.  Dean



Like having a bad agent or good escargot, one of the periodic things about living in Hollywood are the earthquakes.  You should see what happens to the ratings when a big trembler hits the streets of L.A.  It's box office dynamite, baby.  Take it from me.  When the earth moves for you, you remember it.

And, right away --- I'm not a suspense writer --- I have to tell you my interest in earthquakes is purely sexual.  Orally sexually, to be specific.  There's no way to put this politely.  We're talking about the earthquake blowjob.  This is so rare as to be mythical, right? I mean to say, we've all seen those sleazy stories about hurricane fucking and the exotic tsunami wrestles of Asian passions, but there is nothing, nothing, nothing that compares to the feel of a woman's lips and tongue during a ground-shaking quake that buckles your knees.  All over your cock, I mean.

Yeah, yeah, I'm well aware that some women are just kind of there.  Their mouths are almost utilitarian.  Others are like ripening fruit that lingers and attacks with exquisite flavors and scents.  With a mouth like that a woman is part devil, part paradise.  See what I mean about rarity? Now, when you add the unbelievable swing, sway, shake, rock, rattle, and roll of a high-scale Richter shift.  It's a dance inside...something.  Anyway, it's a good urban sex myth.

Now tonight, or rather early this morning.  My 3 A.M.  still-awake routine of late.  There's a 7.1 quake and a long 5.0 one that rumbles my building like Titans making love.  The sons of Poseidon must like rough sex.  The world is creaking and swinging side to side, beds slide across the floor, pets creeping into terror, window blinds arcing like a pendulum, north to south, over and over.  The kind of prolonged shaking that makes even the veteran quakers queasy and dizzy. "I was feeling kind of seasick as the ceiling flew away..." Old song lyrics flashed through my thoughts.

Another myth, like the urban earthquake blowjob, is that of the Hollywood succubus.  The most voluptuous female demon who steals your sexual desire and then your soul.  What a lot of us wouldn't give for a shot at that, right? An almost human woman that can suck your soul right out of you.  That, my friend, is the ultimate, the supremo of blowjobs.  And there are women who can do that.  Real women.  Your soul just follows them, like a faithful dog, wherever they lead.  Don't censure me yet.  Let me describe one.

From the curious city of Amsterdam there lives a nederlander submissive in L.A.  I call Inge.  Though thoroughly Dutch with tall, well-boned features and wildish blonde hair, Inge's lips are purely Indonesian...or Singaporean.  Asian and Spanish with a dashing fullness of North Africa.  Lush beyond measure or poetics.  As they pout, purse, and kiss, Inge's lips bluish from rose to hungry violets and indigo.  There's more than a hint of angry flame as her lips touch a man's skin.  She laughs freely at much; looks determined and hostile at the rest.  What's a soul compared to living with a woman like that? A trifle.

There's the added frisson that Inge is bi-sexual.  There will be other women.  That's how I found myself that morning.  At 3 A.M.  Another woman --- darkly sensualwith a flowing short mane of wavy dark hair and amber-toned skin --- was guiding Inge's mouth along my cock, while muttering and barking orders and seductive encouragements.  Myth can come alive for you sometimes.  A long time for an earthquake is only 40 seconds or so for us normal humans.  I don't what it would be for a succubus.

"Lick that hard shaft," Marte whispered to Inge.  I could feel her breath warming the slick trail of saliva Inge's tongue was laying up the thick vein beneath my cock. "Now, take it all!" Inge's yielding, plushly wet lips devoured.  And the bed started shaking.  And the room started shaking.  And the world was shaking.  My first eruption splashed hard against her curled tongue.  She held it and I felt my own juices wash back against the swollen head of my cock.  Then the long, slow rumble of the 5.0 quake hit us.  Forty-five seconds of the wildest, most erotic blowjob ever experienced.  It was waltzes of kisses and tango of tongue on cock.  It was white-water rapid river ride and the frozen time swirl through waterfalls and sensory overload.  A sensual circuitry that zapped and fried along the electrical wiring of the male body.  It's so good that afterward you know they'll always be some bittersweet remembrance of it lingering in places you'd rather not go.

Witchcraft.Yeah, there's a lot of that in L.A., too.  Anti-earthquake voodoo and spiritual exploitation among the Sisters and the Brothers in Beliefs.  Would a submissive succubus be imposssible? Hardly.  Would an earthquake be unusual? Not really, not here.  Myths happen.  Unlikely.  Impossible.  It's Hollywood, what would you expect?

Copyright 1999 W.  S.  Dean. All rights reserved.

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