Wrecked. Charlotte Roche

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      Tuesday

      Every time we have sex, we turn on both of the electric blankets half an hour in advance. We have extremely high-quality electric blankets, and they stretch from the head of the bed to the foot. It’s something you just have to spend a bit more on—at least, my husband had to spend a bit extra on them. Because I’ve always been terribly scared of those types of things, scared that they’ll heat up after I fall asleep and I’ll be roasted alive or die of smoke inhalation. But our electric blankets automatically switch themselves off after an hour. We lie down next to each other in the bed—heated to 105 degrees—and stare up at the ceiling. The warmth relaxes our bodies. I begin to breathe deeply, smiling on the inside with the excitement of what’s to come. Then I roll over and kiss him as I put my hand into his XL yoga pants. No zipper or anything else that could catch on hairs or foreskin. I don’t grab his cock at first. I reach down farther—to his balls. I cradle them in my hand like a pouch full of gold. At this point I’m already betraying my man-hating mother. She tried to teach me that sex was something bad. It didn’t work.

      Breathe in, breathe out. This is the only moment in the day when I really breathe deeply. The rest of the time I tend to just take shallow gasps. Always wary, always on the lookout, always bracing for the worst. But my personality completely changes during sex. My therapist, Frau Drescher, says I have subconsciously split myself in two—since my feminist mother tried to raise me as an asexual being, I have to become someone else in bed to avoid feeling as if I’m betraying her. It works very effectively. I am completely free. Nothing can embarrass me. I’m lust incarnate. I feel more like an animal than a person. I forget all my responsibilities and problems. I become just my body and leave my anxious mind behind. I slowly slide down in bed until my face is in his crotch. I can smell his masculine scent. I find the male scent isn’t very different from that of the female. If he hasn’t showered right before sex—and who does when you’ve been together as long as we’ve been—a drop or two of urine has started to ferment between his foreskin and the head of his cock. It smells the way my grandmother’s kitchen used to after she’d sautéed fish on her gas stove. Eyes closed. Just get through it. The smell disgusts me a little, but that feeling of disgust also excites me.

      Once I’ve given everything a good suck, it doesn’t smell anymore. Like a cow licking its calf clean. I bury my face in his balls, then rub my cheek along his outstretched shaft. He always gets stiff as soon as we first kiss. My husband, Georg, is a lot older than I am, and I’m curious how much longer his erection will function this well. I kiss the crease where his legs are attached to his body—whatever you call that spot. By now he’s moaning and asking for more. For the time being it’s all about making him happy. I carefully consider the rhythm I do everything in—I want to drive him absolutely wild. First, let’s tease him a little. I stay on the seam where his legs and body meet, holding his balls firmly in my hand. I slowly switch from kissing to licking. I make loud smacking noises so he can hear what I’m doing as well as feel it. Beneath his balls I feel the erectile tissue—the extension of his cock inside his body—that stretches to the perineum. Do you call it a perineum on a man? There’s a line there that looks like a set of labia fused together. It’s all the same, isn’t it? The way I like to approach it is to imagine he has a vagina. Just a very elongated vagina that sticks out! Way out. I hold his balls more tightly and massage the erectile tissue below.

      To get myself going, I rub my vagina against his knee. If I arch my back a little, it hits just the right spot. My tongue slowly wanders from the line between his legs up his shaft. I lick it until it’s totally wet, and then I breathe on it so he can feel the chill of the moisture. From the shaft I run my tongue down to his balls. I take both of them into my mouth and play with them. I’ve learned to make sure not to twist the cords attached to the testicles. I’ve done that a few times with Georg, and it really hurt him. Farther down I massage his perineum with my tongue and let some spit dribble down for my finger on his asshole. I make my tongue stiff and pointed and run it upward from the bottom of the perineum, between his balls, and then all the way up to the acorn-shaped tip of his shaft, all while rubbing my pointer finger slowly around his asshole. I wet my lips and the tip of his cock with spit. When I start to suck on the acorn-shaped head of his cock I barely open my mouth so it feels tight to him. And I let just the very tip in and out again. In and out. In and out. In and out. I let more and more spit run out. I learned that from another man—that it hurts if it gets too dry. I start to take his cock a little more deeply into my mouth. As I go down, I wrap my lips tightly around his whole cock. When I come back up I suck. Because of the vacuum that creates, it makes a popping noise when I get to the top. I always pull the foreskin up with my mouth, up and over the acorn tip. And then I always swirl my tongue around the end. The tip bulges out of my cheeks from inside my mouth. In porn films, women always jerk the foreskin back and forth with their hands. But that—particularly the downward jerk—doesn’t do it for my husband. In fact, it hurts him. No idea why they do that in porn films. I read once in a sex book that if a woman is going to do that, it’s better if you’re right-handed to do it with your left hand. Supposedly you don’t grip it as hard and you have a nicer touch as a result.

      Unfortunately I can’t do the trick the women in porn films do where they take a cock all the way into their throat without gagging. I tried a few times in the past but nearly threw up, so I quickly gave up. You don’t have to do everything the way they do it in porn films. I’ve also tried to swallow many times. But I just can’t do it. I find the taste and the consistency in the back of my throat so disgusting that I just can’t choke it down. I have a strong gag reflex, and the sound of me nearly throwing up isn’t much of a turn-on for the man, either. It takes a huge acting job to be able to manage it, and it’s just too much trouble. I could probably pull it off for a one-night stand, but I can’t fool my husband. He knows I hate it, so he doesn’t want me to do it anyway. So, instead, our deal is that he can come in my mouth but I push the shooting sperm back out with my tongue.

      Sometimes my mouth and neck need a break, so I take the spit-moistened cock in my hand and carefully pull upward, always pulling the foreskin only upward over the tip. I wouldn’t have hit upon that myself. But one time when we were just getting together, I asked him to get himself off in front of me. When you’re new with someone, you do funny things like that. And I now copy a lot of things I saw him do to himself that time. I figured out that СКАЧАТЬ