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Monday, February 4, 2008

A blast from the past... (fiction)

Giving Head

The first time I ever gave head was when I was in high school.

I had this friend named Charles who was, how should I put it, contrary to everything. He was a member of the Young Republicans because his parents were hippies. He would do very well in class, until he discovered that his teacher liked him then he'd begin to fail and goof off. He even answered every SAT question, or so he told me, completely opposite of what he thought the answer should be. He still managed to do quite well. This, as he put it, demonstrated just how stupid he was. Then he'd throw back his head and laugh because we all knew he was very smart. A little crazy, maybe, but smart.

But the one thing, or rather the one group of people, he hated the most were the Punks. My high school was littered with punks and pseudo-punks and wanna-be-punks. Not a week went by where he didn't get into at least one fight. But the apex of his detest for all punk-kind came the day he asked me to give him head.

We were in his living room, where we often hung out, playing Donkey Kong and he turned to me and said, "You wanna give me head?"

"Charles," I said, "we're not that kind of friends."

"We could be," he grinned. He had a great crooked grin that showed off a dimple on his left cheek. "But that's not what I was referring to. I meant, shave my head."

"Oh," I said, only a little disappointed. "So after all your declarations of hating punks, you're going to become a skin head?"

"Don't be ridiculous," he snarled. "I want you to give me an anti-Mohawk." He explained that he wanted me to shave a thick line from his forehead to the base of his skull.

"I don't know if that qualifies as an anti-Mohawk," I said. "If people don't see the back of your head, they'll just think you have weird male pattern baldness."

"Good point," Charles said rubbing his scalp as he leaned back in his bean bag.

"Well, why don't we just shave a big X in your head?" I laughed at my own suggestion thinking he'd never go for it.

"That's it!" He whooped and jumped up. "Come on, let's do it now."

It took us a while to find something to shave his head with. His father, being a dedicated hippy, never shaved. Charles, having recently discovered the joys of pissing off the Young Republicans, had stopped shaving as well. Finally, we found a pink Lady Bic hidden in his mother's make-up cabinet. She had, within the last few years and much to her husband's dismay, landed herself a job with Avon. In two years, Charles's parents would be divorced because of Avon.

The shaving itself took a long time, but eventually, he had a huge X pattern crossing his skull and revealing his scalp. Once he got out of the shower, I couldn't stop staring at it.

"Can I touch it?" I asked. He shrugged, his attention back on the TV screen as I gently ran my fingers along the shaven paths. "Can I ummm, lick it?" Pausing the game, he flipped his head and stared at me as I flushed all over. "Never mind," I mumbled, picking up my own controller and taking the game off pause. In high school, I was very shy.

He paused it again, not taking his eyes off of me. "Repeat that."

I shook my head, then looked at my watch and jumped up. "Oh hell, I'm gonna be late for dinner I better…"

But before I could dash out the front, he grabbed me around my knees and knocked me to the floor then climbed on top of me. Breathing taco breath in my face, he said, "I said, repeat that."

Squirming around, I managed to get on my stomach, but I couldn't get away from him. "Fine!" I spat through clenched teeth. "I said I want to lick your head. Ya happy now?"

Climbing off of me, I could feel his grin. "No, I won't be happy 'til you lick it." But it wasn't his head he offered me, at least not the one on top of his neck. Turning even brighter red, I scooted back from him, but my eyes stayed transfixed on the long veiny penis he had pulled free of his pants. Up until a few months before the only penis I had ever seen was my dad's when he accidentally left the bathroom door open. Charles's dick looked nothing like dad's. I stood up, still staring, when his mother came in through the front door. I grabbed my book bag and rushed past her with a fast hi, gotta go, before she could ask any questions. I heard her scream all the way out to the sidewalk and knew that Charles was very pleased.

Everyone at school teased him asking if X did mark the spot. He just laughed and said he had another X on his other head and would they like to see it. But he avoided me entirely and started hanging out with the Punks and eventually dropped out of school.

Everyone I dated after that afternoon with Charles, was bald. I found that I had a fetish for baldness. If I couldn't lick it, I wouldn't get off. If you weren't bald, don't even bother. If you started growing hair, the relationship would end. But deep down, there was only one scalp that I really wanted to lick.

Seven years later, I saw Charles again. He was completely bald at that point. When he saw me, he grinned that cocky grin and asked, "You wanna give me head?" then leaned his head forward and I licked it.

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