Sexcapades

The hotbox blowie

If there is one thing I’m good at, it’s blowies. I’ve read articles on articles about the perfect formula, chatted to my gay best friend about the right way to pull, lick and suck, and after six months with my boyfriend, I’ve finally perfected the most mind blowing (pun intended) gobby. I’ve rarely had a bad experience, until last week.

It all started when I woke up slightly dusty and felt the familiar tingling sensation growing in-between my legs. My BF was lying right beside me, still snoozing but I could tell by the flicker of his eyes he was almost awake so, I did what any horny queen would do and jumped on him.

Upon feeling his morning wood and hearing the “good morning” that escaped him in that orgasmic husky tone (you know the one ladies), I took it as a sign to start my journey down south.

All was well and good, the tools were tooling, the mood was spicy and all I could think was “win the morning, win the day”, so of course that’s where it went wrong.

At first it was a gurgle in his belly. No worries, I thought, we all get the hot girl stomach sounds from time to time. Then it was the tension in his hips. Maybe he’s just really excited, I wondered.

But then encased in the covers, with a hard dick in one hand, pushing my hair out of my face with the other, the putrid smell hit my nostrils. My boyfriend had lost control of his bowels and unintentionally hot boxed me with his farts.

I let it go the first time and carried on with my magic mouth, thinking it was an accident but then it happened again and again, leaving me no choice but to dramatically escape the wrath of his ass, while he ran to the bathroom where the booze poos took over. We haven’t spoken about it since and I’m yet to work up the courage to reacquaint myself with his trouser snake, but at least there is one learning curve from this. When your BF clenches his hips mid blowie, run.

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Happy vibes always,

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