By Tom Berwick 

There’s not much that’s better than a good blow-job. Hell, even a bad blow-job’s pretty darn good. There’s something about that feeling – the warmth, the wetness, the softness – that all men love. Although the guys who invented the blow-job will never be honoured with statues and monuments, they have done mankind as great a service as Beethoven or Michelangelo. We don’t know who they were, of course, so they’ll have to be commemorated anonymously, in a sort of “tomb of the unknown cocksucker”.

How do I know it was two men who invented the blow-job? Easy. You just imagine the conversation back in the Stone Age:

“You want me to put your what in my mouth? Absolutely not. Nice girls don’t do that. We’re civilised now – we’ve got flint axes and bearskins and everything – and you want me to behave like an animal? I’m going back to my mother’s cave.”

So a bit later the cave-man meets up with his buddy for a drink, and the conversation goes:

“You tried to get her to suck your cock? Wow, I wish my girlfriend would do that for me. Tell you what, I’m drunk enough: I’ll do you if you do me…”

“Oh yeah man, that feels so good… Oh fuck man, I’m gonna cum…”

“Wow, that doesn’t taste too bad; I could get used to that… Let’s change places…”

Of course, this also explains why the first cocksuckers will forever be anonymous:

“Man, that was great, but you got to promise me that we don’t ever tell anyone else about this. I don’t want people thinking that I’m, like, gay or anything. What happens in the cave stays in the cave.”

Later on, it seems pretty likely that the blow-job was also responsible for the development of religion:

“Who’s this ‘God’ person you keep mentioning?”

“Oh, he’s the guy that I talk to when I’m getting a really good blow-job.”

“Cool. You know, I think I’d like to talk to God right now…”

There’s a kind of cliché that men are better at sucking cock than women. Interestingly, this seems to be true even if the guy who’s sucking you isn’t officially gay: I’ve had some exceptional blow-jobs from straight men. One of the best was on an inter-city train, late at night.

I was travelling out of London to a conference, and most of the passengers had got out at Birmingham. The carriage I was in was virtually empty: a couple of elderly guys down at the far end, dozing, and a guy at the table across the aisle from me. He was reasonably good-looking, but I hadn’t paid him much attention. A few minutes after Birmingham I noticed that he was reading a copy of Penthouse, though, so I looked over a couple more times. Sure enough, I could see a bulge in his pants.

Never being one to miss an opportunity, I leaned back and started to rub myself through my jeans. He realised what I was doing, and, without looking directly at me, started to do the same. We gradually got more and more blatant, till he looked me right in the eye and put his hand down the front of his trousers. I did the same, then, being an exhibitionist, undid my belt and pulled my cock out. He watched as I stroked myself a few times, then motioned me over with his head.

Checking that the guys further down the carriage weren’t paying attention, I moved across the aisle and sat next to him. We both had our cocks out now, watching each other as we wanked. I saw the wedding ring on his finger as he stroked his thick rod, and the Penthouse was open on the table in front of us – he even turned the pages once or twice to show the centrefold (“Roxanna from Russia”) from different angles. Eventually he got so turned on he turned to me and muttered under his breath.

“I’ll suck you if you suck me.”

I looked at his cock: average-sized, clean, and with a foreskin that pulled all the way back. I wouldn’t mind sucking it at all.

“Yeah sure, but you go first.”

“OK.”

“THERE’S A KIND OF CLICHÉ THAT MEN ARE BETTER AT SUCKING COCK THAN WOMEN.”

He leaned over and took my cock in his mouth. His mouth was warm after the slight chill of the carriage, and it felt as good as a blow-job always feels. He clearly didn’t suck cock often, but, equally, he wasn’t a complete amateur. He choked slightly, and I lifted my ass a little to give him a better angle. After a minute or two he was going all the way down the shaft, his mouth feeling like warm butter on my cockhead. I whispered a few words of encouragement, and he moved his head up and down faster for a few seconds, then pulled off and leaned back, exposing his tool.

I didn’t need to be told: I just leaned forward and started licking up and down the shaft. He obviously liked it: he was moaning almost immediately, perhaps rather louder than was wise, but I suppose the sound of the train drowned it out. Once I’d got him wound up enough, I opened my mouth and took him all the way in, sucking him to the root. He moaned particularly loudly, and I quickly looked around, but we couldn’t be seen, so I went all the way back down, and concentrated on making him feel good.

I sucked him for a bit, then pulled off, and he went back down on me. This second time he was obviously more confident: he took me all the way in with no choking or hesitation. My god, it felt good! I don’t know how he was managing to breath, but he was deep-throating me perfectly with every stroke. He was clearly enjoying it as much as I was, and, reaching to play with his cock as he sucked me, I could feel that he was rock hard.

We alternated sucking each other a few times, gradually getting more and more excited. He was a great cocksucker, and I did my best to match him, making every movement of my tongue and lips count. Our cocks were hard and wet, and the taste of precum got stronger with every suck. At one point I thought briefly of trying to kiss him, but I could tell that he wouldn’t go for that, so I didn’t bother.

On about my fourth or fifth session of sucking him, I could tell that he was getting close, so I started wanking myself harder. He was groaning quiet encouragement to me, but suddenly his voice changed, getting rougher and louder.

“Fuck mate, if you don’t get off it I’m gonna cum.” He was trying to stroke his cock as I sucked him, and I could tell that he was just seconds away from shooting. I moaned to let him know that I was close too, then, when I judged the moment, I pulled off. I leaned back, lifting my crotch slightly, and stroked hard. Next to me he was doing the same. At the last second he pulled his shirt up slightly, and started shooting all over his belly, thick white cum on tanned skin. Moments later I joined him, splashing a thick load on my abs and t-shirt, waves of pleasure shooting from balls to shaft to cockhead.

No sooner had we both cum than, with impeccable timing, the train lurched slightly and started braking. I looked out of the window, and saw the lights of streets and houses and small factories.

“Thanks mate,” he grinned at me. “This is my stop.”

I looked out at the sign on the platform: Wolverhampton.

“Mine too,” I replied, but the carriage doors were already open, and he was gone.