When I was 17 I used to sneak out of the house at night. It didn’t matter what time of year it was, the only thing that would stop me was rain, snow wasn’t a problem for me. I was able to walk through the snow and warm myself quickly. Walking through the rain required the added step of drying, which meant being colder longer. There was a cafe near my house where I would sit until I felt like walking home. Of course, I drank coffee while I sat. Coffee was all I could afford due to spending the majority of my money on cannabis, which I smoked while walking to the cafe.

One of the benefits of appearing to be older than I was, was that most people chose not to question my presence. Having a deep voice helped too as well. Most of the people in the cafe were college students, which helped me blend in. I looked like a stoner just like everyone else.

I would sit at a table, or on the couch and drink coffee. Sometimes I read books and sometimes I just listened to the music being played. They played a lot of Grateful Dead music. I would get stoned outside then return to the sofa to listen to whatever live recording was being played. It shouldn’t have been a surprise to me that most of the people in there were also stoners, considering most of them were also deadheads, but one night while I snuck out to smoke a doobie and a woman followed me. “Can I get a hit or two from that,” asked the woman. Her hair was red, her pale cheeks were lightly freckled, and her smile made my heart beat faster. “I forgot mine on my dresser at home. I totally spaced out when I was rushing out the door.”

“Well, sharing is caring,” I said as I lit the doobie and handed it to her.

“I’ll make it up to you. I’m Beth.”

“Richard,” I said.

We burned that doobie down to the end and when we went back indoors the song “Truckin’” was playing and we were feeling the groove. The two of us sat on that sofa all night, sipping coffee and moving our heads to the music.

A man wearing a whit-shirt and black tie handed me a pamphlet about Jesus. I immediately placed it on the coffee table without reading it.

“Not feeling the Jesus vibe?” She asked.

“I don’t believe in God.”

“Cool,” she said. “I guess that means you won’t tell me I’m going to hell when I ask if I can suck your dick later.”

“I don’t believe in hell either, and I would appreciate that.”

We can just jump right to her living room. There I was sitting in the middle of her couch and there she was, topless with her head gently bobbing up and down in my lap. The way her tongue moved along my shaft made my eyes roll to the back of my head. I was 17, getting my first blowjob from a 20-something-year-old college woman. She looked up at me and said, “I’ve actually never sucked a guy’s dick before. I like it a lot.”

I chose to keep my virginity to myself. I was already certain that if she knew my age then my dick wouldn’t have ended up anywhere near her mouth so there didn’t seem to be much reason to say anything other than, “you’re fucking amazing.” She offered a cheery smile and went back to sucking my dick. There was a mirror on the wall across the room and I could see a perfect view of her from behind and I watched head move around in my lap.

I felt nearly ready to explode when she started sucking harder. All of a sudden every inch of flesh on my body felt a tingling rush and when I came it felt like I was floating and falling at the same time and every cell in my body cried out with joy. “Wow!” She said, “your cum tastes like citrus. I thought it would be saltier.”

Suddenly, I crave coffee and doobies with someone with boobies.