How I Stopped Being a Selfish Lover

It took years to learn to give — and a lot longer to love it

Giving for the sake of giving is one of the biggest reasons I can maintain a satisfying sex life. But getting to this point was a journey that took me from giving my first handjob at age 16 to truly enjoying a blowjob at 31.

This is the story of how, in the course of those 15 years, I went from being a selfish lover, to becoming a giving lover, and then finally blossoming into an engaged lover.

No One Showed Me That Sex Could Be Giving

My first boyfriend wanted a handjob, and I decided to indulge his request.

I can barely remember what happened. I know we laid next to each other and I stroked him robotically with a dry palm. I know he moaned. I know he came. But I can’t really remember any other details.

I was just too excited to pay any real attention. I was a tightly knit bundle of nerves, embarrassed and overwhelmed by the sheer novelty of handling a dick for the first time. I didn’t really take in the experience — the sights, the sounds — I mostly kept thinking that I couldn’t wait to tell my friends I had done it.

That was the last handjob I’d give for a while. After that day, he insisted on sex instead.

That’s not a typo. Instead. Not in addition to, after, or alternating with — he wanted sex instead of a handjob.

I let him fuck me. No foreplay. No preparation. I didn’t touch his dick and he came nowhere near my labia, let alone my clit. He just put his dick in me (on his second attempt, anyway) and humped me until he came.

That was my introduction to foreplay and sex. The former was treated as inferior; the latter was just something you jumped into.

Neither of us knew what the fuck we were doing. He seemed to expect me to take the lead and mentor him because I was a bit older, but I was just as much of a virgin as he was.

Things didn’t get much better when I fucked more experienced guys.

My one-night stands all happened in the same way.

Some guy would flirt with me at a party. I’d size him up. If I decided to have sex with him, we’d make out for a while and find an unoccupied bedroom. We’d take our pants off. I’d lay on the bed, he’d roll a condom on, and I’d lay there while he pumped his cock into me until he came.

It never occurred to me to reach for their cocks first and give them a stroke. It definitely didn’t occur to me to lick, kiss, or suck their dicks, either. And as far as I can tell, it didn’t occur to them to grope my breasts, lick my nipples, rub my pussy, or spend some time with their heads between my thighs.

They were quickies, basically, but even for a quicky they were shitty.

I wasn’t even properly aroused in most cases. I was a semi-demisexual who didn’t have a clue what a demisexual was.

I had a little bit of physical attraction to these guys, but not much. And I couldn’t figure out why. They were decent looking. They seemed nice. They were paying attention to me. But even when our lips were locked or I was pulling down my panties in anticipation of a fuck, I didn’t really feel all that much attraction.

To get there, I would’ve needed connection. Not even a deep one — just a sense that we were vibing on some level. But I was confused. I mistook their attraction for connection, and I don’t think I even knew the difference.

I had basement-level low self-esteem. I never actually sought out guys I was attracted to. I just went for guys who expressed interest in me. I thought it was my only option.

I still went through with sex even though I didn’t really desire it. Sometimes, I just had free-floating horniness and figured it would take care of it (after I started having sex, I took an ill-advised extended break from jilling off). Sometimes, it was just the momentum — we had already gone this far, what’s wrong with a fuck to cap it off? But most of the time, I was just hoping the sex would create a connection. I was hoping that fucking would make them like me, and more importantly, make me like them.

It never happened, of course. So, all I got was some awkward sex that would’ve been a lot worse if it wasn’t for teenage hormones and prelubricated condoms.

Alongside the one-night stands, I had a few boyfriends and guys who weren’t quite boyfriends but kept coming back. Even though the relationship was a little more serious, the sex wasn’t. It was just more getting half-naked and fucked until they came.

Guy after guy just treated me like a human sex toy. No one showed me that sex could be more. No one tried to give me any pleasure. So, I learned that sex wasn’t about giving.

Then, a guy ate my pussy and it changed everything.

Being a Receiver Taught Me to Give

Right before meeting my future husband, I finally got to be on the receiving end of some stimulation.

First, there was Jason. I met him on a train ride to Montreal and had an incredible one-night stand with him on the ride back. He had a cock so thick I almost worried about fucking him, but having him slip his fingers down my pants reassured me. I was already wet from the days-long anticipation and my crushing desire to fuck him, but having him stroke my pussy made me feel even more relaxed and ready.

Playing with his cock while he played with me was such a revelation. Not just because I wasn’t sure dicks could be that thick, but because it showed me that sex could be more.

I didn’t feel used. I felt desired. I felt appreciated. I felt like my pleasure was part of the deal. And I wanted to make sure his was, too.

He fucked me, we were interrupted, and neither of us came. But the whole experience left me feeling extremely optimistic. Maybe sex could be more. A lot more.

So, imagine my disappointment when the next guy who touched my pussy just couldn’t do anything for me. I wrote about him before, but it was such a boring experience I didn’t even bother naming him.

I sat in the passenger seat of his car and listened to him brag about his fingering skills. I wish that shit hadn’t worked on me — his cockiness was a turnoff, he wasn’t my type of guy at all, and there was no spark between us. But I was still very much the girl who thought she had to just nail down a guy who liked her and then I’d learn to like them, so I let him undo my pants and show me those amazing skills of his.

Long story short, I faked an orgasm almost as soon as he started. I just wanted it to be over.

Maybe he could make other girls come, I don’t know. But I wasn’t even aroused, so him trying to rub my G-spot felt like a gynecological exam gone bad. I was not inspired to reach over and return the favor.

I sat there, making polite post-fingering conversation, thinking “Fuck. Why didn’t I get Jason’s number?”

The next time he hit me up, I didn’t spend an evening in his passenger seat. I was too busy talking to a guy named Jake.

I met Jake through a mutual friend, and he seemed so interested in me. Like, deeply interested in me. He wanted to know me on a personal level — he wasn’t just making conversation until I let him fuck me.

I’ve had guys who liked me as a friend. I’ve had guys who liked me physically. He was the first guy who truly made me feel like he liked me in both those ways.

And I liked him, too. A lot. I couldn’t figure out why. He wasn’t the type of guy I was normally attracted to. He was quite dorky, kind of weird, and his idea of flirting was making mix tapes.

But I couldn’t stop talking to him, and I even found myself making some bold moves.

I told him I liked him. I told him I wanted to meet him in person. I even told him I wanted him to show me his cock (I was joking/not joking).

We fell for each other fast. We were so fucking compatible. We felt like soulmates at the time and have since confirmed that we are.

Everything moved fast, except sex. I briefly touched his dick the day I met him, but then we didn’t fool around for a few more weeks (it’s complicated).

When we finally did, I felt like my training wheels came off. After two years of bad sex and one brief, exciting quickie in a train, I had landed a guy who showed me everything — how to fuck, how to make love, and how to come.

The first time we fucked, he pushed me into all sorts of new territory. He was the first guy to play with my tits. He was the first guy to truly make me feel like what we were doing was about me, not just him.

And he was the first guy to eat my pussy.

Saying I was caught off guard is an understatement. I didn’t know how to react when he spread my legs and laid between them.

I thought for sure he was trying to impress me, but I mostly felt embarrassed. I told him, “You don’t have to do that,” and I meant it. We had bonded so strongly, I really didn’t mind if he just wanted to stick his dick in me.

I expected him to either just shrug and fuck me or reassure me that he didn’t mind going down on me. I didn’t for one second predict what he would actually say: “I want to do it.”

Hearing that was such a fucking turn-on, and right after those words escaped his lips, they were kissing my pussy.

Lying there while he lapped his tongue against my clit made me feel flustered in a million different ways. I didn’t know what the fuck I was feeling, but it felt amazing.

I didn’t have much time to sort through my feelings, though. I have no idea how much time it took for his tongue to give me an orgasm, but it wasn’t long.

So, this was sex with Jake Austin… I could get used to that.

Having my pussy eaten was a revelation. And everything that happened after it was incredible, too. That’s all it took for me to see giving in a whole new light.

I wanted to repay him for all that pleasure. I wanted to make him feel good the way he made me feel good. I wanted to show him my appreciation in the best way I could.

I wanted to jerk him off. I wanted to take his cock in my mouth. I wanted to feel like I was the good girlfriend he deserved. And frankly, I just wanted to feel like I was keeping up with him sexually.

I became a giver overnight. I saw what we did as reciprocal. We weren’t just trying to get off — we were also trying to get each other off.

Touching and sucking him became a natural part of sex. I started seeing going straight to penetration like a puzzle with a lot of missing pieces.

I would sometimes give him a long handjob because I felt grateful for his love and wanted to show my appreciation.

One evening, I wanted him to know I had been thinking about him all day. I greeted him at the door after a long day of work, got on my knees before he could take off his work boots, and sucked him off by the stove.

Occasionally, I’d lay my head on his stomach and just watch my hand stroke him. It was my way of showing him affection — sort of like a hug, but with a different kind of intimacy.

I couldn’t get over how good the sex was because I was dating a giver. And I loved being a giver, too.

But I didn’t love giving.

Giving handjobs and blowjobs was something I did to keep things even, to make sure he’d never feel cheated for all the hours he logged eating my pussy. Other times, it was sort of like baking him a cake — something I did to show my appreciation. But it’s not something I found all that fun or arousing.

I rolled my eyes anytime a woman said she loved giving head. I wanted to tell them to quit showing off and lying to impress guys. I identified instead with the line “It’s called a blowjob for a reason.” It was work. But it was work I didn’t mind doing.

Until I did.

Birth of a Blowjob Queen

Eventually, our relationship settled, the flame started to die a little, and my body basically betrayed me.

I was almost never up for sex. And when I was, it was minimal.

I had a sexually frustrated husband who found it hard to deal with constantly being rejected. He probably could’ve used a blowjob then more than any other time of his life, but my mouth was closed for business.

Blowjobs were still extra work, and I just didn’t have the energy for it anymore.

I couldn’t get my lady boner fully erect. So, for years I basically phoned in sex. I figured out what the bare minimum was — some fingers and tongue on my clit, a bit of polite dick stroking, and penetration in a lazy position to cap it off.

I was still in those sexual dark ages when I decided to start writing erotica.

I felt like I had a knack for writing about sex, but I would always find myself drawing a blank when it came to handjob and blowjob scenes.

I couldn’t write from my experience — I had become a complete taker in the bedroom.

I couldn’t base it on my early years with Mr. Austin — no one wants to read an erotic story where the protagonist gets on her knees, undoes her lover’s belt buckle, and runs her tongue along the length of his shaft “because she would probably feel a bit guilty if she didn’t do this kind of thing at least once in a while.”

If I was going to write proper erotica, I’d need to do some research.

I had some first-hand experience of what it’s like to be a woman receiving pleasure, but I was really stumped when it came to men. So, I binge-watched jack-off, handjob, and blowjob porn. Fuck a storyline, fuck a scenario — I wanted videos that start with a hard cock and end with a shower of come.

I started with the intention of watching the men. And watch I did. I was approaching two decades as a porn consumer, but in all that time I had never focused my attention on the guys. The videos brought the male gaze and I slid right into it.

But now, I was paying attention, and I couldn’t stop looking. I listened to the way they moaned and groaned. I paid attention to the way their bodies reacted to being touched. I studied the techniques that really drove them wild. I watched the way their cocks twitched when they were just about to come.

I went into this to study the men, but I also found myself fascinated by the women.

They weren’t just giving pleasure — they were really into it. They looked downright aroused.

Some of it was performance, sure, but some of those performances were really fucking convincing. It felt genuine, especially a lot of the amateur porn shot by real-life couples. These women jerked off their partners or sucked their cocks like it was giving them pleasure. They were breathy, encouraging, and they would react with pure glee at the cumshot that capped off their effort.

It was hot as hell. It made me wonder if I could experience the same kind of joy from a blowjob.

That idea consumed me. I became obsessed with blowjobs and was happy to finally know how to get it down on the page.

But I was even more eager to get a cock between my lips.

Writing erotica made me horny. It revived my sex life. But I came to it with a whole new attitude. I really, really wanted to give pleasure. Not just because my husband would love it, but because I was convinced I would, too.

So, after several blowjob-free years, I joined my husband in the bedroom, let him have his way with my body for a while, and then got on my knees. My lips were inches from his cock, my eyes were hungry, and my husband looked like he was in absolute shock.

“You don’t have to do that,” he said.

And now, it was my turn to whisper “I want to.”

After those words slipped past my lips, I parted them and took him in. I sucked his cock with an eagerness I have never experienced before. I gave a blowjob so enthusiastic, I knew I had earned a gold star.

And I loved it. Sliding his cock in and out of my mouth felt good. Running my tongue against the head of his cock was sexy. It didn’t feel like work. It felt like pure pleasure. And I kept going until my jaw was sore.

We laid in bed later, I was freshly fucked and Mr. Austin’s head was swimming with all sorts of things he just wanted to let out. He held me and told me how amazing it was. Not just getting a blowjob for the first time in years — but getting what he insisted was the best blowjob of his life.

I didn’t tell him then, but it was the best blowjob of my life, too.

Born Again Cocksucker

I spent more than ten years of my life thinking of giving pleasure like a chore — one of the necessary evils of sex, alongside self-consciousness and mismatched libidos.

All it took was a bit of work changing my perspective to come back to it with a completely different attitude.

I don’t roll my eyes at people who say that they love giving pleasure — I’m part of their circle now.

I don’t give head because I feel like I should — I give it because I want to and because it feels good.

Before this mental shift, I never believed Mr. Austin when he told me he loved rubbing and eating my pussy. Now I get it. I get how he could impatiently part my labia so he could circle my clit with his tongue. I get how he could offer to just eat me out and do nothing else for an evening without feeling cheated. I get it because I could do the same.

And our bodies don’t lie. If I needed proof that Mr. Austin loves going down on me, I would just have to look to his precum — it triples in output when he’s eating me out.

And if he needs proof that I love getting him off, there are the orgasms. I’ve come very, very close to having an orgasm from sucking Mr. Austin’s cock. If I didn’t have to quit early because his girth hurts my jaw, I would have definitely come from taking him in my mouth.

If he gets me off (or I get myself off) while his cock’s in my mouth, forget about it. When he rubs my clit while I’m giving him head, I come so hard I need to take an extended break. (It cuts the action short for him, but he still does it sometimes because he loves the way it feels when I moan with him in my mouth.)

That’s a new development. I was no stranger to the sixty-nine position. It was a recurring favorite back in my early giving days (if you think a blowjob is work, it’s a good way to power through it). So, I’ve come with a cock in my mouth plenty of times before, but it was always incidental to the orgasm. The cock didn’t add anything — it just muffled me. Now, it makes all the difference.

Exploring My Sexuality Again

So, that’s my story. That’s how I went from being a girl who never had a real opportunity to give pleasure to a woman who gets off on it.

But that’s not the end of the story. It’s a new beginning. I feel like I’m just starting to explore my sexuality. Being a genuine and engaged giver for the first time makes me feel like I’m seventeen again.

I’ve had a lot of sex before meeting Mr. Austin, but almost all of it was bad sex. He introduced me to good sex, and now that I’ve changed my perspective on giving, I’ve made it my mission to repay the favor by introducing him to even better sex.

In some ways, I feel like I was a virgin who married her high school sweetheart. This last year, I’ve experienced such an intense sexual renaissance (starting with my sex drive coming back to life and really taking off when I became a more engaged, giving partner) that I barely count all my pre-Mr. Austin experiences as real sex.

I’ve had the good stuff now, and I want more of it.

I’m exploring and growing with Mr. Austin, but I also want to explore it with others. I’ve only ever had good sex with my husband, and I’m really curious about what it’s like to have good sex with someone else.

How would it feel to feel passion and connection with another person?

How would it feel to have someone else take my pleasure seriously?

How would it feel to give someone else pleasure?

I have no idea, but with any luck, I’ll eventually meet someone I can explore those new experiences with.

And at the end of the day, no matter how it goes, no matter how much fun I have, I’ll always come home to give Mr. Austin the best blowjob I can. Because I’m a giver now, and I know I’ll never find a better recipient than my soulmate.

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