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Hard-Nosed Hard-On
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Hard-Nosed Hard-On Back when I was in my early thirties I was still a regular in a downtown bar, The Drunken Duck, a place no more subtle than its name which boasted a couple dozen regulars, including enough women to keep us as intrigued as entertained. In recent weeks two of those gals have passed away, both due to the combined cumulative effects of smoke and drink, both alone in “residential centers,” forgotten by family and friends. Neither I nor the few Drunken Duck buddies I still watch an occasional game or political debate with had heard from or about either of them in two decades. When news reached us we didn’t so much as share stories as confirm suspicions, reaching consensus on which woman was better at what and who had the best this or that. Seems, well, a most unseemly way to reminisce about the recently departed, but in the spirit of the Drunken Duck all we said was in fitting tribute. But it did recall the most mysterious of the Drunken Drakes, a French Canadian in her mid-20s named Yvette who was known for two attributes: A perfectly shaped ass that we couldn’t take our eyes off, and an enormous nose that we immediately took our eyes off no matter how surely it drew them back. To call it a beak or call her a hawk would be understatements, and even the word “enormous” struck us as laughable last week when during our reminiscence, we wondered what became of her. In truth we were all still wondering what there was of her back in the day. To my amazement, though she was only among us a couple of months, I was the only Duck who ever took her home, and I only Ducked her once. Can’t say it was the best sex I’ve ever had, since that always comes over time with lovers who get to know each other. But it was surely the most unforgettable and erotic one-night stand, despite—or perhaps because of—its most unusual beginning and intense end. As soon as we were at my place, she pushed me into a chair and announced: “I know what you want most.” “Where are you going?” “”Your bathroom. Stay there.” I froze, but she was just as soon back with a wet towel and soap that she handed me. She then stood over me, turned around, dropped her shorts, dropped her panties, stepped out of them then back toward me and bent over: “Wash my ass…” Her voice tailed off as if she knew what I’d do after the wash. The sight, the feel, the smell, the taste were all<b> intoxicating. </font></b>When I came to, I was on my knees, she was turning around, pulling my face into her thick black bush. As soon as my tongue was inside her she was cumming in my mouth. After she came she knelt with me and we kissed, our heads turned sideways, perpendicular to each other. I undid my belt and stood while she took my pants down. She licked my cock and balls but only briefly before she stood up and told me she wanted me on top of her in bed, pounding her. As we started to fuck we kissed just briefly before she held my head to the side of hers. I still wonder if she did that because she noticed how I was tilting my head to avoid her nose, so big that it was an obstacle to a normal kiss. But she didn’t seem to notice or mind. She was moaning, screaming, cumming. Before long I let her know that I was ready, and she pushed me up, pushed my cock out of her and then pulled it to her mouth. She nodded approval as I kept thrusting with her lips clamped to my shaft. She must have sensed what I was thinking and her nostrils flared large. For a moment it seemed that her nose was as large as my cock, which she took out of her mouth as if to measure the two against each other. She smiled coyly: “I know what else you want!” Her head was down on the pillow, facing straight up at me, and my cock hovered over her face until she took it down and pressed it with one hand to the side of her nose. She took my balls into her mouth and fixed her eyes on mine, as if waiting for me to say something about nasal sex, daring me to compare the shape and size of her nose to my erection as they rubbed together. But I was speechless at the sight. It did seem that her nose was the size of my hard-on, bigger than my balls, bigger than her slight tits that none of the Drunken Ducks ever noticed or mentioned. Took a while to realize that she was holding my cock still, rubbing it not with her hand but by nodding her head. Her eyes appeared to smile as if she sensed my surprise. I held her gaze and was near laughing as I thought of what this might be called. “Nasal sex” and “nose job” are too mild for the sensation. If we use “giving head” for oral, could this be “nodding head”? Wet with her saliva and her cum my hard-on exploded gobs of semen onto her forehead and into her hair, the last clear drops pouring onto the bridge of her nose. As I straightened up, she gave my cock a quick suck to clean it of semen before taking it back in her cunt. I paused for a moment. After a woman takes my semen in her mouth, whether she swallows it or not, I always kiss her, a French kiss, keeping my tongue in her mouth until she pulls away. Another thought took my breath away, and I lowered my head as we still held each other’s gaze, only closing my eyes as I opened my mouth as wide as I could. Nasallingus? Her purr was laced with light laughter as I sucked her nose. When I drew my head back up and looked at her, she was glowing. I started to pull up the sweatshirt she had worn all this time, but she stopped me: “Not that, just this,” she said thrusting her nose toward me. “Let me have your tits.” “No, no tits, this,” as she offered her nose, “or this,” as she turned over and offered her ass. That’s when it hit me. We never noticed her tits because she always wore baggy shirts—and because her ass and, more so, her nose drew so much attention. Since her nose was something we couldn’t help but see, her tits she wouldn’t let us see. And so her nose was an allure. Gave me a start and I had to let her know, but not directly. So I asked: “Will you ride my nose?” “Thought you’d never ask.” She got back on top and lowered her cunt onto it. She put my hands onto her ass so than she could flick her clit herself. Soon my face was soaked in her creamy, pungent cum. When she let up and started to say something I asked her to turn around and take my nose in her anus. “And bend down and worship your cock?” “Oh, you are a mind reader!” “Not really.” “What do mean?” “Can’t tell if you want to be in my mouth or on my nose.” I answered by licking her taint as I pressed my nose into her rim. Not sure if we fell asleep or fell unconscious, but it seemed a surprise in the morning to awake and see her standing there fully dressed and hear her say just one word, as if the night had never happened: “Breakfast?” Still nude, I pulled the sheet away and held up my cock to her. “That’ll be dessert, but let’s do that out on the beach after we eat. And then I have to go.” Since it was a weekday we didn’t have to go far for a spot where we could undress, though she kept that sweatshirt on. We took turns on top of each other, vaginal and anal. We went down on each other, oral and nasal. Rather sweet and refined compared to the raw intensity just hours before, but it was bittersweet when she told me that she was moving back to where she had been living before she landed here—and, oh by the way, back to her husband. This was a temporary work assignment, which explained why she was a Drake so briefly, but she finally came clean about the Drunken Ducks and her own hang up. She wasn’t at all self-conscious about her nose, but about being flat-chested: “My nose is my tits, big tits. Makes me a freak!” I bent my head toward her face, my mouth open, but she pushed me back. “No, not now, but thank you for doing that last night.” “Why me?” “All the others were just interested in my ass. You actually made eye contact, even last night while we were having orgasms. You actually talked to me about things that had nothing to do with sex.” “I wanted your ass as much as the others.” “But you didn’t wish I had a bag over my head.” “You have an attractive face, Yvette.” “Then why were you the only one who looked at it without having to look away?” How can anyone answer a question like that? Truth was that I was just better at not being noticed. Never look away when someone turns toward you. She then yelled into my silence as if to insist on the point: “I married a blind man!” That felt like the thrust of a knife, but I wasn’t sure where. My discomfort must have been visible, because she just as suddenly let me off the hook: “Will you tell them?” “About last night or about what you just told me? No and no.” “That I gave you an orgasm with my nose. That you came on my face.” “No. Never. Nor that I gave you an orgasm with my nose. Or that you wiped it all over my face with a lush black brush.” She was silent for a moment before she said she had to go soon, and then she said one word: “Dessert?” And that was the last I saw or heard of her until my Drunken Duck buddies and I went into our “Whatever happened to?” reminiscences last week. “Did you ever bed her? Do you think she gave nose jobs?” The two questions made the rounds. When they came to me, I said no more than “No.” And “No.” So no one knows. |
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