One has to speculate in order to accumulate.

Though the orgasm achieved through my nocturnal masturbation left me feeling physically calm, it did nothing to rein in my galloping curiosity about the elixir of life I'd just had my first taste of. My head was full of questions such as does all sperm taste the same or is it affected by such things as diet, ethnicity, age etc? By the following morning, I was resolved to finding the answers to all these questions through diligent scientific research and of course, sucking. I rummaged through the dressing table draw I keep all the stuff I never use in till I found that hard cover note book I'd been intending to keep recipes in but couldn’t be arsed to start. Then I Googled 'What does sperm taste like' and studiously wrote down what came up on the screen.

Wow! So, every man's sperm is as unique to him as the sound of his voice. Hm! I wonder if that's why so many men talk total bollocks? At first, this revelation got my speculating on the possibility of strawberry and cream flavoured jiz or maybe even rum and raisin; but I quickly discarded this notion as being somewhat fanciful. If that oracle of all truths, Google, had considered this likely, it surely would have said. So, I therefore deemed it most likely that all sperm basically tasted of sperm like all wine tastes of wine, yet as we all know, there are a seemily infinite number of different wines out there to be tasted and enjoyed, or spat out as the fancy takes you.

How to get at them though; this was the question. I swiftly rejected the idea of sucking off our male friends, due to the unpleasantness this was likely to cause among our female friends. So, strangers it would have to be. I'm five foot two, slim but curvy and cute as a button. That said, I didn’t really fancy approaching a strange man and asking him if he'd mind very much if I sucked him off. I mean, he might be one of those queer buggers who'd take offence at such a delectable request. Worse still, he say yes, take me to some disreputable and isolated place and........**** me to cheat on Brian big time! No, my virginity was Brian's alone to take, but this should in no way prevent me from pursuing what I now considered to be my calling: to produce the definitive thesis on human sperm as food.

Back on Google, I keyed in the question, "Are there any blow job contact websites?" The answer blew my mind! There were lots. For a small fee and an alluring selfie, I could have loads of men contacting me for the sole purpose of having me suck them off. Since these men would be registered with the app providers, they would be traceable in the event of any misbehaviour on their part. I could therefore see how using such apps would give me a measure of protection that going it alone wouldn’t. I admit that I became perhaps a little imprudent at this point because I got myself listed on three different dating apps. I guess I got a bit carried away by the giddy excitement of it all, but when I noticed that most of the women offering their services were highly experienced, well rounded - (overly so in some cases), plus middle aged (or worse), I thought that presenting myself as a petite eighteen year old newcomer to the fellatiory arts might give me an advantage over my competitors. It would be left to me as to whether or not I charged for my "services". Now this was something I had not hitherto considered. I'd been so wrapped up in my lust for cum that the thought of making money from my kink simply hadn't occurred. I had a giddy moment as I imagined myself luxuriating in a bathtub of warm cum and banknotes. Mind you, sperm's slippy stuff so such a bathtub might be difficult to climb out of. What if I couldn’t? What if the money and cum kept coming and I drowned in there? You know what, my sole answer to that at the time was, "what a lovely way to go! So rich and flavoursome!"

I tarted myself up a bit for the selfie. Darker lipstick and eyeshadow. I also massed my hair up a bit as I didn’t want to come across as being too neat and wholesome. I felt I needed to look a bit dirty. In the end, I didn’t look much like the real me at all, which was just what I was aiming for. This was my chance to be another person from time to time; not merely a mousey library assistant but a fabulous fellatrix of notorious repute who would have men queuing at my door for my services. But no, that wouldn't work, would it. Not with Brian being home most nights. I'd have to travel. So be it, but how would I explain THAT to Brian?