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By Lauren McAllister

I toil in a joyless, soul destroying cubicle that makes United Airlines economy seating seem spacious. To make matters worse, I’m employed by one of those ghoulish, impersonal banking firms that ruins people’s lives for sport and profit. Pleasures are few and far between in this 85 storey tombstone to ethics and humanity. I move vast sums of other people’s money around and at the end of the day, those people have even more money and I have even less. Needless to say, esprit is about as rare in this dark pit of avarice and despair as an un-smoked “fat one” at Snoop Dog’s house. In an effort to keep my debatable sanity and not hurl myself in front of the commuter train each morn, I spent every lunch hour ensconced in the park, convening with nature and praying for my boss to suffer a debilitating stroke. Nothing fatal you understand, just something that would have him lying in a hospital bed and being fed through a hole in his neck by burly-armed nurses.

I’m not sure, but I think I may have lost my way. A 27 year old, smokin’ hot babe like me should have been doing all kinds of fun shit, right? I certainly had the “shit” part completely down and perfected. You could have reconstructed Lindisfarne with all the brown turds floating around in my life.

Perhaps it was this pervasive spiritual malaise that initiated my life changing epiphany. Or perhaps I’m just one big crazy fucked-up bitch. It’s such a thin line, isn’t it?

It started out just like any other non-epiphany-having day, but it wasn’t. The sun was shining and I had my sandwich. Oh, I also had a non-caloric lime-flavored seltzer as a beverage. On Fridays, I treated myself to a real soda containing “Stevia”, you know, so I’d have something really epic to look forward to. This wasn’t Friday.

So, I’m sitting there glued to my usual park bench, being a big ole shiny lump of whoopee-fuck’ when something caught my eye. A woman, wearing earbuds and pushing a pram, dropped her wallet on the path. I was just about to get up and do the right thing when this geeky-looking guy bends over and grabs it. (No, he didn’t hightail it in the opposite direction like every other natural-born New Yorker would have done.) Dudley Do-Right catches up to this careless woman and taps her on the shoulder. At first, she thinks he’s “trying it on” and ignores him but Geeky persists. The mother/nanny finally whips around and presents him with some major ‘tude. That’s when the poor guy holds up her wallet and explains what happened. Seeing that she’s totally in the wrong, Little Miss Charming grabs her billfold, pops her earbuds back in and snootily continues on her way like the whole thing never happened. What a vinegar-titted old sow!

“Wow!” thinks I. “She certainly doesn’t give a fella much incentive to help out a damsel in distress.”

I don’t know what got into me at that moment but I threw my sandwich away and marched over to talk to this rebuffed White Knight.

“Excuse me,” I said. “I saw what you did for that lady and I thought it was very gallant.”

He smiled nervously. Ernie looked even geekier, close up (not to mention more pimply and crooked-toothed). What really touched my heart was the fact that this guy had obviously been ignored or shat on by women his entire life but it hadn’t made him bitter. Despite his lack of success with the opposite sex, he had remained a really nice guy.

“I just wanted you to know that I, as a woman, was really touched by your act of kindness and I’d like to offer you a blowjob.”

“Excuse me?” His less-than-attractive nose wrinkled up as his brain tried to make sense of what I’d just said.

I don’t know why I volunteered to suck the cock of some guy I didn’t even know – in a public park, no less – but it just seemed like the thing to do. Hey, if we start rewarding men after they do good shit, then perhaps they’d do good shit more often. Right? And I’m not talking about offering to buy the chivalrous gent a coffee. Men can buy their own damn coffee, but very few of them can suck their own wieners. If they could, they’d never come out of their bedrooms.

“After Little Miss Bitch’s performance, I just wanted to demonstrate to you that we’re not all unappreciative cunts.” He blushed at my use of a naughty but oh-so-accurate word.

“Is this some sort of reality show?”

I sensed that he was still somewhat suspicious of my offer.

“There is no catch here. I witnessed you performing an act of kindness and I’d just like say “thank you” by performing an act of kindness on you. There are a couple of trees over there and I’ve got my soft, warm, watery mouth right here, what do you say?”

I could tell that Sir Lancelot was terrified that this was some sort of horrific and quite possibly deadly trap but, on the other hand, he really, really wanted that blowjob. So, behind the trees we went.

As I got down on my knees and began to unzip his pants, I made my pitch. “This is just to remind you that there are still women out there who value a man who does the right thing.” He smiled nervously as I removed Mr. Penis from his underwear. His “manly sword” wasn’t much to speak of, but I wasn’t down there for me. I began with a little nut licking. Despite his badly rattled psyche, he sproinged up immediately. The fun thing about sucking a “diminutive one” (and there really is only one fun thing) is that you can take his entire junk collection into your mouth at once and give it a good swirling around without gagging. I was just about to give his scrotum an intense tongue lashing when he exploded. Little droplets of jism spurted out of him and came to rest on my uvula. Well, that didn’t take long. He was obviously in severe need of a righteous hummer and I was more than happy to be able to provide it for him. I licked his knob sparkly clean to prolong the experience and then I rezipped his pants.

“I…I really appreciate this,” White Knight said bashfully.

“You’re a good guy,” I declared and kissed him on the lips, “you deserve it.”

When I returned to my office of dreary, borderline-illegal labors, I was completely and maniacally horny. I hadn’t had a toilet wank since I lived at home and shared a room with my sister but I was so “ripe” at that moment, I couldn’t help myself. Once installed (pun probably intended), I lifted up my appropriately-lengthed business skirt and stared at my pink and swollen pud. If only I could have been two people at that second I would have gladly given myself the most incredible head in the universe but alas, no. Eager and talented hands would have to suffice. I slowly pulled my engorged lips apart and dragged my index finger from the very depths of my vaginal opening to the tippy-top of my clitoral hood. My “yum index” had already shot up to 11. Oh goody! This had all the makings of an historic climax. I closed my eyes and thought back to that tiny pecker bobbing around in my submissive mouth and the hundreds of people who could have easily walked by and caught me mid-suck. My vagina was as wet as Flipper’s honeymoon and my hand was coated in growler-goo as I pinched and stroked my distended labia and undulating love nub. I could feel my quadriceps start to tense as I neared my holy girlie goal. Pre-cum twitches attacked my body like a swarm of pervert mosquitoes. I was now shamelessly fingering the Batcave and making no attempt to mask the loud squelchy sounds emanating from between my legs. Vast swaths of erogenous bliss overwhelmed my senses. I could feel my vaginal clench get tighter and tighter as I whipped my quivering quim into an absolute frenzy. Please, no one come in! Please, no one come in! It was far too late to stop it now, regardless. I would have continued on towards my monster orgasm at that moment if Pope Francis had burst through the door and poked me in the eye with his miter. My vag was practically frothing by the time blessed release arrived. YOWSA! I was so doubled over with spasms; I practically fell off the toilet seat. The pelvic pulsations shooting up through my abdomen were bordering on unbearable but I was still bashing away on my cunt button like it was a fairground Whac-a-Mole. I kept that climax going for what seemed like an hour. It was all-consuming and glorious. And after the major contractions had subsided, I experienced dozens and dozens of yummy mini-shudders. This was the best day I’d had at work since I’d joined the firm!

When I got back to my desk, I was a different woman.

“Are you okay?” Alisha (the girl at the next desk) asked. “You look a little flushed.”

I don’t know why, but I decided to be completely honest. “That’s because I just had an absolutely sizzling wank in the girl’s room.”

Alisha’s face lit up. “You’re kidding?”

“Nope. And I just finished blowing some strange guy in the park.”

Needless to say, I had a totally rapt audience. I proceeded to enlighten her with the explicit and gory details of my noble deed. By the end of my Good Samaritan tale, Alisha was so turned on; she went for a wank in the lady’s room.

From that moment on, we were the best of buds. In fact, we decided to form a club (A very exclusive club. It only had two members, at first.) dedicated to rewarding the laudable deeds of men.

We had three strict rules:

1: We didn’t get to pick the guy. No matter what he looked like, if he answered the other criteria then we offered him our mouth.

2: The gentleman in question could have no ulterior motive (he couldn’t be trying to pick the lady in question up or sell her a time share in Boca Raton, etc.).

3: No phone numbers were to be given or accepted.

Now, I couldn’t wait to get to work. Alisha and I would grab our sandwiches at noon and rush out to the park in search of White Knights. Sometimes we’d go days, or even a week, before locating a gent of good intent. But everyone was worth it.

We blew old guys, young guys, fat guys, Hasidic Jews and cops. Then, we’d rush back to the office and wank it like women possessed. Hearing Alisha coming in the next cubicle to mine was a major turn-on. In fact, everything was a major turn-on for me now. I’d become a raging wank-aholic.

At the present time, there are six of us fair ladies. Three do the breakfast shift and three of us do lunchtime. After work, we get together and swap stories of unbridled altruism and swallowing and then we all go over to my place and have a group finger-fest.

A parting note to my fellow ladies (if ladies can be fellows – they certainly can in New York)

Yes, there are a lot of fucking assholes out there (I’ve had most of them try to hit on me in bars.). But there are also scads of dear, sweet men who basically get the short end of the love-stick from us gals. Won’t you join us in our admirable cause? Fellate that dude who gets out of his car to help an old lady across the street while the jerk-offs behind him are honking at her to speed the hell up. Deep-throat that do-gooder who runs three blocks to retrieve a kite that slipped out of a little girl’s hand.

We didn’t sleep with these nice guys in high school and we avoided them in college. We were too busy spreading ‘em for dickwads. Perhaps now is the perfect time to say “thank you” for remaining decent human beings, regardless. And don’t forget to have a nice wank afterwards. It really does help get you through the day.

Copyright 2014 Lauren McAllister

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