oral sex

12 Days of Girly Juice 2020: 3 Fave Encounters

Kate Sloan

This has been a more difficult year than usual for me to keep track of memorable sexual experiences in my mind. Not because I didn’t have any good or great sex this year – I had a lot! – but because normally I have some situational or locational markers to help me remember specific instances better. In 2020, there was no “that time we did watersports after a night out at a cocktail bar” or “that time we used a new toy we’d just picked up at the local sex shop” or “that time we fucked immediately upon finally arriving at our hotel after a cross-country flight.” There was, however, a lot of “that time we had sex in bed after hanging out in bed all day.” 😂

As a result of these circumstances + the way my brain organizes sexual experiences, I don’t remember the exact dates of every stellar rendezvous I had this year, despite (still) keeping a sex spreadsheet. But I remember the feelings, and the vibes (so to speak), and the highlights – which is sort of how I feel about 2020, too. So today I’ll tell you about some of the best encounters I do remember.

I’ve also thrown in a little write-up from Matt about each of these, like I did last year, because it’s fun to hear both perspectives sometimes. Enjoy!

 

Non-reciprocal (but surprisingly reciprocal) oral

My very first sexual partner, back in 2008–2009, could have orgasms from going down on me. You can see how this experience might lead a person to be disappointed by subsequent relationships where that didn’t happen!

Of course, I know how uncommon and unrealistic this is for most people. It makes for a great fantasy – that someone could find your pleasure and your genitals soooo hot that it could make them come, basically untouched – but it just isn’t how most people’s bodies work. And yet, somehow, a decade after that first sexual relationship, I found myself dating (and eventually married to) someone who happened to have the same talent.

Some of my most satisfying sexual experiences this year were times when my love went down on me – slow, gradually escalating, dedicated, and reverent – and brought me to an orgasm so intense that it made them come against the bedsheets in the same moment. Sometimes this happened while they were in chastity, which makes sense, what with their sensitivity being amped up and orgasm threshold lowered – but sometimes it was just sorta random.

I am very lucky to have a sweetheart who loves giving oral sex that much. It feels powerful to me every time, and affirms that I am actually hot, even at times when I severely doubt that to be true. Some people chase and fetishize the elusive simultaneous orgasm during PIV – but I prefer a simultaneous orgasm during oral, tbh!

Matt says: I’ve always been a little embarrassed with past partners when I’ve come from going down on them, because of what culture tells us about “premature” ejaculation. The fact is that eating pussy is one of my all-time favorite sex acts, so of course it turns me on. And sometimes tasting someone come in my mouth is enough to push me over the edge. The first time this happened with you, I was shy to admit it at first, but when you reacted with a loving giggle and a beaming smile, I knew you were into it. This is also the most frequent way I experience simultaneous orgasms, with my orgasm almost always beginning just as you start to come and peaking as I work hard to maintain the rhythm of my tongue on your clit and ride out the waves of pleasure. It’s definitely worth the cleanup. 

 

Slapping their cock to orgasm (content note: inflicting pain on a penis)

One of the kinks Matt and I explored more this year was CBT (that’s cock and ball torture, not cognitive-behavioral therapy!). While many people with dicks are scared to death of any pain or injury befalling that area (and reasonably so), personally I think it’s nice to mix a little pain in with my pleasure – and fortunately, my spouse agrees.

We had experimented with occasional cock-slaps here and there, but one night in June after they’d already made me come with my Bandit and Eroscillator, we got into some dick-slapping that was much more purposeful and concentrated. After a few minutes of teasing slaps, I realized that it seemed like they could come from the hits I was raining down on their dick. (One of the benefits of being in a long-term sexual relationship can be developing the ability to sense such things.) I kept up my rhythm, the slaps becoming gradually more firm and fast, until eventually, they came hard, whining and whimpering.

Though I’m not much of a natural domme, there is something thrillingly powerful about being able to give someone a totally new-to-them type of orgasm. I’ve subsequently improved my CBT skillz and can now make them come with slaps pretty easily and consistently. Cool!

Matt says: I don’t remember exactly how we started doing CBT together. But I definitely remember the first time I came from it. I was in a subby, trancey headspace and every one of your slaps was making my cock harder. I felt myself beginning to leak precum against your hand and craving release. I didn’t know it was possible for me to come from slapping alone, but I felt myself getting closer as your hits became more rhythmic and focused on my frenulum. I asked for permission to come, and had one of the most intense orgasms of the entire year. It’s amazing to learn a new way to come, and we’ve had a lot of fun playing with it since.

 

Wedding night sex

Of course, there are traditionally a lot of expectations heaped onto the night of one’s wedding, sexually speaking – and though we wanted to make it special, we also knew it was just one night of many, many, many nights we’ll spend together as a married couple, so there was no need to put undue pressure on ourselves.

After our post-wedding dinner with a few friends, we checked into the Conrad Hotel for the night, where they had set up champagne and chocolate-covered strawberries in our suite (aww). After some kissing, cuddling, and decompressing, Matt fucked me with the Njoy Eleven – the dildo that indirectly led to us meeting in 2017, because they mentioned on Twitter that they liked my review of it – while I used the Eroscillator on myself. (I remember the way their brand-new wedding ring clinked against the metal of the Eleven…) Then we had good ol’ PIV. Classic.

It surprised me to notice that despite wedding night sex being considered “special,” an anomaly, in real life it actually felt pretty similar to great sex we might have on an average day, save for the location (and the fact that we had to peel off our formalwear beforehand!). I reject the idea of waiting until marriage to have sex (for myself, anyway – you do you), because it prevents you from assessing your sexual compatibility with the person you plan on tethering your life to – and the flipside of that coin is that I already knew I love fucking Matt, and that I could be happy doing so for the rest of my life. That night just confirmed it.

Matt says: Romantic! We were a little drunk and a lot exhausted, but we weren’t going to waste a beautiful hotel room and our wedding night by going to bed early. After some champagne and chocolate-covered strawberries, I fumbled around trying to figure out the complicated lighting system and went down on you in the dark for what felt like the perfect amount of time. I knew I wanted you to come on the Eleven, like we discussed. And I knew I wanted to come inside you. So that’s exactly what happened. It couldn’t have been more perfect. And then we fucked once more in the morning, for good measure.

 

Hope it was a wonderful year in your sex life, too (if that’s what you want/enjoy)!

What Does Clitoral Suction Say About Gender?

Kate Sloan

Trends in the sex toy market are fun to watch, not only because they portend new pleasure possibilities but also because they tend to signal something about how our cultural beliefs on sex and gender are evolving. So when toys like the Satisfyer and Womanizer kept popping up left and right, it made me wonder: what do clitoral suction toys say about gender?

Granted, it’s technically incorrect to refer to these toys’ mechanisms as suction. They use a new mechanical method – variously referred to as “non-contact pressure wave technology,” “gentle sonic waves,” and “Pleasure Air Technology” – to gently and touchlessly stimulate the clitoris. But the effect can feel remarkably suction-like in practice, to the point that a minority of users complain these toys cause a pressure-y pain the likes of which you might notice when you crank up a clit pump too high. Most reviewers compare these toys’ sensations to oral sex – because, like a warm and willing mouth, they surround the clitoris and apply gentle, rhythmic pressure that can escalate to something like suction.

I was not initially sold on these toys; their brand of stimulation felt so soft as to be basically imperceptible at times, and they too often led me into orgasms half-ruined by the aimless, air-based tapping they administer. But after a while, my body got used to their more delicate and nuanced sensations, and I noticed that these toys, more than any others, allowed me to fantasize unimpeded about one of my favorite sex acts: cunnilingus.

You can think about getting your clit licked if you’re using a vibrator, your hand, or anything else, of course – but toys that feel vaguely like suction lend themselves especially well to this imaginative task. No human being has ever sucked on my clit as tenderly or rhythmically as these toys do, and yet their soft, rubbery nozzles hearken back to smooth lips wrapped around my bits, and their relentless “pressure waves” feel remarkably akin to a tongue rap-tap-tapping against my clit. So you can see how, when cunnilingual cravings hit, I began to reliably reach for an air-pulse toy.

The runaway success of this toy category is hard to miss if you spend any time monitoring industry trends. While Womanizer was the O.G., multiple copycat companies have leapt onboard the bandwagon and started cranking out their own versions. These toys have been profiled in Glamour, Cosmopolitan, and many more heavyweight sex-focused publications. There’s a fervor around them that I haven’t seen since the rabbit vibe or Magic Wand. My theory? These products strike a nerve because clitoral suction subverts gender norms.

I think about this a lot vis-à-vis cunnilingus, because I am somebody who gets off on being sucked off. My clitoris is average-sized, but, like most, it has a long enough shaft that it can be taken into someone’s mouth and sucked on, like a tiny cock. But despite how easy it is to do this – and the common-sense assumption that many people would enjoy having their most sensitive sexual organ surrounded and stroked by wet lips – this oral technique has been surprisingly rare in my sex life. Most of my past partners (the ones who bothered to go down on me, anyway) stuck to wet tongue flicks on the top or sides of my clit. Depending on intensity and stamina, this could sometimes get me off – but nonetheless, whenever someone momentarily slipped my clit into their mouth, I moaned much louder and clawed at them in frenzied desperation. You would think they would notice this and keep doing the thing that was obviously working, but many of them did not. Why?

I think there are two basic gender-based reasons for this phenomenon. One: Most straight dudes (and unfortunately, my past sexual partners are predominantly straight dudes) – whether consciously or not – associate phalluses with dicks, and assume that any kind of “fellation” would make them gay, or at least effeminate. And two: They assume, on some level, that I, being a cis woman, don’t want my clit to be “treated like a dick” because it’ll make me feel “like a man.” Wrong on both counts, gents.

Some important nuances in this discussion: Some people who have clits are not women, such as pre-op/non-op trans men and assigned-female-at-birth non-binary folks, and some of those people like to have their clits sucked on for gender affirmation reasons (in addition to physical pleasure reasons). On the flipside, not all women have clits (e.g. trans women and victims of clitoridectomy) and not all clit-havers even like having their clits stimulated. Nonetheless, I think clitoral suction as a whole is a powerful metaphor for how our culture thinks about sex and gender – because it’s the satisfaction of an organ often considered “female” in a way that’s usually reserved for phalluses often considered “male.”

The reason I know this is partly a sexual orientation issue is that my queer partners (of any gender) have never seemed to have a problem with sucking my clit. They tend to do it wholeheartedly and wholemouthedly upon request, even if that request is non-verbal (e.g. by gently pushing my clit forward toward their lips). It’s only the straight men who pointedly avoid it, so I have to assume their aversion has something to do with thoughts of dicks and gayness and fellatio.

I don’t entirely blame them – homophobic and transphobic cultural myths are highly prevalent and hard to ignore – but I do think that we, as a society, need to move past these myths. Sometimes we do that in big ways, like by naming and calling out toxic masculinity through media campaigns and the #MeToo movement, and other times we do it in small ways, like by confronting our feelings about sucking on a partner’s genitals during sex. Both types of societal inquiry and self-examination are important and necessary, I think.

I’m not saying the way I prefer to receive oral sex will change the world. There’s too much going on for gentle gender subversion behind closed doors to have much of an effect. But it is heartening to observe the success of clitoral “suction” toys in the sex toy market right now, because it means something is shifting. Our sexual culture is learning to prioritize clitoral pleasure at long last, after the persistence of the orgasm gap throughout basically all of human history. We’re becoming more comfortable, too, with the homologous nature of the clitoris and the penis – which I think leads us closer to a much bigger and more important realization: that everyone, regardless of gender, is human, and should be treated as such. Women are not delicate caregivers or winnable objects; men are not relentless warriors or heartless cads. Our socialization and social locations change how we behave and are treated in the world, but they do not make us fundamentally, inherently different from each other, and it’s dangerous to approach gender relations as if they do.

I always look forward to seeing what happens next in the sex toy industry, just as I always look forward to seeing what strides we’ll make in the fight for gender equality. Sometimes these two progressions intersect in the most delicious ways.

 

This post was sponsored by the good folks at The Hot Spot. As always, all writing and opinions are my own.

12 Days of Girly Juice 2018: 3 Fave Encounters

Kate Sloan

Welcome to what is always the filthiest entry in my 12 Days of Girly Juice series: the one where I write about my favorite 3 sexual encounters of the entire year.

Moreso than being the best sex of my year, these are usually more like the most memorable, emotional, and/or ground-breaking encounters of my year. But yeah, sometimes they were also the best.

Predictably, this year all three of these were with the same person: my boyfriend/Sir/daddy, who I jokingly-but-not-at-all-jokingly refer to variously as my “dream dom” and a “sex god.” The only time this has happened previously was in 2016, when I guiltily chose 3 encounters with the FWB I was in unrequited love with, and he mimed affixing a badge of honor to his chest when I told him about it. But this time, it’s not embarrassing, because my BF not only knows I love doing sex and kink stuff with him – he works hard to make that the case. Aww. So without further ado, here are the 3 most memorable sex sessions of my 2018…

High Line First Time

I’m sentimental about first times. Many of us are. It’s a particularly useful trait for a sex writer, though, because first times are often juicy and exciting and strange and interesting and worth writing about. This can be true even if the sex itself is straight-up bad, as it often is when you’re learning a new person’s body.

However, my first time with my partner wasn’t bad at all, and I imagine that’s because at that point we’d spent many dozens of hours discussing and dissecting our kinks, sexting voraciously, and having phone sex in the dead of night. As a sex educator, I often advise people that sexting and discussing sex before the actual event can make it a lot better, but I think I didn’t fully realize that in practice until this year, when a boy I’d only spent about 2 hours with in person ever somehow fucked me better than… well, let’s just say… probably everyone I’ve ever met on Tinder, combined.

It happened at the Standard High Line, truly one of the most beautiful hotels I have ever seen, let alone stayed in. After checking in, we rode the elevator up to our room; he pressed the wrong button twice before finally getting us to our floor, because he was nervous, though he seemed otherwise as cool and collected as ever. The room had floor-to-ceiling plate-glass windows all along one wall, so I stared out at the city while we talked and giggled and took our coats off and laid out all our sex toys on a table. When a lull fell upon our conversation, he growled and pounced and shoved me up against that windowed wall, its coldness pressing into my back while his warmth pinned me there. He kissed me breathless and then started peeling my clothes off while looking up at me with utter reverence, like, “I can’t believe this is happening; I can’t believe I’m this lucky,” and that’s how I felt, too.

What followed was about 6 hours of sex, so things get a little blurry here. I remember feeling nervous and comfortable all at once, and crying out in pain while he scratched and bruised me in our big white bed. I remember that he hypnotized me in person for the first time, and I felt astonished all over again by his competence and the depth of perversion that matched my own. I remember that he bent me over his lap and spanked me with a paperback copy of Bluets – the first gift he ever got me – while intermittently reading passages from it aloud, which seemed to me then (and still) like the most goddamn romantic thing I could imagine.

When he held me down with one hand and pushed the Eleven into me over and over with the other, I thought about how this very dildo was the first thing we ever talked about, in a quirky and casual exchange on Twitter – and how it felt like things had finally come full-circle. And inside that circle was a lot of goddamn orgasms.

Melting in His Mouth

Speaking of orgasms… The gendered orgasm gap is still a rampant issue culture-wide, with countless factors contributing to its existence. In my own life, where this gap has existed, it’s usually been due to two main factors: the men I was fucking weren’t very good at touching vulvas, and I wasn’t very good at telling them how to touch mine. (If these problems sound familiar to you, please read and/or ask your partner[s] to read She Comes First and Becoming Cliterate, stat!)

This pattern explains why I’ve grown so blasé about new partners going down on me: they’re often not great at it, and it’s rare I feel brave enough or even invested enough to want to give them a crash course. But if someone makes it clear that they want to stick around in my life – and I want that too – I’m much more inclined to put the work in so they can learn how to get me off, especially if they’re appropriately enthused about this prospect.

My partner told me in some of our first explicit text conversations about his passion for eating pussy, but unlike many men who brag about this, he dropped some words and phrases that displayed a deeper-than-average understanding of cunnilingus, such as “stamina,” “enthusiasm,” and, uh, “Ian Kerner.” (Sex nerd in the haus!) My interest was piqued, though I remained skeptical.

The first time he made me come with his mouth, we had been dating for 6 months. I’m confident it would’ve been sooner if we weren’t long-distance, but even local partners usually take a while to figure it out. We made out for a long time, him grinding a thigh firmly against my vulva (a mutual fave) and biting and spanking me. He told me I’d been so good that I could choose how I wanted him to get me off, and I requested the Eleven and Magic Wand – but we didn’t even get that far, because in the midst of him warming me up with his mouth on my clit and his fingers pressing into my G-spot, I realized I was quite possibly going to come that way. I managed to choke out, “I’m getting really close, Sir,” and he knew just what to do, staying the course until my whole body tensed, spasmed, and finally relaxed.

He kept pounding me with his fingers afterward, because he knows I like that and is a gem. Hot tears poured out of my eyes. I know orgasms aren’t a dependable measure of love, devotion, or even attraction or skill, but it felt to me in that moment like he had found yet another way to prove how much he loved me. Figuring out how to make me come is hard, and actually executing the process is hard too, but 5 of my 30 lifetime sexual partners (!!) have managed it. In each case, they were people who really, really cared about me, and who made me feel comfortable and safe. What a beautiful thing.

His eyes sparkled with emotion when he crawled up my body to lie beside me. I asked him what he was feeling and he said, “You just came in my mouth. That’s really fucking intimate.” I had to agree.

Woodhull Wonderment

A friend-who-shall-not-be-named was able to procure me some marijuana-spiked edibles at the Sexual Freedom Summit (shh), and it led to some of the best sex of my year. Thank you, anonymous and resourceful friend o’ mine.

Prior to meeting me, my boyfriend had never tried weed, but under my careful stoner tutelage, he waded into high sex this year with me. While I’ll gladly smoke up and bone down any day, there is something special about sex on edibles: the high is (in my experience) slower, trippier, and more all-encompassing. True, you can overdo it more easily with edibles and it’ll take longer to come down from your fuck-up if you do, but if you get the balance of intoxication just right, it can be some of the best sex ever.

That was the case, this one fateful night at Woodhull. We each munched half a weed cookie, and by the time it hit us, we were on the balcony of our hotel room, kissing and pawing at each other in the stupefying heat. I’d paid extra for a room with a balcony, wondering when I booked it whether we would even use it – and because of this night, I’m glad I did.

Our makeouts got intense on that balcony, the way they can when inebriation strips away your self-awareness. I was craving pain, as I often do when high, so I asked him to slap my tits; he slipped them out of my dress, standing in front of me so no onlookers would get an eyeful, and smacked me around until I was panting. Then he switched to slapping my face, bringing me down full-force into a deep and disorienting subspacey state.

We wandered back inside and partook of what would soon become one of our favorite activities: high facesitting. Though we’re both fans of facesitting in just about any state, weed really amps up our enjoyment. The time dilation and disinhibition of a good high helps me relax into riding a partner’s face without worrying that I look weird, sound weird, or am taking too long. Meanwhile, I am sure the sense-heightening effects of weed help my BF enjoy tastes, smells, and sensations even more than usual – and in a reclining position, he can enjoy them in lavish repose. Ideal.

I fucked his face for who knows how long. Time didn’t fucking matter. When we were done, he told me, “You sat on my face for the perfect amount of time,” although neither of us could say with any certainty what that amount had been. As with most good sex, in retrospect I don’t remember many details – just the overall sense of hotness, closeness, and wild abandon.

What was the best or most memorable sex you had this year?

Top 10 Reasons You Didn’t Make Me Come With Your Mouth

Kate Sloan

You didn’t even try. Come on, dude. I blew you for like 20 minutes, and you gave my clit little more than a cursory graze with your hand. I’m not even convinced you’re aware women can have orgasms, ’cause surely, if you knew that, you’d’ve made at least some minimal effort to give me one. Consent is, of course, vital, but you seemed content to touch all my other bits for your own pleasure – you just made no effort to pleasure me. I’m not a Fleshlight or a sex robot. For heaven’s sake. Who raised you?! Who taught you this was okay?!

You expressed zero enthusiasm about giving head. You asked whether I wanted your mouth on me, without indicating at all that it’s something you wanted, too. You approached my vulva with a tentative slowness that made me think you weren’t so keen on the taste, the smell, or pussy in general. (I know it’s not me; my hygiene is impeccable.) Or worse yet, you told me straight-up that it’s something you do rarely and begrudgingly. Once you meandered down there, you neglected to make any noise, grab my thighs or hips, or express any excitement whatsoever. I can’t help but feel like this is a favor you’re doing for me, rather than a mutual pleasure of which we’re partaking together. If that’s the case, why are we doing this at all?

You expressed zero enthusiasm about my body overall. You’ve never complimented my curves, my shape, my bits. You’ve never called me hot or pretty or sexy or beautiful. You’ve never verbally admitted to finding me attractive in any way. Maybe you do, but the verbal admission is important to me; “words of affirmation” is my love language. You might be faceplanted in my vulva with fervor but I’m still wondering if you even think I’m cute. I need clearer signals, bro, or my anxiety will kidnap my orgasm and hold it ransom for compliments.

You ignored my instructions. No, “That’s too intense” does not mean “Double down and go harder.” Yes, I really did mean it when I said “Softer and slower, please.” No, I was not lying when I explained how sensitive my clit is. Yes, “Keep doing that” really means I want you to keep doing that. No, “A little higher” does not mean “Stay exactly where you are.” Are my thighs muffling your ears, or do you just think you know my body better than I do? I assure you, you don’t.

You ignored my nonverbal signals. Hey, I’m not sure if you’re aware, but moaning during sex is usually a sign of pleasure. So is gasping, breathing faster, grabbing at your head/shoulders/arms/hands, grinding into your face, and spreading my legs wider to give you better access. Several times while going down on me, you found a perfect spot, rhythm, or pressure, and I reacted accordingly – but you missed the memo and moved on to something else. There is some value to the “channel-surfing” technique, but once you find a channel I like, I’d love if you could stay on that channel. (And please, for the love of god, if I say “Ow” and pull away, don’t fucking do that thing again.)

You didn’t stay down there for long enough. Sorry, pal – for me, cunnilingus is not a “get in, get ‘er done, and get out” type of activity. You gotta be there for the long haul. It might take ten minutes, twenty, thirty – but I can assure you it won’t happen at all if I feel like the timer’s on. I don’t necessarily need to take a long time; I just need to know that I can. I need to know you won’t be glancing at the clock, rolling your eyes, and sighing dully into my labia.

You have no sense of rhythm or consistency. Okay, I get it; tongue muscles are easily fatigued – but you can exercise them to make ’em stronger over time. Maybe you just have no rhythm; you can practice that, too. The difference between oral sex that feels good but doesn’t get me off and oral sex that feels good and gets me off is consistency. That’s the whole secret. Find a motion and location that seems to be working, and keep at it. Seriously. I’ll tell you if and when I want you to stop.

You attacked my clit too directly. Eight thousand nerve endings, buddy. The clit is surrounded by two sets of labia and a clitoral hood; there’s no reason for you to glom onto my exposed clit directly unless I’ve told you I like that, which I absolutely do not. Drift around the periphery. Lick my clit like you’re coyly flirting with it, not like you’re engaging it in combat. There’s no faster way to desensitize me than to overload my nerve endings with direct sensation; it’s often painful, always uncomfortable, and never results in an orgasm for me.

You didn’t stick your face right in there. I’m sorry to be the one to break it to you, but tongue-flicking from a distance, like they do in porn, is not an effective approach for me. Not only does it feel physically bad, but it makes you seem hesitant to have my clit in your mouth. What are you so scared of? Lower your lips down; close them around the shaft of my clit. Let me feel the warmth and wetness of you on me. Your tongue feels lovely but you have a whole mouth’s worth of other sensations you could give me alongside all that tongue. Besides, when I come in your mouth, I want to feel like I am indeed coming in your mouth.

You put too much pressure on me to get off. Orgasms are fantastic, but they’re by no means a foolproof measure of sexual enjoyment overall. And frankly, the more you tell me you’re definitely gonna make me come, the less certain I am that you’re right. Just tell me to relax and enjoy what you’re doing to me; orgasms do not often result from pressure. Unless we’re talking about the pressure of your lips and tongue on my clit.

A Tale of Three Blowjobs: Getting Over Penis Terror, Continued

Kate Sloan

My very first post on this blog was about something I termed “penis terror.” Maybe that doesn’t bode especially well as a kick-off to a sex blog… but at the time, it was the main sexual issue occupying my mind.

See, when I was a youngin (by which I mean age 15–18), penises – and men in general – made me very, very nervous. I had a plethora of anxieties and neuroses about male sexuality. I believed men were hard-wired to be sexually aggressive, to put their own sexual desires above women’s, and to judge women’s sexual performance against impossible pornographic standards. And that shit terrified me.

It’s so embarrassing and strange to recount this now, but in my first sexual relationship with a cis guy, I literally cried the first several times his penis was brought up in sexual conversation. I was so fucking nervous and I can’t even explicitly identify, in retrospect, what was making me so nervous. It was just a fear of the unknown, I guess.

I worried I would be bad at pleasing penises, and that my boyfriend would judge me or leave me for it; I worried that touching penises would somehow make me “slutty” or “tainted,” even though I intellectually knew these are bullshit concepts; and, maybe most frighteningly of all, I worried I wouldn’t like penises. I was petrified that I’d turn out to be biromantic but homosexual – because I knew I wanted to date and kiss and cuddle with men most of the time, but I didn’t know if I also wanted to fuck them. And that was a scary, dicey question hanging in the air.

 

But my feelings about penises have transformed monumentally over the years. I crave them, I appreciate them, I write them love songs and gratitude missives. They’re kind of one of my favorite things.

There’s no clearer barometer of my penis-comfort than my attitude about performing oral sex on them. So, for your amusement: a tale of three blowjobs.

 

1.

My journal entry for July 5th, 2011 begins: “Today will go down in history as the first time I ever put a penis in my mouth.” A tad dramatic, perhaps, but it really did feel that significant to me.

I was nineteen years old. My very non-scientific Twitter poll indicates that this makes me a relatively late bloomer. What can I say? Willies gave me the willies. But when I did finally get around to it (with some very gentle prompting from my then-boyfriend), it wasn’t anywhere near as bad as I thought it was going to be.

Granted, he didn’t come in my mouth that first time, which definitely made it easier to handle. But, overall, I considered it a huge step forward and an even huger relief. I had a major fear reference; I felt invincible.

“Throughout all of this penis stuff,” I wrote in my journal, “I have learned that there are two things I need in order to comfortably jump into a fear: a supportive, loving, respectful environment, and a little push.”

 

2.

After the aforementioned First Penis In My Mouth (and its owner) exited my life, I started to wonder if the same fears would rear their head again when I got another dude into my bed.

I broke a long dry spell by romancing a cute guy from the internet. During the proceedings, he very politely asked if I’d go down on him, and I immediately did, and it was good.

It wasn’t until a couple days later that it occurred to me: Huh. What took me literal months of waffling and wailing with my first serious boyfriend only took one respectful request with a hook-up. I guess I really am over that fear at long last.

The one fellatio-related anxiety that lingered for me, though, was being watched while going down. Maybe it’s linked to my fanaticism over blowjob porn and some shitty internalized ideas about “sluttiness,” or maybe it’s just insecurity about the way I look, but I’ve always hated being watched while giving a BJ.

I explained this to Adorable Internet Hook-up and he seemed to have no problem with it whatsoever. We turned off the light and all was fine and good. But, well, you hear a lot of things about how the visual of a BJ is almost as important for men as the actual sensations. Obviously preferences vary from person to person, but as someone who loves watching, say, Heather Harmon inhale a dick, I totally get the appeal. And I was bummed I still couldn’t be looked at while my mouth was full of cock.

 

3.

Shortly thereafter, I had sex with a… uh, how do I even put this? A friend who I also now like to kiss and have sex with? (Um, obviously I am new to this whole sex-outside-of-relationships thing, but, semantic difficulties aside, it is fucking great.)

When a blowjob became imminent, he grabbed his glasses off the nightstand where he had set them during our makeouts. I asked him what he was doing and he said, “I want to watch.”

For some reason I didn’t even think twice about this. I guess I was preoccupied by the prospect of a cock in my mouth. (Cocks!!!) As before, it took a day or two for my brain to properly process the magnitude of what had happened. I had let someone watch me blow him! And this had previously been one of my biggest sexual insecurities!

As we were putting our clothes back on afterward and getting ready to leave, the guy even said to me that he thought I’d look hot giving him a beej on my knees, and instead of reacting with terror, I just giggled with delight. Because, yes, this is a thing that I would like to do…

 

Did you have any anxieties or insecurities to deal with when you first started giving oral sex? How did you overcome them?