The first woman I ever went down on had vagina boogers. Being my first time, I wasn't sure what to make of the green, pearly balls that were snaring in her pubic hair. I briefly thought that it might be what happens to a woman when she gets really turned on. Men come everywhere, and women shoot little boogers out of their vaginas. This thought didn't last very long as I shortly realized that the whole endeavor was beginning to taste an awful lot like balsamic vinegar and, whatever the state of my partner's arousal, that couldn't be a good sign. So then add vaginosis to the tally of strange things that I've eaten in my lifetime.
I love oral sex. It's a base level instinct I have; I want to taste my partner's vagina, in some way. Once the meet-and-greet formalities are out of the way and I realize I'm with someone I'd like to have sex with, I want to taste them. I don't think of this as a particularly macho convention. I know plenty of girls who have a similar oral fixation on their partner's penises.
There's a tendency for men to become jocular about their skills at oral sex. It's another form of projecting dominance. I have no idea if I'm good at it or not, I just know I like it. There may, in fact, be a disconnect between liking it and being good at it. I sometimes wonder if my zest for the act doesn't dampen my performance. I sometimes find myself fixated on the textures and flavors and geography for long moments, just kind of marveling and enjoying someone else's body. Then I realize that running my tongue ponderously over the outer labia for a few minutes isn't getting my partner any further down the orgasm conveyor belt and I've got to spring back into more choreographed action.
Still, performing oral can be humiliating. We put so much pressure on the notion of performance, on being "good" or "bad" at sex. Confronting the most intimate part of someone you're sleeping with, with only a rhetorical understanding of how the physiology is supposed to work can be intimidating. It's like trying to write a novel in hieroglyphics. It's something that both sexes encounter. Our genitals are mysteries to one another. The schematics are simple enough, like driving a clutch, but performing the act in practice is another thing entirely. If I've doled out my fair share of lousy head, I can be comforted in the fact that most of the blowjobs I've had have been remarkably boring. Even the technically skilled ones that seemed to know what they were doing missed some fundamental point that seemed so obvious to me, having the added benefit of a direct understanding of my own body.
For a man, cunnilingus is like a confrontation with the limits of our own knowledge and capacity for understanding. Just when you've got your partner's preferences and secret spots figured out you've got to move on to someone new and the rules shift again entirely. No one likes it the same way. And sometimes, if you don't know any better, it can taste like balsamic vinegar.
Previous Posts:
Crying in Public: Remember the Cheerleaders
Sex Machine: Masturbating Upside Down
Date Night: Two Women in One Night
Date Machine: Kissing on the First Date
Hooksexup Confessions: Rate My Penis Size
Celebrity Confession: Tom Brady's Love Handles
Date Night: The Wine Bar as the End of Civilization
Crying In Public: The Sichuan Night Train
Love machine: How I Date On The Internet
Sex Machine: Zeitgeisty's Ass Bangin'
Sex Machine: Rate My Blowjobs
Crying in Public: My Cubicle