I remember the first woman who ever swallowed my come. As I mentioned earlier, she was also the only woman who's ever been able to get me to come during a blowjob. I'm sure the blowjob itself was fantastically skillful and measured, but I don't remember anything in particular about it. What I do remember is she still had my penis in her mouth after I had finished, almost as if she wanted to make sure to get the most out of my fleshy little sprinkler head.
As she came back up and nestled into the crook of my armpit and ran her hands across my chest, I was stunned and completely swept away. I had only experienced swallowing in porn before and the context is always one of male domination and bukake-tinted victory over another cock-hungry slut. Experienced in reality, I suddenly felt the meaning was completely the opposite. My girlfriend had found a physical language to express how much she cared about me and how much she was attracted to me. It was direct and selfless. I want you this much, it said. I love you this much. Only a woman could be so comfortable with the language of intimacy. I never would have asked her to swallow my come, I would have thought it a demeaning sleight because that's the only way I could imagine it coming across beforehand. Swallowing was an invention of porn to me, not something that came from genuine affection between two people that cared about each other. Where I might have been busy worrying about technique or performance issues to validate myself, she was focused entirely on me.
Many of the women I've been with have been impulsive creatures whereas I'm always calculating and reserved. I think back on the modest list of public places that I've had sex (a park, the beach, a disco, stairwells…) and I realize that none of it would have happened without my partners instigating things. I've come to have a great taste for sex in public over the years, but it's something I would have never had the courage to do when I was younger, not without some prompting from my adventuresome girlfriend at the time. There's a latent timidity I have about any kind of sex act in public. This probably stems from some latent fear of showing my little wee wee to everyone and then being judged by it. Likewise, there's probably plenty of anxiety about having my tricks and techniques judged by random strangers; kind of a waking version of the naked in high school dream.
Every time I see people engaged in public sex it's always crude and garish, with sloppy groping and jaws looking as if they're trying to detach from the joint to wholly engorge the other person. I would have been mortified, as a young man, to let myself be so publicly vulnerable and oblivious to my own image. But then a soft-eyed woman with warm hands and a round belly pulled me into a booth in a disco and taught me how stupid it is to care. Sex is about you and me, she said with her mouth and hips and hands. It's not about how your sexual exploits make you seem to other people, it's about what you share with the person you're with at the time. Being impulsive is, among other things, a recognition that you don't have to apologize for who you are; it's the strength to be curious about what following through on those native impulses and seeing what kinds of adventures will come out of it. It's something I would never have understood without the sex of a woman.
Then there's the matter of anatomy. In my last post, some people seemed to object to my use of the phrase "mucus flaps" to describe the labia. It's a blunt phrase, I confess, but no less accurate or pejorative than the word "pussy," "beaver," or "nonny." What it lacks in round-edged kid-friendly vagueness, it makes up for in absurdity. I suppose it’s the "mucus" part which is most offensive, but I don't see how this is a pejorative at all. As I've written elsewhere, one of the surest indicators of how attracted I am to a woman is whether or not I start fantasizing about tasting her vaginal fluids. How many men haven't walked around the day after sex with the secret scent of vagina on their fingers, chin, or penis? To some the phrase "mucus flaps" might induce revolt or socio-sexual indignation. To me it induces hunger, lust. Mmmmmucus.
If sex is an action that requires honesty and shameless communication with your partner, than our bodily excretions during sex are the physical embodiment of all those embarrassing psychological ticks we harbor. There's nothing I like better than to have sex with a woman on her period. Our culture teaches us to fear vaginal odor (it smells like fish, don't you know?) and uterine sloughing (dude, there's blood everywhere!). I've never smelled a fish in a vagina (and I've lapped vaginosis), nor have I ever gotten squeamish about seeing blood and mucus during period sex. As a friend of mine put it, there's a beautiful fecundity to a vagina on its period. It's the scent of earth, and fertility, and the body calling out for sex. I've never felt fingers claw at my hair and back with the same urgency or need as when having sex with a woman on her period.
But for all the contraptions, acrobatics, geometry, and craven animal-sex of the most ambitious lovers I've ever had, the best sex I ever had remains the tamest. Laying in bed, holding her face between my hands, feeling every last ridge and flexing ripple of her mucus tunnel (is that any worse than "love canal?"), kissing softly, slowly lapping her saliva into my mouth, looking into her dilated pupils. I'd give you back every other woman I've ever had sex with, a hundred times over, for 12 hours of that straight, boring, vanilla sex. Because I don't give a shit about technique at the end of the day. Lovers aren't like cleaning ladies, who you hire and fire based on skill, proficiency, or recommendation. They're people you communicate with, someone that you have something to say to in a language that only your body can articulate. I never would have known that so immediately without the impulsive, fearless, and shamelessly fecund love of a woman.
Previous Posts:
Sex Machine: Why Women Suck in Bed
Date Night: All By Myself on a Saturday Night
Sex Machine: Spank My Ass
Love Machine: Infidelity or How Long Can You Go Without Cheating?
Date Night: The 45-Minute Walkout
Date Night Redux: H's Version of Our Night Out
Celebrity Confession: Who is Lauren Cohan and Why is She Hitting on Me?
Sex Machine: My First Muff Dive
Crying in Public: Remember the Cheerleaders
Sex Machine: Masturbating Upside Down
Date Night: Two Women in One Night
Hooksexup Confessions: Rate My Penis Size
Crying In Public: The Sichuan Night Train
Love machine: How I Date On The Internet
Sex Machine: Rate My Blowjobs
Crying in Public: My Cubicle