Heresy though it is – I don’t really like it.
I don’t actively dislike it, and if you want me to sit on your face I will no doubt have quite a pleasant time. Ultimately what you’re doing is tonguing my clit, which is better than a kick in the teeth. But there’s something missing – your cock.
It sounds a bit dull, but my actual fetish (in the strictest sense of ‘can’t properly get off without it’) is your cock. I want it to be hard, and in me – I don’t care where. My mouth, my ass, my cunt – plunge it into one of my armpits and hump till you’re spent for all I care. But for me to have a good time it has to be hard and more or less in me.
And so getting head is usually a bit frustrating. It’s pleasant, it ticks most of the boxes and stimulates the nerve endings that matter, but there’s just something missing. In a contest between two otherwise equal guys, one of whom was offering to tongue me until I saw stars, and the other who was offering to fuck my mouth and then push me out of a window, I’d go for the latter, no question.
Getting head just doesn’t, as a rule, do it for me.
The bit that contradicts that bit I’ve just written
I feel like this would fall a bit flat if I didn’t give you some sort of detail – it’s quite a dull opinion, after all – so I’ll admit that there was one guy who gave head that made me drool. OK, not just drool – writhe and moan and whimper and squirm and sigh and come.
I had no idea why – at the time I couldn’t work out what the hell it was that made his mouth so much more worth having there than anyone else’s. Having had time to reflect on it I’d hazard that part of the reason was that he made a point of it. It wasn’t a cursory thing. He wasn’t bending down and licking as a short prelude to sex, a ‘do I have to do this?’ reciprocation of the head I’d given him – he lay between my legs, he got comfy, and most importantly (I think) he settled the fuck down.
That definitely made me relax and enjoy it more, but it still didn’t really explain why what he was doing felt so different. I enjoyed it partly because I knew he was in it for the long haul, but partly because I was genuinely enjoying the sensation.
I’m so ineloquent on this subject. I’m stumped. I have no idea what a boy can do with his mouth that makes a girl go crazy – I have no idea what, specifically, he was doing that made me so happy. But that’s OK – I don’t know everything. Luckily, there’s always the option to draft in the experts.
If you’ve never emailed an ex to say “hey, you did this thing that was fucking spectacular and I have no idea why or how, would you mind writing about it so I can publish it on (oh by the way I write) a sex blog?” then you definitely should. It wields spectacular results.
Ladies and gents, I give you Number 10:
I give my best head when I’m really turned on, and it’s largely intuitive/instinctual at that point. In order to stay at that maximum-hardness level of turned on for a decent length of time I need some sort of stimulation to my cock. Sixty-nine-ing or her having a hand free are obviously good (although if I’m doing it properly she won’t be coherent enough to stay focused on what she’s doing) but if I want her to be able to just relax and enjoy it I find lying face down with my weight on my cock suffices.
Here’s my theory on why it works, though I could be wrong. I thought before that it had something to do with equivalence of nerve endings – that you can see the connection between a guy’s cock and a girl’s clit, and imagine that one is the other – I don’t think that was quite right. I now think it’s more to do with being able to tap into the rhythm and intensity drives associated with being fully erect and stimulated. I’d guess what I’m doing with my tongue is following the same tempo as my cock would be, if it were there.
So there you go. But don’t take my word for it – or indeed his. Everyone’s different, which is what makes the world such a fascinating and disgusting and horrifying and excellent place. You might do it differently and have your ladyfriend squirming with the unrestrained delight of a kid in a Christmas-themed sweetshop. You might be a girl who can’t come without at least 45 minutes of good, solid, selfless head.
I just happen to be one of those who, barring extremely specific circumstances, can probably take it or leave it. But you know what? That’s OK.
It means that if you like it we can do it and have fun, and if you don’t like it you can sit back and recline while I take your dick right to the back of my throat, safe in the knowledge that you won’t have to reciprocate with anything more than a pat on the ass and a ‘good girl’ when I’m done.
Tits don’t make ‘honk honk’ noises when you squeeze them. You don’t hang towels off a rock-hard cock. That noise someone’s cunt makes that sounds like a fart? Happens so often that if it was a joke you’d accuse the writer of plagiarism.
The most important thing in any guy is a good sense of humour, the most important thing in one of my guys is that he leaves that sense of humour at the bedroom door. I’m not saying you shouldn’t joke around, or be playful, but what I am saying – no, shouting loudly from the rooftops into the deaf ears of a broken society – is that sex is not funny.
I’ve rarely known a great shag to stop halfway through and giggle at the noises. This doesn’t mean that nothing funny has ever happened – loads of funny stuff happens during sex, which is why stand-ups get so much wear out of shagging stories. But if you’re in the mood and the moment, things that sound funny when your mate jokes about them become things that further fuel your lust.
That slurping sound is hilarious when done as an embellishment of a blow job story in the pub, but when you’re getting an actual blow job suddenly it becomes hot. It demonstrates from the girl a detachment and a willingness and a desperate need to have your cock in her mouth that, for most guys, prevents the chuckle-synapse from firing.
And don’t get me started on looks. People look weird naked – they look different. Their bodies are all unique and interesting and have different bits, and shapes, and hair in different places. While these might be funny on Youtube, they’re not funny in my bedroom. They’re exciting, sexy, new things to play with and learn about, new things to press my face into and smell and lick and have wrapped around me.
I will be less willing to bury my face in your ass-crack if you’ve just done a comedy striptease to hide your sexual self-doubt.
To make things good you both have to be confident. And that means not just being comfortable naked with the lights on, but comfortable knowing that if you give him your special move he’s not going to guffaw when it makes a squirting noise.
If you watch comedy sex on TV it can be funny. Jokes about sex can be funny. But I think the point I’m making is that if you’re in the right mindset – if you’re horny and hot and desperate to come, things suddenly seem very serious. Just as I’d never chuckle at Schindler’s List, I’d find it impossible to laugh with someone’s cock inside me.
Which is a shame, because apparently it does something quite clever to the pelvic floor muscles.
The first shag you have with someone is, technically, rubbish.
You’re both excited, and happy that you’ve managed to ensnare someone hot, but despite your enthusiasm for that first shag you will probably fuck it up. Of course you will – you have almost no idea what they actually like.
Your ideas about their preferences will be based on casual conversations that you’ve had when (let’s be honest) you’re quite pissed. You know from pub chat that they like blow jobs/spanking/being pissed on/that bit where you stick your fingers in their ass just before they come/etc. But you haven’t a sodding clue about the nuanced things that give them that kick-in-the-gut drooling lust that’s so crucial in a spectacular fuck.
The first time you see them naked might be a disappointment, and you’ll probably be a disappointment to them. People are prettier with clothes on – we use clothes to carefully hide the bits we’re less happy with, to enhance our curves and cover our scars.
New people, be they male or female, will make noises that you’re not used to, say things that you aren’t familiar or comfortable with or – even worse – conduct the whole thing in a stony silence that leaves you wondering if they’d rather be chewing broken glass.
They might have problems getting hard or wet. They might be less energetic than you’re used to, or they might try to twist you into acrobatic positions that you’re unable to do because you don’t have the same yoga background as their ex.
How awful. Why on earth do people do it?
Well, because it’s spectacularly fun, that’s why. Despite the technical failings the overall experience is usually enjoyable. And more importantly, it is usually worth putting in the groundwork to establish something that could be spectacular.
Unless your life consists of a string of meaningless, nameless fucks, there’ll almost certainly be some stuff in that first time shag that you can work with.
OK, so he didn’t really get that bit quite how you like it, and he asked you to stop blowing him because you were ‘overenthusiastic’, but he probably also did some stuff that blew your mind, or at the very least made you go ‘oooh’. And that’s the point.
I’m extremely good in bed with some of my boys. With others I’m less good, and we’re still stumbling through a few things that need to be refined, improved upon or scrapped altogether. We’re working on an early iteration of the brilliant sex that we’ll eventually have when we’ve had some more goes at it.
With guys I’m with for the first time, I am an utter amateur. I can give them all the special moves I like but without any frame of reference it’s always going to be a bit poor. Especially because in those very early stages people are reluctant to give feedback that could be construed as criticism. So we stumble awkwardly through the jungle of sexual adventure until we… erm… discover the hidden temple of ‘how to do things properly’.
Laboured metaphor, but you get the gist.
What I’m saying is that you’re rubbish in bed. And so am I. We’re awful, awkward and inept, and anyone watching would shake their heads sadly at our mutual incompetence. But rather than lament the fact that the first time didn’t make the earth move, let’s accept that that’s always the case, and stick a date in the diary for a bit more practise.
When I was at school boys would occasionally, very occasionally, ask me out. Let’s say there were around 10 times this happened. On 8 out of those 10 occasions, they were joking.
Of course we grown-ups can tut and sigh and shake our heads at the cruelty of children, but what’s much better is to recognise what we can learn from it. And like all the best lessons in life, this one could help you get laid. Get your notebooks out, face front and keep your eyes on the fucking blackboard…
Understanding insecurity gives you a way into someone’s pants, because you can push the buttons that make them feel good.
It’s been years since a boy jokingly asked me out, and life’s a bit different now. I’m no longer fat and fourteen and in love with any boy who was willing to put his hand up my skirt during maths lessons, but I’m still a child really. That fourteen year old is just a bit bigger, and is gobsmacked that she has a job, a flat, and the legal right to drink herself insensible whilst livetweeting the Apprentice.
So despite my external grown-up-ness, the memory of these joke-proposals stays with me, as I imagine it stays with any girl who’s ever been shy, covered in acne, or good at science. Now that we’re grown-ups, no matter how hot we’ve become or how confident we are, there’s always a little something that makes us wonder if you’re joking when you ask.
A casual, throwaway, “Fancy a shag?” opens up the mental fight between confidence: “Say yes, say yes, he’s beautiful.” and the insecurity still nurtured by that 14 year old: “He’s joking. Say no. Then run away and cry behind the gym.”
If you ask this question of a lady and you don’t look serious, my money’s on the fact that you’ll probably get a no.
But God, GOD. In the situations where you really want it, and tell me you really want it, it’ll be the hardest thing I ever do to turn you down. There is nothing in this life more attractive than a man who is panting for you. Dripping for you. So desperate to get within 20 feet of you that he’d happily fuck a letterbox if you shouted words of encouragement.
And so, gents. When you’re looking at a lovely lady, and you think she might be out of your league, remember that one day she was probably fat and fourteen. She still wakes up most mornings and winces at her reflection in a mirror. She might worry that she’s got cellulite, or that her tits are slightly uneven, that her hands look old or her eyebrows unplucked or her feet too big for her awkward, stumbling body.
Approaching women is hard, of course. But if you can be the one who strides over with confidence, and says: “You know what? You’re fucking spectacular” then you win. You win so hard your friends will wonder what your secret is. You’ve just made someone’s day, and you could be the one screwing her twelve shades of happy by the time that day is done.
Writing about sex involves very careful word selection. I probably use some words that kill your mood sometimes, and likewise there are some words that make me dry up and cringe into a ball of hateful misery. Here are some of them, feel free to add to the list.
You might think it is a sexualised form of a common word: I think it’s a spelling error. You say ‘tomato’, I say ‘I will probably be less attracted to you if you spell things wrong’.
Good lord no. For so many many reasons, of which here are a few:
- ‘Pussies’ belong to porn stars and gangster hos, so experience implies that a pussy is something for a guy to fuck, not something for a girl to get genuine eye-rolling, bedsheet-tearing pleasure from.
- Say it out loud: “wet pussy”. Eugh. “wet pussy” It doesn’t sound like a part of a person, but something you might step in.
- Mrs Fucking Slocombe
Any word for ‘tits’ that ends in -ies
I have never had ‘titties’ or ‘boobies’. I have tits. These words are only acceptable during comedy, or if you are a member of the Bloodhound Gang.
When I leave the doctor’s surgery my vagina becomes a cunt. My breasts become tits. Likewise although my doctor has a penis, you have a cock. Dick. Prick. By using medical terms I start expecting a medical examination, so if you call it a ‘penis’ I’m less likely to suck it than to give it an ultrasound.
Cutesy names for your cock
You don’t fuck someone raw with ‘Barry Junior’. And I don’t want to swallow ‘Mr Winkie’. Come on, lads – it’s ‘it’, not ‘he’.
I have no idea why any guy ever does this, unless he has been with a girl who is a bit afraid of his looming, punishing hardon. Men: your cock is the most powerful, brilliant thing about you; don’t turn it into a fucking Disney character.