Tag Archives: jizz
Wallowing in spunk
Ten minutes after we’ve fucked, I cough. Inevitably, thick teaspoons of lukewarm spoodge dribble down into my knickers.
I.
Love.
This.
Feeling.
It is not for the physical sensation: a very similar effect is released when I’ve put my pants on after a bath. The wetness gushes slightly quicker, but as it seeps through my crotch the feelings I get are more annoyance than delight.
When it’s spunk, though? I am down with that: it’s like a souvenir. (more…)
Coming too quickly – what is ‘premature’ ejaculation anyway?
Some men fuck like I make coffee: cheaply, quickly, and without fear for what you’ll have to wipe up afterwards.
I like this very much.
Naturally no one would want it like that all the time. If every guy came within a few seconds, panting ‘sorry’ five seconds after he’d whispered a ‘shall we?’ then sex would hold about as much joy for me as a quick, relief-fuelled piss behind a tree when I’m out walking and caught short.
But sometimes it’s exactly what I’m after. I love intense fucks: ones where you spend ages fucking me into a frothing squirm of orgasmic desperation, then deliver one or two nice, deep thrusts that give me that relief, but occasionally I bloody love it when you don’t.
When you put your dick inside me and – seconds later – I feel it pulsing come even as your muscles tense with cringing embarrassment.
‘I’m sorry.’
‘That almost never happens.’
‘Give me a few minutes and we’ll go again.’
On the medicinal properties of spunk
I’m not sure I could drink a whole pint of it, but I do like spunk. It’s hot and salty and indicative of sexual satisfaction in a way that orange juice just isn’t. But that’s not to say it’s compulsory to swallow it – it’s not even one of your five a day.
A story’s been whizzing round the press in the last week that spunk ‘can cure morning sickness’, and I’m a bit frustrated at the way people are talking about it. The narrative goes like this:
A scientist (ooh, authoritative person) has discovered that spunk (tee hee) could help to cure morning sickness. The scientist (male – wonder why he’s recommending this, eh?) said that ingesting it could help relieve women (ooh, they’ll be pissed off about this, they bloody hate jizz, right?) from the symptoms of sickness during pregnancy.
Did you get that? Spunk for women is like medicine which, although disgusting, they have to swallow every now and again. Men across the world will rejoice at finally having an excuse to make their girlfriends ingest their lukewarm ejaculate.
With ‘eugghs’ and ‘blerghs’, women are being told that perhaps they’ll have to just – quite literally – suck it up, despite the fact that women bloody hate jizz, and will do anything in their power to avoid it. The naughty girls.
Read all about it
Metro reported it as the “‘cure’ that might be hard to swallow”
The Daily Mail, (I don’t want to link to it, because it’s a pathetic crusty bedsock of a rag, but I’m sure you can find it if you care hard enough) noted in their traditional nudge-nudge wink-wink manner, that ‘It is unknown whether or not Dr Gallup is caring for a pregnant wife himself.’ The implication being that he might have made it up, because his wife will naturally be repulsed by spunk and he is therefore so driven by a desire to splurt it down her aesophagus that he’d dedicate years of his life coming up with a plausible excuse to do so.
It’s not just the papers – people have been tweeting about this story with comments like ‘eugh, as if morning sickness wasn’t bad enough’ and ‘don’t let your man read it LOL’.
The truth about spunk
Are these articles true? Yes, Dr Gallup has made these claims. Are the claims in the research true? I don’t know. I haven’t been able to find detail that would suggest he isn’t presenting his results in good faith, although I’m now so used to a bombardment of media stories about science that turn out to be woefully poorly reported that I don’t want to endorse it. Ultimately, whether it’s true or not can be left to the science bloggers.
But I take exception not to the research itself, but to the attitudes which accompany the reporting of it. Namely that:
a) women don’t like eating jizz
b) although women don’t like eating jizz, they have to every now and again to keep their man happy
Both of these things are fictional and damaging.
I like jizz – I know other women who like jizz. It’s not for everyone, and in fact I’d compare it to Marmite – some people don’t want it anywhere near their mouths, but others think that a small amount spread thinly on toast is the best way to start the day. You’re not abnormal if you like it, and nor are you abnormal if you don’t. To pretend that all women think alike is to believe that we are a species of indistinguishable automatons.
Moreover, if you don’t like eating jizz, then the idea that you should fucking have to just to keep your partner happy is insane and ridiculous and should fuck off back to the 1950s.
No sex act is ever obligatory
Blow jobs are (in my opinion) a bloody lovely way to spend an idle moment, and a fucking awesome way to end a fuck. The taste of jizz gets me off, and the feeling of it hitting the back of my throat makes me want to cry a little bit at the sheer joy that can be had from sex. But for others, spunk is about as arousing – not to mention as appetising – as a bowl of tinned spam and custard.
Sometimes we do things because our partners want us to – because we know they’d be aroused or pleased. And some people might be able to swallow their mild distaste so that they can subsequently swallow a teaspoon of cockdroplets.
But if some people are as thoroughly repulsed by spunk as these cheeky ‘sexy science’ articles make out, then we’re fucking arseholes for smirking at the idea that they’d feel obliged to eat it.
Those who despise the taste of prickliquid should not be compelled to eat it, and no one should make them feel like they are. Not their partners, not the journalists, and certainly not some semi-literate arsehole on Twitter urging women to take one for the team.
It’s not medicine you have to swallow or a chore you have to perform to keep your man happy. It’s either a mutually enjoyable part of your sex life or it isn’t a part of your sex life at all.
Being unclean: I don’t shower after sex
One of the lies I tell most frequently is this one: “I’ll have a shower when I get home.” I almost definitely won’t shower after sex. If you’ve just nailed me into a sweaty, jizz-covered mess, the last thing I’ll want to do is rinse it off and go home smelling of shampoo and roses.
Why I won’t shower after sex
Why? Because fucking smells fucking good.
Not just the smell of your cock – the smell of your cock mixed with sweat and come. The smell of your come mixed with the scent of my own cunt. This smell, by the way, is utterly unique to every guy. Transport me back in time to any post-sex, jizz-dripping haze and I’d be able to tell you just from the smell exactly who I’d been shagging.
Smell is deeply evocative. The smell of a searing-hot day can take me back to memories of Florida, even though I haven’t been there since I was fifteen. Certain markets smell like Korea, tangerines smell like Christmas, there’s a particular washing powder that smells like my ex…
And your spunk drying on my sweaty, naked tits smells like decadence, happiness, and utter filth.
You smell fucking good
Apologies to the boys who might be upset to hear about this, but if you leave your clothes at my house I will do bad things with them.
If you leave your boxers I’ll hold them over my mouth, pinch my own nipples, and masturbate to the memories of burying my face in your crotch. If you are one of the rare few who I’ve let sleep in my bed, chances are I’ve slept on your side the next day, with knickers pulled halfway down so I can touch myself while breathing you in.
Is that creepy? Maybe. Probably not quite as creepy as the fact that I still have a t-shirt a boy left at my house many moons ago that no longer smells like his sex-sweat because I’ve sniffed it all out.
Certainly not as creepy as the fact that, while I’m writing this, I’m occasionally taking deep, long breaths of my right hand, because it smells like jizz and lube and one particular boy.
I hate washing that smell off my hands.
It’s probably not totally hygienic, but the idea of showering all that away – the sex sweat and the come and the lingering scent of fucking – seems like a total waste: I’d no more rush into the shower than I’d spit instead of swallow.