Standing On A Chair

Telling it like I see it…

On Blow Jobs

I hate giving blow jobs.  There.  I said it.  So I just won’t anymore.  Well, part of the reason for that is I don’t currently have a boyfriend.  But even if I had one, I still wouldn’t do it.  Don’t get me wrong.  There were times in my life when fellatio was intimate and love-fueled, erotic and necessary.  But I can count those experiences on one hand. 

I was first introduced to the practice in San Francisco at the age of twenty-one.  After a night full of drinking Grasshoppers and smoking marijuana, my current lover complained:

 “You never suck my dick.” 

 “Gross!” I said.  “Why would I want to do that?” 

 “Because it feels good,” he explained. 

 “I don’t know how.”

 So he showed me.  And I threw up lime-green all over his stomach.

 We never saw each other again after that.

 In relaying this happening to my roommate (we’ll call her Cathy), she had her own story to tell.  Seems she had a date with this “very hot” guy who drove her to a lookout point with a view of San Francisco Bay.  It was really romantic, Cathy said, until he turned off the engine, scooted the seat back, unzipped his pants and said, “Gimme a blow job, honey.”  Whereupon she gently cradled him in her palm and blew on it.  Cathy said he laughed so hard he lost his erection and drove her straight home. 

 They never saw each other again after that.

 So Cathy and I decided it was important in life to give good blow jobs.  The way things were going, we figured it was an absolutely necessary skill to have in order to hold onto a man.  And off we went on our separate quests to face this new challenge.

 Boyfriends and husbands came and went, and with all that practice I got pretty good.  Apparently too good.  Until finally, involved in yet another union, I got so fed up with the “Please baby…oooh baby baby,” I told him (we’ll call him Harold):

 “No more, damn it Harold.  My jaw is all wobbly.  My lips are numb.  I can’t even find my tongue.”

 “But baby!”

 “But baby my ass, Harold.  I should be getting paid for all the head I’m giving you.  From now on I’m charging a hundred bucks a pop, and if you take too long, I’m tacking on another twenty-five per minute!”

 “That would make you a prostitute!” he wailed.

 “And I want it all in cash!  Up front!”

 Harold and I kind of slowly petered out after that. 

 The sad truth is I discovered that men, when asked whether they prefer intercourse or fellatio, they’ll go for the big “F” every time.  So I say, don’t even get them started!  And if you must do it, for God’s sake don’t be good at it.  Because if you are good at it, you are doomed.

 Remember, this is my take on the thing.  Just sayin’…

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September 21, 2010 - Posted by | Sexuality | , , ,

4 Comments »

  1. Ok you told me this was safe for me to read. I read it and after the initial shock I am still alive! LOL! Love the line where you say “Harold and I kind of slowly petered out after that”. Petered seems like a pun in the context you are writing in! =)

    Comment by farrahtp | September 21, 2010 | Reply

  2. “But baby my ass, Harold.”

    It sounds to me like Harold wasn’t really in the relating part of the relationship.

    Comment by Virtual Sinner | September 22, 2010 | Reply

  3. “Whereupon she gently cradled him in the palm of her hand and blew on it. “…………OMG I’m laughing so hard I’m crying. That’s priceless! I’m loving your blog……just sayin’

    Comment by Misty | October 9, 2010 | Reply


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