The Cunnilingus Concern

Back in the “Bisexual and Monoromantic” post, I mentioned how the concept of performing oral sex on a woman used to greatly disturb me, due to having heard way too many stories about cunnilingus in which it was a disgusting and horrific experience. I also mentioned how I’ve gotten better since then, and actually went down on CJ in one of our final physical encounters.

Then I returned to the topic at hand, talking about man-on-man sex, and other things of that nature. After I’d finished writing the piece and was checking through it for obvious errors, I made the ubiquitous mental note to return to the topic of the performance of cunnilingus, as it felt like a topic that needed more than just a partial mention within a paragraph in a post devoted to something else entirely.

Which brings us to this post here.

Early Thoughts on Eating Pussy

While sitting there reading letters that people had written to Penthouse magazine, I wanted to eat pussy. Of course I wanted to eat pussy. All these guys who wrote in loved doing it. If they loved it, chances are, I was going to love it.

Every now and then I’d read about a guy that “stuck [his] tongue between her sugar walls, deep into her pussy”. Sugar walls? Pussy tastes sweet? Good to know. I like sweet things. Once I found that willing woman, this was gonna be great!

Plus, the women . . . the women talked about in these letters seemed to love having it done to them. The women who wrote letters definitely loved having it done to them. The lesbians who wrote in not only loved having it done, they loved doing it. Both men and women loved eating pussy? Everybody loved to eat pussy! Damn, did it ever sound like I was missing out on something.

I wanted to put my head between a girl’s bare legs and fuck her with my tongue. I wanted to lick and suck on her clit while I finger-fucked her. I wanted to make her scream like a banshee.

And, yes, I also wanted her to suck my cock and let me fuck her. I wanted to buttfuck her. I wanted to do pretty much everything that was considered standard in letters to Penthouse. Because that was what ‘sex’ was. And I wanted sex.

Horror Stories Told By Disgusting People

A lot of the guys I went to school with had older brothers. Some of whom talked about their sexual activities to little bro once they started getting some action. Little bro then passed information on to his friends at school.

And pussy, apparently, was gross. It was fine to put your dick in. It was okay to put your fingers in. But you didn’t want to get your nose anywhere near it. And heaven forbid you should touch it with your tongue.

Pussy – so the playground reports went – stank. It smelled like tuna fish. The sage advice about oral sex passed down from older brother to younger brother to friend from school was this: Get a girlfriend. Get her to suck your dick. If she wouldn’t suck your dick unless you ate her pussy, then get a new girlfriend.

I wasn’t really sure that these reports were to be believed. I mean, they contradicted what was said in letters to Penthouse, and – sexually speaking – letters to Penthouse was the bible. But then I started to notice that some of the funny little cartoons in Penthouse would make jokes based on the ‘tuna’ thing. So maybe that part, at least, was true. Which didn’t bode well, for reasons I’ll get to later on.

Once I got into high school, there was this guy called Lowheel (not his real name) who spent a weekend going down on his girlfriend . . . during her period. He returned to school and proceeded to regale us all with tales of eating bloody pussy. Over the course of the week the story progressed from simply licking blood to ending up with tiny chunks of meat in his teeth. The next week he stopped telling the graphic stories about what he’d done, instead choosing to talk about how he couldn’t wait for her next period. Because while eating her pussy under normal circumstances was okay, it was nothing like getting to eat her out and taste blood at the same time. And so on. He was like this for months. There were people ready to beat the crap out of him because he just wouldn’t shut up about it, and it was really incredibly disgusting.

[I know that there are people who are into menstrual play, and I mean them no disrespect whatsoever. If you guys get off on going down on menstruating women, then more power to you. But I have to assume that you don’t go on at length about it – in extremely graphic detail – to people who keep telling you to shut the fuck up because you’re making them ill. And Lowheel wouldn’t talk about anything else for what seemed like forever.]

Dad knew this guy I’ll refer to as ol’ Carbuncle Carl (not his real name). Carbuncle Carl was one of a whole parade of losers that passed through the grand misfortune that was Dad’s social life in the early nineties.

One day he stopped by, only to discover that Dad was out at the moment. So, he just hung around, waiting for him to return. And to pass the time, he decided that he’d tell me some ‘true sex’ stories about him and his wife. Starting with a tale of him eating her out the night before.

The first fact I learned about the wife of Carbuncle Carl that day was that her pussy stank. Stank so much that he couldn’t get near it under normal conditions. So, – as his story went – he did what he always did when she wanted to get eaten out. He poured ketchup in her to cut the smell. Then he licked and sucked on her, and ate the ketchup out of her.

(On a different occasion, he was talking about how frustrating it was that his wife kept getting yeast infections. Carbuncle Carl was absolute moron.)

My friend Emerson (not his real name) once told me a story about a friend of his whose girlfriend was particularly ripe between the legs. They got drunk at a party once, and she persuaded him to eat her out. So he pulled her panties off, stuck his head underneath her skirt, and put his tongue in her. Then the smell and taste hit him. Which caused him to vomit into her. At which point he rolled off of her, pretending to just be passed out drunk, leaving her sitting there with a pussy full of puke.

These stories? This was the input on cunnilingus that I was getting. This was the information that people were filling my head with, long before I ever had an actual naked flesh and blood vagina in front of me. These stories – and the people telling them – were poisoning my brain.

Hello, I’m Zeitgeist the Clown, and I’m a Picky Eater

I’m a picky eater. Possibly the pickiest eater in the history of picky eaters. Listen to any routine the late great George Carlin did that included the term ‘fussy eater’ – yes, that’s fussy with an ‘f’ – he’s talking about me.

Actually (and here come the semantics again) I’ve recently come to the conclusion that I’m really only a moderately picky eater. But this normal version of picky eating is bolstered to insane levels by my obsessive compulsive disorder, making it effectively the pickiest eating ever.

I order my cheeseburgers completely plain. No sauce, no condiments, no vegetables. Just the meat, the cheese, and the bun. The only thing salvageable from a salad is the crouton, and that’s only if it hasn’t touched the dressing. Gravy is the work of the devil. Scrambled eggs and omelets are fine, but non-integrated egg-whites and yolks make me gag. The universe of things that I don’t/won’t/can’t eat is so massive that – no exaggeration – it would probably easier to list the limited number of things that I will eat.

If it’s not on my brain’s ‘approved foods’ list then even just the thought of it makes me a little queasy. Being confronted with it often times makes me gag. And there are some things that do far worse than just make me simply gag. I’ve seen my dad finish making himself a sandwich and then proceed to lick the mayonnaise knife clean. This has, on more than one occasion, sent me running to the bathroom to vomit. Just by having witnessed it.

Keeping all of this in mind . . .

The Picky Eater vs. Cunnilingus

I can’t stand tuna fish. Tuna fish is gross. Disgusting. What’s worse is that when ever Mom made tuna fish (for herself and Dad – I refused to touch the stuff) she’d pretty much mix it with equal parts mayonnaise, which increased it’s inedibility by an infinite degree. Tuna fish is therefore inexorably linked in my brain with what is perhaps the most disgusting and vomit-inducing foodstuff in the world.

And pussy traditionally (or at least stereotypically) smells like what again? Yeah. Hmm. That’s a problem.

Allergies have robbed me of my sense of smell. But if there’s a particularly strong smell lingering around, then instead of manifesting in my nose as a smell, it will sometimes show up in the back of my throat as a flavor. (That’s how I used to experience the usually-olfactory shenanigans of the skunks that were living underneath the house for awhile.) So even if tuna-scented pussy doesn’t smell like tuna to me, it may well taste that way.

I’d been assured by people that most girls are far more hygienic than the stereotypes that produce ‘the smell’. But even so . . . even if it’s not a flavor that I’ve already encountered elsewhere and placed on the, “Oh, for the Love of God, never put this in your mouth again!” list, there was bound to be some kind of flavor. Probably some new flavor that I’d never encountered before. And as my obsessive compulsive brain always told me, “Where flavor is concerned, ‘new’ is bad.”

Going Down On CJ

When CJ and I first began our physical relationship, I explained to her that if she really, really wanted me to go down on her, I’d give it a try, but that I’d heard so many horror stories about the act, that the concept of eating pussy just kind of turned me completely off. (And I’m sure that I sounded like a complete idiot while explaining this.)

She said that she didn’t mind. And I seemed to be able to make her cum with my fingertips, so I figured that everything was cool. Over the course of our on-again/off-again (and then off-again/off-again) relationship, she never asked for it. Never even really brought it up.

But I slowly started changing my opinion on putting my mouth between her legs. The – oh, what should we call it? – the ‘pussy block’ in my head was starting to crumble. I didn’t necessarily want to start going down on women. I did want to go down on CJ.

Our physical encounters were few and far between by this point, but there were several in a row where I’d determined that this would be the time that I’d go down on her. But after years of horror stories, I just couldn’t bring myself to do it. Each new encounter ended with her leaving, completely uneaten. I hadn’t ever discussed my oral intentions with her. Maybe deep down I knew that there was a greater than average chance that I’d chicken out.

But finally, in what turned out to be our second to last get-together, there was a point at which I got off of the bed, and slid her sideways, then got crawled up between her legs. I still hadn’t discussed this with her, so I think I took her by surprise when I spread her lips open and started licking her clit.

My oral mission was more to get her off than it was to bring her any kind of sustained pleasure, which was probably the wrong tactic to take, but hey – it was my first time, and I didn’t know what I was doing. I’d read bits and pieces of advice, and knew not to lick her clit like I’d been trained by Mr. Miyagi. (“Paint the fence, Daniel-san. Up, down, up, down.”)

I used my tongue to write the alphabet on her fleshy little input pad. First the alphabet, then numbers. Shapes. The letters I could remember from the Greek alphabet that weren’t already represented in the one I’d already licked onto her. Then she came, and breathily urged me to stop.

In the days and weeks that followed, I was doing some reading online about giving a woman oral, and was amazed by how many different little tasks that ‘standard’ oral sex is composed of. And how much of it I skipped over by going directly to licking the clit. I couldn’t wait for my next opportunity.

The next time she came over – the last time she would come over – I slid down between her legs, and she stopped me, telling me that I didn’t have to do that. I told her that it was okay, that I wanted to. Then she repeated herself, with a frighteningly adamant tone. “No, you don’t have to do that.” There was something about the way she said it that made me afraid that if I tried, she’d hit me.

The Fucked Up Immune System vs. Cunnilingus

Now I want to find someone else to go down on. The problem with that being that I still don’t really know what I’m doing. I need some trial and error type practice to develop some kind of skill and routine. But this is the era of the STD. And with my immune system being compromised due to Chronic Fatigue Immune Dysfunction Syndrome, I really don’t want to just dive in and start licking a naked and natural juicy pussy.

I’m also not sure about operating a dental dam. Everyone says that it’s easy to hold it in place while you lick a woman through it, but ‘everyone’s’ hands don’t spasm and cause them to drop and/or let go of things at inopportune moments. It would be my luck that I’d be getting really into it, my hand would twitch (letting go of the sheet of latex), and my tongue would suddenly sink into her.

So: Will I Or Won’t I?

At the moment, it’s something of a moot point, given that there’s no female clamoring to be my girlfriend, play partner, or even anonymous sex encounter. But I think I’m almost back to the starting point again. Back to where I want to eat pussy.

I’ll still sometimes get flashes of images my brain has put together based on the old horror stories, but I try my best to ignore them. What I focus on is this: I still want to make a woman cum – to scream like a banshee. I want to do this with my fingers and tongue. I need to make sure I do it safely, but I want to do it.

Just one more item on the long list of sexual acts that I’m desperate to experience, I guess.