The Day I Was Unable to Do Oral

Or, There Goes My Last Chance at Straightness, Again.

Warning: TMI Alert & Rambling Awareness set for RED. Take the women, hide the children, run in circles, scream if you must.

So, I only bother putting that half-hearted "disclaimer" up just because this might get graphic. Shit, I've talked at length about sex, masturbation, made bestiality jokes about rabbits and cold twitchy noses (yeah try to sleep with that imagery). This might also being extremely hilarious and/or discomforting (read: awkwaaaaard) to folks that know me in real life so I'm giving you a fair chance.



Okay? Everyone gone? Alright let's talk dir-tay.

I do recall talking a bit about my first REAL relationship with a boy. I'm so not looking for those entries because that's not a particularly painful point at my life but I really do have to wonder just what I was doing. He was the first guy to show interest in me that I've ever shown a remote interest back. It's teenage dating y'all. How serious was I? You'll see in a minute.

I knew OF this guy as he'd gone to my middle school and he knew of me. It was the first day of a new school year and for some reason I talked to him in the stairwell. He was funny and found me funny (everyone does). That particular year was grievously stupid for me in terms of school years so it was nice to have someone who made me laugh, to ease the tension of dealing with punk ass teachers, whack ass principles, and jivin' motherfuckin' guidance counselors (who neither guided nor counseled).

So long story short, after a few initial mis-starts we started "dating". I put that in quotes because at a certain stage we were still just hanging out, more or less, now with the added benefit of making out and groping. Until he learned that I actually just lived down the street from him. Ohhh deeeear~

Understand that no matter how comfortable I am right now, I'm probably going to be figuring out where I lie on the sexual identity plane all my life. I can't. I've settled into being bisexual because it at least allows me to admit I like teh wimmens while the general assumption is that I like guys as well. And that's fine with me even if it's not particularly true. I just don't feel like I'm sexually attracted to guys. When I mentioned the fact that I had caught me a mans, my brother remarked that at least it wasn't a girl (and fuck him by the way). I felt, for a rushed few months, that this was a great chance for me to prove to my family that indeed I was not a freak of nature and perfectly capable of being "normal". Which, as it turned out, is WROOOONG.

This particular guy was a great ego boost since he made me feel wanted even if I felt dubious about his intentions the whole time, and turns out I was right anyway--that's actually a story for another day, and you will laugh hard at it. But the fact is, sure he just wanted to zoom zoom in the whatever--sex. It was a little unnerving but I have to admit I was kind of okay with it. Until I was expected to...

PERFORM.

It came up that maybe we should do this sex thing. No real pressure, I knew how to resist him and put him the fuck out of my house if need be. I'd like to consider myself well informed enough with sex, and at least he had the decency to have a condom on hand. And sure I was curious. But not on the first date homeboy.

So the first date went by and he had to evacuate my premises before I laid hurting on his ass. Second one too. About our 2.5 date (yes it was a half) the issue came up again and I near successfully pulled off a hand job. I felt great. I'd gotten a guy hard and almost made him orgasm! And penes (yeah I know the plural for penis, I'm a geek) feel funny! I say near successful because, no joke, my arm was hurting too much to fully bring him off. I still felt great though staring at his near-orgasm face. I rocked for about 5 minutes.

Later on in the course of our semi-date, I finally decided that maybe I wasn't quite ready for vaginal penetration. He was disappointed sure but naturally there are other ways to get off--like a boob job. Sadly, I have itty B-cups and I'm short so that didn't work out so well. Finally oral came up.

Now...get this. I can receive oral all day long and had nooo problem with that and I don't think I ever will. But me being expected to PERFORM made me realize that in order to make this equal--and I'm all for equality--I'd have to put a penis in my mouth.

Needless to say I was a bit...daunted. Uh, he was pretty large (thus my hand hurting). But after some debate I thought I'd give it the college try anyway and put my lips on it and...

...promptly gagged. What the fuck was that horrible salty taste?! AUUUGH!

I looked and realized my tongue had landed right on the so-called pre-cum aka Cowper's fluid aka God's Way of Telling Me To Repent. I wasn't expecting it to taste like 3 years of salt off someone's brow though. Ugh ugh ugh! I thought if I held my breath for a moment it'd take away the taste but auuuugh it didn't work. I didn't mind the taste of flesh so much as I did THAT. Auuugh! How do other girls (you know, THOSE girls I guess) and gay guys do it, I wondered in awe!

Apparently I did semi-good and much like the hand job couldn't quite bring him off (did I mention my mouth hurt?). He didn't much seem to mind providing oral for me though so it was all good. At least I tried!

It wasn't just the horrible "pearly fluids" that I hated though. It was...everything. The weight, the texture...the feeling of it sliding in and out and feeling like, of all things, a failure despite his insistence that I wasn't. We tried it a bunch of different ways--lying down, standing up, in the shower (hoping the water would take away that aauuuugh taste) and nothing seemed to work. It felt like my Baptist training was coming back and I was having a biblical freak out, even though I didn't mind his penis everywhere ELSE on me that much. I probably wouldn't have even minded it directly in my eye compared to sucking on it.

I was still disturbed, a little. A lot of times if I can envision myself doing something, I can do it fine--this works a lot with drawing and essay writing especially, but, a penis is neither a micron pen nor a pencil so no matter how much I saw myself enjoying giving him a blow job, in reality I just could not. I felt guilty! He could pleasure me just fine but I couldn't seem to return it and that was selfish of me wasn't it? What on earth was wrong with me?

So as it turns out, of course I'm not the only woman with this issue or even the only person. Some of us just can't tongue-lash our lovers like that. It might have even just been that particular penis, but in the end it came about that I just don't like to give oral. That relationship disintegrated anyway so maybe it's for the best that I couldn't so readily hand myself over to him completely. Perhaps one day I'll find that super special penis or even that awesome fountain of youth vagina, but for now it just makes a funny story.

The Great Masturbate Debate Continues

Say it in your Obama-voice. Say it! Omgomg.

So I told you about me & mom's little masturbation incident. Yeah it went over very well right? Riiight.

So I held off a couple of days calling her, mostly because I just couldn't get around to it, but also because I was going to let her stew in her own conservative guilt thoughts. I stewed in my own which mostly consisted of napping.

I finally called her because I got lonely & bored at meal time, and we ended up briefly talking the incident over. I finally explained to her that I was fucking kidding for frick's sake (I didn't say fucking) but also made it clear that what I do with my body AND MY MONEY is my business. Thus even in the event that I actually wanted to pay $60 dollars for a sex toy, I just hope--REQUIRE that she respects my decision. I mean, dad almost after 10 years got over it, why won't she?!

She agreed, begrudgingly, and normally that'd be the end of it--but, again, I can't let shit go. She said something that has bothered the hell out of me since Monday abouts. Apparently she told the incident to her co-workers--who I guess she likes this week, for now--and one of them remarked to her something along the lines that she raised me a lady and I wouldn't do anything like that to her.

Now...that's about half true. Yes mom did more or less raise me a lady, even though I thwarted her every attempt. And yes, I wouldn't ask my mother to buy me a sex toy (I did offer to buy her one though, but I'm rich). In fact, if you look at it like that it's completely true.

BUT

I get the feeling the gentleman was trying to imply that I wouldn't masturbate because I'm a lady. And even if that's not what he meant, let's not kid ourselves and say some people don't hold that outdated thinking. I'm pretty sure mama holds that sort of thinking true which I think is silly. It's all goddamned silly and that thinking sort of went out completely about 40, 50 years ago. Damnit why are we still so backwards. Ladies don't touch themselves and get to know their bodies, we just lay on the bed and hope the man trips so our purity can't be taken for another day or so. I just don't get it.

Also, that statement is true but it's not a...linear thing. It doesn't connect. Yes I guess I am a lady and no I wouldn't ask mommy to buy me a rabbit, but neither one is BECAUSE of the other. I wouldn't ask mommy to buy me a sex toy because frankly it'd be rather odd, she can't afford it and I can (barely), and it'd just be embarrassing to both of us in the end. As much as I want to have this conversation with her, I'm really not about to send her to the Hustler store to find me a purple bullet to match my tichel *blink*

Furthermore, also lady or not, fuck that, masturbation is good. For men & women. Stop being silly with your outdated thinking. Yes my vision is bad but I'm still blaming the television and genes (both my parents wear glasses & me and dad have the same prescription, somehow). Maybe my palms are a little itchy sometimes. But that doesn't mean touching your naughty bits is a bad thing, it's actually rather good for you.

And with that I think we've finally reached the bottom of this issue. And the moral of this story is, I like blasting family business in public a lot.

Masturbation: it's not a big deal...

...or is it?

So, my dear mama reminded me of why we can't talk about shit with each other. Earlier in the year I told you we tried to have the dreaded sex talk and it went...alright. For a minute she seemed okay talking to me about sex. For a MINUTE. Then I went back to school and she must have been so relieved that we didn't have to press the issue anymore. I guess.

So tonight I tried to talk about masturbation. And she FREAAAKED OOOOUT.

Now, I don't take much pleasure in making my mother cry over the phone. I wasn't even EXPECTING that. She can handle my jokes about masturbation, hell, she has quite a few toys of her own and it's sort of an open secret. She was even alright breaking her comfort zone to talk to me about sex if only briefly. But for some reason the subject of me touching my "naughty places" blew her miiind, maaaaan.

Let me explain the scenario and tell you why I don't really feel bad about it.

So we're talking on the phone, calling Danz a punk bitch and going generally well. Then she mentions going to Nashville's only Hustler Hollywood store outlet and how slammed the parking lot was with couples for Valentine's Day. It's around here that I make the joke of wanting a rabbit. She thinks I mean the animal, then Labbits, then finally she realizes I mean THOSE RABBITS. Ohhh nooo.

So she yells at me about it. I'm...taken aback. I didn't say anything about my own habits, just would she buy me a rabbit. Make note that I actually DO NOT want a rabbit vibe, I just used it as a generic term for a vibrator. I was completely joking about her buying me one but I didn't expect her to yell. Because I can't let shit go, I asked well what if I bought me own.

Well...yeah, that's about the time that I apparently upset her so much (because I "don't need anything like that") that she starts crying. Then sobbing. At this point I'm just blinking over the phone, flabbergasted. I had no idea why she was crying about it. Again, nothing about her or my own masturbation habits, just talking about apparatus. For some reason this is...distressing? I wasn't feeling it...

...But don't forget, I'm inexplicably pissed at the world this week, so I ask why it's okay for her to masturbate but not me. She doesn't give an answer. I press it gently as I can then she insists that I don't need anything like that.

Fine. No, it's true, I don't need a rabbit, or any "device" to masturbate with but my own hands and maybe the shower when I'm feeling fearless *shudder* _{oh god} But I still don't get it. I looked back over that "dreaded talk" and remembered that she was the one telling me to "save myself" for marriage, despite the fact that she didn't. She had me AND my brother out of wedlock so I suppose I'm supposed to get a "do as I say not as I do" vibe but I DON'T GO FOR THAT SHIT, and I've expressed this. Why is it so hard? I really don't get it. Masturbation's not a big deal to me. I don't think it should be to ANYONE. It used to be when I felt so guilty about it, to the point where I couldn't even enjoy an orgasm because I would freak out about not being "normal" (this is long after I went agnostic/atheist too) but seriously, who the hell am I hurting when I touch myself? It's natural and it makes you feel good.

I still don't get why she freaked out. Is it that her daughter might finally be interested in sex? (shock and horror) Is it the phallic nature of the rabbit vibe? (which is actually why I don't want one but I didn't tell her that *cough my fault*) What? I can't ask her any of this because our views on sex are so fundamentally different, and I wish they weren't. I want her to talk to me and it makes me sad that her bravery only comes in spurts. It's also silly.

I wouldn't call myself all that liberal on sex, but it seems that my mom holds such a strange, twisted "traditional" view on it that I'm honestly kind of confused on what I'm supposed to be doing. How can one acknowledge having multiple partners (not really poly) but still spin me some outdated shite on masturbation & sex? Seriously. Again I can't discuss any of this with her because, like this phone call, she will freak the hell out.

And this is why I really don't get in to it and just keep my views to myself. If she wants to do the "do as I say not as I do" thing, whatever. I try to be as honest and open as I can with my mom because she's like my best friend and she doesn't even have to hear about me having sex or masturbating--even I wouldn't go that far, to describe my habits to her. I just wish we could be more open about the possibilities that are so plainly there, ALL THE TIME, just not once every blue damn moon. Shit, living is damn difficult these days.

Onanism makes me light headed

Warning: TMI (too much information) alert is set for RED

Also, I am incredibly dizzy right now and I think it's one part dehydration and four more parts onanism. So if I make some extreme typos this is why...like, I'm literally falling off the edge of my bed here.

"Oh dear," you may say as you scramble back. But I grab your wrist, somewhat disjointedly, and before I sink to the ground completely I begin to give you this lecture.

First off, drink plenty of water during the day, it's good for you. Also, consider eating. Please don't take my example of strong preference to sleep over, you know, nourishment. Really.

Second, don't worry, I'm not going to talk about my habits. That would be awkward since we don't really know each other well enough. I wouldn't be able to look you in the eye at the next meeting or in the hallway. I just felt like doing a masturbation post.

I've always thought people should talk openly about masturbation. I mean I wish people were more open about sex in general, maybe we wouldn't have the issues we have now. I would address the age old double standard that women aren't as free to talk about anything pertaining to their bodies as men are, but I live in a rather conservative area *coughthesouthcoughcough* and neither men nor women are willing to come out about what we all know they do in the dark.

I still think back to the Female Orgasm seminar we had here and how reluctant the women were to talk about orgasms. In a room full of women, we still all sat there and squirmed and looked at our friends and were generally embarrassed. Even though I didn't speak up either and can't say much, I did think it was kinda sad. What I think is a rather empowering and sensual act is usually reduced to "eeeeeew!"

I remember when I was in about the 7th grade or so, I found a collection of Mark Twain's work. In it was the hilarious work Some Thoughts on the Science of Onanism. I chuckled to myself first and foremost because I was probably the only one in that room that knew what "onanism" meant, and secondly because I was about 12 or 13, the last year where it's okay to giggle about sex. I was afraid to read it though--I was familiar with Mark Twain's work but something about it still stunned me a little. Was this a jokey, cynical work or was he actually serious? Did I want to know? This was before I'd actually discovered masturbation myself so I queasily put the work down...

Not too long later curiosity got the best of me and I read it anyway and naturally it was more of the former. And as I slowly head for the floor face first, I leave you with my favorite bit.

The signs of excessive indulgence in this destructive pastime
are easily detectable. They are these: a disposition to eat, to
drink, to smoke, to meet together convivially, to laugh, to joke
and tell indelicate stories--and mainly, a yearning to paint
pictures. The results of the habit are: loss of memory, loss of
virility, loss of cheerfulness and loss of progeny.

Of all the various kinds of sexual intercourse, this has the
least to recommend it. As an amusement, it is too fleeting; as an
occupation, it is too wearing; as a public exhibition, there is no
money in it. It is unsuited to the drawing room, and in the most
cultured society it has long been banished from the social board.
It has at last, in our day of progress and improvement, been
degraded to brotherhood with flatulence. Among the best bred,
these two arts are now indulged in only private--though by consent
of the whole company, when only males are present, it is still
permissible, in good society, to remove the embargo on the
fundamental sigh.

My illustrious predecessor has taught you that all forms of
the "social evil" are bad. I would teach you that some of these
forms are more to be avoided than others. So, in concluding, I
say, "If you must gamble your lives sexually, don't play a lone
hand too much." When you feel a revolutionary uprising in your
system, get your Vendome Column down some other way--don't jerk it
down.