2/14/11

Can I Lick Your Dick Into Liking Me?

When I was younger, I was severely deluded about love. That being said, I have not become substantially less deluded about love in the ripe old age of twenty two. I have, however, realized a few things.

Love is not found in a blow job. By the standards of my loose generation, I was a late bloomer. In eighth grade, while my friends were all giving h- jays on the bus to the Baltimore Aquarium, I was pretending to sleep so the-love-of-my-life at the time wouldn’t expect me to receive his tongue in my mouth. Truthfully, I had severe anxiety about French kissing, an anxiety so real and fervent that it caused me to sneak downstairs in the middle of the night, long after my allowed computer time hours were over, and Google websites with kissing instructions and how-tos. Nothing was ever very helpful: swirl your tongue in clockwise and then counter clockwise directions. Bite on his lip to wow him with a kiss he’ll never forget.
Well maybe, random magazine article. But maybe perfecting our form and learning just the right trick, just the right angle to make him cum on command isn’t what makes us unforgettable in a man’s eyes. Maybe we should be instructing our young ones, the future generation of potential male servicing women to fall in love, rather than to fall into bed with guys to practice our tricks. Maybe the best trick is to give unto the man you want yourself, your entire an unguarded self and let that be what he loves about you. Not that you are adventurous enough to toss his salad.

I did not stop at Googling “French kissing”, if you were wondering. I also Googled “the art of the blow job”, “which position he’ll like best”, and even, if memory serves, “how to 69 in such a way that your butthole isn’t directly enveloping his nose”. A reverse 69 will land a man’s asshole on your nose, regardless of careful positioning. It is not recommended, especially with the unwashed asshole that rested on mine.

I recently ended a relationship with the only man I’ve ever truly loved. I’m positive that he will not be the last man that I ever loved, but at this moment in time, the blow is crushing. To think I’ll never feel his sweaty hand in my hand, or that I’ll never awkwardly try to plow through his lips with my tongue when he’s aiming for a peck, gives me chills. Gives me sick, violent tremors in my whole body. The memories are already slipping away so quickly that I can barely type them fast enough. He taught me a lesson, though. It was never about the skill I possessed with my tongue; he would have loved us together regardless. Learning how to love someone with whatever your body has to offer, that’s what is special.

I will always love you in some way. I commemorate the good aspects of our love here today. Thanks for loving me through and through and teaching me that, after all, I have to learn to love my self.

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