Long post on my “relationship” with cunnilingus. 1870 words
I’ve had mixed relationships with oral activities. I love giving and receiving with the right person, and often find particular images and words depicting both quite hot. However, over the years there have been distinct patterns and caveats around these activities as well. Smell, taste, power dynamics and communication (or lack of it) around specifics of cunnilingus and fellatio are all at the heart of a “push me/pull me” attitude toward oral sex which has recurred throughout my adult life.
Since my adolescence occurred at a time when there were considerable negative attitudes toward female smells, (taste was not discussed) it would have been great to have had someone as enthusiastic as GregariousGene around at the time. In fact it would have been great to have had someone with Gene’s attitude around at a number of points in my life, including more recent times. And I don’t just mean his frank appreciation of an “end of the day pussy”, I also mean his willingness to discuss cunnilingus.
As a teenager I missed my one chance to have sex with someone I cared deeply about because I was too shy to say I was hot and sweaty and felt like I needed a wash. In fact I couldn’t even excuse myself to go to the bathroom, I was that shy. I’m sure he was totally mystified by my behaviour, especially since I’d made a move on him earlier in the piece, but he remained a dear friend until he died a few years later. We were able to talk about that day a few months beforehand, however he was too sick for anything other than some gentle kissing and fondling.
While my first husband, Bob and I discovered sex (including oral sex) together, there were serious issues with that relationship. His desire for novelty (and mine for convention) and his controlling behavior took us along pathways that I was not yet ready to go, and left me with a sense of inferiority which still raises its ugly head from time to time. Bob was not especially eager to engage in cunnilingus, although he was happy for me to perform on him. My gag reflex made this difficult and I disliked the taste of his semen (drinking lots of beer does not help with this), so we settled on him coming on my chest, an activity that left me feeling used but at least limited his persistent put downs. Neither of us knew (or eventually cared) enough to make the best of our opportunities, sex became very routine and we ended up in a spiral of infidelity, lack of communication and extreme disinterest.
Therefore it was a revelation when a man I eventually had a couple of brief encounters with, went down on me one afternoon with skill and enthusiasm, and I experienced a blended orgasm for the first time. Russell came into my life shortly after that and my enthusiasm for sex including oral sex increased substantially. But Russell was a married man, damaged by his war time experiences and although he was always talking about separation it didn’t eventuate in the months we were seeing each other (which in retrospect was a blessing).
It took an experience with a woman, a neighbour, to allow me put the lessons I had learned from my two lovers into practice. My threesome with Jenny and her partner allowed me to engage in cunnilingus and fingering a woman for the first time. Jenny’s mature bare flesh, her succulent labia and her acceptance of sex with a woman were educational if a little scary for me at the time. I marvelled at her relaxed attitude, was surprised at how she differed in taste and perfume to me, but was also pleased that I could give another woman pleasure.
Fast forward a few years to my second husband Paolo. The first time I went down on Paolo I felt incredibly wicked and seductive as it was his first time ever. I also felt intensely desired as he and another bloke had vied with each other to ask me on a date. He was an instant convert to fellatio and would at the time have willingly gone down on me in turn – except I had my period, and I wouldn’t let him. I’m sure we made up for it the following week, but I have no memory of that unfortunately.
Russell and Ryan were both enthusiastic sex partners, and they both had an edge of dominance and an appreciation of sluttiness which brushed aside any of my inhibitions around cunnilingus. With both these men I discovered that I loved to be held down and “given a good seeing to” as Ryan sometimes put it. Paolo, bless him, loved sex, loved oral sex but didn’t have a dominant bone in his body. This coupled with the spiritual work we were both engaging in at the time eventually limited my desire for sex, and the sex itself became briefer. The one time I asked him to hold me down and fuck me he was devastated afterwards as he felt he had raped me.
During this time I became drawn to Shunga without knowing why. The images in (expensive, hard to get now) books turned me on immensely, and I loved the sense of overwhelmed pleasure in The Dream of the Fisherman’s Wife. I also love that she is clutching the beast as well. At the time neither of us understood it, but I now know what it was that was that drew me to these images and what was lacking in our own dynamic. When we were both studying in different towns our communication began to seriously break down, as neither of us had access to a phone (you remember those things – I don’t mean mobiles). I believed (wrongly) he was having an affair with a woman at work. Therefore believing I was irrelevant, I ultimately succumbed to my desire for the much younger, more dangerous but ultimately more sexually compatible man I found in Ryan.
During my early relationship with Ryan nothing was off the table. I had never had so much enthusiastic, excellent sex in my life – including extensive cunnilingus and fellatio, in so many settings. I loved Ryan’s cock and worshipped it with enthusiasm. But there was a large age difference between us, and while youth gave him stamina and curiosity, over the four years we were together, menopause gradually took away my pleasure in sex, cunnilingus in particular. I knew that my smell and taste were changing, and while he said it didn’t faze him, I became increasingly self conscious. There was little or no readily available information around at the time that could have helped me sort out my burgeoning negativity towards my own cunt. Not that that would have mattered, no amount of information would have delayed the inevitable and he eventually opted for a woman closer to his own age (karma will out!). In the denouement I discovered that he’d been secretly writing stories about our relationship, casting me in the role of an old, sexually predatory vampire who was sucking him dry. And perhaps he was right.
Sometime afterwards I turned to the deceptive safety of a relationship with a man closer to my own age. At first Ric and I seemed very compatible and his enthusiasm for cunnilingus was a delight in our early years. But then his self esteem plummeted after he lost his job, and I achieved academic tenure.
He gradually he began to urge me to shave, to wash my cunt immediately before sex, and sometimes immediately after, refusing to go down on me unless I was recently and thoroughly cleaned. He washed himself immediately afterwards too, and was uncomfortable lying in a bed with body fluids on the sheets. Made conscious of my smell, especially now that I was around professional colleagues and male students, I began washing and changing my underwear several times throughout the day at work. I also began to defer sex to the weekends, so I “didn’t stink”. The old pattern of PIV sex dominated the equation.
Our communication became minimal. Any attempt to discuss issues was met with stonewalling and I found myself back in the prison of my first marriage, sometimes going for days without saying more than a few basic words. In turn I began to find fault with the things he did around the house, as they often seemed lacking in care and effort. But, ridiculously, I was still committed to the idea of “the relationship”, working longer and longer hours trying to pay off our home, thinking it would make a difference, when I now realise that I was simply contributing to both my own and Ric’s own vulnerabilities and addictions. It’s taken some time to acknowledge that.
My visit to John Oh in Sydney in mid 2017 was an opportunity to try to lay some of these ghosts to rest. By then I had realised I could control my taste and smell. I waxed for the first time in my life, but, having learned about the importance of diet, I also avoided coffee and alcohol for a week beforehand. I washed before we met and then I washed briefly again after I went to the toilet. Then I relaxed into a session of satisfying oral sex, fingering and fucking, asking afterwards about my taste, and being gently reassured…
Reading the entries in F4TF yesterday allowed me to read about cunnilingus from a male point of view. I greatly appreciated the frankness of all the writers, and especially as I’ve already said, Gene’s article. I wonder if any of my partners and I ever spoke so directly – I cannot recall. I find it odd that writing this very public blog is enabling me to express personal realisations about my own behaviors in ways I have rarely been able to do before, even within the parameters of a relationship. I can see the need for me to move beyond previous patterns of defensiveness and self-consciousness in any future engagements, or to at least articulate my vulnerabilities since they are now more visible to me.
Last night I engaged in a long session with some of my favorite toys. At one point I removed the dildo and placed it in my mouth, reminding myself what it was like to engage in fellatio. It smelled and tasted fine, it smelled and tasted intimately, of me. I hadn’t washed all day, but I’d certainly given myself a “good seeing to”. I don’t know if I will get a chance to engage in cunnilingus or fellatio any time soon (if at all), but if the opportunity arises I hope I’ll remember what I’ve thought about and written here. Some patterns need to be disrupted.
*** The image on today’s post is of a pair of my knickers. For some strange reason these knickers are particular favorites of a knicker thief (of the feline variety). They appear in strange places. And sometimes I catch her rolling herself in them. She obviously loves the smell. But, amusing though it is, some patterns need to be disrupted.