30 Days of Oral Sex

It was one of those shows about taboo relationships that gave us the idea. The phrase “90 days of oral sex” came up and Mr. Tungsten said “I don’t know if we could handle 90 days.”

“Yeah,” I agreed, “maybe we could do 30.”

It was awhile later and we’d finished dinner, although the TV was still on. “So do you want to try it?”

“What?”

“The thirty days.”

“Oh, okay, yeah, sure.” This was a boon. Whenever we are saddled with the schedule of a power couple (alas, without the pay) our love life takes a backseat. The prospect of guaranteed sex was exciting.

When not whacking one another we’re egalitarian souls and so we kept to a schedule of one-night-him, one-night-me for about a week or so. Some intercourse snuck in there as well. It wasn’t, we reasoned, like we’d agreed to have only oral sex. But I was actually not super-keen on this in the beginning. It seemed like repeated orgasms for him would make my job more difficult. Little did I know.

In hindsight, some of the unintended consequences of our little sexperiment should have been clear. I guess it was plain old hubris that had me thinking we couldn’t get substantially better at giving head in the course of a few weeks. But we did. Not only did both of us improve our technique through good old practice, but we got better at communicating our needs. One night he asked me to stimulate him without actual insertion. It was like angels with trumpets blowing — or maybe I was the angel blowing the trumpet. In any case, he was so uninhibited and came so fast-and-hard that my eyebrows shot up in the manner of a surprised person because I was, in fact, quite surprised.

We also got better at relaxing, at getting out of our heads, at thinking “yeah we can take a break from work or writing, this is no big deal.”  Also, since we were together so often that pressure of  “We haven’t had sex in so long! This had better be good! I need to get what I want tonight or else I’m going to explode” ebbed away.

After the first week, we realized that one-night-him, one-night-me, one-night-off was an easier schedule to maintain. It would leave room for things like deadlines and menstruation. Besides, we reasoned, it wasn’t like we’d agreed to have thirty consecutive days.

That being said I’d like to offer a partial list of our shenanigans thus far. You know, for posterity. I’ve decided to write it à la Sei Shonagon because that chick was dope.

with Glen Miller on in the background
in the wake of a blissful massage

in a 69, wearing my sheath dress from Paris as I pinned his head and arms
after drinks and candlelight on the balcony with the dog at our feet

on the living room sofa, cupping his balls with just the right pressure
in near-total silence

using Squignax Prime
when I was all clean and soft just after my shower

late at night, after a kinky art film
once everything was squared away for our trip

on a wide, soft hotel bed, my stockings tying his hands, my panties gagging him
at the end of a long day, when I really, really needed to get off.

without actually taking him inside my mouth — lips and tongue only
without an actual orgasm on my part. Sometimes it happens.

teasingly switching up my rhythm and avoiding his nipples

À propos, did you know the Chinese make condoms for oral sex? Latex condoms? That cannot taste good. I don’t even want peen in my mouth that’s been wearing one, for cry-yi.

$T2eC16JHJF0FF,DyI9elBRYRGIFWN!~~60_35

Featured image via Esquire.com

Inline image from Ebay.

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