A couple of years back I was doing it naked styles with the youngest young dude I had ever done it with. I was a bit nervous about the age difference at first, but then I thought what the hell! Why not? I still forget sometimes that I’m 29-years-old today and not a ripe 21-year-old gal ready to take on the world and drink booze in the states and gamble in Las Vegas. When I get carded at the liquor store I’m like Obviously you’re asking me for I.D. I’m barely legal enough to drink this can of cider. Oh wait I’m turning thirty in a month. Shit. But, I digress. Back to the early twenties’ casanova penis. Although he was dozens of months my junior, he seemed to know his way around my body better than I did. This guy was a sexual prodigy of sorts. He was teaching me moves. I thought I knew where and what and when my vulva was, but apparently I had no idea.
This sprightly lad could get me to orgasm or not orgasm at whatever pace his little heart desired. If he wanted to take his sweet ass time and tease my clit a bit and make the climax that much more powerful, he did. He would slow down the entire process. Sometimes I’d wonder if he was lost and needed a map. It would be a second before I came, and then he’d turn another corner and start all over again. Was he clueless or a master? I quickly found out it was the latter. Receiving oral from him was the best version of Groundhog Day I had ever attended. Also, if I was late for work and we literally only had 60 seconds to get the job done he could also rapidly accelerate my female ejaculation. Every trip he took downtown was me rising to heaven.
BUT, he never offered his cunnilingus services. I mean, he did the very first time we had sex, which I’m not surprised by. New dudes regularly want to impress you by kneeling at the labia lip altar and bowing down to the mighty clitoris and worshiping the exquisitely perfect vagina. If they’re a dedicated feminist ally this is even more true. Do I like eating pussy? the hypothetical feminist man would respond, incredulously, to my non-question of You must like eating pussy to fuck me. FYI. No negotiations on that one. It’s a deal break if you don’t. Are we clear?He’d grin large, revealing his sparkling progressive pearly whites, then run his fingers through his voluminous left winged hair, and make direct eye contact equally between my two pupils. I LOVE eating pussy. It’s my favourite thing to do in the world. I could lick your clit all day, he’d say, almost trying too hard to convince me that he would maintain this enthusiasm beyond going down on me twice and after his texts have become less frequent and more Tuesdays at 3 am.
My can’t-rent-a-car-yet sir shared the same opinion as this fictional feminist straight man (side note: was that guy based on Justin Trudeau? I mean he’s not NOT based on Justin Trudeau. Canada’s leader must adore making women come. Have you SEEN how he dresses? I digress again…). When I initially inquired about the young dude’s interest level in sucking a peach, he was all for it. What are you, crazy? Yes. I do that and yes I like it. He sounded confident in his clam-digging beliefs so I stripped down back at my place and let him order the all-you-can-eat buffet. As stated above, his talents were evident in this area. In every area of intercourse really. But there was a difference in how he approached penetration and how he approached me going down on him. In that he was much more enthusiastic about these two activities transpiring.
But when it came to him going down on me, he reacted to it like it was a chore. Post-the inaugural time we slept together, he didn’t volunteer to get me off. It had become something I needed to request in order to happen and if I didn’t, my orgasm would never show. His ejaculation was not optional though. Male pleasure in hetereosexual relationships is never optional. It’s required. It’s the main speech of the sexist conference. Him inserting his rod into her vag is the opener and the headliner of the bro show. Occasionally, a blowjob can host and introduce the insertion. It begins the night alongside its sidekicks ball one and ball two.
In the eyes of the patriarchy the male and the female should both be focused on making sure that the man and only the man is having fun. The woman is present to guarantee that the guy is never not enjoying himself. If he isn’t, what’s the point in any of this? These two genders are trying to make a baby for god’s sake, and even if they’re not, they should pretend that they are. A woman is supposed to motivate herself to get that semen to arrive at the event on time and in her vagina. The female orgasm isn’t needed for the game to be played and it’s not real anyway. Women don’t come. All that moaning and screaming and oh my god-ing are empty non-sensical noises. That liquid she squirts is exactly what you think it is: urine.
But I sarcastically digress. Back to the adventures of the twenty-something punk. Cunnilingus was a chore that I would frequently have to ask him to do like an annoyed mom who had a long day at work and didn’t want a fight. He would regularly oblige my needs and nod in response and toss out a casual Yeah, okay. Sure as if he was doing me a favour. He didn’t feel like clocking in his community hours right now. He wasn’t into charity work but he’s a nice guy so yes. He would give me the pleasure that I just gave to him. The pleasure he happily took without thinking twice about returning it. But, then, sometimes he would say I’m too tired and I’d accept his fatigue as a legit reason to not proceed. Obviously I did. Consent is always at the top of my mind. I never want to pressure any human being into any situation. Especially not a sexual one.
However, this became more the norm than the exception. Eventually, he was always tired or didn’t feel like it or fell asleep before there was an opportunity for it to happen. The last several times we had sex, the topic wasn’t even brought to the table. I had officially given up and because I had strong feelings for him I continued inviting him over and opening my door when he knocked and smooching his lips at bars and responding to his texts when he was lonely and wanted company and desired that sweet orgasm for only himself. Until I had enough and realized what was happening. I saw the unbalance clearly. We were not equal in his eyes. He might not have even been conscious of this but it was true. I was his sexual support system.
I recall the final curtain of our copulation run. I remember him finishing, pulling out, disposing of the condom, dipping back into bed and spooning me as if we were something more than what he kept telling me we were (which was nothing). He then got comfortable, closed his eyes and began his transition to a deep slumber. But I interrupted his rem cycle by loudly inquiring, So, do you plan to get me off? This jolted him out of his privileged state. Huh? His male entitlement replied. Do you plan to get me off? Or are you just going to sleep? Again? You didn’t go down on me last time either. I was irritated and he could hear it in my voice and see it in my crossed arms and feel it in my lack of touching his egotistical torso. Uh…do you want me to? was his lacklustre attempt at escaping having to put any energy or effort or thought into sex that didn’t circle back to his dick. Yeah. That’s why I’m asking. That’s why I always ask. He looked shocked when I pointed out the unequal system he had developed for us. Oh. I’m sorry. We then sat in silence until I turned my back and passed out, more annoyed than before.
We never had sex again. These days I refuse to continue sleeping with any man who does not consistently offer, volunteer, suggest, request or beg to get me off. And that isn’t exclusive to cunnilingus. If getting me off just means rubbing my clit with a hand then it’s rubbing my clit with a hand. For other women it might mean vaginal penetration or it might mean anal play or anal penetration or using a dildo. Or it might mean licking a nipple while rubbing the clit with a hand and using the other hand to hold a dildo. Bottom line is: they have to WANT to pleasure me. It’s not an option. It IS necessary. My orgasm is just as important as his. Both of us experiencing pleasure should be the main speech at the conference. The headliners and the openers.
Pleasure might not result in an orgasm but it will result in feeling good and appreciated and respected and loved. Sex is a pleasure exchange and if one party isn’t receiving it, what’s the point? I’m not a robot designed to suck dick. I’m not a creature who exists purely to give my boyfriend a happy. I’m not an inflatable doll or a flesh light or a hole in the wall that men can stick their penises in until their balls empty out. I’m a person with feelings and desires and wants and needs and a working, functioning body that likes being touched. If any dude expects me to touch them and then evaporate, I have no interest in seeing them naked ever. No matter how much of a prodigy they are. Heaven doesn’t come at the cost of my self-worth. I can get my Groundhog Day elsewhere. Like from my vibrator. Who can slow it down or speed it up too.
