‘Most beds aren’t as intimate as people think they are.’
– Malcolm Bradbury, The History Man

‘I have to taste you…’

Jesus, is there anything hotter? They’re just words, but words that burrow under my skin and make me melt into a flowing mess that cannot support my weight…oh yes, I love oral, although it has taken me a while to realise that.

For an act that involves so much physical closeness, sex doesn’t have to be that intimate. It’s possible to just fuck someone – strangers, mistakes, when angry – and it not have any of the closeness that I associate with true intimacy. It can still be fucking hot…but it’s just not that intimate.

For me, oral crosses that line. For it to be any good, I have to be able to relax and not feel conspicuous or self-conscious, and that does necessitate a certain level of intimacy. I’ve been amusing myself while writing this, comparing my connection between oral and intimacy with Vivian from Pretty Woman’s statement that she doesn’t kiss on the mouth as its too personal. Clearly it’s not the same as I’m not trying to prevent intimacy, but I do think that there some things that can be enjoyed automatically, without needing this connection, and oral isn’t one of them.

Good kisses, hard fucking…they are overwhelming on their own but with oral, it’s too easy to be distracted. If I’m feeling at all uncomfortable, there isn’t enough contact to hold my focus and prevent all of my insecurities from drowning me. I’m lying, naked and exposed, with nothing to do but fret! I can’t help but fear that he’s not enjoying it and, as I have no real active part to play, I end up feeling almost useless. And when it’s bad, it just feels ridiculous – he’s lapping around between my legs and I’m desperate for him to stop as I feel so awkward and I never let him get into his stride, pulling him back up after a token effort and pretending it never happened.

It’s also really quite obvious when he doesn’t enjoy giving head, when he’s doing it out of some sense of obligation or because he thinks that’ll guarantee I’ll go down on him. He’s not having fun so I feel awkward again…just don’t bother. Nobody wins! I find it very odd that it seems to have settled into the collective consciousness that you must give in order to receive. Yes, good sex is obviously about mutual give and take, but the exact quid pro quo with oral sex baffles me. I knew I loved sucking cock long before I’d realised how fucking awesome oral can be in return, so I didn’t do it for the return fee! Equally, I can’t imagine holding back just because someone doesn’t want to go down on me. It seems illogical when there is so much else that he could do for me instead if he’s not into oral. Why do these still need to go so hand in hand?

The other issue with oral sex is that, regardless of everything else, the act itself is staggeringly intimate. His face is literally *in* my cunt. That place that I can only see with a hand mirror and was brought up to believe that you shouldn’t show people. He will be able to see me like I have never seen myself, and see all of me, with no possibility of hiding. It’s no wonder that it can make me feel a bit exposed!

But it’s worth the risk of awkwardness because when oral is good, damn, is it good. It’s not necessarily about love or anything overly sentimental like that. But it is about comfort and trust…and intimacy, and when that’s there, everything else sort of falls into place. When I can lie back and not feel vulnerable, when the noises in my head are quiet and peaceful, when I can give myself over to him entirely…oh wow…

Soft and gentle kisses tantalise me with the slightest touches. Firmer strokes, the warm power of his lips. I arch into him, needing more. He knows and he teases me. I prop myself up to look down at him but my body betrays me, and I collapse under his touch. Swirls of his tongue around my clit shoot electricity all the way up through my body and I can’t keep still. Mouths and tongues are so malleable and, with careful changes in speed and pressure, he has complete control over me. It’s just indescribable. I don’t feel alone, I don’t feel isolated. I don’t feel anything except the heat that builds inside me as he expertly pushes me closer to the edge. I squeeze my thighs around him, I grip his hair, I squirm and writhe…

Because there’s nothing better. Oh, except maybe that look on his face after I’ve come back down to earth and once the intense waves of pleasure have settled enough to let me see him clearly again. Amazement? Satisfaction? Pride? Whatever it is, fucking hell, it gets my pulse racing all over again…