My ass is bruised by a smeared outline of hand print.
I’m not dating anyone until I move to England.
That is a fact.
I still get so turned on every time I’m on the highway; that’s when I think of you.
I hate it when a guy asks me to “Tell me what you want.” while we’re hooking up. That’s a dumb fucking question. For future reference, men of the world, I only want one thing, and that is your tongue on my clitoris. If I say anything else in response to this question, it’s because I’m taken aback by the idea that you think I could want anything except that. Wanting anything else has actually not occurred to me until the moment of your asking, and then I’m like, well, fuck, I’m probably supposed to say something like, I don’t know, “I want your huge cock in my wet pussy” or something. But I don’t want to say that because 1. It doesn’t sound like me, and 2. That’s not what I want. I just want you to eat me out, and I want you to do it for a long time with varying speeds, pressures, and tongue patterns until I tell you “Don’t stop,” which is your cue that I’m going to come soon, and at this point you should maintain a constant speed, pressure, and tongue pattern until I orgasm. You’ll be able to tell when this happens, trust me. Then, if you know what you’re doing (or if you just didn’t realize that all of that muscle contracting and hair grabbing and shouting I was doing was indicative of my orgasm), you will take a 5-10 second break and return to eating me out, because multiple orgasms are easily achieved and, like, wow, really awesome.
Orgasms are awesome in general because they make you feel like a beautiful woman, and being eaten out is also like that because guys who are good at it usually really appreciate vaginas. A lot of my girlfriends are like, “You know, I just don’t like it. I just don’t! It’s weird, you know?” and I’m like, “No, I don’t know, actually.” I feel sorry for these friends of mine because I mean, yeah, it is hard to trust a person to put their tongue in and around and in and around your very most private of parts, and I bet that’s why they “don’t like it.” Being eaten out puts you in a really vulnerable position. Here are some of the concerns I might have at any given time before/during the experience:
What if I smell funny? Or what if I smell normal and he just doesn’t like that smell?
What if I taste weird? Or what if I taste normal and he just doesn’t like that taste?
What if the grooming pattern I employ is not the grooming pattern he prefers?
What if he’s just doing this because, after centuries of stifling women’s rights and opinions, he feels obligated to?
My type tends to be the kind of guy who calls himself a feminist, so I often encounter the guy who just eats girls out because he feels obligated to make up for years of female oppression. You can tell this type of guy because he generally just flicks his tongue around in the same way until you lose sensation. This is annoying. I’m like, you know, man, if you’re just going to half-ass it, can I just give you a beejay and we’ll call it a night? Like, I appreciate the gesture, but it’s obviously just a gesture, and now not only am I not going to get off, but I also feel like a charity case.
There’s this stigma about eating girls out, I think. Sometimes I’ll be eating dinner with some of my douchebag gay guy friends and they’ll be like, “Ew, vaginas are gross and slimy!” It really grinds my gears. Like, I know we have a shared interest in the peen, OK, but that doesn’t mean you can insult my genitalia! That just makes getting eaten out even more stressful because sometimes my douchebag straight guy friends tell me that my genitalia is gross and slimy, too. The only time it hasn’t been stressful for me is when I was in a loving relationship, but it took a long time for it to get to that point and then when it finally did, it was really not a loving relationship anymore.
Sorry for all the heteronormativity, btw. I only have experience being eaten out by men and feeling anxiety about being eaten out by men. Being eaten out by a woman is probably way different. I have tried many times to imagine myself being eaten out by a woman, but I can’t do it. I want to be able to because I’m progressive and stuff, but I just can’t. I’ve also tried to imagine myself eating a girl out because I like to be good at things and I bet I’d be good at it, but I can’t do that, either.
Anyway, I guess I should include some more substantial qualitative analysis. Um, let’s see. Being eaten out feels like your partner is scratching an itch you didn’t realize you had until he or she caressed it in delicate circles with his or her glorious tongue. Then it feels way better than that. I don’t think being eaten out can really be painful. It would be pretty difficult for teeth to be involved, I think. Though I guess there could be a sucking issue? I have experienced that a couple of times, I guess. My opinion on the matter of sucking is that it shouldn’t happen at all, but maybe some girls like that. Guys do it fairly often, but to me it feels like you’re going to rip my clit off. Not good. Ouch.
So, yeah. If you’re going to eat me out, don’t suck.
A-fuckin-men. Luckily my recent weeks’ worth of plays have been satisfactory.
And it’s gone on like this, for 3 years, I guess
And we’re drunk all the time and our lives are a mess
And the deathless love we swore to protect with our bodies
Is stumbling across its bleak ending
But none of the rage in our eyes
Seems to finish it off where it lies
I got sugar in the fuel lines
Both of us do
Yeah, the fights and the lies that we both love to tell
Fail to send our love to its reward down in hell
I got pudding for a backbone
But so do you
I got you
You’ve got whatever’s left in me to get
Our conversations are like minefields
No one’s found a safe way through one yet
And when the cherries white with blossoms
Be ready and be brave
And remember what we had here
When there was something left to save
I hope the fences we mended
Fall down beneath their own weight
And I hope we hang on past the last exit
I hope it’s already too late
And I hope when you think of me years down the line
You can’t find one good thing to say
And I’d hope that if I found the strength to walk out
You’d stay the hell out of my way
Tried to find the creeping sense of dread with temporal things
Most of the time I guess I felt all right
We went down to New Orleans
One weekend in the spring
Looked hard for what we’d lost
It was painful to admit it but we couldn’t find a thing
Found that bench we’d sat together on a thousand years ago
When I felt such love for you I thought my heart was gonna pop
I wanted you
To love me like you used to do
But I cannot run
And I can’t hide
From the wreck we’ve made of our house
From the mess inside
St. Joseph’s baby aspirin
Bartles & Jaymes
Or your memory
I ducked behind the drapes when I saw the moon begin to rise
Gathered in my loose ends, switched off the light
And down there in the dark I could see the real truth about me
As clear as day, lord, if I make it through tonight
Then I will mend my ways
And walk the straight path to the end of my days
You reached into your handbag
Pulled out a micro-cassette recorder
Started quoting Tolstoy into the machine
I had no idea what you meant
I guess I’m supposed to figure things out
Or maybe it’s supposed to be self-evident
But I’ve gone feral
And I don’t speak the language anymore
We’re headed deep into the forest
I’ve got the pedal to the floor
The engine shudders like a dying man
When you reach out to grab my hand
You can bring out all your weapons
You can’t make me go to war
When I mouth my silent curses at you
I can see my breath
I hope the stars don’t even come out tonight
I hope we both freeze to death
Look at the person I’ve turned into
Tell me, how do you like him now?
No standards of any kind to break
No creeds to disavow
Dug up a fifth of Hood River gin
That stuff tastes like medicine
But I’ll take it
On the couch in the living room all day long
Music on the television playing our song
And I’m in the mood
The mood for you
Turn the volume up real high
All of that money, look at it fly
And you smoking
Like a chimney
Shadows crawled across the living room’s length
I held onto you with a desperate strength
With everything in me
And I handed you a drink of the lovely little thing
On which our survival depends
People say friends don’t destroy one another
What do they know about friends?
Thunderclouds forming, cream white moon
Everything’s going to be okay soon
Maybe the next day
Carried you up the stairs that night
All of this could be yours if the price is right
I heard cars headed down to oblivion
Up on the expressway
Your drunken kisses, as light as the air
Maybe everything that falls down eventually rises
Our house sinking into disrepair
Ah, but look at this showroom filled with fabulous prizes
I’ve been listening to The Mountain Goats for hours, typing out the lyrics [obviously not all the great ones, just the most relatable lines at this present time] that John Darnielle has penned down that I wish so desperately that I had written first. This will be the one thing I’ll always keep. It’ll be awhile before I can listen to them again, but I’ll always remember every emotion and memory that crosses as I listen to The Mountain Goats. He wrote our story.
Sound is a wave like a wave on the ocean
Moon plays the ocean like a violin
Pushing and pulling from shore to shore
Biggest melody you never heard before