Newsgroup: it.sesso.discussioni
Titolo: SEXFILES: BlowJob!!!

Ciao a tutti
riordinando l'HD ho trovato questo articolo, prelevato tempo fa (parecchio
prima dell'affaire Lewinsky e dell'ossessione del pompino) da un di quei
siti tipo WebGrrls o come diavolo si scrive. Visto che l'interesse nei
confronti della nobile arte del pompino e' molto alto anche in questo ng, ve
lo propongo, scusandomi con chi non legge l'inglese.
Ciao :-))
Wilfred
--------------------------------------------
My friend and I made up a game once to pass the time. It's a little
intellectual and moral exercise we call "The White Room." Say you're in a
small white cubicle with no windows and only a mattress on the floor. Being
realistic, how much money would it take to give a blowjob to {insert
repulsive celebrity}? The ground rules were: 1) You don't have to talk to
them, nor they to you (that lowered Donald Trump's price considerably), 2)
Always remember you can give the money to charity, and 3) there is an
interesting anecdote factor that shouldn't be discounted. (Imagine telling
friends and family about the time you had Henry Kissinger's member in your
mouth!) Needless to say, this game can provide hours of brainteasers and is
a good icebreaker at any party.
***
I suck cocks. I am a woman who likes to put penises in her mouth, and then
suck said penises for all they're worth.
Why is it that the term cocksucker is considered so vile as to be hurled as
the most slanderous insult imaginable to only the most cretinous of jerks? I
say, let's take back the word and appropriately apply the label to those of
us who wear it as a proud badge of honor.
I was an adolescent girl somewhere in the middle of the junior high social
food chain - something with a spine but not cuddly enough to make it as a
plush toy. Okay-looking, but not even junior varsity cheerleader material in
the blond and pastel world of South Florida aesthetics. Though slim with a
good figure, my nose was a bit too bulbous and my hair a bit too curly for
anyone to mistake me for Charlie's or anyone's angel. I didn't mind not
having a boyfriend really. I had no interest in being on the receiving end
of some high-fivin' quarterback - vaginally or conversationally. I was
saving myself (vaginally and spiritually) for my first true love.
But everyone wants to be wanted, especially insecure and bored teenage
girls. I quickly found my niche - and my calling - in the wonderful world of
blowjobs. Blowjobs were a small planet in our teenage deb sexual universe,
something to be
dimly aware of out past Neptune and far from the solar brilliance of IT. In
our eighth-grade baseball lexicon, cocksucking was called "fourth base",
beyond the pale of the deflowering homerun. Fellatio was an exotic ritual
performed by French courtesans or the hopelessly skanky.
Imagine the impression one could make on a fourteen year-old boy when you
pulled fellatio out of your bag of tricks. Because of misplaced delicacy,
Southern Baptist conditioning, or insipid squeamishness, I found myself
nearly alone in my field. I was Tiger un-Beat-able. It wasn't long before I
developed a sense of craftsmanship, a pride in my craft not unlike an
artisan blowing glass in Old Williamsburg. I wasn't blowing glass, but my
work too required delicacy and precision. The only things transparent though
were my newfound friends.
Fellatio well-suited my needs and my madcap slut persona. Like a prostitute,
I never kissed my Styx- and Journey-lovin' paramours. That would have been
too intimate, and frankly, too gross. Cocksucking entailed little
face-to-face contact, almost no pain or small talk, no fear of disease, and
bestowed upon me a certain status as a "hot babe." (If only in my own eyes,
which is, after all, where it counts.) I oftened referred to myself as the
"lathe of heaven."
Naturally, in college the field was more crowded. A virgin in tramp's
clothing, I honed my craft to include a special, shall we say
melodramatically hearty rendition of the swallow. Deglutition is still
no-woman's land for many a young maid. You'd think the legions of bulimic
sophomores would welcome the upchuck support (not to mention the much-needed
protein), but most still drew the line. (Girls: the gag reflex is your
friend. It brings up saliva and is handy for replenishing moisture for the
duration.)
As adult sexual politics became more apparent, so too did my predilection
for cock-suckage. It was one of the few times a girl could feel as though
she were making an impression. Usually my friends and I just felt, well,
used. Sucking cock, you felt important. No longer acted upon, above or below
the waist, now you were the actor, the doer instead of the "do-ee," or
worse, the "done-to." For once, you had the upperhand. Fellatio put you in
the driver's seat.
Which brings me to my cocksucking pet peeves. As a proud practitioner, I do
not like "backseat drivers." Of course, some well-intentioned directions,
some laudatory guidance is appreciated. But barking out speeds and
constantly demanding an ever-changing increment of pressure is downright
obnoxious. I especially resented having my head steered. As an artiste, I
don't like being some saliva-producing middleman between a guy's dick and
his hand. Gentle hints tempered with praise is not only more encouraging,
it's only polite. My other peeve is, shall we say, an absence of obdurance.
If I've got your penis in my mouth, goddamn it, it better get hard. I've got
feelings too you know, and your little internal struggles with your God or
some goofy whore/Madonna complex could really screw up my game.
Another little-talked about dilemma is the whole neck cramp issue. Usually I
could go on forever if not for the crimp in my neck. I get around that now
by propping up some pillows for my head to rest on, but I can see where that
could take away some of the romance.
Boys: I'm told another peeve is your steadfast ejaculation even when you've
been nicely asked not to. While I've always held that if you've got the
business end of a penis in your face into your life a little rain must fall,
boys: it would behoove you to show a little consideration. And girls, be a
good sport. (One friend of mine was so pissed at this betrayal she got up
and spit it in his face.) And whatever you do girls, don't think of
tadpoles. Remember, this is the very stuff of Life; a little pickles and
bleach never hurt anyone.
The heady mix of pleasure and power makes fellatio my number one sex act.
Really. Straddling your sweetie's thigh and devouring his penis is fabulous.
I've always felt that sex - when done correctly - always comes out even.
(Though not necessarily simultaneous.) Cocksucking is not at all unselfish.
It's not at all degrading. It's not, as Germaine Greer once said, like being
attacked by a giant snail. When it comes down to it, you don't make love to
a body part. You make love to a whole human being.
Some of them just happen to have a hard, pulsating veiny protuberance down
your throat.

lo propongo, scusandomi con chi non legge l'inglese.
sgrunt!
Loris D'Emilio           
http://www.olografix.org/loris/index.htm
 
loris.d'emi...@bbs.olografix.org
UIN #15817071