in praise of the spurt

“Oh, I like cock,” my new lesbian friend said to me. “I just like them when my girlfriend fucks me with one.” She paused, and conspiratorially lowering her raspy voice, she confessed, “I don’t like the spurting.”

I admit that I’ve never really thought much about the spurting, one way or another. The jism, for me, has never held fetishistic allure. Beyond idle imaginings of cartoon-colored silly-string clown bukkake, I’ve never really considered the erotic properties of spooge. I lack, for example, the wonderment that so many of my boyfriends have had at the volume of their semen. When they have stood back from their freshly-shot load, perhaps spreading across my abdomen, slow-lava oozing like icing on warm strudel,  or dark-staining the sheets all Jackson Pollack-like, when they have commented on their output in the ego-flushed, post-orgasmic white heat, I have answered with polite encouragement.

Yes, dear, I have said, that is a mighty load. Well done.

But it’s not like I’ve understood why it’s something I should pat them on the head for their good-cocked doggedness. On the other hand, just because their scattered homunculi failed to  impress me, I saw no good reason to disillusion them in their rosy abundant state. Men, it has always seemed to me, are easily impressed with largess in their bodily functions: I just chalked these moments up to that trait and moved on.

On the other hand, as often as I recoil in horror at other body functions—something I’ve mentioned before—I don’t recoil in the creamy white face of cum. I’m not entirely sure why, and to be completely honest, I think I’d prefer not to spend much time with my head buried in the quandary of why, because no doubt in the face of figuring out the reason I’d develop a heretofore absent phobia of ejaculate.

Not cumphobic, me, not cumphiliac either. Definitely, though, I’ve been cumphagic. I suppose another thing I’d like to not consider, and yet here I am doing just that, is the sheer volume of jism I’ve swallowed. From fifteen to 44, I’ve been a deep-throater and a swallower. I’ve lost count of how many men I’ve fellated; it’s a lot. The great lion’s share of those blow jobs culminated in my swallowing, something about which I feel a mixture of pride and horror. Considering this piece of my personal history, I can’t help but associate it with the urban legend about Rod Stewart and the ejaculate-prompted stomach-pumping. I’ve never had my stomach pumped. So I suppose that’s something.

I tend, however, not to play in the jism. I don't treat it like fingerpaint or massage oil. I have once practiced "snowballing," the term for when, having semen in your mouth, you turn and spit ejaculate into the mouth of the person who himself ejaculated into your mouth. I'm glad I did it when I was young, if for no other reason that I can say I did it and move on. I don't denigrate the people who like to rub on, roll in or lick up semen; I'm just not one of them.

Jism, cum, semen, ejaculate, spooge, spunk, load—I’m sure I’m missing a few synonyms. John Cleland’s Fanny Hill calls it “balsamic,” which always makes me think of salad. To my knowledge, no one has used semen to dress their Caesar or their Cobb. People have, however, famously used it as face cream, at least in the annals of pop culture that use was ascribed to Helen Gurley Brown, the founder of Cosmopolitan. I myself have never used semen as a face cream, though I have had facials of both the literal and the porn slang varieties.

I don’t enjoy either kind. I’ll do the former because it makes my skin nicer. I’ll do the latter if my boyfriend really, really wants me to, but I wouldn’t want to make a steady diet of it. Regularly, however, I find my body the warm and compliant recipient of Donny’s come. Though we both recognize that it’s a faulty method of birth control at best, we do practice the pull out and jerk off style of family planning. (I’d really prefer not to have the tiresome conversation wherein my readers condemn me for this practice. I’d like to remind you that I’m in my mid-forties, have one working ovary, and most importantly, have discussed the potential pitfalls of  this practice with my partner, who accepts the risk. So before you wind up and start yammering, put that in your piehole.) This act often leaves me covered in Donny’s opalescent goo like a glazed donut.

Twice this weekend, bookending my new lesbian pal’s averring her dislike of “spurting,” I was festooned in Donny's semen. Lying supine on Donny’s bed, pinioned by his whippy-strong thighs, his cock in my hands, our eyes locked, I watched and felt lover’s orgasm as it thunder-rolled from his open eyes and gape-mouth down his body and out his cock, pulse-pulse-pulsing, shooting fat white streamers onto the pebble-warm ledge of my belly, my sternum, my chest.

Lying there, wet and sticky, the tiny, tinny bleachy-salt smell of the jism-pool on my body rising into my nose, I decided that I like the spurting. I like it very much indeed, at least I liked this one, from this man, this time, and this small ephemeral moment, soon to be wiped up, washed off, and erased from all but memory.

Comments

[Ed]

For some reason men seem to get hung up on the quantity of their ejaculate. At 46 and having had a vasectomy a few years ago the quantity and velocity of my ejaculate is pathetically small. But for me the most important thing is the journey, not the arrival. :)

[tom paine]

Ed from "Perfect Marriage" pointed me to this posting, since I discuss diminished cum capacity that arrives with aging and some medical procedures (Ed has had a vasectomy, which cuts off the supply).

[ajooja]

My wife is about the same as you when it comes to cum. She's a swallower who doesn't seek or shy away from any spurting.

She prefers to have my seed shot inside her while having intercourse, but I understand that's not an option for everyone. (Tubes tied after our second child.)

She's good, giving, and game. That's all anyone can ask for.

[chelsea girl]

Ed & Tom Paine,

It's true: men do seem to equate cum quantity with virility quality. Perhaps it's due to the money shot in porn, but maybe the causality runs the other way. Clearly, the best visual indicator for orgasm is that little pearly puddle of jism; it's hard to say which came first: the money shot or the obsession about its size.

Does size matter to me? Not so much in this case.

kissykiss,
chelsea girl

I'm forty now, so over the years, I've experienced a range of ejaculatory differences, based on health, diet, stress, desire, refractory periods, etc. Today, probably largely from taking care of myself (good diet, lots of water, regular exercise), my semen volume is probably on the higher side of average.

For me, longer, stronger, and more contractions feel better, especially combined with greater semen volume. I usually masturbate every day, sometimes twice (usually within an hour) so I've had plenty of "drier" orgasms and while they certainly feel good, they aren't as good as a big spray of cum.

I understand that volume doesn't equate to virility, but I'm not trying to get anyone pregnant, I just want to feel good.

A couple of times a year, I experiment by taking a couple days off, just to see how much more powerful my next ejaculation will be. Is it better? Yes, is it. Is it good enough to limit ejaculating to 2-3 times a week? Eh, not for me.

All in all, squirting out a big load is one of the nice pleasures of being a guy, but it's not something worth obsessing over.

[S.P.]

The Ms. and I keep cum-play on the list of semi-regular pleasures, as the mood strikes... After a particularly fun session, I once wrote a (now lost) blog piece on the subject of the "time limit" for cum -- after how long, and in which particular circum(!)stances does post-orgasmic playing with the male effluence cross the line between "sexy/erotic" and "cold/disgusting." And yes, we enjoy the occasional snowball, as well...

Oft-times I have shot my load on her breasts/midsection, following with laying back down on top of her and sliding around, to mutual laughter... (and one REALLY notices the particular scent in this activity...) But timing counts, because if you wait too long, it's the non-linen equivalent of laying in "the wet spot!"

Keep having fun, kid...

[Artfuldodger]

As always CG a very thought provoking post about a subject that I haven't really given much thought to. I suppose volume could be tied into performance issues, like anything else, but the size, length or volume isn't something that I've personally considered all that much.

You started a thought however, that you didn't really finish, that I found interesting. The idea of all the cum you've swallowed over the years, and I wondered at how you settled on that thought? It obviously isn't something that one should give much thought to, but it is one of life's little weird things, isn't it?

Much love.

[The Fury]

I don't think I've ever been fixated on the amount or length or projection of my little soldiers more than the women in my life. I've even dedicated my own entry to the comments women have made about it. I have to admit, women who enjoy the spurting intrigue me a lot more than women who deplore it.

How do you feel about women squirting?

[Al Sensu]

I've been pretty clear on my blog that I do personally regret the reduction in volume the years have brought and am taking a small step to do something about that. I understand that some women just love the stuff, some hate it, and I would guess most are like you. I appreciate your thoughts on this and willingness to indulge your lovers. I do agree that the quality of pleasurable sensation is more important that the product, but I want to have my cake and eat it, so to speak.

[S.P.]

Oh, and from my personal experience, I noticed no significant change whatsoever after my vasectomy, in volume, scent, taste, touch, or feeling... Which actually was a bit of a surprise!

[Mark G.]

Lying there, wet and sticky, the tiny, tinny bleachy-salt smell of the jism-pool on my body rising into my nose, I decided that I like the spurting. I like it very much indeed, at least I liked this one, from this man, this time, and this small ephemeral moment, soon to be wiped up, washed off, and erased from all but memory.

I don't think I have ever heard it described quite like this. yes this is what I want when I cum. To feel that my lover feels as you did. That you liked the squirting. That you can see the pleasure, smell the pleasure and taste it. It goes beyond feeling just sexy. I want to feel beautiful at that moment. I have felt at times that if my cum grosses out the woman I am with that in fact I gross her out. It is hard to separate. It is like being with a man who finds your tits ugly and doesn't want to look at them. Especially if you think you have a very nice pair. You want them to be appreciated. I don't want it to be simply funny. I want it to live on in memory.

[Kelly W]

Mark G, that described my love for it beautifully, and no I don't understand why I am odddly fascinated with it. I think its the anticipation that is truly deliscious and therefore, the cum is like a type of exquisite chocolate