random and sketchy cocksucking thoughts

I’ve recently been immersed in thoughts of cock sucking. Which is not all that unusual for me—not to put too fine a point on it, I am a big fan of fellatio. Giving it, that is, not receiving, for as I am now, have always been, and will continue into perpetuity being, a chick, any fellatio I receive is purely imaginative. I do admit sometimes when masturbating or when being given head myself, I have envisioned myself both tumescent of cock and being ministrated to by some person of varying genders but always eager of mouth and plenteous of spit.

In my mind I have had my fictive cock sucked, and my mind is a place to which my own cocksucking has lately been relegated. Sadly, now that my boyfriend and I are on the outs—but discreetly and patiently discussing the ins—there has been no fellatio by me, none but the fantasy fellatio I’ve drummed up from memory for the purposes of writing an article.

This article, the third I’m penning for Penthouse—the first one published in September was a guide for roughing it up in the bedroom, and the second published just last week gave tips on how to be a moral manwhore—is a personal essay on fellatio. The bildungsroman of a cocksucker, I called when I pitched it to my editor. The narrative of my development into the oral artist that I am today, I said. I’d noticed that a great wide swath of this blog’s popularity is owing to my various cocksucking posts (two how-to guides, one on what it feels like, one on sucking in general and one on spit in specific, and lots of oral-based erotica), and I thought that I could parlay that armchair sociologist’s observation into an article for a larger and considerably more skewed male reading public. So I pitched it, and the magazine bought it.

Now immersed in the writing of the article, I find myself at a loss for not having actually sucked a cock for almost two months. I realize that it’s not really that long a period of time, and I know that presented with a cock before me that I wanted to fellate I could rely on muscle memory to drive me like a trained pony through my paces. It’s not like, for example, if someone wanted me to make a white sauce without a cookbook. Sure, I could do it, maybe with some scorched flour and burned milk in the process, and certainly not without some small measure of anxiety fluffing up the process into a fevered lather.

Sucking a cock would not be like that, no, not at all. It’s an act so deeply burned into my entorhinal cortex that I’d have no problem recollecting it at will. Not like rigging a sailboat, not like knitting a bobble, not like cooking a soufflé, not like stringing a bow, not like tacking a horse, not like any of these activities I have once known dead-on how to do and may or may not remember how to do perfectly is fellatio. No, fellatio for me would be like riding a bike. Once learned, never forgotten.

And yet I find myself struggling to remember in perfect detail, or detail exquisite enough to make it worthy of describing in words, what it is I like about the whole fellatory act. I know that I love the feel of erect cock, its singular tactile experience. An erect cock feels like a hybrid of steel and velvet. Nothing else in this world feels like an erect human penis, not even dildos, which are meant to feel like erect human penises and usually feel almost exactly not like one.

There is that, that silk-slithery skin drum taut over live blood and tissue rendered metal hard. There is that. There is too not merely the heavy weight of a hard prick in my hand, but the way that my body responds to it, with this inexorable need to put it in my mouth. I respond to a hard cock, or at least to a hard cock attached to a man I like, or better yet, love, like toddler with a piece of sea glass or a warm pebble. I want nothing more than to put it in my mouth, and consume it, whole.

Oh, pleasurable act of altruistic cannibalism that is fellatio, I miss you. I miss the smell of washed and worn penis and balls. I miss the slip-sliding resiliency of cock. I miss minding my teeth. I miss the hush and crush of breath playing sycophant symphony to the wet choreography of my mouth and tongue. I miss the slurpy sloshy sounds and I miss the slightly repellent smell of my own breath mixed with pre-cum. I miss the power and the glory of poising myself with an open maw over and above the straining, leaping penis. I miss the wrinkly pleasure of balls too, popping them into my mouth like plums and rolling them around like consonants. I miss the whole oral three-piece set.

I’ve found myself over and over again poised at my computer, random bits and pieces of fellatio flashing like bulbs in my brain pan, unable to put the popshots into any coherent narrative, unable to hold on to any string of them long enough to make sense. It’s taking a toll on my writing too. This article languishes in half-conception like a half-baked cookie. It’s not bad, but it’s not good either. Mostly, it’s not finished.

I can’t help but think that a righteous session of fellatio would put this article to bed. I can’t help but think that indulging in the act would reinvigorate my writing about it.

And yet it’s something I can’t do, not now, not yet. Those who can’t do, I suppose, write. And write some more. And hope that it will all turn out ok. Or at least, with some judicious editing, good enough to publish.

Comments

[Bad Kitty]

Argh.
Right there with you. Hard to describe why exactly it's so damn good. It's been far too long for me, like, Years. blah.
Good luck with the article!

[marx marvelous]

"Those who can't do, I suppose, write."

Does an artist have to live an epic life in order to be a great artist? Hollywood would have us think so. Then, would it be "those who have done, write"?

Or is it that artists, being naturally attentive individuals, tend to look at the behaviors that constitute a "normal" life and, smelling the bullshit, proceed to do what they want instead, delighting in the tattered and torn taboos they leave behind them?

Well, "delight" is probably a best-case scenario.

[Selena Kitt]

Damn. I have to go call my husband and tell him to come home for lunch. (So I can have him for lunch!)

You're doing just fine, Chelsea-girl. Just fine. ;)

[Hilary]

Damn you woman...I am sitting here audibly whimpering with the occasional snivel thrown in. I wish my wife still had one 10th of your...your....your...oh fuck just shoot me now.

[LAS]

Oh, sigh. Major braces work in progress = at least six more months of minimal cocksucking for me. (It's more than just brackets; I have chains and shit on the roof of my mouth. It's pretty fuckin' epic.) When this metal comes off, I am going to have a cocksucking *spree*, I swear. I miss it so much.

[Rich]

Perhaps I may be of assistance. The fact that you are on the other coast being no problem, since I've got my own LDR and we've worked out some workarounds.

For example, in one instance when she was about to come visit me (or I her, I don't remember) I told her that, since it had been some time since we last intermingled that I thought maybe she should brush up beforehand. So, I gave her the assignment of getting out her selection of dildos and kneeling next to the bed and pretending that I was seated on the edge of it and to practice up.

Her selection goes from the nimble to the extraordinary horse representative. I can still imagine her struggling with the latter.

To make it game, I sometimes have her put her lipstick on with the dildo (or my cock, which is more fun, but involves two people actually, physically in the same room). I put a ring around the base with her lipstick and then instruct her to put the lipstick on her lips.

This can be a lot of fun.

You might want to take on one or more of these assignments yourself, if it will put you in the proper writing mood. Feel free to crib from me, if you like.

As for the feelings, well, I think there must be a direct connection between the girl's mouth and the girl's pussy. The insertion of the cock in the one orifice seems to stimulate the other. This is a very handy way to lube up, since you can start with a lubed cock and insert it into a lubed passage.

She also seems to be lubed by submission, and inserting it into the mouth can be a very dominant things to do. Holding the hair on the back of the head. Driving it in. Holding it a little too long for comfort. Depth. All those things can convince the girl that she's at your mercy.

To increase the illusion, perhaps the girl should be reclining, and the man should approach her from above her head, so that he can insert his cock deeply into her throat. Holding her legs apart with his hands can help to keep her from moving and give her an increased sense of helplessness.

Of course, there are times when we might prefer the man to be the submissive. In this case, probably he is best tied down, exposed. Women have such sharp objects at their disposal, teeth, nails, the heels of their shoes. I don't know much about it, but I'm sure there is a use for fellatio there somewhere.

But it's probably easier to get in the mood without a man if you take the submissive role.

Now, back to the keyboard.

[penny]

this is why you are a writer. described so perfectly how i feel about fellating a man... beautiful, wondrous words of yours. thank you thank you thank you!

[blueseaglass]

I am glad to hear there is at least a handful of other women who respond the way I do to a nice hard cock. Most of my friends do it because they feel they have to, or because they want to like it but just dont. Thanks for saying it so well!

Suck on sister. Suck on.