Note: Guys. Guys. This entry is totally about blowjobs. My dear friend Poetess challenged me to check out a seminar called Fabulous Fellatio at the local Good Vibrations, and — not one to turn down a dare or ignore raunchy alliteration — I did. Anyway, if you’re, like, one of my parents or my sixth-grade English teacher (blog-stalker!) or something, you can go ahead and think on whether you want to read this post, which I personally vow to be chock full of blowjobs and lube and strap-ons and stuff. Not exactly beating around the bush on this one. (That would have been cunnilingus class. HEY-OH!)
NTKOG #50: The kind of girl who, uh, takes blowjob class. For whatever reason girls take educational/instructive courses about blowjobs. Insecurity? Vague hygienic concerns? Some sort of weird, counter-intuitive court order?
I am: totally satisfied with and psyched about my relationship with blowjobs.
I am not: so psyched that I generally like to sit around a room full of ladies, holding a dildo and talking about it. (Modesty! It’s a thing!)
The Scene: The Good Vibrations in Brookline, after-hours on a Tuesday night. I pay my $20, cursorily glance through the store (man, nothing like being single to surgically remove the awesome from a Good Vibrations trip), and settle down to answering the question that had been rattling around my mind ever since I first signed up for the seminar: What kind of person goes to blowjob class, anyway?
I was actually totally surprised. I imagined the room would largely early-30s ladies with a few gay guys thrown in. Instead, of the twelve of us, there were three adorably nervous undergrad girls, one chick in her late twenties, and all the rest were outspoken ladies in their 40s-50s. Most of the women were paired off or in groups — just female friends on a sassy girls’ night, I’d dare to venture — although the late-20s chick was quiet and serious, diligently taking notes in a small pad throughout the duration of the class.
The instructor was adorable: kittenish and brassy by turns, with a young-Molly-Ringwald perma-pout and a perfect intuition about when and whether to be shocking, confiding or totally authoritative. Five minutes after 8, she gestured to the large ottomon beside her, strewn with prostate-stimulating toys of every shape and color, several bottles of lube, and a dozen individually wrapped dildoes.
“If you’re not here to learn about cocksucking,” she announced, “then this is the time to leave.”
We played a little ice-breaker game that involved reading lines of in-character dirty talk to each other to try to find whose dirty-talk matched our own. Some in-depth discussion of male anatomy. We all wrote down questions on yellow index cards that we felt must be addressed. Later, we lubed up the dildoes and practiced methods of genital massage (with sort of embarrassing names like “Thumbs Up” and “The Windshield Wiper”), all kind of obsessing over thumb placement in relation to the frenulum; after that, we put condoms on the dildoes with our mouths, then practiced blowjob techniques with even more embarrassing names (“The Blow Pop,” “No Means No”).
All in all, in terms of the content of the class, there was definitely nothing that I found new or shocking. Even just on the “fun fact” level, I’m going to go ahead and venture that I learned at most two bits of anatomy trivia, and really no Big New Things about blowjobs. The course content wasn’t, it seemed to me, anything you wouldn’t learn from judicious sex-related google fu, and a few years in a committed, playful sexual relationship. So basically, I BROKE THE FRIGGIN’ CURVE ON BLOWJOB CLASS, is what I am awesomely saying.
But as class went on, the instructor kept talking us through how to react to feelings of shame or pressure while giving oral sex; she said that many women don’t want to give blowjobs because they fear they aren’t doing it perfectly; she fielded very nevous questions about basic blowjob-giving comfort, like teeth and being too embarrassed to make eye contact. And I realized, oh, dude, I’m pretty lucky to have the confidence and sense of play to be so super blowjob-positive. Just a little reminder that not everyone has the good fortune to get behind body-confidence and sex-positivity and all those other vaguely Alduous Huxley-like hyphenated phrases.
Anyway, to skim over the content, a list of funny and true quotes from the instructor:
- “Feel free to play around the rectum without lube if you want to, but you’re more likely to blow out your asshole that way.”
- “Balls: fun free source of entertainment. Seriously, great way to stay amused if you’re broke.” She then clarified that this is because “they’re constantly moving. It’s like CNN updates all the time.” (Also, ladies, if you haven’t noticed this before, dude, seriously, prepared to get mesmermized.)
- “I don’t ever want you to buy lube without touching it and tasting it. Or else you might taste it and make an ick face at worst possible time. That’ll send someone to therapy.”
- “If you’re afraid to deepthroat because you have a gag reflex and your face gets red and your nose starts running, then good news: runny-nose blowjobs are really in vogue right now.”
I was also MEGA-AMUSED by the condom-with-mouth thing, because I totally forgot about that amusing little trick. I mean, dude, four years in a relationship. I kind of forgot condoms were a thing. (Don’t yell at me, mom! And also, why are you reading this?!)
There was one other moment during the class that was totally new and unexpected for me, and was definitely the only moment of dude, WHAT?! during the evening. After discussing basic oral sex techniques, the instructor very briefly dallied on the subject of deep-throating. She suggested we take a cue from sword swallowers and remember that you can fit more in if you tilt your throat back. Then she asked for a volunteer. We all sat there for about fifteen seconds of aaaaawkward silence before I remembered, oh yeah, I’m TKOG. So I raised my hand and the instructor put a strap-on in it. Uh, cool? I guess?
So, I’ve always felt that I “get” blowjobs: I mean, nerve endings, reciprocal (reciprocal) oral play is a vital part of normal foreplay, etc, etc; The Ex has reassured me many a time that there is absolutely no way I can really understand blowjobs, because I am a woman. And this experience definitely proved to me that there is a lot about being on the receiving end of a blowjob that I really just can never understand. I was in no way expecting to have this kind of reaction, and am not trying to make sense of it. But I share it because I love you guys, and because apparently writing about blowjobs is part of the path I have chosen in this world.
First, the instructor used my strap-on to demonstrate the generic on-the-knees style of non-throat-extended blowjob. She pulled on my hips and instructed me to lean forward until she pushed me back. I leaned in, surprisingly far; then she gasped explosively and pushed me away. When she looked back up, her face was red and her eyes were filled with gag-reflex tears. My immediate reaction (“I broke her throat!”) was almost instantly followed by a deeper, unexpected reaction: “Dude! I broke her throat! I did that!” The class asked to see the reaction again, and the second time, when I heard the gasp and saw the deep-throat tears, there wasn’t even a moment of horror. Just a weird, visceral sense of — sort of pride?
Then, to display the effects of throat-extension, the instructor laid back on the large ottomon with her head dangling over the side, and instructed me to crouch over her, bracing myself on the ottomon, and thrust. So I did, expecting to stop at any moment to accomodate gag reflex. But there was none. I thrust three times, watching the dildo disappear to the hilt in her mouth, then reemerge, while she looked up at me the whole time. And dude. Dude. The feeling was completely non-sexual (I like the cock; I don’t want to have a cock), but almost dizzying. It reminded me of my favorite moments of actual sex: when you’re doing what comes naturally and hit your stride and have that intense feeling of power, like, ‘Dude, I feel like I invented this.’
Definitely not considering adding strap-ons to normal sex play, but wow, man. Truly, there is a difference between the way men and women perceive sex, and it is great. And great in the other sense too, I guess.
The Verdict: This was completely awesome, and I would do it again in a heartbeat. And, not to be all unsolicited advicey, but honestly? You should do it too. (Or if you’re a guy, take a workshop in cunnilingus. Seriously. Seriously.) I hope I didn’t sound too omg-I’m-so-jaded-from-being-totally-Blowjob-Elite, because, to my mind, the major benefit of the course had nothing to do with lube discussions or technical sucking skills. It was just a powerful and a wonderful thing to spend time with other women, talking about sex in a positive, encouraging way. And the instructor was funny and wise as hell, and made every minute a total joy. Not once did I have the lingering thought: “Dude, why am I paying money to fellate a friggin’ dildo?!” — which, y’know, was certainly a reaction I thought I’d have at least once.
If you’re interested or live in the Boston area, btdubs, the instructor goes by the name Oh Megan, and teaches a huge variety of workshops. I would totally, totally take another one. And if I do, expect another epically long blog post about it.
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This totally TMI post (dildoes! lube! strap-ons! oh my!) respectfully submitted for LiLu‘s brilliant TMI Thursday. And make sure to check out her TMI Thursday today in particular, because she is a raging genius and came up with a PostSecret-style collaborative TMI Thursday that I am expecting to blow some dang minds! Not that there hasn’t been enough blowing here today.
Not That Kind of Girl 