As I thought about my cock in V‘s mouth (I still think about V, and her mouth, from time to time) this morning, I wondered a bit about the whole sex thing.
[And a note: I objectify in some ways, and not in others. I find it difficult to degrade, to abuse verbally, because I find it impossible to reduce a woman to just a mouth in the situation I’m describing. I’ve written this post specifically, with respect to V, and/but much of it could/can apply to any particular woman in a similar position vis-a-vis me. And/but… as much of a slut as I am – and I am quite the slut – by the time a woman finds my cock in her mouth, she is a woman to me. I have gotten to know her as more than just a pretty mouth. That feels important to me to clarify. Much of what I’m writing here is specific to my relationship with V; much of it is generic. In general, I can say that V has helped me reach the highest levels with regard to what I write here, but it all exists on a spectrum of fantastical realization.]
About how my mind and my body interact.
On the one hand….
When I fuck(ed) V’s face, when I fe(e)d her my cock, I felt the warmth, the wetness of her mouth, its motion. I felt her tongue, her lips, her saliva. I felt the back of her head, her hair, with my hand (or hands) as I gripped it. I felt the interplay between the forces I exerted, forward, onto my cock, backward, away from my cock, and the forces she exerted with her neck, with her head. I’ve often used the metaphor of the finely tuned sports car: V’s head, her mouth, anticipated my guidance, so what guidance I gave was (at least in my memory) almost an acknowledgement of something we both knew intuitively, even more than direction.
You know. Except when it wasn’t. Except when I was forcing her down, choking her. Which also was fun.
But I digress.
I felt the sensations in my hamstrings, in my calves, as I stood, as she kneeled. I’ve described the purely local sensations in my cock during an expert blowjob elsewhere. Here, I’m talking about a more holistic, comprehensive, full-body circumstance.
But of course, none of what I’m describing is what makes a blowjob, what made V’s blowjobs, unimaginably, mind-blowingly, awesome. What makes them haunt me even today, years later.
What lingers is not the physical, but the mental aspect, the part that happens in my brain. And I find this far more elusive, far more ineffable. Because blog, I’ll try to eff it here for you.
First, foremost, there’s a question of meaning: when V knelt before me and begged me for my cock, she was giving me a gift. She was allowing me to imagine* that I am desirable. Of course, it’s more specific than this, and less general, in reality: in reality, when she knelt before me and begged, she gave me her desire. And a healthy man might well content himself with that, because, after all, being the object of V’s desire marks one as, truly, fortunate. (Not because of its scarcity; I’m agnostic on that question. Because of the magnitude of what she has to offer.)
But (and maybe this has something to do with my complete insanity – or maybe it’s just the way sex works) whether she offers it or not, I’m taking a much bigger gift than just her desire for me. V – and, truth be told, all women, have this power over me.
When V kneels before me, when she begs for my cock, in that moment, she undoes my pathogenic belief that, in a fundamental way, I am flawed, undesirable, detestable. That my cock is unworthy, that I am unworthy. That my desires are grotesque, shameful, inappropriate. She absolves me of my original sin, she saves me, and I am, quite literally, risen.