fiancée is having trouble going down on me. She can usually
last five minutes before her jaw starts hurting. It’s big—what
can I do? When we try, she has me lie down on my back while
she kneels between my legs. Is there another position that
might work better and not cause her jaw to hurt? I’m about
to marry this woman and I don’t want to go the rest of my
life without blow jobs.
say you don’t want to go the rest of your life without blow
jobs, WOE, and yet you’re planning to spend the rest of your
life with a woman who can’t suck your dick for more than five
minutes at a time. Is that wise? If blow jobs are important
to your quality of life, WOE, shouldn’t you think about marrying
Before the outraged e-mails start pouring in about love and
sacrifice and relative unimportance of oral sex and the painful
reality of blow job-induced jaw aches, let me say this: I
know from personal experience that five minutes can seem like
an eternity when you’ve got a big dick slamming in and out
of your mouth. I feel for WOE’s fiancée. Really. Sucking dick,
like waging war, can be a long, hard slog, and even the most
enthusiastic blow job-giver has to bail every once in a while.
Still, it seems to me that someone who is invested in his
or her partner’s pleasure wouldn’t bail after five measly
minutes, however big his dick. And, WOE, if this woman isn’t
invested in your pleasure now, when she’s your fiancée, it
would be foolhardy to expect that she’ll be any more invested
in your pleasure five or 10 years into your marriage.
On the off-chance that your fiancée is invested in
your pleasure—on the off chance that she likes giving head
and the sore-jaw thing isn’t an excuse—here’s some practical,
supportive advice: There’s no blow job position that won’t
require your fiancée to open her mouth wider than she would
to, say, eat a piece of wedding cake. With practice, however,
she should be able to open wide for longer stretches of time
with less jaw discomfort. HOWEVER! Your fiancée shouldn’t
kneel between your legs when she blows you. Let’s pause for
a moment to consider the glaringly obvious: It’s difficult
to make a dick that’s pointing up at the roof of your mouth
go down your throat. Also—and this is important in your case,
WOE—in the dick-going-up blow job position, your fiancée has
to open wide and thrust her lower jaw forward to create more
room between the front of her mouth and the back. It’s the
only way she can fit your dick in her mouth, right? But with
the head of your cock pressing against the roof of her mouth
and the base of your dick pushing down against her lower jaw,
WOE, you’re basically prying your fiancée’s lower jaw off
her skull with your dick. No wonder she’s bailing!
The 69 position is a much better option: Your dick will be
pointing down her throat instead of up at her sinuses. Instead
of pushing up at the roof of her mouth, your dick will lie
down over her tongue and slip down her throat. She’ll still
have to open wide, and she’ll have to conquer her gag reflex,
but she won’t have to open as wide as she did when she was
kneeling between your legs. She can also wrap a fist around
the base of your cock, effectively shortening it, and avoid
the gag-reflex problem altogether.
As an added benefit, WOE, you’ll be able to eat your fiancée’s
pussy while she blows you, which might help take her mind
off her jaw. And if you’re not into eating pussy, well, then
I respectfully suggest that your girlfriend gag you with her
dirty underwear, slap a piece of duct tape over your mouth,
and hang you by your ankles from the ceiling. You won’t have
to eat her pussy trussed up like that, WOE, and she’ll be
able to stand comfortably while she blows you. Think of it
as a race: Who’ll bail first? Your girlfriend with her sore
jaw? Or you, with all your blood rushing to your fool head?
I’ve seen a few cocks in my day and have an idea what’s
normal and what’s not. My boyfriend’s wang looks like Gonzo’s
nose! Even at 100 percent ready-to-fuck hard, Gonzo points
due south. How many men have this problem? Is it something
that can be fixed?
About Down Under
can’t really tell you how many men have your boyfriend’s “problem,”
PADU, because (1) no one I care to speak with keeps stats
on this kind of stuff, and (2) his dick is not the problem.
If you like a guy, you’ve got to accept, work with, and learn
to love the dick he comes with because it’s the only dick
he’s ever going to have. Dicks can’t be fixed. They can’t
be made bigger or smaller, straighter or longer. And while
a Gonzo dick is rarer than a dick that points up or out, PADU,
Gonzos do have one big advantage: Unlike WOE’s fiancée, you
can kneel in front of your boyfriend and his dick will slide
right down your throat.
I’m reading a self-help book that instructs me to send
pleasant notes to people who have inspired or helped me and
to blow a little sunshine up their butts. Walking home today
in Ottawa I passed a shop called Venus Envy where I saw Skipping
Towards Gomorrah in the window. The depth of the impact
you’ve had on my life crystallized for me. When I arrived
at college and knew nobody, reading your column aloud each
week allowed me to bond with my new roommates and make friends.
And if I had never read your column, I would be as ignorant
today as I was two years ago about furries, fisting, the connection
between America’s Religious Jackasses and Canada’s French
Canadians, and santorum—that frothy mix of lube and fecal
matter that is sometimes the by-product of anal sex. You have
expanded my horizons, Dan. Much appreciated.
WET, I don’t know what to say—besides thanks, of course. And
since we’re blowing sunshine up butts today, I’d like to blow
a little sunshine up a few butts myself: Skipping Towards
Gomorrah, my most recent book, now available in paperback,
has been popping up on some national bestseller lists, much
to my publisher’s delight. I’m pretty bad at expressing gratitude
and not much better at being sincere—anger, sarcasm, profanity,
and name-calling are my strong suits—but, like, I wanna say,
you know, gosh, thanks to everybody out there who bought my
book. And to everyone out there reading this who didn’t buy
my book I’d like to say this: What the fuck? You read my column
every week and you don’t buy my goddamned book, you fucking
ingrates?! Buy my fucking book already! Christ!
Confidential to Jesse: I missed you at Harry Schwartz in Milwaukee.
Some of your friends were there; I asked them to say hello,
and to thank you again for the generous offer. Once you’re
18, kiddo, I’ll take you up on it. You, me, a suite at the
Pfister—and an entirely platonic evening of cable television
and stoned conversation.
Skipping Towards Gomorrah, Dan Savage’s most recent book,
is now available in paperback. Dammit.