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My 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.

—Without Oral Enjoyment

You 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 someone else?

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?

—Puzzled About Down Under

I 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.

—Wallflower Enlightened Totally

Gee, 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.

mail@savagelove.net


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