suck me, fuck me
I would have a really hard time blowing a guy that begged or pleaded for it.
Even if he were hot. Even if he were sweet, or charming, or handsome. I’d still fuck him and let him make me cum (no skin off my back), but I wouldn’t suck his dick.
If I don’t want to fellate someone, I’ve decided it’s a one-time thing, or the relationship is already over.
With one exception. If I go too long without blowing my husband, I start to introspect as to why, and provide him with constructive feedback on what he’s doing.
Examples of past offenses include:
clattering into the house after work without approaching me for a kiss before doing anything else; or
touching his phone instead of me first thing in the morning for too many days in a row; or
failing to worship my ass enough in public.
Once he devotes himself to me for a few days, our dynamic rights itself and he’s suddenly fellatio-worthy again.
It’s easy.
That said, I can see how some wives don’t feel empowered to give this feedback to keep their men on their most fellate-able behavior.
I’m financially independent by choice, and have been even before we moved in together seven years ago.
I love my chosen profession and could do it forever. I’m networking/interviewing every week but also have several backups (death doula, sex surrogate, colicky-baby-whisperer are some of my fantastical careers).
I have a sweet social support network that I cultivate meticulously, with as much (if not more) attention as I do my my marriage.
I don’t rely on him (or any other individual) for sexual satisfaction.
His parents would love me even if I left him. They’d probably yell at him a lot, but his mom would still give me cuddles, and I would still be able to garden with his dad, and they would offer to sell me their house at a steep discount.
He knows.
I don’t know how to describe it.
I’ve created safety on my terms, and inside this safety lives everything else. I didn’t have this in my twenties. I don’t take it for granted.
An excerpt from what I wrote to someone I was once deeply in love with:
“Fear is normal…
I had long journey to go on, and I had to go alone. There wasn't another way.
I had to enter every room without you, belly forward, offering only softness and vulnerability. There was no other way I could be.
Everyone is a fuckup. That's what makes us crave each other.
The root of desire is the need to return, to finally become one body, two heads, four legs, for anything from five minutes to a century.
Yes, it hurts. But the scars I earned came by honestly. Hard knocks created nooks and crannies, sometimes deeper gouges, into which the people I love would fit.
Sometimes the carving is so violent that it knocks off pieces that need to go for another person (or people) to rest comfortably against you.
Let it happen.”
What does it take?
It’s easy.
That’s all.
Devotion is sexy: https://throne.com/nagaramama