The Weekly Mindfuck: Saliva

There's a unique feeling you get when you're sucking on a popsicle. You know what I mean—at some point, when the ice is starting to melt as it repeatedly strokes the heat of your tongue, your mouth slips up and down the sides effortlessly, almost as if some other force is propelling you. It's effortless, easy. Your cheeks hollow from the suction, and everything starts to feel sort of weightless: Your head, your mouth, the popsicle itself. 

I didn't have to give many blow jobs before I realized you could achieve that same fluidity when you were sucking on other things. Once, after drinking too much wine, it took me especially long to feel the weightless slip around his cock, my mouth a near vacuum. Another time, after smoking a bowl, I felt particularly encumbered by the pliant, unlubricated skin, unable to move at the speed we both craved. It's not new: The best blow jobs are given with a fair amount of spit. After all, cocks don't melt on contact with your tongue. Guys are quick to say, "If your mouth is down there and you're not using your teeth, it feels good—trust me." But I've always been a perfectionist. 

I've remedied a bad case of dry mouth—whether thanks to nerves, coffee, food, you name it—with something that will create an abundance of wetness quickly: gagging. It's easy enough. Subtleties work—moving his hands to the back of my head in a sign of surrender, staying perfectly still as he catches on. A blatant request worked just as easily, too: "Make me gag, baby." A mere minute will do the trick, and saliva flows up the back of my throat like groundwater revived and pooling in the grass. I've always known that the best blow jobs are given with a fair amount of spit, yes; what I didn't know was that an abundance is even better. 

It was a word I'd never heard or used in my own sexual conversations: slurping. A noise, usually not considered sexy, a sound that became hungry and lustful in the context of a blow job. He said it was sexy. Not the first one to think it, of course, or even hint at it, but the first to articulate it.

"I love that slurping noise."

Same video, different apartments; we watched in tandem, commenting on our shared appreciation for this particular selection. The girl would lean over from time to time to release a slow pool of spit on the tip of his cock, spreading it around almost in wonder with her hand. Completely uninhibited by the salty friction of skin, her mouth moved over it the way you can suck a melting popsicle: from one side over the other, her head rotating in tandem with her hand as she moved up and down with it. It was different than any video I'd ever seen—not the hard jabs into the back of her throat that left trails of spit running down her chin and mascara down her face, but a fun, almost euphoric slip n' slide of sorts. Mesmerized, I bookmarked the video so I could watch it again later. And again. 

"Hmmm, " I said. "Me too."