Ah, the blow job – it’s a housewife’s bargaining chip, a gay man’s mainstay, or a college student’s virginity saver. Call it what you want, but the blow job has served its purpose in society since before a penis was called a penis. It seemed like just yesterday I was gagging at the thought of sucking on a dick like a fresh baked cannoli. Little did I know I’d be giving my fair share of “Last Vaginal Virgin Standing” head in college all the while trying to figure out how exactly you can brag about giving good head without sounding like a total and complete whore.
And really, what’s not to love about a blow job? It’s fairly simple, barring cold or allergy induced nasal congestion, and the power afforded from making a man come in your mouth (or that handy dandy washcloth you call your mouth) is almost enough to get you off.
Yes. I said almost.
In my
inaugural Mominatrix column, I mentioned that blow jobs were almost tolerable. “Almost?” a few of you scoffed. “What’s so awful about a blow job?”
Now I don’t deny the existence of a select group of women, most likely single, well-rested, and by all accounts, just plain weird, that actually love giving head. I was part of that group once, well sort of. I mean, it was never an ice cream and Coach bag sort of love, but it certainly wasn’t on the bottom of my list.
For the most part, I liken giving head to watching "Deal or No Deal". Sure. There are certain parts that are mildly exciting, but basically, unless you’re the player, it’s incredibly predictable, feels like it might actually go on forever, and is way more interesting after a full bottle of Merlot.
But no one would ever accuse me of being a party -- or really, penis -- pooper until I got pregnant. If I couldn’t manage to stomach a box of McDonald’s french fries, there was no way in hell a penis was getting anywhere near my mouth. And when the baby arrived, I barely got a second to get anything down my gullet, let alone my husband’s dick.
But when I needed to knock off a few items on the honey-do list, nothing said “I’ll get shit done” like a four-minute suck fest.
We moms quickly learn that oral sex is quite possibly the only way to get our husbands to take out the trash during a football game. It’s the deal breaker, the grand reward, or really, the only way to get shit done around the house. Call it petty or self-serving – I prefer to think of it as "mom-savvy". It kicks in when all your other faculties have since shot out in your breast milk and you realize not only are you not going to just give out blow jobs like goldfish crackers, but you’re going to get something in return.
Let’s face it. When you become a mom, all deeds, including diaper changes, baby baths, and oral sex work in a reciprocal relationship. No more give head and ye shall receive a pat on the head and a kiss on the cheek.
Mommy needs kisses down there too, Daddy.
Maybe you’ve got time to nurse the baloney pony like an extra dry martini because it makes you hot. But for me, hot includes, but is not limited to, a hand job, a clean garage, and dirty underpants actually in the laundry basket. I mean, what woman do you know wouldn’t chase after a couple of kids, do a few loads of laundry, and cook dinner for a good round of the cunnilingus alphabet game?
Oh wait. We already do all that shit for free anyway.
