I cry a lot. I’ve been crying, on and off, for most of my life – it’s something I’ve done since I was very small. Crying is generally my default reaction to pain or distress – I remember crying when I failed to make the University Challenge team; I cried for weeks when my Eroticon session idea was first turned down. I was recently asked, by a client, if I cried when I found out that I was losing my job. I did. I told her the truth.

The other night I cried when it suddenly dawned on me that I wasn’t giving oral sex.

I love oral sex. Love it. But, due to Circumstances, I haven’t been able to engage in cunnilingus for… maybe over a year now. Perhaps more. I used to do it practically every night, whether as a precursor or epilogue to sex or not (it works spectacularly well on its own); more recently, however, I haven’t had the chance. It’s a difficult thing to ask – which, since the question generally is “can I please try to give you as much pleasure as possible and hopefully make you orgasm?” – seems like an odd thing to say.

Sometimes, when I can’t sleep (and I don’t sleep well at the best of times, so this is quite often), I rehearse oral sex in my head. I imagine her scent, her warmth, and the shape of her thighs. I wrap my hands around her legs – or hold onto her hips as she closes them around my head. Breathe in, bathing myself in her heat, getting used to her presence.

This is how I used to perform oral sex. A gentle lick to the pussy lips to feel them out. Even if I’m desperate, I’ll try to be as measured as possible. It’s not a race. I’ll flick, with my dextrous tongue, back and forth, over the lips…

all the way up…
all the way down…

…again and again and again. Sometimes I’ll pause at the top, holding myself just over her clit. Occasionally I’ll be thumbing her clit as well, but not this time. This is just oral. As I said before, it’s what I love.

When she’s ready (because consent is sexy), I’ll go a little deeper. Swivel my tongue in broad circles, tasting her, each one getting a little tighter, until I can gently part her soft folds and lick her deeper inside. I feel the pulse of her heartbeat through her inner walls, the flush of her labia against my cheeks, and her stiffening clit beating as my nose presses it. I’d go as deep as possible, keeping my breathing steady, but continue my tongue movements.

Rhythmically.

This might be where my hands come into play – where might she like them? Cupping her breasts? Stimulating her nipples? Teasing her mound, or perineum, or anus? When I’m giving oral sex, I’m all about her pleasure. I’ll do whatever she likes if it helps.

I’ll continue the lapping motions, lips open, nose against her clit, warm breath, for as long as it takes. Maybe she’ll put her hands on my head; maybe she’ll feel her own breasts. Maybe she’ll just bite her lip and let her eyes flutter closed and enjoy. Sometimes she moans; sometimes she shakes; sometimes she even lets out a sort of guttural screech. I like it when she says “yes!”. It lets me know that I’m doing well.

If I’m good, maybe she’ll come. There’ll be a spreading sensation as she gets wetter and wetter, and I’ll keep licking her, all the way through her orgasm. I like the taste of girlcum in my mouth. I may get some on my chin, or nose, but that’s okay. It’s messy. Sex is, by nature, messy. I’m not making any pretentions otherwise.

When she’s finished, I’ll pull back, a trail of gold sparks breaking as I do so. I’ll lick my lips (or wipe them with a tissue, if there is one – or the back of my hand: that works, too). I’ll ask her is she is all right, Maybe she wants to cuddle afterwards; maybe she wants t be fingered, or held, or fuck. Whatever her desire is, that’s what I’ll do. But I’ll start with oral sex.

Because it’s what I love.

And that’s why I’ve been crying… because I ache for it.