I don't let men go down on me. I expect them to offer, of course, but I will turn them down. In part, I turn them down because letting a man greet my pussy so directly is too intimate for casual sex, but I also turn them down because, odds are, they won't know what they are doing and then I'll have to find a way to stop them. Better never to let them begin.
Even if you think you know what you are doing, do yourself and women everywhere a favor and listen to me.
I have spent delightful time with my mouth and tongue pressed into a woman's pussy. I have felt her open up to me, felt moisture seep out to greet my tongue, felt her arch her back to press into my mouth, and felt her come around my fingers. I have also felt my tongue go numb, my jaw cramp, my whole face start to ache with the effort.
When my first girlfriend went down on me, I thought I am blooming I am blooming. I felt myself open up to her and it was glorious.
So maybe that's why I die a little death (and not in the Shakesperean sense) when a man proclaims that he loves the taste of pussy, because a man like that can get so wrapped up with smearing his face in my pussy that he forgets some basic anatomical truths. I worry about this kind of man, because he's so in love with his love of the pussy that he forgets that it's attached to me. I get bored and start reviewing my shopping list and he doesn't even notice. He looks up from between my legs like some dumb happy puppy and I think maybe I should get a cat.
You stalk the clit with your tongue; you dance around her edges; you tantalize her; you press on that which presses against her. Then, when I am quivering with desire, desperate, THEN you can go ahead and move in on her and give her the attention she deserves. When we scoot backwards, or adjust your head with our hands, or wince, or push our legs together, it's TOO EARLY.
Then there's the man who gingerly sticks out the tip of his tongue -- you know, the part that has no tastebuds (or so he ardently hopes) -- and sort of touches my pussy, as if that's all it takes and he's taking one for the team doing it. My pussy is not a flagpole on a cold winter day. You don't get a trophy at the end of the season for touching it with your tongue.
The worst, however, is when a man slips off the edge of the bed, hikes up my thighs, and does what feels like a gynecological exam with his tongue. While he's apparently trying to crawl into my womb, I'm wondering when oral sex started to resemble reverse birthing. No matter how high I arch my back, or slip my ass off the edge of the bed, I can't get his tongue near my clit. This man is the worst because he's made a terribly transparant assumption: that penetration with his tongue is what is going to get a woman off, that penetration alone is anywhere near as delightful as undivided respectful attention to the clit.
"It's all about angles," a female friend told me imploringly. "Tell them it's all about angles, and their angles are wrong."
So I'm here to give you that message: your angles are wrong.