Deep Thoughts on Deep Throating

Sometimes when I’m kneeling on my little blowjob cushion (because yes, I’m old and my knees hurt) with my partner slamming his veiny uncut cock down my throat, I can’t help but wonder what my college-age self would think. Specifically the 22-year-old version of me who had never sucked a cock before (gasp) and who was wrestling with my own identity and orientation while taking gender studies classes. 

Having believed I was a lesbian in my teens, in college I was clumsily sorting out my gender and beginning to come out as a pansexual transgender man. I was reading a lot of queer and feminist texts, but I simply didn’t have enough context or experience to process it meaningfully. 

All I knew was that [my interpretation of] feminist literature said that sucking a man’s penis was inherently degrading for whomever was doing the sucking. I’m quite sure that there was a LOT more nuance in the actual writings and class discussions, but again, I was 22 and my takeaway was not particularly thoughtful.

That same year I started seeing my first boyfriend (after having only dated women) and, after he went down on me (rather skillfully I must admit), he politely asked for the favor to be returned. I refused. Honestly in that moment it was less about my nascent concept of sexual politics, and more to do with the fact that I was embarrassingly inexperienced.

I didn’t even like watching porn that included oral sex (or anal, but that’s yet another story…) and would skip those bits in favor of plain old PIV. I literally didn’t know what to do with my mouth! After some coaxing that I “give it a little kiss,” I did exactly that. A lips-pukered smooch right on the smooth engorged head of his cock. In hindsight, hilarious.

Somewhere in the next decade or so, things changed dramatically for my sex life and particularly my mouth skills. I transitioned to male, started performing in porn myself, began hooking up regularly with people of all genders, learned how to ask questions in bed rather than be paralyzed by fear, and slowly found a much more nuanced approach to the politics of pleasure. To be more blunt, I discovered that not only did I enjoy sex, I specifically loved having genitals in my mouth. 

Whether I’m tonguing a clit and sucking on labia, or getting the back of my throat bashed in by a cock, I’m a happy hungry horny guy. Instead of being degrading, giving oral started to feel powerful and very sexy. I was in control of my partner, in control of their pleasure, and I literally held very tender parts of their anatomy between my teeth. What’s not to love?

I’ll admit that, occasionally, a flash of the old shame would pop up. I would wonder if I was being a bad feminist (whatever that might be?) and deprioritizing myself in favor of a partner’s desires. 

To be honest, my line of work wasn’t helping here. For all the wonderful empowering parts of doing porn—like being financially autonomous and helping destigmatize human pleasure—it wasn’t exactly the space for grappling with emotional complexities. Hookups weren’t the place for this either; we were there to get off, not analyze why. 

I did have some spaces for talking about sexual politics though, and one thing I spoke about to anyone who would listen was how limiting the standard language of sex can be.

It’s a disservice to conflate physical acts of penetrator/penetrated with the concepts of top/bottom or dom/sub. And when concepts of masculinity and femininity get involved, it’s a real mess! 

I spent a lot of time trying to educate people that sexual dynamics go beyond dick-in-hole and also that said activity of dick-in-hole doesn’t mean a damn thing about the humans involved. 

And as someone who often had a dick in one (or several) of my holes, I felt personally affronted by everyone’s assumptions that it made me either submissive or feminine. And underlying some of that affront was the old internal conflict—was I doing it because I enjoyed it, or because it was expected of me? 

When I met my current partner, we talked at length about these contradictions. The fact that we could talk and analyze was part of what made me fall truly madly deeply in love with him. Nothing turns me into a horny demon like getting nerdy about human sexuality!  

My guy has helped me to feel fully comfortable with my weird self. He makes me feel seen—exposed really—in a way that all the gonzo camera closeups never quite did.  And along the way, I’ve become increasingly fixated on sucking his cock. Did I mention that it’s thick, veiny, and uncut? And that he squirms deliciously whenever I touch it? Incredibly rewarding for me!  

In my classically blunt way, I told him this morning that I wanted to get facefucked. Casually, over breakfast, between sips of tea. Nobody can say I’m not smooth with my words and timing. But honestly, when I want something, I don’t like beating around the bush. Well, that phrasing doesn’t help my case, now I’m thinking about his bush and my beard spending some quality time together. 

Anyway, I love asking plainly and shamelessly for what I want, in a way that my repressed college-age-self could never have conceptualized. And what I want today is not just the gauzy warm fuzzies of sex with the person I love, but also specifically to get FUCKED. To get used in the most enthusiastically consensual sense. To gag and gasp a little, as a treat. He said yes, of course, and reached across the table to trace his fingers across my hand and up my arm. His touch makes me tingle. 

Now I am on my knees on my little blowjob cushion (with a towel over it to catch the drips), practically in a trance as my lips gently pass over the head while my tongue explores inside the slick nest of foreskin. He was already hard by the time I pulled off his undies, but he’s very hard now, and I can feel his dick pulsating with eagerness. 

With each bob on the shaft, as my saliva lubricates the velvety skin, I go just a little deeper until my nose is finally pressed firmly into his luxurious pubes. He moans and reaches down, grasping under my neck to feel it bulging, and I imagine I’m a slutty pelican, jaw distended with my meal of penis. I would laugh at this ridiculous mental image but, as I mentioned, there’s a cock pushed ALL the way down my windpipe. 

I tilt my head back slightly, pressing my chin into his balls, so I can catch a glimpse of his face. He looks pretty damn happy and so am I.

After a few rounds of this slow sensual throating practice, my jaw is nicely relaxed and I request that he go harder. Like the accommodating partner he is, he obliges. Hands on the back of my head, ass clenching with effort, he thrusts his pelvis into my face with maximum velocity. There’s something mindblowingly satisfying about getting skullfucked. No thoughts, no words, nothing but the rubbery squelching noises produced by the friction of his body inserted inside of my body. That’s my happy place. 

College age me might be horrified at this whole slutty tableau, but current me knows that no sex act is inherently degrading. In fact, as I rock back on my heels to catch my breath between rounds, I look up at my partner again and request a nice firm slap across my drool-streaked face. He obliges with a deliciously stinging strike and I grin mischievously back at him. I’ve never been more loved (but also I need to stand up, my knees are aching).