The Art of Oral

I’ve decided to be “nice” to Archie. “Nice” by the way is Archie’s favourite word. He thinks I’m “nice”. My report card in Primary 1 said I was “nice”. Evidently my personality has not evolved since then. If I had known, I would just have changed my name to Pollyanna and learned how to bake.

Anyway, against all better instincts I end up at Archie’s place again (don’t ask). But this time I am determined to teach him a thing or two. So I am sitting on his bathroom counter with my legs splayed apart, giving him a detailed breakdown of my anatomy. Basic this-is-your-friend-the-clitoris type stuff.

We then proceed to the Practical part of the lesson, which is when it got tricky.

“It works really well when you flick your tongue lightly over my clitoris…” I say.

“Rrike giss?” He responds by stretching out his tongue and wagging it side-to-side. Except he simulates this in front of my face. It’s a bit like looking into a really disturbing funhouse mirror.

“No, like this,” I delicately simulate with my tongue the proper technique. It goes back and forth like this and I daren’t even crack a smile because he’s taking it all so seriously. A for attitude, F for Aptitude.

Anyway, after I have armed him with the basic technique, he starts to administer head. Type A head. Clockwork head. Like his life depended on how fast he could lap away. Every 5 minutes or so, he comes up for air and asks for direction like, “So do you prefer more pressure?”, “Does it feel good when I do this? What about this? Or this? Or thisss…”

This goes on for a very long time. At some point I get so bored I just want it to end. So I “come” in spectacular fashion.

Look I know fake orgasms are so very un-21st century, but there was simply no other alternative. There is just something immensely unsexy about micro-managing the whole sexual process. (“aaahh, oohhhh….to the left a little…yes, YES…ok now move your tongue a little faster….and now use your fingers! aaahh…yessss”) so there was no way I was going to have a real orgasm. But unless I really showed Archie how much I was “enjoying myself”, he wasn’t going to stop. You see the dilemma.

Ok so the prosecution rests. Sorry, but no more playing “nice”. I don’t mind giving pointers here and there and I’m obviously the sort of girl that will make her preferences known in bed. But this teaching thing is a dead bore and I have no time to waste on imparting basic life skills to men who evidently have been sleeping at the wheel for a large part of their adult lives. Guys who fit that description – please don’t apply…and don’t call me “nice”!