There’s so many things I’m willing to do in the name of sex. That’s not to say I’m an innovator, far from it. I’m more of a “whatever you say” participant, who pulls away from a grubby clinch to frown at an imaginary audience. That audience knows what I’m going through, poking and nudging every square inch just to squeeze out an appreciative “oooh”. That audience smiles sympathetically, like a thousand suffering mothers.
Following the lead has largely worked for me, so far. Sometimes you get someone who also follows the lead, and that tends to lead to a night of ball-tickling and kissing the neck. More often, no-one makes the first move at all, so you end up with a night on their sofa with your heart in your neck, wondering if they’re going to come back into the living room and say “Come on, silly! Let’s make smells.”
Of course, following the lead isn’t always the best way. In my younger days, I took an agonising shitsex, just because I hadn’t done it before, and I’d heard that it was quite normal for it to hurt, if you were new to the experience. So I gritted my teeth, and waited for the pain to subside, and my trusty prostate to start gushing up wave after wave of sensual ecstasy. (For more erotic fiction, see below)
The thing is – what the well-meaning gay youth workshop fuckers didn’t tell me that taking it from an overhung jackhammer with no sense of rhythm and a WHATEVER attitude to which way it’s pointing hinders the pleasure of anal sex. And that’s a fact!
So, I have demostrated that I can put up with the sexual equivalent of slamming your thumb in a car door a hundred times, so long as the other person is going “oooh” and pulling funny faces. I’m trying to prove to you that I don’t complain easily.
So why does my neck close and my sick-water rise when the gentlest, most butterfly-like pressure is applied by a pair of considerate, loving lips onto my closed eyelid?
|This is the closest I could find to a picture of eye kissing. What does his expression say? It says dear GOD you’re hot and I’m willing to put up with this shit for now, but I would be a million times happier if you took your fucking nose out of my eye.||
Kissing eyes. Is it widespread? One woman seems to like it – this story is from the Clitical website – helping you hit the right spot well into the new millennium.
The next thing I know, I’m completely buried in your arms, your lips on mine, ever gently. I feel your hand touching me down there. I hear your breath intake as you discover and whisper how hot and wet my puss is, and how much you like it. You rip off my blindfold and kiss my eyes… (Read the whole story)
At which point she goes for his dick. The other eye doesn’t flick open in horror and try to see what’s going on with its poor, suckled brother – she doesn’t look aghast and say “ex-cuse me… what was that?” She lunges for his damned dick.
|Your mum, after getting her eye kissed by a thousand bitey madmen. It’s not pretty, is it? Your mum, that is! Ha. I is raggin’ on yo ma, bitch.||
Perhaps I need to put the kiss into context. It isn’t during the sexy parts of the sex act. It isn’t part of some bondage scenario where I’m tied up, and he can do whatever he likes to me. It’s in the cuddly bit after the spoo. His head tilted downward – and I knew he was looking, and smiling – and the cunt planted a smacker on my eyeball.
I told my friend about this. And he said “oh, I get that. All that dried spit in the morning? Just lick your fingers and wipe your eyes”. If I’d had the presence of mind to reply, and not just stare in dumb horror, my reply would have come in two parts.
One. Jesus fucking Christ, you do it too? Am I going to have to put up with this shit for the rest of my life? And why did the answer come to you so quickly? Is it such a part of your daily life that you have an instant Top Tip answer to the perennial problem of crusty spit-sodden eyelids?
|Just one of the millions of sex tips you can read in "The Fact That I Am Not Arrested For What I Do In Private Is Making A Mockery Of Freedom" magazine.||
Two. I hadn’t even THOUGHT about waking up with sticky dried saliva on my eyelids, but thanks for adding that sickening nuance. Another reason I don’t want anyone kissing my damn eyes while I’m trying to sleep off a shag. What kind of nightmares would I have now, when my subconscious mind knows my eyes are slowly sealing over with another man’s flob?
So, it comes to a terrible stage in my life, when I have to actually take the lead in a sexual situation. Only I have to think of an excuse. I couldn’t ever let slip with a personal preference, in case they think I’m a prude. “What, don’t you like eye-kissing, you big baby?” they’d laugh. “Heavens no!” I’d be forced to reply. “I love it. Can’t get enough puckers on me peepers, fella!” To prove my point, I’d have throw my eyes at his lips and press down, laughing “see? SEE?”
So I’m going to carry a bag of cat hair with me. I’m allergic, see. And just before I go to sleep, I’ll grab a fistful of fur and shove it up my tear ducts. See if they want to kiss a swollen, streaming mess. See if that appeals. Shoe’s on the other foot now, isn’t it? How do you like kissing them apples, freak?
Incidentally, the front page of Clitical (check the extra-helpful search tips) – in its opening paragraph – tells men about women’s two main sexual organs – the clitoris, and… wait for it… the MIND! It tells us “Men can learn how to use these two important organs to pleasure a women“. Hmm. With a women’s minds showing that level of linguistic competence, I shouldn’t wonder if their clits are all fucked up, too. Haha. WOMIN R STOPUD.