hellacious fellatios

I misspelled ‘hellacious.’ I spelled it this way: ‘hellatious.’ The squiggly red underlining pointed out my error. I ran spell check and one of the suggested words was ‘fellatios.’ How spell check came up with ‘fellatios’ is beyond me. Maybe Microsoft programmers have dirty minds or maybe this is their way of adding a little off-colored humor to their humdrum jobs.

Fellatios. I hadn’t thought of that word in years, preferring the more accessible blow job. But now that it cropped up, I was reminded of the last time I was involved in a fellatio activity (or would that be 'fellatious' activity? My spell check options this time being ‘felonious’ or ‘fallacious’). It was with my jailbird boyfriend who had once told me this: “I have never come from a blow-job. I don’t know why; must be some kind of block I have.”

I do like a challenge and I certainly felt as though the gauntlet had been thrown down. However, I knew better than to act right away. These things need to be approached gently or when the iron is hot. So I waited. I waited for a time when we weren’t having an all-night-long meth-induced sex session which, believe me, I don’t find at all fun. I'm talking him on meth; not me. Here’s what meth does to one’s sex drive, or at least to his: It cranks it up but it doesn’t necessarily make it hard. My jailbird boyfriend had to place a rubber band around his penis in order to keep it engorged and once hard, he could pound away for hours. There are probably women who enjoy that but I’m not one of them. I told my jailbird BF no more meth sex and I was surprised when he complied. He loved me in that way. If being intimate with me meant he had to forego that intense sexual rush he got on meth, then he would wait until his libido got cranked up naturally, which could take a while. Besides rotting your teeth, meth wreaks havoc on blood flow, I guess.

A few weeks later we were making love in that nice easy, attention-giving/getting, non-meth sex way. I thought maybe it was time to give oral sex a whirl and being the polite woman that I am, I asked “Is it, uh, alright, if I, you know....” Okay, so talking dirty is not my strong suit. But he got the idea and gave me the go-ahead.

He laid back on my bed, his head on the pillow. I crawled down his beautiful but too-skinny body and got into position...

This reminds me of a funny story. A few weeks ago I went to Tucson for a family emergency, a bunch of us crashing at my sister’s house. I couldn’t get my air mattress to inflate all the way with the pump and so my brother decided to manually (or more appropriately ‘orally’) blow it up. My daughter and I watched him as he attempted to fill the mattress with air: deep breath, blow, deep breath, blow. After a few minutes he took a break and said, “Damn, my jaw hurts” and in unison my daughter and I said “Now you know how we feel.” It was one of those mother/daughter bonding experiences and it embarrassed the hell out of my poor brother but we thought it was hysterical.

Anyway, back in my bed, as any diligent woman would do, I set about my task, paying heed to the signs and signals of pleasure or boredom or distress. He seemed to be enjoying himself but at one point I asked if I should go on and he gasped ‘yes.’ I hadn’t partook of this activity in a long time and, like my brother, my jaw was starting to lock and my back was aching but I was bound and determined to carry on to the bitter end.

I don’t know how long it took to get him off, but get him off I did. Afterwards, he said a most unexpected thing. Not “Wow, that was great” or “It was better than I ever expected” or “You’re the best.” No. When he recovered, he laughed and grabbed me and kissed me and said “Well, honey, I think this means we have to get married.”

Looks like I had found a way to a man’s heart that didn’t involve his stomach.