Friday, July 1, 2011
THE BAD GIRL'S SWEET KISS - EDITED BY CHRISSIE BENTLEY & MIRANDA FORBES
Format: Kindle Edition
File Size: 389 KB
Publisher: Xcite Books; 1.0 edition (October 26, 2010)
A blow-by-blow anthology of first-time fellatio and other oral delights. Chrissie Bentley is a woman on a mission - to raise the profile of oral sex. In 'The Bad Girl's Sweet Kiss' she has brought together her own experiences as well as those of many other erotic writers from all over the world. From some of the most well-known voices in erotica to more recent newcomers to the field, everybody's first time is different. In this diverse collection of blow-by-blow accounts exploring an oft-overlooked act of intimacy, you'll find something to shock, titillate, amuse as well as trigger memories of your own oral initiation.
Sometimes, I think oral sex gets a really bad rap.
Everybody remembers the day (or night) they lost their virginity, that momentous First Time of which poets dream and romantics swoon. Great swathes of the English (and every other) language have been hijacked in the hope of recapturing that moment, oh blessed morn when a cautious flower blossomed to the ministrations of ... oh, get over it. So you popped your cherry – whaddyawant, a band-aid?
Oral sex, on the other hand ... nobody writes poems about that first time (well, some people do and we have two of them here, but you know what I mean); nobody sits up with a thesaurus seeking new and nuanced aphorisms to describe that delight. In fact, sometimes it feels like our mother tongue has gone out of her way to make the whole thing sound base.
Suck him off.
Lick her out.
Blowjob. Really, think about that for a moment. We’ve probably all left work after a bitch of a day to announce to the world that this job blows. And then we’re expected to turn the words around and have fun with it? Yeah, lick me, sucker.
There is even a school of thought that insists oral doesn’t actually count as sex, and before you track that back either to Bill Clinton’s evasions (‘I did not have sex with that woman’), or the slimy squirmings of sundry right-wing fundamentalists who want to get their rocks off and remain chaste for their wedding night ... don’t. I have at least one friend who insists that she didn’t have sex until her early 20s, because she doesn’t count the blowjobs she’d been liberally distributing for the five years leading up to that. And she was active in the ’70s.
But really, who’s she – or anybody else, for that matter – trying to kid? His cock’s in your mouth, his tongue’s in your pussy, and it doesn’t matter how many condoms and dental dams you’re wearing between you. If that isn’t sex, then I pity your marriage vows.
The men and women who tell their stories in this collection have not fallen for any of this. They know what oral sex is, they know what it means and they know why it matters. They understand the intimacy that it conveys, they relish the ecstasy that it conjures and they all believe, as I believe, that for however many moments that your partner is in, or on, or at your mouth, then there is nothing more that you could say or do that could put this moment in the shade. At least until it happens again.
Of course, for something that feels so right, there’s an awful lot that can go wrong. There are few calm and considered seductions in these pages, no crisp white sheets on four-poster beds, perfume filling the air with a heady aroma. This is sex at its most primal, the urgent need to suck or be sucked, to lick or be licked, and it doesn’t matter whether you’re in the front of a car in a fast-food parking lot, with your Pizza World apron draped over your head; or making out in the darkness of the alley behind a bar, when it’s time for it to happen, it happens.
A few people plan for it, because how can you not? This is a book about the first time our writers experienced oral sex, and there’s another book that could be written, about the first time they thought about it, the first time they realised that sex does not begin and end in the downstairs department, and that there’s a lot you can do on the top floor as well. More than any other sexual act, oral is the one that we can all rehearse in our minds, and I’m not even going to ask you if you did. Girls will know the answer from the number of damp bananas in the kitchen; boys will know from the hours they spent exercising their tongues. And then the real thing comes along and everything you practised for goes flying out of the window, because even the greatest imagination can only begin to guess at the possibilities unfurled.
Because that’s the other thing about oral. There’s nothing mechanical about it (or, at least, there shouldn’t be – because if there is, you’re doing it wrong). Fucking tends to involve just that, it’s exactly what it sounds like. But sucking is licking and blowing and biting and gnawing and nuzzling and nibbling too, and licking is lapping and probing and ... you get the picture. Another reason why the common vernacular lets the side down, and you understand for a moment (before you laugh at its silliness) while the late Dr Alex Comfort, author of the bestselling Joy Of Sex handbooks, dispensed with both the crude terms for oral sex, and the tongue-twisting “proper” names, and referred to the whole thing as Mouth Music. Because even the most basic chord can be played in an infinite variety of ways, and the end result ... oh dear, now I’m doing it as well.
So, a collection of stories about first-time fellatio and consummated cunnilingus, and there’s another subtle variation, because there’s a lot of different writers here, and a lot of different interpretations too.
The first time with the opposite sex, the first time with the same sex.
The first time it was wonderful, and the first time it went wrong.
The first time he came and she didn’t even flinch, the first time she squirted and he squealed and ran a mile. Browsing some of the many blogs out there that could be termed the oracles of oral sex, most women posters are adamant that it’s only polite for the man to discretely inquire ‘Do you mind if I come in your mouth?’ And I wonder, given the growing (again, net-inspired) awareness that women, too, are capable of profuse ejaculations, whether any girl has ever asked her man that same question?
Which is as good a place as any to leave these opening ruminations, because there’s a lot of writers waiting here, and they’ve got some wonderful tales to tell you.
And yes. You can come inside.
Posted by Jenny Swallows at 5:56 AM