Good Vibrations Magazine

The Romans were big fans of it; the Bonobo apes still are. Bill Clinton has decidedly mixed feelings around it but only for political reasons. Some ancient mystic texts refer to it as the secret to a healthy marriage. Certain Southern States are inclined to disagree. I am speaking of that most sacred of profanities, that holiest of depravities, the reason god designed knees, the blowjob.

The phrase – blow job – is a great misnomer. The first thing you realize upon receiving your first blowjob is that there is precious little blowing involved. I have come across a misguided woman or two who liked to blow a light breeze across my phallus. But they soon learned the paradox that their wind lowered my sails. I, for one, prefer to be swallowed by the sea.

As for calling it a job, well, I do not know what to say except, “For shame!” Fellatio is a gift. It is an act of selflessness. And in being so it is a step towards enlightenment.

The fourth Dalai Lama’s hidden sutra Oral Nameste concerns itself with nothing but this path to Nirvana. As the proto-Christian mystic and bathhouse-lover Plotinus put it, “You’re already on your knees. One becomes both supplicant and succulent.” And what Jew does not know the famous passage from the Passover Seder when we recount all the things god did for us when he brought us out of Egypt? “And if he had given us the blowjob and not delivered us from bondage, it would have been enough for us.”

I’m not trying to brag here but I have had more than one woman arise from my loins with a beatific smile on her lips. The mouth has often been the gateway to oneness with the divine. Jewish mystics believed placing the name of god beneath the tongue of an inanimate being could bring it to life. One of the great acts of Christian faith is a metaphorical cannibalism known as communion. The faithful open their mouths and take in a wafer and wine representing the body and blood of Christ. Now, which part of the body, exactly? And must it be wine? Could it not just as easily be cream?

Just like religion, blowjobs are all about faith and will. So often this is not understood. I was with a girl once who offered them only occasionally as special gifts. I’ll admit it; it created a gulf between us, a chasm as wide as her open and empty mouth. She accused me of being shallow. She called me something else but I couldn’t make it out from behind the closed elevator doors.

There was another girl who gave blowjobs for sport. I joked once that I thought she’d like me to hold up scorecards like in old dance competitions. I give it an 8.5; you had trouble with the dismount. She told me I was an idiot. I couldn’t quite make out what she was yelling from her window as I walked down the sidewalk but it was something along the lines of, “It was a 10!”

Both women treated me as an object, one as an object to be placated and put aside, the other as an object to be devoured and conquered. But what makes a blowjob a transcendent act is the humanity of both players. The subtle interplay of faith and will is what makes the blowjob an act of communion. And it all starts with the mouth. Or, perhaps I should say, the teeth.

Hold an apple in your hand. Try and put your finger into it. It’s difficult. Now bite into the apple. Your teeth cleave right through it, don’t they? They are a powerful pair, our upper and lower teeth, the Scylla and Charibdas of our bodies, lining both sides of the dangerous passage we men crave.

Thus the man standing places great faith in the person on their knees (or on their stomach or back or on their head, or hanging from a rope). For all the physicality of the mouth, the warmth and the swirl, the singular act is one of non-action, those crushing teeth lying dormant.

The person giving has made that choice. It is much like tickling where one reaches for the most vulnerable spot of another, the soft belly, but rather than do harm one chooses to bring pleasure. So with the blowjob one takes the power of the mouth and chooses to bring pleasure with it. When harm could be done one makes it their will to bring joy.

Men love these women. From what I’ve heard, men love these men. They put their faith in them. We crave blowjobs in a way that goes beyond the sheer physical sensation, which, I must add, is fantastic.

There are times I am not listening to what a woman is saying. I am simply watching her mouth, wondering how she uses it, pondering the nature of her gag reflex. How the back of your partner’s head feels in your hand is no small thing in a relationship. And even so, it is your partner’s willingness, it is your partner’s want to bring you joy that acts to bring you closer.

All the technique in the world can’t make up for enthusiasm. There are some girls who insist on you watching them as they swallow your come. It’s a nice party trick. But you can’t help feeling it’s a bit of a mask too, that she is hiding behind her performance. Give me a girl who stays down there after I’ve grown soft. That’s the girl I can commune with.

So you see, to call it a job is to rob it of its erotic core. Some prudish pilgrim must have invented the term, or perhaps it comes from a brothel menu. They called it a job as a marketing device to raise the price. We could call it the royal treatment as every man feels like a king when having his member blown. Or the great justifier, as men will put up with just about anything if they are getting great blowjobs.

Lollipop love would get across the joy of the event. Cockmunion would tap into the holy aspect of it.

We need a term that is both light and meaningful, a simple phrase, but grand. I am afraid I do not have one. If you do please send it along, post it in the comments. Let us rename the blowjob and in so doing, lay claim to it. For now all I can do is raise my glass to that subtle interplay of faith and will, the erotic game we have no better word for, but one that works well enough. To the blowjob, thank you Jesus.