A few weeks ago, I was at a bonfire with a group of friends and friends of friends. One gentleman there, the flannel-clad cousin of my neighbor, cracked everyone up with what amounted to his comedy monologues about how he sees life and love. Like everyone else, I laughed when he made the observation, "Women! When you're dating and engaged, they're cool with giving head left and right. Then, all of the sudden, you get married, and poof! No more blowjobs! I’m like, what the hell happened – am I right?"
It didn't strike me until later that night, when I was getting intimate with my husband, that the exact opposite was true for me. I had boyfriends before my husband, and I had sex with some of them, but I never performed oral sex on anyone except the man I married. Even that took some serious work. I guess that's why they call it a job, right?
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I believe oral sex should be part of everyone's basic lovemaking package, so it always really bothered me that I wasn't comfortable giving it.
The other issue is that my husband is extremely giving on his end, so I knew that something had to change.
So, we started trying. I didn't really have a hard time with the actual act of putting it in my mouth. I was able to get over associating this act with degradation, something I'd acquired by seeing it portrayed in pornography. The issue, we discovered, was the ending.
The first few times, my husband was very patient and very complimentary.
He gave me confidence and feedback. I told him I wasn’t comfortable just yet with him actually finishing in my mouth. He told me he was perfectly fine with that. So, this went on for awhile. I practiced my technique but always stopped just before the end to finish by hand or another way.
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He seemed happy. I was happy that I had 'gotten over' my problem and was able to have this basic skill in my toolbox.
However, over time, my husband began to ask about finishing in my mouth. I was really reluctant to try and felt in some way like I'd made a lot of progress and he should just be happy with how far I’d come before asking for more. But I'm not a man, so I don't know how important or different-feeling an inserted ending is.
A romantic evening in Venice seemed like a perfect night to give it a try. And I tried. I really did.
Then I threw up on him.
To his credit, he was very understanding. But, yeah, that happened. Because that stuff? It's gross. Sorry, guys. Maybe my parts don't taste good either. I'm trying to be fair. But…eww!
Even now, I still don't like doing the job in general, and I gag every time I try to do what my husband wants.
I want to be a good partner, but I really, really hate it. Plus, we have a 3-year-old, so finding time and energy for sex in general has been difficult, much less dabbling with oral. Part of me is glad about it. But part of me is sad, because I feel like we're drifting apart sexually.
The only uplifting thing I can tell you is that we do have an upcoming couple's therapy appointment. I think this issue will probably come up for discussion. Let's just hope I don't have to tell the therapist I threw up on my husband's junk in one of the most romantic cities in the world!
This essay originally appeared on our sister site Mom.com and was republished with permission.
