Pussy Licker

Every pussy has a story. Mine can tell countless tales of wagging tongues and a few of mouth-induced ecstasy. Like the time I shaved her completely bare, and the stroke of a tongue felt 10 times more intense. Her virgin voyage with vibration: Pocket rocket plus clit equals Yes. The auspicious occasion of her meeting two mouths at once. When her clitoral hood was pierced and, after weeks of healing, the first time she felt something flick against that tiny stainless steel barbell. She has met the mouths of mothers, masters, liars, and thieves. She's had clothespins and metal clamps pinch her tender parts. She's been pressed against the faces of angels and convinced she talked to the devil. She's been around the block. She knows what she likes.

It's no surprise to me that lots of women I've met rate receiving oral sex as their favorite sexual activity and the easiest way to make them come. Just as most men wouldn't turn down a blowjob, girls will happily accept some lip-to-lip service. The tongue is a perfect tool to stimulate the clitoris—not too hard, not too soft, it can move quickly but gently. There is even a vibrator called "Tongue II," which features a pulsating fuchsia rubber licker powered by several batteries to move back and forth with speed, precision, and no chance of getting lockjaw. Ah, technology.

The first time I had my kisser on another woman's box, I assumed that I could just do what I thought I liked done to me. But once you're down there, it's a whole different story. Every chick's coochie is unique, and so is the way she likes it licked. Some girls like broad, firm strokes with the wide middle (instead of just the tip), where the tongue is wettest and softest. Others prefer a darting game of cat and mouse on or around the clit. There are flickerings in up and down or circular motions, and slipping inside her hole is always an option. Drawing her clit into your mouth and sucking on it is, um, an acquired taste for the suckee, so ask before you do it. I had a girlfriend who liked to have her hood pulled back so I could plant one directly on her clit; this kind of close stimulation is too much in such a sensitive place for most women, but if she's that kind of a girl, she will most likely tell you.

If you've watched some porn, hopefully you know not to take very many pointers from the pros on this subject. Why? Because in skin flicks, it's all about showing the pussy, so performers are prompted to move their faces, and sometimes their tongues, to the side of where they really want to be. That's why you often find yourself thinking, "What is he doing?" or "That can't feel good; she's nowhere near her clit." I learned the other end of this firsthand, when filming my first adult video. In my first scene, I was trying to make magic with my mouth, and from behind the camera, John "Buttman" Stagliano barked, "Can someone explain to Tristan that when she buries her head in Ruby's cunt, Ruby may be seriously enjoying herself, but I can't see a goddamn thing?" I had to adapt to make a better movie, and I know my technique suffered for it!

Turning to the receiving end of the vulvic equation, I have a love-hate relationship with getting my cunt munched. In my early days, I was wholly unimpressed, but I guess 17-year-old guys haven't exactly mastered the skill yet (and I hadn't mastered the skill of mastering and showing them precisely what I want, either). I admit that there have been recent occasions when someone's face was between my legs, and I felt like there was a bumper sticker on my forehead that read, "I'd rather be stuck in traffic on the Brooklyn Bridge." In these moments, it's not that it feels bad; it just feels too tame and does little to get my juices flowing or make my breath catch. When it's good, it is divine. Add a finger or two and I am over the moon, legs shaking, the whole bit. But I've got a picky puss, and it's tough to impress her.

As a dyke who plays on all teams, I've gone to bed with many straight men who, knowing my queer experience, think they have something to prove. More than once, I've had a guy go down like he's attempting to break some kind of record. He assumes that because I have sex with women, I've probably gotten some of the best head of my life—he's right—and he's there to prove that he can muff dive with the big girls. He'll risk neck strain, tongue sprain, and repetitive stress injuries he'll have to explain to his doctor to make sure I get it good. While I applaud that kind of ambition and tenacity, sometimes I want to gently tug on his hair and say, "No, really, it's OK, let's just skip this part."

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