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More than 20 years later, I don't often think about what happened on that spring night. But it's stayed with me anyway and comes back in my dreams, especially when I start to date to someone.
Aug 30, 2012, 04:18 PM EDT | Updated Oct 30, 2012
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Sophomore year of high school, I was on my way to the locker room in my dance team uniform after a football game we'd lost. I turned the corner into the hallway and saw Patrick,* who was a couple years older, storming towards me. Still in his football gear, his jaw was clenched and he was tearing the pep rally "Go team!" posters off the walls. I froze as he passed by and continued down the hallway ripping signs. Being by myself and seeing him like this was terrifying, but also electrifying.
Over Christmas break that year, I was at a house party after a basketball game that Patrick had played in, drinking Bartles & Jaymes Very Berry wine coolers.
"Are you going to the diner?" he asked, and I had to stop myself from saying, "Are you talking to me?"
"A bunch of us are going, are you gonna go?"
Inside the diner, there was a Christmas tree next to the door, and Patrick grabbed a candy cane that was hanging off it as he walked by. He led me to a table near the back, by the smoking section, and slid into the booth across from me. I ordered a hot chocolate and he offered me some of his cheese fries, and gave me the candy cane he'd stolen. I kept it in the wrapper and tucked it into my purse, and when I got home I hid it underneath my bottom desk drawer, next to my diary with the tiny gold lock.
At school I hoped to pass him in the hallways and at parties I prayed he'd talk to me. Neither happened very often but when they did, I was so excited about these brief glimpses and conversations.
One weekend in May I heard that there was going to be a keg party in the woods by the pond on Sunday night since we had Monday off from school. My best friend couldn't go but I had a feeling that Patrick would be there so I decided to go by myself. I wore a white Champion t-shirt, red Umbro shorts, a GAP jeans jacket, bunchy socks, and Keds. I went to my best friend's house before the party and she did my hair, putting it half-up in a clip and blow-drying and hairspraying my bangs.
Walking up to the clearing by the pond where the party was, I saw right away that Patrick was there and my stomach did flip-flops. He made his way over and talked to me, and at the end of the night he said he would walk me home.
Maybe he'll kiss me! I thought, walking down the dirt path next to him, and popping a Wint-O-Green Lifesaver in my mouth just in case.
"Did you know that Wint-O-Green Lifesavers spark in the dark?" I asked, biting the Lifesaver to do my favorite party trick.
"Hmm," he said, looking at me, and I could tell that he was going to kiss me. Covering my mouth with my hand, I tried to subtly spit out my Lifesaver so I'd be ready for the kiss, and dropped it on the ground.
A second later, he leaned down and started kissing me. I couldn't believe this was actually happening! But then he took my clothes off really quickly and all of a sudden I was lying on the ground and he was on top of me. His hands were all over me and dried leaves scratched against my back and legs and my mind couldn't keep up with what was going on. I was trying to decide if I liked it or not and leaning towards not when he told me to give him a blow job.
"I can't," I stammered. I'd never done that before and also I'd just gotten braces and I thought I might have TMJ, but I knew I couldn't explain all that so I just gulped and nodded no. "I... can't."
"You're just a tease," he said, getting up and walking away. "Just a f**cking tease."
"Wait!" I yelled after him. "Where are you going, what are you..."
He said if I didn't do it he'd leave me alone in the woods, and kept walking towards the road. I scrambled to gather my clothes and put them back on, and ran after him.
"OK," I said. "I'll... I'll do it."
"What?" he asked, stopping and turning around to face me. "What will you do?"
"That," I said. "What you said, what you wanted."
"Say it," he said. "Tell me what you'll do."
Standing completely still, my breath caught in my chest. I didn't want to say it but I did, and he led me to the top of hill with a stream trickling by below. Then he dropped his shorts to his ankles, put his hands on my shoulders, and pushed me down. He was tall and the hill was steep so it was hard to balance and I was afraid I was going to fall backwards, but I didn't.
Afterwards, he walked me home like he'd promised. But he walked fast and was a few steps ahead of me, so I took double steps, stumbling to keep up with him.
"This doesn't mean anything," he said, looking straight ahead. "This doesn't mean I'm going to talk to you at school or anything."
I nodded in the dark, understanding what it did and didn't mean, what I was worth and did and didn't deserve.
When I got to my house, I walked up the front steps and through the door, shutting it quietly behind me. Leaning back against the door, I slid to the ground. Feeling the cool tile against my face, I curled up into a ball on the entryway floor, wrapped my arms around my knees, and cried.
I told some of my friends about that night, but as if it had just been normal hooking-up. Then more people found out and teased me about it, as if I was promiscuous, slutty.
At 15 years old, I didn't understand what had happened. I'd had a crush on Patrick for so long and all I'd wanted was for him to notice me, to kiss me, and he finally did, only something had gone wrong. There was no label for what he did so it became a violation I couldn't name, and I could convince myself that it wasn't a big deal. I made one appointment with the school counselor to talk about it, but I never told my friends how scared I felt in the woods, or how sad I felt afterwards. It wasn't until I was in my late 20s that I told my therapist about it, and I was in my 30s before I ever told the full story to friends. But I've learned that the more I talk about it, the less power it has.
Sex has never felt safe to me; it feels like a precursor to being hurt, abandoned, and rejected, which is what it's turned out to be again and again. Looking back, I can't say that this one incident is solely responsible for damaging my sexuality and destroying my ability to trust. But I sometimes wonder if my first sexual experience had been different, kinder, I would have been able to make better choices about the men I got involved with, could have gone down a different path.
More than 20 years later, I don't often think about what happened on that spring night. But it's stayed with me anyway and comes back in my dreams, especially when I start to date someone. A few months ago, the night before my first date with a guy I'd known for a while and really liked, I had the dream again. It's almost always the same. I'm back in those woods, and Patrick's there, too, a few steps ahead of me as I wind down the dirt path, stumbling in the dark.
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I really like giving him head because it's really his favorite and I can get creative and make him practically scream. But this taste thing means he only gets it maybe once a month because it's truly a labor of love. We have tried putting flavoring on (chocolate, etc), and that helps somewhat, but it's not always practical to have that stuff on hand. Is there something he can eat/take that will improve the flavor? Or any tips/tricks for not gagging? It really is the flavor and not how deep in my mouth—I used to go deeper than I do now, exactly for this reason.
Men tend to produce less ejaculate as they age, ANB, and ejaculate isn't produced in the balls. Sperm cells, which are produced in the balls, only account for a tiny percentage of a man's total ejaculate—and sperm isn't a sweetener, ANB, so removing sperm from the mix (by getting a vasectomy) won't impact taste much.
So what's in his jizz then? Take it away, Encyclopedia Britannica ...
In the sexually mature human male, sperm cells are produced by the testes (singular, testis); they constitute only about 2 to 5 percent of the total semen volume. As sperm travel through the male reproductive tract, they are bathed in fluids produced and secreted by the various tubules and glands of the reproductive system. After emerging from the testes, sperm are stored in the epididymis, in which secretions of potassium, sodium, and glycerylphosphorylcholine (an energy source for sperm) are contributed to the sperm cells. Sperm mature in the epididymis. They then pass through a long tube, called the ductus deferens, or vas deferens, to another storage area, the ampulla. The ampulla secretes a yellowish fluid, ergothioneine, a substance that reduces (removes oxygen from) chemical compounds, and the ampulla also secretes fructose, a sugar that nourishes the sperm. During the process of ejaculation, liquids from the prostate gland and seminal vesicles are added, which help dilute the concentration of sperm and provide a suitable environment for them. Fluids contributed by the seminal vesicles are approximately 60 percent of the total semen volume; these fluids contain fructose, amino acids, citric acid, phosphorus, potassium, and hormones known as prostaglandins. The prostate gland contributes about 30 percent of the seminal fluid; the constituents of its secretions are mainly citric acid, acid phosphatase, calcium, sodium, zinc, potassium, protein-splitting enzymes, and fibrolysin (an enzyme that reduces blood and tissue fibres). A small amount of fluid is secreted by the bulbourethral and urethral glands; this is a thick, clear, lubricating protein commonly known as mucus.
Anyway, ANB, the older a man gets, the less of all of that—the less fructose (a sweetener!), amino acids, citric acid, phosphorus, potassium, sodium, glycerylphosphorylcholine, and that "thick, clear, lubricating protein commonly known as mucus," etc.—he produces. Consequently, your husband's ejaculate is more concentrated these days than it was when you first started blowing him 25 years ago, ANB, something that could impact taste and " mouthfeel ," as they say in junk food R&D.
So what can you do? Well, you don't have to keep swallowing. As I've said long said ....
Swallowing is extra credit. It's not a course requirement. I say this as someone who gives and receives blowjobs: If someone sucks your dick until you come, you got your damn blowjob. What a blower does with the blowee's come after the blowjob is over—spit, swallow, spread it on toast—is the blower's call to make.
If given a choice between fewer blowjobs with swallowing or more blowjobs without swallowing, ANB, I imagine your husband would opt for the latter. (Protip: blow him until he's just about to come—when he's just past the point of orgasmic inevitability—then pull out as he starts to come and keep a spitty/wet hand working his shaft and head until he's drained.)
And while it's a myth that eating pineapple or chugging two cans of sweetened condensed milk can improve the flavor of a man's ejaculate, it's a fact that our bodily fluids are impacted by our diets. If your husband has a shitty diet—if he doesn't do fresh fruit or drink much water, if all he eats is junk food and all he drinks is booze and/or coffee—the effect on his ejaculate would become more pronounced over time. Getting him to eat better and drink water—not sweetened condensed milk—won't turn his come into vanilla pudding, ANB, but it could make it easier to swallow.
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