She Finishes It Off 5
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She Finishes It Off 5
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Savage Love
Jun 13, 2019 at 4:20 pm
She's Been Blowing Her Husband for 25 Years But Something's Suddenly Off...
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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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Love, Sex and Family
5 Blow Job Positions That Will Make Going Down On Him More Enjoyable For You By Alex Conrad | October 4, 2017
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED © 2011-2022 Betches MEDIA LLC
I’ll be the first to admit that the thought of giving a blow job used to feel like a fucking chore. It’s that item at the bottom of your to-do list that you can get away with not doing, but probably should be done soon. Like, it never actually leaves, but somehow always gets checked off first—sort of like my last Tinder hookup. But since I’m supposed to be giving you better ways to enjoy sucking dick , while somehow convincing my mom that I’m still at least half a virgin, I’m here to tell you to sack up (pun intended), because dedicating your precious time to giving one blowie isn’t all that fucking bad. Maybe it’s just the type of savage friends I choose to surround myself with, but when I asked how often they give head, this was literally their response:
On one hand, *insert slow golf clap here*. But if you’re reading this and are one of those girls who thinks this doesn’t apply to you because you have a vagine of gold and you treat your guy to half-assed hand jobs on the reg, you’re the reason he cheats, but I guess also the reason I’m employed. That was harsh, but whatever. Giving a hand job is like giving someone a yellow Starburst. It’s always the last choice, but they’re not gonna not take it. So I’m here to save you the shitty comparison with easy positions that’ll make giving head suck a little less (srsly, killing these puns), because nobody wants to be compared to a yellow Starburst. Not even a fucking yellow Starburst.
It’s Sunday morning so, just guessing, you’re prob hungover and the last thing you care to think about is plowing your face into his junk before you can even press start on the Keurig. I get it. But while you’re lying there checking the likes on last night’s Instagram, his morning wood is begging to be sanded down, so because I’m the nice slut woman that I am, I’ll let you in on a secret: Surprising a guy with an earlybird BJ is a proven fact that you’ll get your way the entire rest of the week, but mostly a surefire way he won’t be personally victimized by your morning breath. All you need to do is prop a pillow on his stomach and lay sideways while resting your head on it. His dick will literally be staring you in the face, so you barely even have to move. This position is great for when you’re not entirely awake to give full-service head, but awake enough to not pass back out with a mouth full of peen.
No need to lie anymore—this is a safe place, so let it out, honey. Put it in the book: 69 fucking blows (now I’m just being annoying with the puns). It’s impossible to even concentrate when you’re trying to dodge any and all contact with raw asshole, and holding yourself up constitutes like, a 4-hour barre workout. The sideways 69 is a little less work and a lot less regret. Really all you need to do is lay on your sides in the opposite direction and go to town. He can even get crafty on your end and use a vibrator while you’re generously sampling the sausage. You know, like a “you scratch my back, I’ll scratch yours” kinda thing.
If you’re that “can’t keep it in your fucking pants” couple, this one’s for you. Your guy literally just needs to be sitting down while you’re sitting next to him. The next and final step is unzipping his pants and bending over—yeah, groundbreaking. Do it in a theater (for the love of the children, I hope you’re not doing this in a theater, you sick fuck), do it while he’s driving, the world is your bedroom. This position isn’t exactly the most innovative, but trust me—doing it in a taboo location will amp up the excitement and take the edge off whatever is so goddamn torturous about giving head. Just please don’t get arrested.
Life is just too damn short to agree to favors that don’t also benefit you in the process. That’s just my take on selfless acts of kindness, but to each their own. This position is probably the most advanced, but I included it because of its benefits. Like, think about it: Would you ever even consider taking a job in the real world without 401k benefits? Case closed. Start out by laying on your bed with your head slightly dangling off. Even though your mouth is fully occupied, it’s important to remember that you’re still in control of this ship (fucking duh). Use your hands to grab onto his thighs and guide him as you damn well please. From there, he has easy access to reach around and keep your vacant vagine some hard-earned company. It’s all really just the law of physics at this point, but if you failed that class, just keep going until he finishes or all the blood rushes to your head—basically whichever comes first.
So I realize now that this position is probably the reason for so many peoples’ utter disgust in giving out blowies, but it’s called a blow “job”, not a blow “piece of cake”. So here’s the thing: one of the only times a betch lets a guy exert his dominance is in the bedroom. All you have to do is abide by the rules of gravity. Lay flat on the bed, let him straddle your face, and well… Honestly, I know you’re not an idiot, so judging by the name of this position alone, need I go on?
Alex Conrad is an Orange County-based writer who prides herself in the art of pregaming and lives by the mantra, "If you can't tone it, tan it." When she's not scheming up how to get away with doing the bare minimum, she's probably attempting to justify her latest Target purchase to her husband. Follow her on Instagram @ayyycon_ for french bulldog spam but mostly just for validation.
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Two years ago my partner and I were amidst a real estate deal that fell through at the last second. Everyone in our city moves on September 1. We were off the moving schedule, so the immediate options for vacant apartments were scarce. The only thing we could find was a converted disused religious building within an outlying neighborhood that was approximately 90% Asian American.
We loved the neighborhood, we loved the culture, and we were happy with our temporary spot. In this new neighborhood there was an abundance of massage parlors. In a one-mile radius of our home, there were at least 10 of these little massage parlors, possibly more.
My partner explained that happy endings at these types of massage parlors were actually real things. It really happened. The concept of the happy ending became a running joke with us. Each time we passed one of these little massage parlors, we would make note of the patrons entering and exiting and imagine their home lives, what they were feeling, what their partners must think, all those things.
We would also imagine how awkward it must be to get a hand job at a massage parlor. Was there some secret signal? Was it part of every massage package offered? How did the masseuse know a happy ending was requested? Was it on the checklist? Areas you would like us to work: shoulders, neck, and my dick.
Our google searches led us to rubmaps.com, but alas, none of the massage parlors were listed. No secret signals were listed either.
With all our talking, imagining, pretending, and google searching, my partner started to get intrigued. He brought it up during one of our discussions, “What if I went to one of those and got a hand job? Would you be mad?”
The answer came very easy, “No. I wouldn’t be mad. I would think it was awesome.” Then I started laughing, and so did he. The whole thing seemed completely absurd, and hilarious, and I felt like I really needed to know if this whole “happy ending” was actually a real thing. He felt the same, plus he would be the one getting the happy ending, so it was an added bonus for him.
The idea bounced around between us a lot. The conversations were never contentious in anyway, it was more us joking about when he would do it. He would leave to go to the store, and I would ask him to text me if he decided to get a happy ending, just so I wouldn’t be worried if he was late. There is a lot of humor in our lives, and this was part of it.
As we talked about it more, he asked if I would consider it cheating. No, I did not consider it cheating to get a happy ending. It was just a hand job from a stranger, in a controlled setting. There would be no affair, there would be no emotional connection, there would be no back alley hooker, there would be no penetration. A happy ending seemed like nothing to me as long as he was completely upfront about it and was not sneaking around. If he was going behind my back to get happy endings, I would be upset. That wasn’t the case. We talked about it a lot, and joked about it a lot. If he did decide to go through with it, it would not feel like cheating to either of us. Rather, the quest for a happy ending felt like this secret spy mission, this experiment. He had my full consent, I just asked to know every detail.
After a year, we were ready to get back to the city. Moving day was approaching, and he was very overwhelmed with the change. Moving is always very difficult for him. A friend was over helping us pack, my partner was pacing around in circles completely unable to participate in the moving process with his thoughts scrambled around in his head.
So I said, “You need to get out of here. Why don’t you go get a massage and let us take care of the packing for now? A massage may clear your head, and your back has really been hurting.” Obviously our friend had no idea what we were really planning here. I had made this suggestion to him many times, but this time was different. My partner thought for a second, grinned, and said, “Yeah, I think that’s a good idea. I’m going to go.” I threw out the bait, he took it. It felt sneaky and sly and exciting.
He left, I was frantically checking my phone like a madwoman, wanting an update every second. I did not hear from him until about an hour and a half later, when I got a text that simply said, “Great success.”
Immediately I thought, “YES!” More than anything I was excited. I couldn’t wait for him to get home. First, I could not believe a happy ending was real, and second, I wanted to know every single detail. He did not disappoint. He explained he went to two separate places before he settled on one, and he felt very awkward the whole time. The women were asking him lots of questions, what did he do for a living, where was he from, etc. He said later he felt like they were feeling him out to see if he could be a polic
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