The Art of Receiving a Blowjob

There is as much of an art to receiving a blowjob as there is to tuning a piano: if the keys don’t make a sound, I’m not going to hear any music. If I can’t hear what you feel, my blowjobs (and piano playing) are going to suck balls. Figuratively, not literally.

Okay, literally as well.

Come to think of it, my piano playing will suck balls regardless of how well the instrument is tuned, but we’re talking about blowjobs, not Mozart. If you’re the blowjob*ber* rather than the blowjob*bee*, all the sizzle comes from the mind, which is my favourite sex organ.

Organ. Mozart. <Snicker>

I’m a fan of the slow burn—Sex that starts long before all the lace comes off. Maybe that’s one of the reasons I’m a blowjob fan. It’s the hottest thing you can do with your clothes on, so it creates exactly the kind of simmer I like--the type that originates in the mind. It's only hot if the person receiving the blowjob lets his authentic feelings sneak through, though.

I have an ex who thought loud was a synonym for sexy. Every so often, he’d fake his BJ soundtrack, so I’d have to focus twice as hard on finding the authentic feels in-between all the faux grunts. It was like servicing a gruffer version of Jenna Jameson.

Lust is intense enough without theatrics. Drama will never match authenticity, even if the latter is on the subtle side of quiet. Sex isn’t a stage show. It’s a muddy, raw connection. A tiny shiver or a barely audible catch of breath is *so* much more revealing than a loud, plastic growl.

In other words the more you feel, the more I feel.

Women who fake orgasms get fewer orgasms, and blowjobs work on the same principle. If you’re seriously not having a good time, your silence is *way* more valuable than your stage show. A great blowjobbee is one who lets on when his blowjob is awful, else how is a blowjobber supposed to get it right?

Nobody ever led an orchestra well with pretentiousness. Conducting requires heart and so does sexual responsiveness.