As much as I appreciate the zombie Mr. T you sketched (that is hung on our refrigerator, by the way), there are a few things we need to set straight. I had reservations about you from the beginning; I thought you might suffer from a chronic case of Cool Kid Syndrome.

Despite my feminine appearance, I have a long history of having dated nerds/geeks. Some of them played table top RPGs, some were programmers, most of them were socially awkward. I am a nerd. I have mad nerd pride. I learn things for no good reason, think science is the coolest thing EVAR, sometimes snort when I laugh, and get the XKCD jokes. Perhaps it was the black-framed glasses and my state of well-groomedness, but you had somehow mistaken me for a Reg. And then you DISPARAGED MY PEOPLE.

This is unforgivable. Nerds have long suffered at the hands of jocks and at the jabs of hipsters like yourself. I don’t tolerate that shit. Weighing in at around 145 pounds and spending your days flipping through vinyls and sketching in your Moleskin leads me to believe that I can totally take you in a fist fight. Or simply mess up your faux hawk and send you packing on your fixed-gear, singing My Chemical Romance to yourself through the tears leaking out under your aviator sunglasses.

From that moment on, I refused to talk to you. I stopped calling you by your name and, instead, began referring to you as “Toolbox.”

My roommate, who was desperate for attention, wanted to be friends with you. She scoffed at my suggestion that you were only hanging around to get in her pants. Her dating life has been not-so-great since we moved to Austin. She either skipped, or was asleep during, the life lesson on humility. That’s fine for dudes because she has big knockers, but women have been less receptive, and I suspect that it has something to do with all conversations being steered towards her. As she is new to the whole “lesbian thing” I can forgive her for falling of the cootch wagon and sleeping with a guy or two along the trail. But why, oh sweet Jesus why, did it have to be you?

After that one time you did my lesbian roommate, you didn’t come a callin’. I sometimes lie awake at night and speculate… Was it just for the thrill of the lesbian conquest? Cock beats all? Or was it because she did the pretty girl I’m-going-to-lay-here-like-a-dead-fish-while-you-do-me thing? I accept that correlation does not necessarily indicate causation but I’m highly suspicious of your intentions, sir. Either way, she has instead chosen to blame me for your recent attendance record.

Even if that were the case, your fear of me was only powerful enough to keep you away after you dipped it in my vag gnoshing roommie. Thank you for making domestic relations difficult.

This interaction has only reinforced the judgments I pass on people in skinny jeans.

• Location: North

This is bullshit. haha.

I’ve spent thousands of words in the space of this column talking about all the things that irritate or confuse or annoy me when it comes to dating.

On top of my general gripes with what is Wrong with dating, dates and the whole dating scene, I’ve thoroughly plumbed the depths of my own depravity, trying to suss out what is perhaps Wrong with me, and fully explored what is Wrong with you.

Based on my columns and your comments and emails, we’re all a bunch of sauce donkeys who like kinky sex and assplay!

But today I’m going to paint a picture of the perfect date.

I don’t want perfection, nor do I strive for it, but I think it could be a helpful exercise to look at what I would deem an ideal situation, from how we meet to our first date. Perhaps we’ll find out I’m hopeless or unrealistic or simple in my desires and tastes.

I’ve never really thought about exactly what I’m looking for, I’ve only known when I haven’t found it.

But I think this is what it looks like …

How We Meet
Let’s start out with how we don’t meet, and that’s online. This is not a knock on anyone who uses Match.com or eHarmony or Nerve or the Onion or J-Date or FarmerLove or Robots-Seeking-Robots or any other site out there. I’ve briefly perused those two-dimensional police lineups. It’s not for me. I get why it could be for someone else, but in a perfect situation, we don’t meet that way.

We meet at the grocery store. Or maybe a bookstore. Or, knowing me, a bar. But it’s face to face, a moment of shared laughter, both of us agreeing the cashier in aisle nine is tweaking on meth, or we both reach for the same book (obscure-but-awesome “We,” or oh my God are you reaching for “Blood Meridian” you violence-loving freak!), or we meet at that glorious glowing oracle the juke box, where starting conversation is as easy as mocking or agreeing with what’s being chosen. (Billy Joel’s “Allentown”? Well, OK, strange lady, ruin the night for everyone ha ha, just joking, hi my name’s [Redacted], let me buy you a shot of musical taste, kidding again, how’s a Pabst sound?)

The Setup
The point is we met out there, in the world, in a moment of luck and randomness, a chance encounter between two people who, had they done one thing differently during the course of the day, might never have met. An answered phone call, a missed subway, an extra 10 minutes for pube maintenance. The point is, no matter how mundane the circumstance of this meeting, the miracle is that it happened at all.

I say I’m going to call you after we exchange numbers, but why create the extra step? I ask you out then and there. We find a day that works, and I suggest a spot it turns out we both like. (It was a gamble on my part, but you were game.) We agree to meet there, on that date and at that time, as if cell phones and emails didn’t exist. You like the old-fashioned idea of making a plan and simply meeting there without all the electronic hubbub.

The Date
I’m nervous. I wait for you at the bar. You get there — a few minutes past the time we had settled on — and I ask you what you want. Whatever it is, it’s not a vodka tonic.

The conversation is a wide-ranging, willy-nilly free-for-all that keeps us both laughing. We tackle topics based on the natural current of context and circumstance; maybe there was a subway situation that held you up involving a sick mariachi player that triggers a double helix of narratives between us. Maybe our saddest mariachi stories. I tell you about the time I was alone at a restaurant in Mexico and some mariachis went from table to table, smiling and laughing, until they got to my table, saw the place setting for one, and swept right passed me. You laugh. You have a good laugh. This is typically when I get super-nervous, speed drink, and tell you I’m Trouble, but not tonight.

I ask if you want to just eat here, they have a menu after all. You say why not. That’s sort of your First Date war cry: Why not? We sit down, and the waitress comes over. You’re sweet to her. Do we want appetizers? Why not? The waitress recommends the olive tapenade. You choose a bread-and-cheese plate and ask if I’d like to split a bottle of white wine. You’re killing it, just killing it.

The Girl
What are you like? You’re open and relaxed and have perspective. You are not building this up like some super-important moment; therefore, even if you’re slightly disappointed with me in some way, you’re not showing it. You’re happy to be enjoying some wine and food.

I think this is a key thing here: You’re happy.

It has nothing to do with me or our date. You’re the type of person who realizes, Hey, I actually have it pretty good in life, and you enjoy yourself. There’s always going to be some subconscious calculations going on — it’s a natural human instinct to draw quick conclusions and make personality outlines of the people we meet, but this isn’t about my being the perfect guy for you. This is about being out and having fun, period. I am not everything you ever dreamed of, and you are not a quadri-lingual French-Creole demigoddess with green eyes who shares an extensive pot addiction with me. But you are great, and being with you is fun.

Dessert? You say we really shouldn’t, but … ha ha why not? We order the pot de crème. The check comes and you say we’re splitting it. I say it’s not necessary. You say no, we’re splitting it. I relent.

The Aftermath
I walk you to the subway / your apartment / your next stop on the evening. We walk slowly and have already begun finding our conversational grooves. It comes easy. Everything feels really good. We exchange a chaste kiss. When I look back after 10 paces or so, do I catch you looking back, too? Nope. This isn’t a movie. But your hair is swaying and I can somehow tell that you’re smiling.

Do I email or text or call you? I mull this for an hour or so and decide I’ll call. A few days later I do.

You don’t pick up.

I never hear from you again.

It was the perfect date, for me. Sometimes, however, even that’s not enough.

But at the moment that I realize, I’m never going to see this girl again, do I regret one moment of our date? Nope. I may not have been what you were looking for, but you were pretty close to what it is I want.

At this moment, I know that all I have to do is find the You who likes me, too.

I meet my friends at a bar.

I am like the motherfucking Batman of bicycle theft detectives.

Dude, your costume was the most disgusting thing anyone had ever seen. I didn’t get laid for like two months after you came to my Halloween party, and I live in a house with four slutty college chicks. You could hear their pussies snapping shut audibly when you entered the room. I hope you got a good chuckle out of it, at least.

Fuck you,

Dave from Encino

People used to know about their neighbors, and far-off peoples that they came into contact with through trade or war, and didn’t have to debate about it for hours, scream and yell, and scratch their heads generation after generation wondering what the other guy was up to. Obviously this knowledge has been lost in modern America, at least among the dullards posting on the CL about it all day and night.

This corn-fed Swedish boy was raised on a freaking farm in the middle of nowhere, but has more common sense than most because he had some first generation immigrant parents born in slums and farms in Europe around 1900 who still knew what was up. So I’ll enlighten you.

I don’t believe in Race, it’s been scientifically discredited. No one reads the paper or pays attention in school anymore, and the word still means something to the masses. So here we go;

- European Americans: came from dirt, treated like slaves by rich masters and royalty, killed red men and farmed the land because it was a better living than starving to death as a serf owned by some inbred fucktard Duke of Whatsit back in the old country. Finally got uppity enough to kill their masters and make a free society for themselves. The rest of the story you know; Irish and Italian and Pollack and regular old English and German, you know plenty about them and how they act. Protestant, Catholic, whatever the flavor, there’s plenty written and filmed and televised about all of ‘em. Hated by ALL the rest of the races.

-African Americans: came from a tropical paradise or a jungle hellhole, depending on your point of view. Got kidnapped by greedy Arab, Spanish, and Jew slavers. Shipped to the New World, sold to greedy white English and Spanish assholes who wanted labor cheaper than the Irish and Scottish slaves that had gotten too uppity and were working their way towards a right to bear arms, vote, own land, etc. Got ridden hard for a while like ALL of our people’s were for millennia, then got busted free by Northern bible thumpers and urbanites who were bigoted against southern white trash hillbillies. Got a few breaks along the way through their own efforts and the help of liberal Quakers, Jews, and lots of other well-meaning white folks. Got the hell out of the South if they could. Still have an institutional memory of being treated like shit, and through Johnson’s ‘great society’ and their own internal fears and bigotries remain today largely screwed, mostly by each other. Feared by ALL the other races, loved by a few out of pity.

-Jews: started their religion 3-4 thousand years ago being told by Moses that they were a Chosen Race, chosen by God to be the best and brightest, richest, most badass, etc. This religion was a natural reaction to getting ridden hard like slaves in Egypt. They got the hell out of Dodge, fucked shit up in Canaan for a while, then got busted up eventually by the Romans, their own internal hippie revolutionaries like Jesus, and shipped out again all over the middle east and europe as slaves and serfs. They kept their heads, though, and kept their money in the family, and honored all their whacky hocus pocus along with education and commerce. Good for them, if they hadn’t looked out for themselves we wouldn’t even know about ‘em because they’d all be dead or bred out. They’ll sell you down the river in a heartbeat still today, but they’re rather honest about it, and their religion tells them to. Blacks and other fuckups could learn a lot from Jews. Hated by Blacks, mixed history with Whites.

-Latina/No/Hispanic/Mexistizo/Aztlatan: Still haven’t figured out what to call themselves. The ones who are pure blood whites from Spain, such as Argentinans, know it and despise the darker ones mixed up with the red man. Puerto Ricans get to look down on all the rest, too, because we own their island and they don’t have to wetback it into the country, they have a free pass here as a birth right. ALL the rest of them are mestizos, they were invented the day that Columbus landed. Spain never managed to kill all the red men, because there were way too many of them and they were too busy raping them and making half-half babies. Mexicans celebrate Columbus day as Dio del Raza, Day of the Race. They’re catholic, work like maniacs, don’t cause too much trouble on the east coast, are trying to take over the west coast like an old-school invasion, and will someday learn English, or will out-breed whitey and we’ll all have to learn Spanish. Like army ants, they work hard and never ever stop. They will inherit the earth. Hated by Blacks, each other, and tolerated more and more by Whites.

-Asians, Yellow: got shipped in to build railroads and mine where there were no Blacks or Irish to do the job. Eventually brought their families and, like the Jews, kept a low profile, built great communities for themselves, keep the money in the family, and sent the kiddos to college. All the races could learn from these guys; sort of army-ant like the LatiNo, but with patience to sit just about any shitstorm out for a thousand years and then come out from under the rubble with their pockets full of gold. Hated by Blacks and fewer and fewer Whites who’s granpappy done got his ass skewered back in Yang Moon and seen his buddy’s head explode over Margret Cho.

-Asians, Brown: Indians and Pakis and Sikhs, oh my! Billion year old histories with way too much caste system bullshit in their system. They treat service staff like servants because that’s what they’re used to, if they’re rich. If they’re poor, they act much like Yellow Asians, but are less pretty and more vulgar. Don’t hide away in their own communities, assimilate pretty well. Hated by: each other, Whites, Blacks.

-Arabs/Persians: behaved like princes, real royal pals, to Americans, until around the 60′s when they got fed up with our support of Israel. Now they’re scary, live by the sword, seduce Blacks into joining up, and require regular carpet bombing. That is, except for the other 98% of them who behave more like Brown Asians, which many of them actually are. Hated by: ALL Jews (they have to or mommy will spank them, it’s in the Bible), Whites.

-Recent European Immigrants: live and act like runway models, get laid all the time because of their sexy accents/exotic whatevers, then immediately assimilate or go back home in disgust at what we’re up to in the US. Hated by: no one ever meets these people except other whites, who want to make a LOT of babies with them.

-Recent African Immigrants: Behave like Brown Asians. Hard work, but bad odds. Hated by just about everyone, because they’re Black, Immigrants, and native Blacks hate them the most because they’re proving that people with JET BLACK skin can get ahead in this country through hard work and discipline. Throws the Native Blacks into a tizzy. They thrive in places like DC, make communities for themselves, and are going to assimilate and be middle class by noon tomorrow.

I’ll do a followup on Greenlanders, Micronesians, and Finns some other time. It’s late.

Now that the ENTIRE RACE PROBLEM is SOLVED, let’s all just be cool and get along, alright?

Special thanks to a Jersey Jew named Craig:

• Location: Philadelphia

Welcome, to my day at the gym.

It’s Thursday. 5 PM.

I start off with a jog on the treadmill. I hate this thing. I run and run, yet I can’t get away. If I end up in hell this thing will most definitely be there.

To my left there’s a guy who keeps clearing his throat “Uhhhh-Hummmm”!!! Every thirty seconds this fucker adjusts his mucus ball over and over again. I wish he would just spit it out; he’s really pissing me off.

To my right there’s some crazy bastard running like he just downed two lines of Crystal Meth.

I decide to leave these two alone. I was supposed to do ten minutes, but I cut it to five.

Upstairs I go to the stretch area. I like to do about 3 minutes of stretching before I work out, so here I am, stretchin’ those pecs.

The thing is I’m not too fond of stretching, my Gym teacher would say, “strechin’ is for pussies”, hmmmmm… maybe she was right, then again, she got fired for trying to get some student pussy.

I continue to stretch.

A few feet behind me sits the Spanish janitor. He sits in a corner and just stares at me. He stares at everyone. I guess we all need a hobby.

Next to him there’s this old black lady listening to her headphones and singing, “Whoomp there it is!” She’s snapping her fingers and bobbin her head, she loves this God forsaken song and lets everyone know. She’s way too happy.

I cut my stretch down to 2 minutes, my gym teacher was right.

5: 07

The gyms packed. I hate it when it’s packed, but that’s the price you pay when you go at 5 pm.

I lie on the flat bench and begin my set.

Quickly, some guy tells me my shorts are on backwards. And he’s right. My shorts are on backwards. I feel slightly intruded on and stupid, the fucking nerve of this guy. What a dick. And what the hell is he doing looking at my dick, fucking dick.

The dick walks away, but luckily he left his energy drink behind. I “accidentally” kick it over and it spills everywhere. I smile for the first time today.

I decide to walk to the other side of the gym. Suddenly, I notice the “talker” is here; he’s the guy who talks to whomever will listen. Every gym has one and for some reason these “talker” guys love me.

I see him coming and make a quick right turn and then a left, but this fucker is persistent, he chases me, literally. I’m cornered at the cable-pulley machines. There’s no escaping.

Self absorbed as ever he rambles on for a good ten minutes about the food poisoning he had last night. I fight to get in these 9 words “really, corn, ouch, baby, wipes, help, please, stop, talking” He hears nothing.

Luckily, I know how to deal with this situation. It’s easy; you see I include some unsuspecting victim into the conversation and pawn him off on the talker. I escape.

I sit down at a shoulder machine.

Directly across from me a woman works the inside of her thighs. She wears tight pants and I now understand what the term “camel toe” means. If there were a heaven this machine would be there and so wouldn’t she. I find myself staring.

Damn it. I’m turning into the Spanish Janitor. Quickly, I move.

The next 45 minutes are a blur highlighted by some dickhead talking on his phone while he hogs the incline bench, a gay guy who keeps trying to make eye contact with me, and a heated argument from two meatheads “I have dis bench first bro. No, no, I have dis bench first bro!”

I hope for a fight, but nothing, they make their peace, grab their gallons of water and walk away. Pussies.

It’s time for the locker room. I have to piss.

This place is my personal hell, it’s ten times worse than the treadmill.

I walk into to see a few guys walking around naked and just chatting it up like they don’t have a care in the world. Men should not talk to each other when they’re naked, ever.

I find the urinal and piss. Next to me another man pisses. I hate that.

I wash my hands in the sink. Promptly some old bastard next to me plops his foot in the sink. He starts scrubbing his knobby old man toes. On my other side some naked man sets his balls in the sink. He trims his pubes.

I run.

The gym is an evil place, I look forward to the day I can by my own equipment and work out at my house.

this is in or around Ballys Santa Monica

Ok so check this out:

Now (if you haven’t already gouged your fucking eyes out) check this out:

See the resemblance? HOLY SHIT she’s a motherfucking Gremlin amirite?!

Yes, you. You sick fucker. On Wednesday morning I emerged from my girlfriend’s building by U.N. Plaza to find that you had sawed the tops off both the sparkplugs on my motorcycle. At the time, I had no idea why anyone would do that. Other than the sparkplugs, the bike was untouched. Some kind of bizarre vandalism? A fraternity prank gone awry? I had no idea. All I knew is that I looked like a huge douchebag riding the Muni to work in a padded motorcycle jacket and helmet.

Because the bike was immobilized I got a $35 street sweeping ticket that night. Thursday I had it towed to the shop ($45) where they replaced the sparkplugs and the boots ($50 including labor). They explained to me that “people” – I use the term loosely here – like you break off the tops of spark plugs and use the porcelain tubes to smoke crack. As an engineer and former MacGyver fan, in a way I think this is kind of cool. But then I remember that I just paid $100 for YOUR crackpipes, and I get angry again.

Crackhead, it was really good to have my bike back though. I rode home from the shop with a couple of spare sparkplugs and a smile on my face. I figured the next time I parked at my girlfriend’s place overnight I would have to buy some crackpipes and tape them to my bike as a peace offering. Overall, I wasn’t that upset. Despite having to ride the bus for three days and dropping a hundred bones at the shop, I had gained some fascinating knowledge, a new set of sparkplugs, and a pretty funny anecdote about how fucked up you are, and how our paths once crossed briefly in the night.

But you couldn’t just let sleeping dogs lie, could you Crackhead. You couldn’t just stay in on Friday, watch Letterman through the window of a home electronics store and then call it a night. You couldn’t rest on your laurels. Two porcelain sparkplug crackpipes just wasn’t enough for you, was it Crackhead? You just had to come back for more.

This morning, a scant fifteen hours after I rode it out of the shop, I found my motorcycle violated once again. This time you only took the right one – maybe you were having an off night. At least this time I had a spare sparkplug and the tools to fix it – or so I thought – having ordered a 73-piece toolset from SEARS.com last week. But no, the sparkplug socket in my new toolset was for American sparkplugs. So I had to go down to the neighborhood Ace hardware. They had an 18mm socket that would fit over my sparkplug, but it was for a 1/2″ drive ratchet. My toolkit only has 1/4″ and 3/8″ ratchets. So I had to buy a 1/2″ ratchet along with the socket. Even though the clerk took pity on me and gave me the senior citizen discount (I’m 25) it still cost me $22 all told. Now, you might say that I should have just gotten a 3/8″-to-1/2″ drive adaptor instead of springing for the whole ratchet. And to that I say “Shut the hell up, Crackhead, I’m not finished. And besides, I was eventually going to buy a 1/2″ ratchet anyway so it’s probably not worth it to take it back now.”

OK, now I’m rambling. But the point is, Crackhead, that you have done me wrong. Now, I get that you love crack. That is totally understandable. I’ve heard it is really fun, at first, and quite addictive. What I don’t understand is,

YOU ARE A CRACKHEAD. WHY DON’T YOU OWN A CRACKPIPE?

I am an engineer. Do you ever see me shaking down bums in the Loin for a calculator and sliderule? No, you don’t. Because engineering is the main thing I do, I went and bought myself a calculator. The main thing you do is crack. How do you get by without a crackpipe? The other crackheads must clown on you non-stop. I mean, the fucking saw you used to saw off my sparkplugs is probably worth five or ten bucks. Why not sell or trade it for a crackpipe? You really haven’t put much thought into this, have you?

Please, Crackhead, please don’t tell me you sold your crackpipe to buy crack. Even a stupid crackhead such as yourself couldn’t possibly be that stupid.

I’ve decided that taping crackpipes to my motorcycle would be tantamount to appeasement. You have crossed a line, Crackhead – specifically California Street. You have come onto my own street and you have desecrated that which I hold dear. You have stolen from me, and you have caused me to spend the last half hour writing this post instead of engineering shit, and it is concievable, if not likely, that my boss could find out about this and fire me. I am hella pissed at you dude.

Here are my options as I see them:

1. Write a note saying that I have coated both of my sparkplugs in rat poison and tape it to my bike at night. You can thank Tim for that one, it was his idea.

2. Don’t write a note, but just coat both sparkplugs in rat poison. This is probably closer to a punishment that would fit your despicable crime. I’m sure this is super illegal and shit, but it’s not like anyone is going to miss you, Crackhead. Don’t fool yourself.

3. Wait in an alley near my bike armed with my new stainless steel mirror-finish Ace Professional brand 1/2″ drive socket wrench, my 18mm sparkplug socket, and my searing rage. It’s pretty heavy and well balanced. I am not a large man, but I am angry.

In conclusion, Crackhead, why don’t you just do both of us a favor and buy yourself a crackpipe? It will both enhance your crack smoking experience and save me a lot of time and felony assault charges. Think about it.

Sincerely,
Matt

*** If you are not the Crackhead that took my sparkplugs, please disregard this posting ***

I think that most guys are easy to please when it comes to sucking their cock. Sure, you might find yourself the occasional connoisseur, but generally if you go for quantity over quality you can’t go wrong. But, if you want to blow his mind when you blow his cock, here’s some tips. I’ve got most of my information from asking other people, both guys and girls, and I’ve included stuff I’ve learned in my experience as a cock-sucking slut!

First of all, the general opinion seems to be that unless there’s a pressing reason (like you’re sucking off total strangers on a crowded train) it’s preferable if you’re naked. Particularly if you’ve got nice tits (and let’s face it, boys are less fussy about the tits they can get in their bedroom than they are about the ones in porn), topless is almost a minimum requirement. There are a couple of advantages to being naked when you’re giving a blowjob. Firstly, it’s easier to clean up — just rub anything that lands on you into your skin. Sure, you’ll never get a nice Monica Lewinski-style souvenir, but at the same time you’ll save money on dry cleaning. Secondly, it means easy access so you or he can play with your bits and pieces — you’ll both love it, more on this later.

Now, obviously getting naked before giving head will decrease the spontaneity a bit. Spontaneity is something a lot of guys like, and I think there are a few reasons. Firstly, the idea that you can’t wait to drink the cum straight out of him will probably drive your man wild. I remember watching in awe as my best friend dropped to her knees at a music festival once, her man loved it so much she only just got her mouth around his dick in time to swallow his load. I think a spontaneous blowjob also has a subtle psychological effect. If you randomly whip out his cock and suck him off, it will seem more likely to him that you’ll do it again some time.

So to put a bit of that spontaneity back in, you could try a couple of things that work for me. Obviously, you could take advantage of already being naked, if you’re changing clothes or having a shower. Another thing I’ve found drives most men wild is to drop to your knees, start sucking on their cock, and then tear your clothes off. Finally, you could do a little bit of planning and be wearing something that will come off quickly and easily as you move toward his big, throbbing member. You could, of course, suck him off fully clothed every once in a while, some guys love it like that, some like to have a view.

A very important facet of your blowjob is what I will, for want of a better word, call presentation. I’ve found that there’s not much turns a man on more than the idea that you can’t resist sucking on his dick. Paradoxically, a bit of teasing is also a big help, particularly if you’re trying to make and impression. The old sucking on a prop trick is clich�d because it works — don’t be scared to use it. If there’s nothing suitable readily available, suck on your finger. This is extremely effective if you do it in public. Just keep your eyes locked on his, so he knows the prop is standing in for his dick, not someone else’s.

In a similar vein, give him a big sloppy kiss and pretend his tongue is his dick. Suck it into your mouth and run your tongue over it. Some guys like this more than others.

Once you get him alone with plenty of time, give him a show. You or he can take your clothes off, but if you want him to do it you might need to get it started to give him the idea — men can be a bit slow sometimes! If you’re a confident girl, give him a bit of a striptease, with or without music, finish up with a few sexy poses, then get out his dick and chow down. If you’re a bit less outgoing, or you’re shy, take your own clothes off, but do it slowly. One thing that used to help me was imagining your hands belong to someone else. Move a slowly as you can, turning occasionally. Caress your own skin like a lover should. A big teasing tip: remove your underwear with your back to him, but turn between bra and panties so he gets a look at your tits. Pinch your nipples a bit for him, I’ve never met a man that didn’t work on. If you’re insecure about your body, do all this with the lights low; guys have a pretty good imagination, so chances are he’ll remember you looking sexier than you think.

So now we’re at the stage where you’re naked and he’s starting to go crazy with lust. You need to get over there and start sucking, and you can just do that directly if you want. This works well in terms of making him feel irresistible. I would recommend saying something like, “Get that big dick out, honey, I want to suck you dry,” as you advance on him. Try to time it so your knees hit the floor as his cock pops out of his pants, that way it’s more like a porn movie, and he’ll love it.

To keep things in your control, you need to keep him mesmerised, so I’d recommend slow and sexy movements. If he’s standing I like to walk over to him, swaying my hips, and grab his belt. Pull him up against you, press your tits into his chest, and kiss him as you undo his pants. Get down on your knees as you push his undies down; kiss down his body if you want, I would recommend looking into his eyes.

If he’s sitting I like to crawl over to him. If he’s on a chair I crawl all the way, but if he’s on a bed I’ll walk to the bed then crawl up to him. As you crawl, arch your back downward like a cat stretching. Try brushing your nipples on the floor. This leaves your ass sticking up in the air, and the crawling motion will make it sway enticingly. When you reach him, stop at his dick, give him a lustful look and start getting into his pants.

This is the point at which you either whip him out and get going, or you turn the teasing up to eleven. I have driven guys wild by starting to blow them through their underwear (this works better with stretchy skin-tight undies than with loose silk boxers). Try giving him the impression that as much as you’re teasing him, the self-denial is twice as bad for you. A girlfriend of mine likes to savour the smell as if it’s a cigar. Do whatever you feel like, the important thing is you’re teasing him to make it better, not to make his life miserable!

How you proceed once you’re face-to-face with his cock depends on what condition it’s in. Young guys will be just about ready to cum, while old guys won’t be hard yet (generally — prepare to be surprised, it’s part of the fun!). One thing I absolutely love is putting a flaccid dick in my mouth and feeling it swell up in there. I’ll also pop the young guys straight in so that if they’re going to lose it we can get the first one out of the way and start again. Otherwise I generally give the cock a bit of a tongue bath.

I’d like to talk a bit about taste. Personally, I think cock tastes good. It doesn’t have to be straight out of the shower, I don’t mind if it’s developed a bit of an aroma, within reason. If you pull it out of his pants and the smell beats you over the head take him off to the shower, give him a rinse, and continue there. Trust me, most guys will do anything for head, so he won’t mind. Just try not to grimace or retch. You might find a man who wants you to lick things off him. Whipped cream and stuff is fine (although wash well to avoid smelling of cheese), no problems. Lots of guys like you to lick your pussy juices off them (assuming you’re not using a condom, which means only in a trusting relationship once you’ve been tested — very important), which is something I have no problem with. I would advise you to taste yourself on your own if you think you might do this — just lick your fingers when you masturbate, and that way you won’t surprise yourself. Some guys want to do the ass-to-mouth thing they’ve seen in porn. Leave this one in the videos, it’s not worth the risk associated with ingesting your own shit. Finally, personally I hate the taste of latex, but I know some of my girlfriends don’t mind it. I always use flavoured condoms for casual sex so he’ll at least taste of chocolatey latex.

So, we’re up to licking his dick all over. Try to savour the experience, it’ll turn him on even more if you’re loving what you’re doing. One important thing about cocks is that you can push them up (against his stomach), but it could hurt him if you push it down too hard (some guys love this, though). Most guys like it if you push their cock up against their stomach and lick the underside of it. You can move down and lick their balls (gently!), and I go a bit lower to lick the perineum. This is where if you are into it, and don’t mind the risk, you can give your man’s ass a bit of a licking.

Usually at this point you’ve got one hand lifting his cock by the tip, and the other’s not really doing much, which leads us to the question of what to do with your hands. If you’re lucky enough to have a big man, your hands will be very useful because they will be the only way to stimulate the base of his dick. Wrap your hand around his shaft and pump the bit you can’t fit into your mouth. You can do the same thing if you want to concentrate on his head with your lips and tongue.

If you’re at a loss, you could always play with yourself. I’ve sucked a lot of guys who loved to look down and see me sucking hard on their cock while I tweaked and pulled both my nipples. If you’re planning to blow this guy again, be sure to show him the wet spot you leave behind because you got so turned on sucking on his big, beautiful, hard cock.

By now you should have a big, hard cock in your mouth (you lucky thing!) and your man’s full attention. As far as I can tell, the consensus seems to be that sloppy is better. Make sure you’re not dehydrated before you start so you can generate spit — you want to leave a shiny layer all over him. He’ll love the idea that you drool at the thought of sucking him off, and I’m told it feels better. This is also an area where fingering yourself gives you an advantage — just use your own juices to lube him up, supplementing his precum and your saliva. You might have seen in porn (or maybe real life, who knows?!) girls spitting at cocks. This is something I personally find a bit weird, but if a guy asked for it I’d do it. What I find sexier is nestling him between my boobs and sort of dribbling on him. Anything that misses I just wipe from my tits onto his cock.

Speaking of this kind of thing, I’ve been with guys who’ve asked for a titfuck, and I’m usually happy to oblige. I think with this kind of thing the turn-on is more visual than anything else, so be sure to look up at him with your sexy eyes and make a real show of sliding your boobs over his hard-on. Rather than waste saliva on this (it’s hard to make enough) I recommend you get some lube. If it doesn’t make you feel silly, a bit of dirty talking wouldn’t go astray. One thing I do like is rubbing the cock over my nipples. In fact I love to tell a man how wonderful his cock is as I rub it over my skin — face, tits, nipples, through my hair. I think it’s because it feels a bit naughty.

On the subject of talking, I have this to say: if you can talk to the guy, it’s not a blowjob. Your mouth should be full most of the time. Don’t get me wrong, handjobs are great, especially at the end. I love to watch a dick twitch and pump a big load of cum at me, watch it fly towards me, and feel it splatter on my skin. If you’re giving head, however, there needs to be lots of contact between your mouth and his dick. If you want to talk to him, do it between deep sucks of his cock. For example, ask him how it feels, then bury him in your mouth while he groans his ecstatic response, then pop him out again and tell him you love it too. Also, give him the impression talking is secondary to sucking by not answering him immediately. If he asks you a yes/no question, don’t even take him out of your mouth, just answer with an “Uh-huh” with your mouth full.

In terms of incoherent noises, I would advise you not to fake sexual pleasure — most guys won’t buy it if you fake an orgasm while blowing them. If you do want to make some sort of moan, think more of eating a delicious chocolate dessert rather than being skilfully fingered. Of course, if you’re going to cum for real, just let it out, and if you are playing with yourself (or he’s playing with you), respond to that too. The noises he really wants to hear are the ones that show how hard you’re working — the sucking, slurping, popping noise of a girl trying as hard as she can to drink her man’s cum!

If you talk to him, don’t be too clever — remember most of his blood’s not in his brain anymore! When I first see his cock I like to complement it — tell him it’s big, hot, hard, beautiful, whatever’s not too blatant a lie. If you really can’t complement its appearance, give it a good licking or sucking and then tell him it’s delicious. In fact, tell him that regardless. During the course of the blowjob you can reinforce the message by repeating it. You could also tell him how much you love what you’re doing, or how turned on you are (don’t lie about this — he might check). If this is just stage one of the lovemaking, tell him what you look forward to doing next. If he’s a stranger you’ve picked up, you could tell him you never do this but you find him irresistible. At the end, it’s usually a good idea to give the guy permission and encouragement. It’s nice to let him know you want to swallow, or take it on your face, or whatever. If there’s something you don’t want, tell him you do want something else, so instead of, “Don’t you dare cum in my mouth, you perve,” go for, “I want it all over my tits, you big stud.” If you don’t want the cum on you, tell him you want to watch it shoot, then point his dick past you.

As far as technique goes, I think it comes pretty naturally. You’re mimicking intercourse using your mouth, essentially. The difference is teeth, tongue, and the “fact” that good girls don’t do it. Lots of guys are freaked out by teeth in blowjobs, some guys like it. You could ask, but I prefer to let him ask me for it. Generally, just use your teeth either to scrape gently over the shaft, or to kind of grip the head at the back and pull, once again, gently! The tongue is a whole other matter. You need to use it. I don’t have a tongue piercing because I like my teeth and don’t want them chipped or ground down, but apparently this really does make a difference. Your tongue should slither around him, wrapping itself around the head, sliding along the shaft. Your technique will vary depending on the length of your tongue. A favourite among guys seems to be sticking your tongue out to lick his balls while his dick is buried in your mouth, but unless he’s miniscule you’ll need to control your gag reflex.

Now, guys love going down your throat, which is something I blame on porn. I personally have a gag reflex, so I can’t do the relentless throat-fucking thing you see in movies, and I don’t think there’s anything sexy about puking. If you are with someone who wants to make you throw up, make sure you get most of it on him. This deep-throat thing is ok as long as you’re in control, though. Once again, probably because it feels naughty, it can be a real turn-on to go as far down a cock as you can. I think guys actually prefer it if you gag a little bit, pop up for air, then dive straight back onto them, rather than either the professional “I can do this all night” thing or if you go too hard and spend minutes coughing. If a guy grabs your head and you’re not one of those girls who likes that, or if you don’t trust this particular guy, take his hands and move them down to your nipples. Then suck him as deep and as hard as you can to show there’s no hard feelings.

If you’re still at a loss as far as technique goes, get some porn and try anything you see that you like. What’s even more fun is to get some porn, then watch it with your man and give him what he sees on screen (maybe a good idea to check the movie on your own first to avoid nasty surprises!). Guys love it if you can give them exactly the same rhythm and action as the slut on screen.

After doing your thing for a while, he’ll be getting ready to unload for you. If you’re a bit inexperienced and can’t tell, he’ll start to do something different — lots of guys start to thrust at you, which means they want you to use their rhythm rather than yours so go with that; some guys go still, so basically don’t let that freak you out; some guys start talking more, or get less coherent and more grunty. If he starts saying, “I’m gonna cum, I’m gonna cum,” over and over, he’s probably a little way off and needs some help, which you can provide by popping him out of your mouth and begging for a big load!

You’ll learn to read the signs pretty easily — when he cums, his pelvic muscles all squeeze up to shoot the semen out of him and this means his balls will lift up and his shaft will twitch. Then you’ll find yourself with a jet of spunk to deal with, and you should think about how you’re going to do that well before it happens.

Personally, I think cum tastes fantastic — I’d buy it in bottles if I could — so obviously I have no problem swallowing it. If you do, I suggest two things. First of all, catch it on your skin, then rub it in — it’s sexy without you needing to taste it. Secondly, try to acquire a taste for it, because there are some fun places you can blow a man where you don’t want to leave a mess (your car, for example).

Some guys want to cum on you (usually face or tits after a blowjob), which might be their way of marking you or something. Whatever it is, there’s not much reason not to let them if you’re in private. If you’re in public (or about to be), maybe consider just how bad the consequences could be, although chances are people won’t really notice much. One of the sexiest things I’ve ever done was to blow a random guy first thing in the morning at university, have him wipe his dick in my hair, and then walk around all day being able to smell the faint aroma of cock in my hair. None of my girlfriends commented, so I assume they didn’t notice, but I was so turned on I had to go and buy some more panties at lunchtime.

To give a man the best of both worlds, do one of these, then the other. Either have him cum on you, then scoop it up and eat it, or collect his cum in your mouth and dribble it all over yourself. I have a friend who likes to “accidentally on purpose” get a few dribbles on her clothes to make herself look and feel more slutty.

Once you finish, don’t forget to thank him — he’ll thank you, but won’t expect thanks back. If he’s a regular of yours tell him you have so much fun you need to do it more often. If he’s more of a one-off thing tell him you’d love to do it again.

I hope all this helps. Please remember to be safe, and that nobody has the right to force you to do something you don’t want to do.