I Hate Giving Blow Jobs

I know that admitting my distaste makes me seem like an oddball prude, but I am tired of pretending.
Author:
Publish date:
February 12, 2015
Tags:
Tags:
feminism, oral sex, IDGAF, Sex,, Blow Jobs

I know that admitting my distaste makes me seem like an oddball prude, but I am tired of hiding it. I’m a 25-year-old woman, and I think blow jobs suck.

I tried to like it. I subscribed to Cosmo, scoured the Internet for advice, and even watched a few pornos. Throughout my investigation, I marveled at the way some women could go after dick like it was the last pair of Jimmy Choos at a sample sale.

By the time I hit my mid-twenties, I felt pretty terrible about my lack of interest in the act. Why couldn’t I — an independent, sexual woman in so many ways — love doing this thing that the rest of my gender seems to love?

We (as in, the female gender) are taught to find blow jobs empowering. Fellatio has been an integral part of post-feminist, sexual emancipation since the 1960s and is utterly intertwined with the idea of female sensuality. Magazines, books, and television shows — they’re all here to convince us that blow jobs are an act of liberation, treasured by powerful women everywhere.

So who are these girls that feel empowered when they put someone else’s urinary tract into their mouth? My friends, apparently. A good portion of them say head provides a sense of control, referencing old episodes of Sex and the City as evidentiary support. They argue that oral sex is the only instance in which a man is putty in their hands or . . . er . . . their mouth.

Hating fellatio doesn’t mean hating sex.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m sure some women actually do love giving head. But I, for one, don’t buy it. There must be another reason why all these beautiful, intelligent women feel pressure to constantly get on their knees — and it’s not liberation. Are we simply afraid that men will stop wanting us the moment we stop opening wide?

I was desperate to disprove this horrifying piece of popular opinion and decided to put it to the test. I told my boyfriend of eight months that I hate giving head. We were past the early stage of our relationship — the part where girls will do anything to appear low-maintenance, casual, and DTF — and we’d even the dropped the L bomb. If there was ever a time to be honest, this was it.

What sounded totally rational in my head — “I love you and, although committed to our mutual satisfaction, would prefer not to suck you off anymore” — received a less than gracious response. The conversation turned into an instant negotiation in which we both probed the other on the various aspects of sex that mattered to us.

First on the list? If he wasn’t getting any, he wasn’t giving any. (He was pretty terrible at cunnilingus in the first place, so I could get on board with this.) But unfortunately, the conversation only went south from here. My boyfriend couldn’t get past the idea that hating blow jobs didn’t mean hating sex, and seemed to feel he was signing up for a lifetime of blue balls and late nights in front of the computer screen. It was apparent that he, too, identified fellatio as the beacon of a sexually liberal woman — like some sort of slutty bat signal.

No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t convince that boy I wasn’t a frigid bitch. And although we didn’t break up that day, our sex life became increasingly strained. I was faced with a choice: Do something I hate to prove I actually like sex, or stand by my right to a closed mouth. I chose to prioritize myself, and we parted ways a few weeks later.

A sexless year passed after that horrifying scene, and I refused to settle for anyone who didn’t want me in all my orally-challenged glory. The only thing I had changed is my approach: I now confessed my hate before the first sexual encounter. It’s actually a great way to instantaneously rule out unsuitable candidates, akin to ditching a guy who asks to go dutch on a first date. It's also precluded me from having to give eight months of heart-unfelt head before seeing whether the guy would stick around.

During that time, approximately five men ran away so fast that their footprints were left smoking. I had finally come to terms with my new life as “Bridget pre–Marc Darcy,” but then I found Channing. (Not his real name, obviously.) When I told Channing there were no blow jobs on this boat, his reaction was simple: “That’s cool, but can we still do other stuff?” We could, and we did.

Sex with Channing is like a breath of fresh air — full of self-exploration and hunger. I never feel pressured, and in turn have become more sexually liberal than ever before. My menu of offerings has actually expanded, not decreased. No, I’ve never given him head. No, he won’t perform oral on me. But we’ve found a sexual repertoire that works for us — and it’s brought out some of my best work.

Never again will I buy into the idea that love means doing anything and everything to satisfy your partner. I’ll only ever do things for a man if and when I want to — but never because I have to. And should things not work out with Channing, so be it. I’ll find someone else. I’m a sexual woman who decided to live her life beyond the pressure of the penis.

It’s time to blow some holes in the blow job bullshit: Hating head doesn’t mean hating sex. And while there will always be a subset of women who enjoy the act of giving blow jobs, disliking it doesn’t make you any less of a sexual being. No man should confuse these two things, and no woman should feel pressured to perform. Whether or not you’ll go down is a personal decision — not an anti-feminist act.