"Sex and the City" provided me with a glimmer of hope, though, a key to decontaminating the puddles of my prick. Ever since then, my glee at getting my lollipop licked has been tainted with advance remorse: My receiver is about to be nauseous. My lover Robyn perceived my bluff she forced me to admit that I loathed the salty, viscous wad. I lied too, 25 years ago, when I gobbled through the same horrible gastronomic gantlet. Although he reports that he's "fine with it," we know that he's lying. "If you're fine with it, I'll be fine with it." Adam initially resists sampling his spooge ("It's gay!" he whines), but eventually he chokes down his rancid cum, with an anguished expression on his defeated visage. "You try it!" Samantha challenges her bewildered beau (Adam) when he bellows that she's acting like a squeamish princess. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, please just spit it out anywhere, on me or the blankets I'll clean it up and I'll bring you a big glass of cold water." Blow jobs bestowed on my happy organ invariably end with me mumbling ashamedly, as if I had just splattered eggnog all over the Christmas table. Fear of Samanthas also inhibits me: My crotch loves a tongue-lashing but my ego doesn't. I adore oral acceptance of my penile offering, but I'm cravenly apologetic asking for it, because I'm sure the texture and flavor are repulsive on my lover's palate.
I winced watching this, because I am consumed with greedy but guilty desire when it comes to the issue of squirting inside the mouth and swallowing.
"Giving head is like a trip to the rotten-egg buffet." 6 "Sex and the City" episode, as she refuses to fellate his foully spurting member. "You've got funky-tasting spunk," Samantha tells her bitter paramour on the Aug.