Everybody Does It: Sticky Sweet

“Your cum tastes sweet,” he told me after my Saturday morning blow job. Barring all pretense of conceit, I am used to graciously accepting compliments for attributes beyond my control, but this was a new one for me. I was dumbstruck, not that it was insulting or I suppose a surprising thing to be told, but by the fact that my jizz was deemed sweet. I crave cheese and salty snacks when the afternoon slump rolls around, only accept dessert at birthdays, weddings, or three course meals, and even drink diet soda because I find regular to be too decadent. I take no special health measure to ensure the savoriness of my spunk, so if I had to guess I would assume it to be every bit as salty and aggressive as my diet and attitude.

They say that blowjobs are like the gay handshake, but what happens when you find yourself spending time with an ex whom you obviously already know quite intimately, when a BJ is out of the question, a real handshake seems too informal, and a kiss on the cheek can still feel a bit forced? In today’s culture it seems that most often attraction, physical chemistry, and sexual compatibility form the foundation for our relationships, so when those elements are removed, how do we even attempt to rebuild a connection?

Every time we get in bed with a new guy we silently or verbally establish rules as to how things will proceed. What we want to do, how we want to do it, and where we want ourselves and the other person to cum are summarily communicated and performed. When it comes to oral, some prefer to spit or swallow, others don’t want cum in their mouth at all; some want to have it on their face or chest, or use it after as their own lubrication.

No matter the outcome, or rather how it comes out, the constant for straights and gays is that a BJ is in lieu of or at least a precursor to sex, when anal sex may be out of the question with a one-night stand or new love interest. What varies for us, or so I hear and would like to believe sets us apart, is that oral falls by the wayside as hetero relationships progress.

But after our relationships fall apart, unless you jump right back in bed with your ex at the moment of reconciliation, the water is much muddier, and expectations are impossible to chart. Oral communication is difficult enough, much less the thought of digging through the emotional baggage of the break-up to find an easy way to unpack your passion and unzip your pants for one another again. Despite your attempts to remind or force yourself to forget, that he is the person you spent many enjoyable nights, mornings, and afternoons with in bed, you can’t always see past the wall of hurt and anger you built between yourselves.

I recently spent a day with my ex in the park, quietly reading, and chatting about whatever topics floated into our heads. We acted the part of a couple relaxing in the park, alternating my head on the small of his back or stomach, and he so on mine. But even the bright sun and clear sky could not make anything seem more clear or defined. It felt unnatural not to be touching, but to be touching in such limited and unaffectionate ways. It was like a scene from a soap opera, the main characters both suffering from amnesia, yet have some vague sense of connection to each other, but can’t quite put their finger on it.

Towards the end of the day we hastily left a gazebo we were using to dine on burgers and fries when we realized it was to be the scene of a wedding. We moved to sit only 20 feet away so we could still observe what we assumed was about to be a gay wedding, until of course, the bride showed up in her pristine, white dress. For a reason unbeknownst to us, they held a mirror, reflecting their opposite profiles in our directions, and after a short while, another hetero couple was joined in holy matrimony. It was almost too ironic to be sitting there with him, the first person I told I loved and meant it, with that scene reflecting towards us, to see another one of our assumptions about the future dissolve, just yards of where we first said goodbye.

By the time the wedding had ended and the dozen or so guests departed the gazebo, I knew that this is how it would be. From now on there would only be talk of his or mine, no longer of ours. But unlike that day a mere six months ago when I left the park, shaken, stunned, and perhaps too in shock to be sad, I felt content as I departed. Not every scene can bear sentimental significance for its voyeurs, nor will every clear sky or shiny mirror reflect an honest portrayal about what lies beneath the surface of its captives. Uncertainty about another’s feelings can leave a taste just as bitter as a break up in your mouth, but if you are determined to move on with life it’s nice to discover that the sweetest surprise of all can be yourself.