Happy Ending

Ladies, don't get me wrong. Anytime one of you is kind enough -- some might argue charitable enough -- to take my Irish cock in your mouth, it's a damn good time. Seriously. Like a parade in my mind. Because in my world, blowjobs are second only to breathing on the list of things I enjoy experiencing, and any female who helps further my experiences in this department is, as my Uncle Topper would say, "aces!"

That said, and at the risk of sounding like a nitpicky bastard, I feel that it's important to call your attention to that magic moment that occurs when you have orally stimulated me to the point that my body is helpless in a spasm of release. For some of you, this represents the end of the blowjob. But what I need you to understand is that it's actually the beginning of the orgasm. And how one navigates the course from this point on is of critical importance.

Using the last few Kennettes as examples, I'll offer some different approaches. Some very desirable, some not so much.

1. Once "that stuff" [her words] starts coming, you immediately remove your hand and mouth from the cock, recoil and back away sharply, like a puppy that's just been kicked. Or my buddy Pete when he realizes it's his turn to buy a round.

2. You immediately stop any and all kind of mouth movement until I'm "finished." You then scoot to the bathroom to spit in the sink with an audible "pfffffttttttpppptthhhh."

3. When you feel the inevitable throbbing, you instantly remove the cock from your mouth and start jerking it madly in a bizarre attempt to see how far you can make it shoot. [Actual Kennette dialogue: "Holy fuck. That's a new record -- clear over my head!"]

4. Feeling my abdominal muscles start to quiver and my balls begin their inevitable ascent, you intensify the suction, taking everything in. You then not-so-gently massage the base with your thumb and index finger and continue said massage until I am dry and moaning and going on and on about how I can't wait to meet your family and fuckgodalmighty can we get together tomorrow and every fiber of my body has melted into the couch or floor. Or until the Red Sox start a massive rally.

Of course, number 4 is the girl you marry. Although, I must admit that when she was sober and not calling me from the bar saying she was heading to my place with a loaded rifle, number 3 was a hell of a lot of fun.