Blowjobs on Demand Truly Suck

Few things in life and in bed are less sexy than pushy naked guys.

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Photo: Nickjake876

“Suck it.”

And down I go — in more ways than one.

As soon as Yanko, a Romani Macedonian in Skopje, made the suck command while inching his penis closer to my face, mine went limp. He was the first guy who’d gotten me out of my clothes in a month, and I was starting to wish I’d kept them on.

Sure, he had a beautiful penis, and he was understandably proud of it. But he cheated us both out of what would have been a mind-blowing c**k-blowing experience if he had just let me get to it in my own time.

By demanding blowjob after blowjob (as well as asking me to lick his ass), he turned sex with him into a chore. We were no longer two guys getting off on each other’s bodies. I was the guy keeping him hard, and he was the guy I wanted to get out of my face.

I declined his rim-job request, and soon I was over his beautiful penis, too. He’d killed the mood. Time of death: 6:02 pm.

After Yanko left, I felt kind of icky. It had been my second sexual experience in nearly three months, and it was the second one the guy had ruined with words. Although Yanko hadn’t forced me to do anything, his prodding was uncomfortable and awkward in a way that good sex never should be.

I don’t need GPS to go where I want to go in bed. Sex is not a Pilates class, though some of the positions are similar. If I want to take orders from a sexy guy while I’m hot and sweaty, I’d get a personal trainer.

Begging in the Balkans, Part One

“Come on.”

If I’d heard them once, I’d heard those two words at least a dozen times since Kan arrived at my rental apartment in Podgorica, Montenegro, about a month before I met Yanko.

He was sweet and easy on my eyes, but it was getting late, and I was feeling lazy. I wasn’t up for doing much more than kissing and cuddling, as I made clear before agreeing to let him come by. I resisted each advance to take things further.

“Come on.”

Kan first said it to persuade me to let him take off my shirt. Then he said it to get me to let him keep grabbing my crotch. Then he said it to pressure me into allowing him to remove my trousers. Then he said it to coax me out of my underwear so he could give me a blowjob.

“Come on.”

That time he said it because he was dying for me to f**k him. I had to draw the line somewhere. It was going to take a lot more than two words for that wish to be my command. At the very least, it was going to take a condom, which neither one of us had.

To Kan’s credit, he never again uttered those two words I’d come to hate. Sadly, his silence came too late.

Great first impression, meh lasting one

Kan had shown so much potential when he first walked through the front door. He was even cuter than he was in his Grindr pics and in the photos he’d sent me on WhatsApp. Plus, his semi-grasp of English was more than I’d come to expect after two days in Podgorica.

He was lovely, and he was perfectly happy to do most of the work. He didn’t ask me to reciprocate any of the blowjobs, and not once did he try to shove his ass in my face. But “Come on” after “Come on” killed the mood as surely as “Suck it” would a month later. By the time Kan’s broken record stopped playing, I was over the song and the singer’s initial appeal had dwindled dramatically. Barry White and Dexy’s Midnight Runners, he was not.

Maybe he could have spruced up the sex script by adding new lyrics. I tried giving him the benefit of a doubt. Could “Come on” have been a Montenegrin thing? I’d heard it at least three dozen times from Senad, a Montenegrin in Sarajevo whom I’d met about a week before, as we binge-watched the final four or five episodes of Will & Grace’s ninth season.

Senad loved all the jokes, but I don’t think he actually laughed at any of them. Even when Karen and Alec Baldwin were dry-humping her butler and when Grace hooked up with a son, his dad, and his grandpa, he just said “Come on!” and slapped his leg.

Kan’s “Come on”-ing, though, got me thinking about sexual pleading. For me, each movement in the sex symphony is much better when it’s not by request.

It’s like the difference between randomly hearing a golden oldie you haven’t thought of in years during a cab ride home after a big night out and playing it yourself on Spotify. I love it when a guy fondles my nipples, but it’s way hotter when he figures that out on his own (which neither Yanko nor Kan did, by the way).

I love it when a guy fondles my nipples, but it’s way hotter when he figures that out on his own.

If I have to tell him that nipple play turns me on even more than blowjobs, then I wonder if he’s doing it more out of obligation than a burning desire to touch/lick/suck me there. It’s just not the same. So I never ask.

This all brings us to the magic question: When is it OK to come right out and demand what you want in bed — or beg for it, if you must? Am I demanding too much by wanting the guy on top of me, or under me, or beside me to just go with the flow?

Burak actually had the right idea when he asked me if he could kiss me half an hour into our date. He was a 23-year-old from Istanbul whom I met when we were both in Prague last December. His “Can I kiss you?” is still the sexiest thing a guy has said to me in the past year. How could I possibly say no?

I know I need to keep my expectations low when it comes to casual hook-ups, and in general, I do. I never go in looking for romance or someone with Burak’s shy appeal, but some of the best sex I’ve had in the past five years has been with guys I met online and never saw again.

The one thing each fantastic hook-up had in common was that there were no demands, no prodding involved. Before he could ask for what he wanted, I was probably already doing it.

Oh, and they all figured out the nipple thing while my shirt was still on.

Written by

Brother Son Husband Friend Loner Minimalist World Traveler. Author of “Is It True What They Say About Black Men?” and “Storms in Africa” https://rb.gy/3mthoj

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