"You’ve Gotta Be a Dude": Sorry?

Maybe I’m in a bad mood because an old friend went and died on the weekend. Maybe I’m in a bad mood because I got up and saw more snow falling when we should be well into a spring that’s never yet arrived. Maybe I’m in a bad mood because it’s Monday.

But I was pretty pissy when I got this comment on one of my best old posts, The Good Girl’s Guide to Giving Great Head (Part 2):

You are a dude. No woman would recall this much detail unless she had a dick herself.

Where to even begin?

One, most average guys couldn’t describe a great blowjob to save their lives. “Well, she… I don’t know, but, man, when I came, oh! And I remember this thing she did with her tongue…” They’re just happy when a woman’s lips are on their penis, but when she starts doing things with it, well, that’s even better. (No offence, guys. :)

Two, good writing is ALL about the details, just like blowjobs and cooking, man. It’s all about the details. I aim to be a good writer, in all its definitions. So, I write well, and I capture details very well, it’s why I should really be writing manuals for a living. But then I’d be bored and would have to kill myself, so, no, I blog instead.

Three, you just insulted every woman alive, including yourself. What, you don’t think a woman could get that good at giving head? You think every woman sees a penis and goes, “God, get me out of this as quick as possible. Give him a really itchy trigger. Man, I hate doing this” or something, and then just turns stupid and can’t remember the series of things she did to make him whimper and groan?

I really fucking hate it when people either a) steal this post of mine — which has been plagiarized all over the fucking web (gutless thieving fucking cowards) or b) think I had to be a GUY to know what to do with a penis.

No, I’m not a guy. No, I’m not a “trained professional”. No, I’ve never taken biology class. No, I’ve never taught or have been taught sexuality.

But I give a wicked blowjob, and I love the power it gives me. I make grown men crumple beneath me. It’s fabulous. I’m that person who sees life through hyper-detailed eyes. It yields me terrific results. I remember that everything I do is a collection of smaller actions that build into larger events. That’s what makes life fun. When I do anything sexual, I don’t often close my eyes. Instead, I watch my partner’s reactions, every breath they take and every move they make, and I’m really fully aware of the sensations I’m causing. You throw my great memory and my penchant to detail into the mix, and whew, you get some of this blog, babe.

Sigh. It’s what you get when you throw a philosophy addict into the art of sexuality and get ’em to write about how to make it all good. I live the overthought life. It pays off when I write about giving hummers, it would seem.

But I ain’t no guy. I’ve written about PMS and periods a few times too many to be male. But if you, cynical reader, want to delude yourself into thinking all women are too aloof to write such a thing, then I guess that’s your very-1950s’ prerogative. Go for it.

Oh, let it be known here and now then: I love comments. I’m just fully prepared to throw down when I see cheesy comments that need some commentary. (Fortunately, that seldom happens.)

(By the way, a lot of the older posts, like
The Good Girl’s Guide, were originally posted on my old blog, The Cunting Linguist, but I didn’t copy all the comments over. This one was left this morning, so it’s a totally new comment, ergo probably a totally new reader. Or, was. Ha.)