Boys, I need to talk to you about the years of pain I have endured at the cost of your hands. And out of solidarity, I appeal to the hard work you do day in and day out pretending to enjoy the chafing tease-job we do with our hands, when all you want to do is grab our heads and force your dick into our face-holes. Since we all got our early sex education from horribly vague references to America’s favorite pastime, what I’m talking about here is everyone’s least favorite home run-bound stop: second base.
[media-credit id=20201 align=”alignleft” width=”250″][/media-credit]That’s right, you’ve moved on from the passion of that first intimate kiss into a wasteland of awkward unzipping, position shifting and dry, uncertain hand rubbing. You squeeze your eyes shut thinking of how much better this experience would be if you were choking your own chicken, and count one moment of pleasure for every handful of discomforts and skin snags. Now, I’m not saying mutual masturbation is unnecessary, in the least. What I am admitting, however, is the sad fact that the ol’ handjob exchange is rarely smooth sailing, and the rough and choppy journey often feels more like an angry little man is violently kneading dough in between your legs.
I come to you first on behalf of a clitoris that has been roughed up and beaten to a pulp by the angry digital abuse you call “fingering.” I would like to set forth a motion to amend this second base alias — your finger does not need a verb and the offer of you “ing-ing” me with your fingers is not sexy. You may pleasure me, rub me and pet me, but I beg you to put an end to jabbing your phalanges into my hole and hammering my clit. Don’t think I don’t get your intention; the mood is hot, she’s moistening up like a towelette and it’s time to pump up the pussy volume with some groin groping.
But the feeling of getting your clit rubbed is so overwhelmingly potent that when you flick and tug it around town, I promise you she is secretly counting the seconds until the battery ends. So before you touch that dial, think less harsh meat tenderization and more playful finger flirtation. Here’s what’s running through my head while you’re down there clawing at my precious jewels:
I can’t give myself head, wish I could, but I can’t. So you should give me head, because the sushi rolling you’re doing downstairs with your hands isn’t doing the trick.
Okay, enough about my cooch’s need for physical therapy and on to the highly anticipated, eighth grade throwback that is the handjob. It never fails, no matter how much practice, constructive criticism and improvement, every time I slip my hands down a guy’s pants to harden things up, I feel like I’m in middle school again; which is why I think it’s time for a more adult approach to the handjob. Correct me if I’m wrong, but it’s my understanding that the only real appeal of a handjob is the fact that someone else is giving it to you, even though you can do the same yourself. Well girls, the next time you’re pumping the living hell out of his poor shaft, consider some more advanced monkey spanking by making the experience something he couldn’t do alone — add some dirty pillow talk, simultaneous stimulation on different parts of the body, lubricant, ball massaging, etc.
So are we doomed to a lifetime of strictly face-to-genitals foreplay where erotic touching becomes obsolete? Step aside Darwin, because mutual masturbation doesn’t have to be fazed out, just dramatically improved through the most essential hookup ingredient: communication. I’m not telling you to preface your time between the sheets with a blunt, “Excuse me, how would you like to be jerked and/or jacked off this evening?” Rather, use sexy whispers to tell your partner what feels great and what is actually borderline painful. It is not offensive to tell someone to slow down, speed up or move their hand in a certain way that makes you tingle. And if you’re angry at me for bitching you out without giving you specific advice, here’s my response: Only your partner can tell you how to make second base a hole-in-one for him or her. Trust me, if you can learn to talk it out, the touch may even have the potential to surpass the blow.
The ultimatum: Put your hands to good use or whip out that tongue, because there’s nothing less satisfying than taking a beat-up car for a ride.