BLESS him for trying, but cunnilingus can drag on with no end in sight. Here is what’s running through a woman’s mind when the dreaded erotic situation occurs.
‘Oh no’
Triggered by the slide down the body with a smug look of satisfaction showing what a generous feminist he thinks he is, and that he knows you’re expected to reciprocate. He’s even thinking he’ll sound like a great guy when you tell the girls at brunch. What a truly unselfish act.
‘That ceiling needs repainting’
He’s doing his thing and despite participating in a sexual act you are entirely disconnected and may as well be watching telly in a different room. You look at the ceiling where several damp spots are forming and you suspect the whole area could do with some sprucing up. Sadly he’s thinking the same thing where he is.
‘Is he okay?’
What’s he thinking about? Can he breathe? Does it not taste too too bad? How does it smell? Should I ask? Are we allowed to talk? Am I allowed to whisper or pass a note if I want to communicate with him? What are the rules? Christ, it’s quiet in here.
‘Is that the right place?’
For all his persistence, he’s not really working on the right area and you can only redirect him by squirming awkwardly around the bed, which just makes him adjust position too, back to the wrong bit. You feel like you’re on The Crystal Maze, instructing a contestant in another room ‘left a bit… no, right’. Now you’re thinking about Richard O’Brien’s remarkably bald head and that’s not helping you climax.
‘Should I be making more noise?’
Wondering whether you need to sound more enthused, you look down. Unfortunately he looks up, causing you to immediately look away like when you accidentally lock eyes with a stranger on the bus. Him attempting to see your reaction is making this even more stressful. Can you throw a blanket over him?
‘How can I break this off?’
It’s taking too long, much too long. At first it seemed to be a warm-up for the main event, but no, he’s actually aiming for the big O, the ambitious, crazy bastard. He’ll never get there. You either have to fake it or say ‘That was lovely, dear’ like a mother praising a child who insisted on singing a song. Either that or: ‘You did your best and that’s what counts.’
‘Is that a wart growing on my hand?’
You’ve given up on this torment and are instead looking at the back of your hand for something to do. You can’t really look at your phone after he moved the duvet off his head. Is that a wrinkle? Are you getting a wart? Maybe you should see the doctor. If you distract yourself, maybe the orgasm will sneak up on you when you’re not looking.
‘How long’s it been?’
You can’t sneak a peek at your watch, much as you yearn to. Worse, you suspect it’s only been three or four minutes. Time slows down here, like in the dentist’s chair. But like being checked for bleeding gums, at least it only happens twice a year.
