Today’s unrelated photo: Season’s Greetings from the aftermath of yesterday’s razing of the tar-paper shack three doors down from the Twisty Bungalow.
Flea—how I admire Flea; no erudite dildopreneur was ever so hilarious—actually gets email asking for sex advice. I can only imagine the degree to which such a thing enhances her quality of life. My envy is pronounced. I myself am never called upon to opine on intimate matters. Which is probably just as well, since my reply to every question would undoubtedly be “Dump him!”
Anyway, in response to one such email, Flea has a post up containing second-party information on how to perform a blow job without gagging.
Flame me if you will, but I posit nevertheless that no woman, since the dawn of the patriarchal co-option of human sexuality, has ever actually enjoyed this submissive sexbot drudgery. There’s a reason that deep-throating a funk-filled bratwurst makes a person retch.*
How dare I presume to impugn the sanctity of a woman’s right to the blow job? I do so mostly on accounta I will get a big bang out of the impassioned arguments defending it.
*Reason: It’s fucking gross.