What It REALLY Feels Like To Get An INSANE Blowjob, As Told By A Guy

A lady friend of mine recently asked me a question straight out of D'Angelo's song "Untitled": "How does it feel?" And rather than throwing around a bunch of euphemisms, she was interested in knowing how it felt to receive weapons-grade oral sex. Short answer: Real good... real, real good. Long answer: not at all bad.

I'd always imagined getting head was similar to having someone liberally lollypop your clitoris; there are roughly twice as many nerve endings in a clitoris compared to the tip of a man's penis, but there's certainly something else to it. 

Imagine that you've climbed into a hot tub. In this hot tub, the fingers of a world-class masseuse have disembodied themselves, become the consistency of two-day-old Jello, and appear to be working independently of one another. Now shrink the hot tub to the size of a travel coffee mug, add in a self-sealing lid that's exactly the shape of Tom Hardy's lips affixed securely to your groin, and you're beginning to get the picture. 

Getting an excellent blowjob is like sending godd*mn micro-bursts of warm sunshine via neurochemical receptors to places as far away as the balls of your feet, the nerve endings of your scalp, and if you're lucky, Pluto. Warmth creeps over your face as your member goes from leather phase to steel phase to diamond phase.

Even if your partner is an all-star, a hand is mandatory to maintain the kind of rhythm, pressure and steadiness that only a west Texas oil derrick could replicate. While that hand typically does the majority of the "job," the lips and tongue are what sets it apart from a DIY project.

As things approach a crescendo, tiny, involuntary muscle twitches, not unlike laughing, can jab you in the stomach, chest, legs and face. More than one dude has probably suffered a stroke or palsy on the receiving end of this. 

As you hit the apocalypse (a gentleman always informs his partner), a momentary tranquility blasts your endocrine system (dopamine finishes the last note of "Free Bird" and smashes his guitar). A thoughtful partner will stretch the high out — not unlike having an ice cream cone on the walk home from a dinner which included tiramisu — by applying oscillating pressure to the glans (the tip part of the tip/balls/shaft trinity) as the parking lot empties out.

Swallow, gargle, blow smoke rings or don't, but that additional pressure can really make the last few seconds of "I'm the king of the world!" pretty incredible.

Ultimately, blood begins returning to its originally scheduled programing, euphoria is replaced by a number of things that range from a fondness brought on by oxytocin and the cheery thought of "Whoa. I just got my dick sucked. Awesome!" to refractory-induced comas, to an overwhelming desire to literally be anywhere else but here even if it involves chewing your own arm off. 

Intercourse is awesome; however, sometimes you don't want to do any work. And unless you're spending time with a real asshole, he appreciates the effort (note: this is a pretty good reason to attempt eye contact while in act).

And frankly, unless your primary source of income is firing ping pong balls out of your babymaker in a grimly-lit Dutch cabaret, you don't have the same level of control of your vagina as you do your mouth and hand. (Also, It's rare that a mouth can accidentally get pregnant.)

It's really a shame that "suck my dick" has become a universal way to tell a person you're not a fan of his or her attitude or accomplishments because it's more or less the nicest free thing you can do for a dude. Yes, there's an element of subservience to it but there's also an element of incredible vulnerability — and the two are part of what makes it such an intimate act.

Getting a hella blowjob is sorta like if you were to eat a piece of cheese, pop a zit, not have pants on, and for Tim Gunn to say he likes your style all at the same time.

Yeah, it's real, real good.