DOING MY JOB

by Rea Frey

Never one to turn down something racy, my friend invited me to a Blow Job Seminar in Chicago. At first, I scoffed. “I don’t need to go to a seminar.” But, the curiosity took hold, and I caved. Heading up north to G Boutique (http://www.boutiqueg.com), I immediately felt at home. Tables sprinkled with pink and blue and black dildos, packages of condoms, and pencils and paper (for proper note taking) were set up in the middle of the lingerie shop. Tiny glasses of champagne lined a table near the back. So far, so fun.

My friend and I took a seat amongst the other women. We eyed each other nervously, twiddling with our dildos. I glanced at the sheet of paper, which was divided into two columns: hand jobs and blow jobs. My friend’s eyes lit up. “Look Rea, handjobs!” she exclaimed. We burst into laughter.

Now, why a man doesn’t teach this class, I will never know. Wouldn’t a man know what a man likes? Could this woman (who was a great teacher, by the way) really know that he likes his penis to be hummed on, or twisted like starting a camp fire, or (gasp!) actually encouraging the placement of teeth? And no gagging? Ever? I was skeptical, to say the least.

But, first things first: we had to put a condom on the dildo using only our mouths. I looked at my fat apparatus, which made me realize two things: 1) I have not used a condom in seven years (one of the perks of having been married) and 2) My mouth wasn’t quite this big. I bowed my head, suddenly wishing for a veil of long hair to shield me from these women’s eyes. Whoops of delight and glee rippled through the lacy room as girls achieved this first feat. We proceeded to learn all the techniques to please a man, along with the hysterically absurd names: the sausage wrap, the double-sausage wrap, the twister, the pumper, the knob polisher, the cigar roller, the pleasure tunnel, the gummer, the skimmer, the fruit juicer, the tricky dick. I snickered as we went over each technique, watching everyone scribble notes. A girl with a giant rock on her finger kept raising her hand. “Now, what exactly is the taint?” she asked. As the teacher explained this little flap of skin to the class and how it was okay to touch it, this blonde haired blue-eyed princess took notes like she was cramming for a final. I sat there, wide-eyed, stroking my giant dildo absentmindedly.

I did happen to learn a few techniques, but the most important thing? Communication. Communicate with your partner. Don’t guess what he likes. Ask him. And while there were some good, fun tips, I was not down with some of the suggestions, like having a box of pleasure wipes and lube by the bed. I don’t want anything to feel that planned. I want to get lost in the passion and feel connected to that person. And, if anyone knows where that person is, feel free to let me know.

On the plus side, my friend and I left with a certificate from the BJ University with our names on it (no joke) and our degrees in male pleasurology. It is tacked to my fridge to remind me that I am continuing my education as a single gal. See? I have goals.