'The most surprising thing I found going down on a girl for the first time.'

My memories of our encounter are fragmented into snippets of heavy petting and bra-flinging, but I do remember one thing clearly: going down on her.

I was 22 the first time I ate pussy.

It kind of came out of nowhere (pun unintended). I was under the influence of about seven or eight Smirnoffs (the budget-conscious uni student’s choice drink) at the time.

One moment I was chatting to a girl from class – let’s call her Jill – leaning against the door frame of a stranger’s bedroom (university parties had a way of ending up at random people’s houses; to this day I don’t know whose doorstep it was I vomited on at The Great House Party Of ’04, but if you know who I am, I’m sincerely sorry for your pot plant); the next, I was falling into bed with my legs scissored around her, sans underpants.

How we got there will forever remain in the black hole of booze-destroyed brain cells, but I do have a foggy memory of looking at her lips as she spoke, standing in the doorway, wondering what they’d be like to kiss.

We shared several classes together and had always been quite friendly, and though I’d admired her beauty before, it was an envious kind of fascination, rather than an attraction.

Jill was opposite to me in almost every way. Short and voluptuous, with waterfalls of vibrant copper hair. I looked dull in comparison, with a limp over-straightened dark bob awkwardly draped over my spotty face and a chest that left me questioning if I’d actually undergone puberty.

And, as someone who’d previously only dipped my toe into the waters of vanilla hetero sex, I was intrigued by the possibility of her.

 

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That night I learnt many things: that my fine motor skills (read: bra unhooking) are surprisingly unaffected by booze; that sex can in fact be hilarious and erotic all at once (in our drunken, fumbled attempts to remove various items of attire we accidentally kicked one another in the head on several occasions to great comical amusement) and that sex with a woman has many perks, including – but not limited to – not having to manoeuvre around a penis, and the ever-present threat of being poked in the eye (it happens).

But most profoundly, I discovered that oral sex with a woman isn’t the messy, odorous experience I’d been led to believe it would be, and subsequently forbidden all previous partners from practicing on me.

Thanks to insensitive comments made by my male douchebag friends that “girls pussies smell like old fish” and “if she’s hairy down there, giving head is gross”, I’d braced myself for the worst as I wiggled my head between her legs and twisted her underpants to the side. Instead, my tongue tasted warm skin and sweet musk, as I ventured into her soft folds of flesh.

Feeling her body writhe in pleasure as she gently ran her fingers through my hair, buried between her thighs, felt soft and nurturing – a world far removed from the expletive shrieking girl-on-girl scenes I’d seen in porn. In the safety of Jill’s warm embrace, I felt all my sexual hangups melt away.

I never felt self-conscious about letting a lover go down on me again after that.

So, if you’re reading this “Jill”, wherever you are now (I’m 34 today) – thank you.

This post originally appeared on SheSaid and has been republished here with full permission. 

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