I Don’t Really Like Spunk

Content Notes: I’ve written a bit about disordered eating here, so you may want to skip this one if that’s a trigger for you.

I don’t really like spunk

There. I wrote it out loud. I feel slightly ashamed of this, after all, what’s not to love about that creamy, salty splatter of joy?

Well, there’s the consistency. It’s…. not my favourite thing. If I were forced at gunpoint to swallow a mouthful of jizz or an oyster, I think I’d literally eat the bullet instead.

I don’t mind the taste – it’s not one of my favourites and I much prefer my own to anyone else’s, but the flavouring of a person’s tadpole juice itself is usually neutral enough to stay under my freakout radar (although less so when laced with the bitter tang of coffee. I can always tell). The thing about the taste though, is that I associate it with the sensation of having a microscopically wriggly soup of proteins, sugars and other interesting ingredients pooling in my mouth and – yeeeurrrgghhhhh, sorry.

I actually quite like the smell – fresh and clean on skin, or musky and tangy in my knickers, I associate it with excitement and intimacy. It makes me horn[y|ier], not anxious.

But the feel – oh dear. I can deepthroat for long minutes at a time and keep control over my gag reflex, but my chances of doing so for 10 seconds of jizzspasm are about…1 in 3. (And yes, I have puked over a freshly-sucked-dry cock, which is the most awkward and manky thing to deal with. Totally kills the afterglow.)

If I gulp it down quick enough, I can sometimes suppress the instinctive heave that follows, but with every second it stays in my mouth, I become exponentially more squicked out.

I had very disordered eating as a child (AFRID) , and while I’m very, very, much better now; there are still some things that I can’t put in my mouth without having a meltdown. Jelly, for example (that’s Jell-O to you USian folks. Jam is fine), or raw apples (*internal screaming*). Jizz pushes the same button marked “PANIC” in my brain. I can just about deal with it if I do so quickly, but if I miss that split-second opportunity, then it must be evicted. Now, I’m happy to drool it over my tits and rub it on with a sultry smile. I have no objections to letting it run over my lower lip, down my chin while I hold the gaze of its distributor. I’d be pleased to have it smeared across my face. Ingestion? *Noperocket*.

It’s weird, because I love jizz when it’s dripping from my cunt, or pattering down on my tits, or smeared in my knickers. That’s ornamentation, and I wear it with glee. I love the idea of jizz, and I certainly enjoy the sort of activities that tend to lead to its appearance. I just…don’t like a lot of it in my mouth. And I really don’t like it going down my throat.

I feel bad about this, I do. I know it’s irrational. I know that if I were the purveyor of the spunk, my feelings might be a bit hurt at the reaction to my offering. I’m sorry.

I do love giving blowjobs though, so there’s still that…