Where have all the Blowjobs Gone?

Ok, so something’s a’brewin’ out there in the dating scene, and if I’m right (I never am), it’s fairly disturbing.  In my own personal life (and thus one may safely extrapolate to western society as a whole), I’ve found the occurrence of blow jobs to be seriously on the wane.  And satisfying blow jobs are even less frequent.  And far far FAR more disturbing: the frequency of actually getting off in a girl’s mouth is WAY DOWN.  If you were to plot it out on a chart it would be one of those lines approaching zero graph things.  So, I’ve established that girls hate giving blowjobs, let’s move on to analyzing the trend and hopefully we can learn something important about the shifting character of the nation.  What?  I haven’t proven anything yet? Ok, FINE! Let me dip into anecdote.

In high school, I think I got a grand total of two blow jobs.  That’s right, and they were both from the same girl.  I mean, it’s totally understandable, because as I recall at that age I myself (and every other guy) was busy struggling with the difficulty of overcoming a fear of eating pussy.  We saw it as something gross and unpleasant yet more and more necessary to realizing the goal of getting laaaaiiiid.  And I’m sure it was a hard sell to the ladies as well to get them to put that in their mouths.  But it was the 90s, and men were being encouraged to be sensitive to a girl’s needs and to take a girl’s pleasure seriously.  Look at movies like Mr. Mom and Mrs. Doubtfire.  Male nurturer as role model.  It sunk in and guys learned.

Girls had different pressures from mass culture.  Lemme see if I can find a clip of something to illustrate more what was happening on the lady side of shit.  Ok here’s one that encapsulates the ideas of feminist sexuality during the beginning of this trend.  Let’s just say this video kicks the thing off (in a very positive and hopeful way) and it spiralled out of control from there.

Men/boys were being strongly encouraged to think of women’s needs and act to support the fulfillment of them on their terms.  Women/girls were being encouraged to talk about their desires, that what they wanted was important and deserved to be considered.  These women were shown embracing previously masculine forms of sexuality (see the construction workers?).  Now, I can’t back this up with anything other than my iron-clad anecdotal recollections, but at the same time, a new/twisted style of feminism was really REALLY taking hold of the US, and leading into 2000 began to fuel a whole pop culture movement, which in turn served to warp, spread and distill it’s message to more and more girls.  Chiefly, that a sexually aggressive and liberated woman was the ideal woman.  A sexual woman is a powerful woman.  Moreover, she enjoys showing off her body while seizing and appropriating roles normally associated with men, i.e., enjoying cheap frequent sex with several partners with little to no emotional attachment, while encouraging the objectifying male gaze that 80s feminism fought so hard to bring to our attention.  Something happened on the way from woman as proud sexual being with the right to assert her desires to her realization in the mass mediated popular culture.  “Girl power” became equivalent to being super super slutty.  I know this is hyperbole and oversimplification, but the right to demand that a guy use condoms (Salt n pepa era) devolved into stripping on a pole as “exercise,” burlesque as new “art,” and classes in blow job technique as the new Tupperware parties.

In other words, it was a good time to be a sensitive 90s man.  I personally benefited from this rise of wanton female sexuality, as I know many other dudes have.  I not only got more blowjobs, but the quality and duration was better.  As women embraced sluttiness, I got blown in cars, bathrooms, subways (yes, believe it) and had a generally amazing time.  And to my surprise, girlfriends were even into that shit.  As in, I’d settled down for a year but my lady still wanted to duck behind this car and give me a blow job.  It was hot for everyone.

In college (1995) I had a lady friend who insisted she blow me every time we made out.  I protested the inequality (she was uncomfortable with receiving oral sex so she wouldn’t let me go down, which is a theme I definitely want to return to later, there’s a lot of stuff there) maybe the first 4 or 5 times, and then made peace with getting my dick sucked nearly off my body every day for months.  She was vigorous.  I had a neighbor who liked to practice on guys because she wanted to excel in the art of the BJ.  A girl I knew liked to play with the junk she got out of hard cocks because its texture fascinated her.  A girl I had just met once asked me if she could see my cock (she claimed to never have seen an uncircumcised penis) and in the bathroom after i pulled it out asked if she could put it in her mouth.  We’re moving forward in time, but you see things growing more and more apeshit as we head to the mid 00’s.  More and more girls ask me if I want to come on their faces, and my sheepish “yes” is greeted with delight.  Things I had previously only seen in porn online start coming up in the sack, initiated by the lady (I have a theory about porn access and sexuality shifts, but you get the picture).  Much of this is, incidentally, centered in Williamsburg.  I have a few other anecdotes, and so do other dudes I know, but the point is that it was bonkers, but shit’s changed.

In short, I am claiming that during the period of time from about 1995 to 2007 we were living in a blowjob bubble, and that bubble has burst.  So what was that lecture about the sluttification of feminism in the 90s all about, you ask?  Well I’m not entirely sure yet, but my hypothesis is something like this:  After centuries of the oppression of the sexual female, our young(ish) women were given an opening and opportunity to shove open the gates and pour through to sex town.  This could be measured (scientifically) in the astronomical number and quality of blowjobs the average guy could get in an average month.  Everybody was winning.  But now the BJ-boom is drying up.  Is it coincidence that the world economy just went to shit recently?  Is this a market correction for blow jobs?  aIs i t coincidence that the most powerful female role models in pop culture aren’t jiggly titted sex machines anymore?  I mean, you could totally tell that MIA was embarrassed in that super bowl halftime show.  She clearly regretted the decision to take part in Madonna’s attempt to revive late 90s female super slut sexuality.  Watching it again, I had totally forgotten the middle finger she gave to the camera, but man does that not support my argument or what?

But HIE, you say, you’re just getting old! Life is amazing when you’re young and virile and playing the field!  OH were it only true, my friend.  It’s not.  If anything, getting action is easier and more frequent than ever for the average guy (me, clearly).  “But you don’t live in the center of sexual hedonism anymore, Williamsburg, a veritable ground zero for irresponsible sexual deviance and exploration!” you say.  Take a closer look, my friend.  See the truth in the stress lines around that young professional’s eyes as he stumbles home from a night of pounding whiskeys with a bar full of tattooed bra-less etsy knitters and burlesque dancing school teachers.  He definitely did NOT get a BJ in the bathroom.  Five years ago there would have been two chicks who didn’t bother leaving their numbers as they left him in the stall to clean up.

Two more anecdotes and I’ll wrap her up.  I have recently been fortunate enough to bang some chicks several years younger than me.  These girls are firmly in the sweet spot of the age of sexual experimentation and freedom.  It was a girl their age who asked me to choke her with my cock for the first time about 5 years ago.  For whatever reason, 23 year old chicks want to sleep with me.  Fine.  But they don’t give blow jobs. After a combined total of maybe 15 nights of sex and cunnilingus, I got zero BJs.  I even asked one girl about it and she was like, you never asked!  What, I just love the taste of pussy so so so much I gotta have me some?  Sure ok yes, but it’s a dance, not a solo performance.  Another girl kept asking me what I wanted her to do.  I played along and said something to the effect of “swallow my cock” which got a good reaction.  Turned her right on.  But no blow job.

Some of you may point to the fact that the 90s male sensitivity training was too successful.  It produced a generation of men who care too much about how their lady is feeling, what her motivations and desires are.  I’ve met a lot of girls who now fantasize about a man that takes charge.  The extreme of this is the rape fantasy I’ve heard from a few girls, in the deep of night sharing a last beer over pillow talk, in which they say they “kinda” want a guy to break in, tie them up, throw them on the bed, and do their rough sex thing to them.  The sentiment shows up in okcupid profiles, pop culture, etc etc etc as far back as that terrible song “Where have all the cowboys gone?”  You might say, HIE, obviously these girls are waiting to be TOLD to blow you.  You need to just jam it down their throats.

I would say you might be right but it’s not gonna happen. Because if you have to ask for it, that blow job just isn’t worth it.


UPDATE: The pseudo-relationship that I have been dancing around and swearing up and down I’m going to end got ended for me.  She told me tonight that she’s never going to get over her break-up and move on (we’ve been mutually consoling each other off and on for a while) if she’s always able to use me for support and sex.  No shit.  I called it 4 months ago, which sucks.  The lesson here is if you want out of something get out before they do.  The person who makes the break always comes out less fucked.  True story!

Mexico Part 1: Playa del Carmen

Apple wasn’t optimistic about the weather.

So, before I left for Mexico I had a conversation with some friends who had literally just gotten back from the same general area (the Riviera Maya) and had had the motherfucking times of their lives.  We’re talking maybe 6 people; they had all gone for a wedding, which I can only assume was magical.  Anyway, they fully prepped me for the untrustworthiness of the average Mexican dude who’s just “tryin’ to be helpful” at the airport, who actually ends up leading you to his buddy’s car and off you’re whisked at some ridiculously exorbitant fee (it’s actually WAY worse in NY).

So, I added a Mexico calling plan to my cell service (ATT) and called my transport company (Tourex) to make sure the bus was going to be there at the correct time.  Sweet girl spoke English (I had practiced the convo in Spanish a million times on the toilet right before calling, but only needed ‘habla ingles?‘), and we got all settled and that was that.  At the airport it was so painfully NOT sketchy that I probably came off as extra tweaky to the helpful dude who knew where the tourex guy was in the sea of name-card holding drivers.  Or maybe I narrowly averted kidney robbery by not letting him wheel my bags.  I don’t know.

Just outside the airport wait the shuttle drivers

Forty five air conditioned minutes later (actually, who knows? I didn’t really look) we arrived in front of my hotel: Hotel Casa Ticul.  FYI, it was ranked #5 in hotels of Playa del Carmen on tripadvisor.  I chose it because it was relatively cheap, seemed to be fairly boutiquey from other guest photos and was described as about a block from the beach, but on the main road (5th ave).  It was all those things.  When I arrived it was technically not yet check-in time, and the front desk woman (listen, I’m terrible with names…EVERYONE’S names) checked with the cleaning staff and led me to a room tucked back past the (fairly tiny) pool on the ground floor.  They were doing some sort of intense power washing of the walkway above my room and there was water dripping down and loud racket all around, and it wasn’t a very good impression to arrive on.  My fault though for getting there at peak cleaning hours.  The room was ok, but dark.  It basically felt like a basement and my mood quickly started to plummet.  I texted a friend that the room was depressing and she encouraged me to ask for a different one.  As the woman had already told me to let her know if I didn’t want the room, I screwed up my courage and asked if she could please maybe see if there was maybe another room I could see please, por favor.

Probably translate that some day

Thank god I did.  New room was super cute.  I think I got one of the ones that shows up on tripadvisor, because I definitely recognized the decor.  Not that the first room was terrible, it was just dark and lifeless.  Anyway, that settled, I then faced the big question: What now?  What now, indeed.  I think I unpacked and checked out the mini bar and then hit the road.  I decided to walk up 5th Ave (quinta avenida) to see what I’d see.  It was humid as balls and I was sweating so much I thought someone might end up calling me an ambulance.  But I soldiered on, feeling fairly miserable but determined to make a go of “enjoying” my vacation.  True to the “warnings” of my friends, every door I passed had a guy out front who called to me to get my attention.  They were generally super friendly/courteous, so don’t worry about that.  But later that week I would get skeeved out by the sketchball ladder of sales pitches from dudes lurking by ATMs and on side streets: “Cigars, senor?” No thanks (hmmm, maybe?) “Marijuana?” No… thanks (no way am I gonna risk THAT) “Blow? Blow, amigo?” Huh-uh (Whooooaaaa now.  I guess that happens, I have friends who would probably go for it) “Senoritas? How about a senorita?” HAHAH…no thanks (shit, is this guy following me?!)

Ceviche at Yaxche. Amaxing. Eat there.

So I walked up a ways and then back a ways and then back up some more.  It’s a really loooong main drag and it’s nearly impossible for a guy on his own to pick out the diamonds from the rhinestones.  Some of the best food I had was served in places playing the most awful eurotrance house shit.  And something about the places playing chilled latin acoustic stuff screamed tourist trap, like they were playing “traditional” to get the gringos in the door or something.  I tried checking tripadvisor (which has a HUGE presence in town) a few times and found the app to be fairly functional once it nabbed my location.  And the iphone’s built-in map was at least useful for showing me just how far past shit I had blown.  Probably the most “up my alley” place I ate was Yaxche, which bills itself as modern Mayan/Mexican, with some traditional stuff also available.  I had walked right past the place a few times and blown it off as a tourist trap because of its immense size and glitzy presence, but don’t let that put you off.  The prices are good and the food is CRAZY good.  I only had 2 appetizers and a drink (ceviche, some delicious mayan thing “tsotobilchay”, and a take on the margarita with this green plant juice, all blew me away… ok the drink was so-so. But eat here) and I was too stuffed to finish.  Plus the A/C works like gangbusters.

In all, it’s a good town to hit with someone, or with yourself if you’ve got some confidence and more time.  I frankly took a really long time to adjust to the heat and get over some, er, “digestive” problems so I never fully relaxed before I moved on to the all-inclusive resort compound.  I can say that there are a ton of tourists, and the area caters mostly to the cheezy ones.  House music, cheap drinks, tons of souvenirs and surprisingly little focus on the beach.  But it was apparently the low season so that could be different later.  I only got to try one of the in-town beach clubs, at a hotel called Las Palapas (Casa Ticul has passes for three different clubs of various flavors.  The pass worked really well).  The staff in the lobby were angels.  The walk to the beach was past some intensely relaxing grounds…it looks like the “rooms” at Las Palapas are like small bungaloes (I’m guessing that’s what a palapa is) each with patio space and hammock.  The beach area itself was a little lackluster.  Sort of run-down feeling.  And no pina coladas.  That would become a theme of the trip.  I really really wanted one.  I’ll leave you with one last photo to summarize the type of tourism they seem to want in Playa del Carmen.  The bar itself actually looked pretty nice.  Also trashy and terrible, but nice!

Do the math

Why does this feel like a copout?

Ok, this morning on the train…  I think it was the D, over the bridge into Manhattan I took this:

Did someone spill acid on this guy’s head?

So he was passed out for a while and I was annoyed because I had to perch on the edge of the seat (he was flopped halfway into mine).  I was watching the scenery and glanced at his head.  My thoughts were: “I wonder what motivates a guy to shave his head that close that frequently–WHOA! Is that? Yes! He has a crater in his head almost the thickness of a skull.”

I turned back in to the car interior and glanced around to see if anyone had read my mind and was frowning at me in scorn when I thought: “Shit! you can totally take a picture of this thing and everyone will think you’re taking a picture of the river like some kinda tourist! GO GO GO!”  And then there was a little guilt.  But he was taking up one and a half seats so whatever. click that thing for a larger version.

The Exile Goes Further…Alone

So.  A few weeks ago I quit my job.  It was kind of a huge deal for me.  I have another job now, which is what spurred me to do it in the first place (of course), but it was still a difficult decision.  In fact I’m wondering if I did the right thing for myself now that I’m done with day two of the new place.  Of course I did, if we’re talking overall career development.  And of course I didn’t if we’re talking following my passion and heart.  I have a little bit of a safety net saved up and now would have been the time to go for it… but I didn’t.

The beach directly in front of Sandos Playacar

ANYWAY, Last week was my last day at the job, and also my birthday, so a week before that I impulse bought a vacation to Playa del Carmen, Mexico.  I got a vacation package from jetblue after doing a ton ton ton of research on tripadvisor and cheapcaribbean.  It was a seriously painful experience… because seriously there are maybe a million hotels with a million reviews and who in the world can tell if a place is gonna suck or not from reviews mostly written by fat doughy middle-Americans and Australians? No offense, y’all, but your tastes and objectives are just different from mine.  A quick example: one guy gave a resort 2 stars (versus 5) because only one of the 5 bars near the pool/beach had coors and it wasn’t very cold.  Come on asshole.  Coors? Now I can’t trust the entire reviewing system!!!


Some local color in Playa del Carmen

Blah Blah I picked Sandos Playacar (all inclusive resort jobby) and found a flight/hotel package on jetblue that was maybe $10 cheaper than it was on cheapcaribbean (sorry guys) and hit BUY.  It was going to be from Thursday to Sunday.  I know that sounds weak but I was fairly certain that I couldn’t handle a trip alone to a place that caters to couples for too long, and I promised my old job I’d work until Wednesday.  And then some crap went down at work and I decided screw it.  So I extended my trip a couple of days, and got a cheap room at a hotel – it turns out a hotel without unlimited booze and food is less than half the price – and told the job I wasn’t coming in.  One whirlwind shopping trip for appropriate crap, a dicey call to Mexico to make sure my ride from the airport was hip to the change in plans, and a mild tearing-apart of my apartment looking for the passport later and I was on my wayyyyy.

I’d like to really spend some sentences describing the whole trip in detail, so I’m gonna split this thing up into a multi-parter….later.  With pictures.  Also because I had some shitty experiences and I want to make sure what I have to say comes up in google searches about those places.  Also also because I’m crazy depressed about my new job and the direction my life is headed right now and I just want to crawl in bed with the ipad and listen to the rain play background music to some netflix and neighbors’ TV.  So that’s where I’m going.  Good night.