What I Confessed to My Brother About Oral Sex

I never thought I’d have this conversation with my brother, much less end up writing it down. But it happened, and I think it’s worth leaving it exactly as it was: a summer night, on the balcony of my apartment, with two beers warming in our hands and a question he’d been carrying around for weeks.

Bruno is twenty-two, and I’m twelve years older than him. To him, I’ve always been a kind of manual for everything life doesn’t explain anywhere. That night, after circling around the subject and talking about every stupid thing imaginable to buy time, he blurted out the question without looking me in the eye.

—Do you like… eating them out? —he asked, staring down at the street as if the answer were down there, among the cars.

—Like it… —I replied, letting the word hang in the air.

—Mmm. Is that a yes, judging by the pervy look on your face? —he laughed, already more at ease.

—Take it however you want —I told him—. But watch what you’re opening up here.

—Why do you like it? What does it feel like?

I don’t know why the fuck I’m telling you this, I thought. He was my little brother, barely out of adolescence, and suddenly he was asking me to explain one of the things I liked most in life. But oh well. If I didn’t tell him, the internet would, and that would be much worse.

—There’s something you have to understand before anything else —I began—. This is forbidden fruit. Once you taste it, believe me, there’s no going back.

I took a swallow of beer and went on.

—They’ll talk to you about drugs your whole life. About how addictive they are, how they ruin you. But they never put the most addictive thing of all on that list: desire. Every body has its own substance for the other. And oral sex, going down there, is one of the most intense things you’ll ever try.

—Don’t look at me like you don’t believe me —I said, because he was looking at me like he didn’t believe me—. I’m serious.

—I’m listening —he said, and for the first time he turned toward me and paid real attention.

***

—It starts before you touch anything —I explained—. It begins with her still dressed. Just spreading her legs will let you notice the wetness through her clothes. Sometimes you don’t even have to touch her: you feel the heat, smell her, something that’s unlike any drugstore perfume. It’s chemical. Hormonal. And by then, that’s it—you’ve lost your head, you’re harder than a rock, and you’re throbbing.

—And then?

—Then, slowly. You take off her underwear and take your time looking. Seeing everything open, feeling it pulse, the heat coming off it, her breathing beginning to quicken. By then she’s already caressing your head, almost without realizing it, the way you caress someone you care about.

—Do you kiss it, or…?

—You kiss all of it. You start on the outside, without rushing. You trace every inch with the tip of your tongue, the outer lips, the insides of her thighs. When you do it right, you feel every detail: the skin, the sweat, the taste that starts to appear. And meanwhile, she stops breathing normally. That’s when you know you’re on the right track.

Bruno stayed quiet for a long while. Then he said:

—Want me to be honest? I’m getting more curious by the second.

—And that curiosity is a good thing —I told him—. But I’m not going to satisfy it for you. You can only explain this so far. The rest you’ll understand on your own, the first time a woman starts trembling with your mouth down there.

—Trembling?

—Spasms. Moans she can’t control. The moment she stops caressing your head and grabs your hair. When she tells you not to stop, that she’s going to come, that it’s happening. And a few seconds later, you have her with her mouth pressed against you, her head trapped between your thighs, and everything inside her suddenly lets go, as if pure pleasure had broken something open inside her.

—Holy shit —he murmured, laughing, but no longer out of nervousness.

—And there’s something almost nobody tells you —I went on—. While you’re down there, you’re not just doing something. You’re reading. Every movement of her hips, every time she squeezes her thighs, every change in her breathing is telling you something. If you speed up and she arches her back, you’re doing fine. If she tenses up and goes still, stop for a second. Her body guides you the whole time; you just have to pay attention and set your pride aside.

—And how do you know when she’s close?

—You’ll know —I told him—. Her breathing changes, her thighs start trembling against your ears, and sometimes she even stops making noise, as if she’s gathering everything for the end. Don’t change a thing then. That’s the most common mistake: right when it’s working, people get nervous and change the rhythm. Don’t. If you’ve found something that’s taking her there, keep it up until the end.

—One more thing —I added—. Before you come up to kiss her, ask if she minds you kissing her with the taste of her still in your mouth. Some women love it, others don’t. And never forget to say thank you. What you’ve just eaten is a delicacy, and you should show your appreciation accordingly.

***

—Wait, wait —he cut me off—. I have three questions. Do they all like it? What if I don’t like the taste? And what if the first time I end up with a stranger instead of someone I know?

I laughed. They were exactly the three questions I’d asked myself at his age.

—Almost all of them like it —I replied—. Some will tell you no, that they don’t want it, and it’s almost always for one of two reasons. The first is a bad previous experience. That’s why it’s the most delicate part of the whole thing. It’s the main course, what gives them that final explosion, and you have to treat it carefully. With patience, tact, tenderness. It’s not a race. It’s the most sensitive thing they have, and if someone before you treated it like a chore, she’ll be on the defensive.

—And the second reason?

—Embarrassment —I said—. It happens all the time. They didn’t shower that day, they sweated more than usual, they spent hours outside, whatever. And they feel self-conscious. That’s when your job is to make her feel safe. To make her understand, without giving speeches, that you don’t care, that you actually like her that way, real, just as she is. The best way to show her is by doing it: while you touch her, bring your hand to your mouth and look her in the eyes. No disgust, no acting. When she sees that you truly enjoy it, she lets go. And when a woman lets go completely, there’s nothing like it.

—And what about the taste? —he insisted.

—The taste is part of the deal —I told him—. When you eat something, it’s because you like what it’s like. The texture, the flavor, everything. Imagine eating something that tastes like soap. Or something with no taste at all. No, thanks. It has to taste like what it is. And if you ever want to influence that… well, that’s another conversation, for later.

—Is there a way to…?

—Later —I cut him off, laughing—. One thing at a time.

***

—I’m saving the stranger for last because it’s the most intense part —I continued—. The first time, you’ll be more at ease with someone you trust. A friend, someone you know, someone you won’t be afraid of making mistakes with. It makes sense. But I’ll be honest with you: doing it to a woman you don’t know at all has a kink to it that nothing else can compare with.

—Why?

—Because of everything you don’t know —I said, lowering my voice a little, though there was no one nearby—. You meet her at eleven at night, and by two in the morning you have her sitting on the hood of a car, on an empty street, her dress pushed up. You don’t know her name. You don’t know if she has a partner. You don’t know if you’ll ever see her again. You don’t even know how old she is: you figure she’s around thirty, or maybe in her forties, and the truth is, it doesn’t matter. They’re both adults, they both want the same thing you do, and that’s all that matters.

—It sounds crazy.

—It’s one of the most primitive things you’ll ever experience —I told him—. Satisfying your instinct anywhere, with anyone, without caring about anyone’s private life. Letting yourself go and enjoying it, nothing more. For one night, neither of you is who you are the rest of the time. You’re pure present.

Bruno looked down at the street again, but this time his expression was different. It was no longer the nervous boy’s face from the beginning. It was the face of someone who had just realized the world was a little bigger than he’d thought.

—One last thing —I told him, finishing my beer—. Everything I’ve told you is useless if you’re not genuinely interested in what she feels. If you’re going to eat a woman’s pussy while thinking only about yourself, don’t even start. That’s the whole secret: caring more about her pleasure than your own. The rest you learn on your own.

—And did you learn it on your own? —he asked.

—Most of it, yes —I admitted—. But I wish someone had talked to me the way I’m talking to you. It would have saved me from a couple of mistakes.

He laughed, clinked his empty bottle against mine, and we sat there in silence for a while, watching the cars pass below.

—Thanks —he said at last, and he meant it.

—You’re welcome, brother —I replied—. And please: what we talked about here stays here.

He didn’t listen, of course. I wouldn’t have either. But at least now, when his turn comes, he won’t be as lost as I was. And that, coming from an older brother, is probably the only truly useful thing I can teach him.