Wednesday, August 30, 2006
Going Down
I was torn. I knew that Henrietta was right, that I should probably break off my affair with Yulia, but each time that we would have sex, I couldn’t imagine giving it up. It was as though Yulia had cast some kind of sex spell on me, which made me blind to possible consequences as well as our growing incompatibility. However, there was one other thing that worried me about the sex, aside from the dread possibility of getting her pregnant. It was cunnilingus.
Though there was no pressure on her part for me to do it, I was preoccupied with the question of whether I could go down on Yulia. Like most gay men I knew, I was pretty certain that I could not do it. I did reason that on the other hand, only one month earlier, I was dreading the prospect of fucking Yulia. And here I was nearly addicted to it. Perhaps it would be the same with cunnilingus – once I crossed that initial threshold of resistance.
I had consciously avoided making too much of an issue of Yulia’s vagina. I didn’t finger it and had no intention of putting my mouth over it. I’d been privy to conversations with some of my Uzbek colleagues from which I gathered that Muslim men didn’t perform cunnilingus. When I asked, they had indicated that it was something akin to a religious prohibition, like the prohibition on pork, which, actually, many Uzbeks I knew ate. When I pried further for explanations, they were not very satisfactory, much like my inquiries into why Uzbek men shave their balls. It was of some relief, however, that I was in a part of the world that cunnilingus was probably not going to be expected from me. Then again, with Yulia, I didn’t know. ¶ 7:30 AM
I was torn. I knew that Henrietta was right, that I should probably break off my affair with Yulia, but each time that we would have sex, I couldn’t imagine giving it up. It was as though Yulia had cast some kind of sex spell on me, which made me blind to possible consequences as well as our growing incompatibility. However, there was one other thing that worried me about the sex, aside from the dread possibility of getting her pregnant. It was cunnilingus.
Though there was no pressure on her part for me to do it, I was preoccupied with the question of whether I could go down on Yulia. Like most gay men I knew, I was pretty certain that I could not do it. I did reason that on the other hand, only one month earlier, I was dreading the prospect of fucking Yulia. And here I was nearly addicted to it. Perhaps it would be the same with cunnilingus – once I crossed that initial threshold of resistance.
I had consciously avoided making too much of an issue of Yulia’s vagina. I didn’t finger it and had no intention of putting my mouth over it. I’d been privy to conversations with some of my Uzbek colleagues from which I gathered that Muslim men didn’t perform cunnilingus. When I asked, they had indicated that it was something akin to a religious prohibition, like the prohibition on pork, which, actually, many Uzbeks I knew ate. When I pried further for explanations, they were not very satisfactory, much like my inquiries into why Uzbek men shave their balls. It was of some relief, however, that I was in a part of the world that cunnilingus was probably not going to be expected from me. Then again, with Yulia, I didn’t know. ¶ 7:30 AM
