Foreword: My husband and I really enjoy listening to songs by comedic Norwegian duo Ylvis. They have one particular tune called Intolerant, about a couple who are constantly fighting due to their respective dietary requirements, and they can never agree on what to eat together. So I figured I’d take this opportunity to write something very loosely based on this, but taking it to a whole new gay smut level.
Spit and Survive
I have…a confession to make.
I’m allergic to semen.
Yeah, I know what you’re thinking. The same thing that everybody says to me.
You just don’t like the taste of it, right?
This isn’t a simple matter of having a ‘spit or swallow’ preference. Ingesting even the tiniest drip of semen could physically kill me. Whether the texture is thick like double cream or thin like skimmed milk, and whether it belongs to a guy who ate a slice of pineapple or a guy who ate a McDonald’s—none of those conditions actually matter when it comes to this side of my sex life. As someone who almost always bottoms for partners, I really have trouble explaining this fact to them. Bottoming for me means being the one who gives the blowjob. It’s not the end of the world, but this is a major reason I haven’t had a long-term boyfriend in at least two and a half years.
To clarify, it’s not that I don’t enjoy giving blowjobs, I most definitely do. But most guys want to see that desperately hot look on my face as they gag me with their appendage and shoot their load right down my throat. They want to see my Adam’s apple bobbing up and down as I let it all slide through my oesophagus like drain cleaner in a sink pipe, and the way I smack my lips with satisfaction for having done so. It’s the kind of typical scenario I see so often in porn these days, and it deflates me that I can’t even pretend to want to swallow the stuff. It’s just not in my blood. And then there’s the important fact that it would literally make me sick, until I die a painful and lonely death. So I have to tell my sexual partners the truth well before things get anywhere near that stage, or it’s just going to kill the moment, and, let’s face it—no-one wants that.
When it comes down to it, I know that people always have a choice about whether they want to spit or swallow. Honestly, though? I do want to swallow, and that’s where the dichotomy lies. I’ll be sucking the dick of some carefully curated guy and be getting really into it. Note that I would have mentioned my situation to him before we got started, but there’s always this underlying anxiety, this voice in my head, that tells me he won’t warn me when he’s going to come. I’m terrified that he might be so busy fucking my throat that he loses track of time while his head is spinning with every tongue flick over his tip and shaft. Let me tell you, it’s really difficult to concentrate when these kinds of thoughts start to pervade my mind. I feel like I might go crazy.
At this point, you might be thinking to yourselves, if you’re so allergic, why even bother giving head to begin with? And you’d be right. I can’t say I don’t agree with you. In fact, I ask myself the exact same question on a regular basis. As a fervent Grindr user, and as someone with a physique a lot of other gay men look for, hook-ups are a fairly common occurrence for me. I’d say, I manage to get a couple of different guys each week. Never the same dick twice—that’s my motto. When I arrange to spend time in the bedroom (or whichever room is best suited to our desired activities) with someone, I tend to get so swept up in the thrill of it all that I begin to crave the taste of a big, fat meaty cock filling up my entire mouth, and that gets me extremely hard. I’m salivating right now just thinking about it. On the one hand, I am attracted to giving blowjobs. On the other, however, every time I give one, it’s like I’m serving myself an eagerly-awaited death sentence.
So, you ask, how did I come to discover this allergy and if it could kill me how am I still alive to tell the tale? Well, it happened the second time I ever had sex. My first time was during high school, with a guy named Andy. The losing of my virginity involved an awkward fumbled exchange of hand jobs, followed by some seriously rough and unlubricated anal that could have been so much more pleasurable had either of us bothered to do our research before diving in headfirst.
What happened with Andy aside, the second time is the important one here. I’d just taken on a part-time job at a pastry shop in town during the weekends, to earn some pocket money to buy all my favourite comics. Yeah, I’ll admit I was a bit of a geek—back when geeks were geeks—before that word was claimed by Millennials and turned into some kind of faux cultural status to aspire towards. Moreover, the point is, I wanted to pay for my own things without having to answer to my parents in any way, shape or form. So I did, and it worked out great. This was especially true when it came to exploring aspects of my sexuality through whatever brand of media happened to be catering towards—or perhaps I should say ‘hidden from’—gay teenagers at the time.
I was checking out the latest issue of Gay Times at the local newsagents, when an older guy walked in. He must have been in his mid-thirties, which of course seemed ancient to seventeen year-old me. Twice my age, I guessed. I had been surreptitiously flicking through the pages, every now and again glancing up to see him giving me this dirty look, like he was undressing me with those piercing brown eyes of his. I tried to ignore him, but he seemed determined to steal my attention away from the boner-inducing topless photo of American porn star Colton Ford. I had found myself drawn to the way Ford’s chest could be so defined and yet so full of mature-looking hair. But the mystery man ambled over to where I was standing, chose a magazine at random from the shelf and pretended, very badly, to be reading it. I distinctly remember him gradually shuffling towards me, take a peek at the centrefold of Ford and saying, “if it’s a hairy older guy you want, look no further.” I was bemused by the confidence he exuded. Just from looking at him, I assumed he had a lot of experience of propositioning younger guys. I couldn’t have been more wrong.
Being the naive and curious boy I was, within a few seconds I had agreed to spend some time with him that evening. He told me his name was Jeff but to this day, I’m still not convinced that was the truth. Naturally, once we settled down on the sofa, he took the initiative and gave me plenty of attention. It felt good to have those mature hands fondle and caress every inch of my slender frame so masterfully. ‘Jeff’ was kind of like a buff, hunky uncle, but thankfully not one who was related by blood.
That mess of tangled hair that covered his chest was just like poetry to me. He had the gruffest and most tantalisingly deep voice I’d ever heard in my life. I got hard quickly after having thought about how he reminded me of Colton Ford in Gay Times. It wasn’t long before we were completely naked together on that sofa, grinding and frotting against each other passionately. Me, letting out high-pitched moans in reaction to his every touch and him, growling and twitching at those very reactions. He straddled my face and slapped my mouth repeatedly with his huge stiff cock. It was so fucking beefy, I just wanted to engulf it all at once.
“Do you want to suck it?” he asked.
I didn’t even have to respond, the sparkle in my eyes must have said it all.
I stuck out my tongue and made vague licking motions that might encourage him to spoon-feed his cock to me. He obliged, and I accepted. It filled my gob from side to side, top to bottom. It’s no exaggeration to say it nearly suffocated me. But I felt like it was better than any authentic German sausage could ever be, and that was my favourite food. I was in absolute awe of this thing. I swirled my tongue around Jeff’s thick, veiny shaft and gently ran my teeth over his tip to add a bit of a twist to the mix. He fucked my throat mercilessly and with such vigour that I loved every minute of it. He pulsed and thrust himself inside my soaking orifice. I remember whipping up so much saliva it started to seem like I’d be able to bottle and sell it to people. Who needed lube when they were this hungry for cock? Not me.
A few minutes into the blowjob, Jeff announces through a series of guttural grunts that he’s going to come. Great, I thought. This is my chance to demonstrate just how willing I am to take his load. Just like I’ve seen in porn. I parted my uvula and relaxed my throat muscles as best I could to allow for improved swallowability. When he emptied his balls into me, his semen was warmer and silkier than I had expected, and it slipped down like a dream. It tasted so fuck-ing good and it only left me wanting more, so I milked his shaft as if it were a set of udders and sucked off the remaining dregs. I drank him dry until there was nothing left. I smiled, content that I’d done my duty, and let my back fall into the plush sofa. I used my arm to wipe off my mouth, and looked Jeff directly in the eye. He mussed my shaggy hair and stroked my right ear lobe between his thumb and forefinger, grinning back at me.
“Fuck, you’re cute,” he said. “We should do this again sometime.”
I nodded. “Yeah, I’d like that.” I had enjoyed the experience too.
But then, something felt off.
I bolted upright and started to cough uncontrollably. I had, without any warning whatsoever, inflated like a helium balloon about to take off. My belly quickly felt like it was going to explode. A stream of acidic bile begin to rise up from the very pit of my stomach and into my throat. I put my hands over my mouth and gagged a little, unsure which direction I should move.
“Mark?” Jeff put a hand on my left shoulder and lifted my chin up. “Oh my god, your eyes are all bloodshot.”
“I-I’m going to…” I vomited onto Jeff’s lap. “…be sick.”
His sofa was most certainly ruined, but Jeff seemed more concerned about my welfare.
“Are you ill?” he asked.
“No.” I gripped my stomach. It was so painful. Nothing like I’d ever experienced. “I suppose I just needed to get that out of my…”
And there it was again, an unapologetic pile of disgusting remnants, with swirls of Jeff’s semen interspersed between bloodied peas and carrots.
I went to the hospital soon afterwards. At first the doctors were baffled. They’d never seen anything like it. My internal organs were perfectly intact and there was no sign of a viral infection that could have been attacking my body. I reluctantly explained my situation to the medical professionals, all the time a little terrified of what the repercussions might be. It had only been a few months since I’d come out as gay, and realistically I didn’t know what to expect from people in positions of authority.
To my relief, they were very understanding, and after a series of tests, they pulled me to one side to deliver the news. I was allergic to semen. I felt like my sex life was over before it had truly even begun. I had recently discovered that I was more drawn towards a bottoming role during sex, as I wasn’t especially dominant. So this realisation dealt a blow to my confidence and I ended up abstaining for close to a year following the incident with Jeff.
But now, I’ve made sure I take extra precautions when having sex. I can avoid being the one to give blowjobs if I just find tops who don’t mind a slight role reversal. Also, over the years I’ve learned to navigate the male anatomy with such confidence that blowjobs often don’t even come into the equation.
One of these days, I’ll find a cure for this allergy. And when I do, the first task on the agenda is to swallow the biggest fucking load I can find.
This…is a challenge I accept.