What Guys Think When They Go Down On You


My old friends play basketball on Sunday mornings. They're all either married, close or hopeless goons. I go if I'm home and can handle the hangover, so usually I don't go.

You could never guess what we talk about. Even just the tail ends of the conversations would make your skin crawl.

“… so after the cop gives Jay the ticket, he walks to the back of the car and starts peeing again. On it. Only he's too drunk to realize he hasn't pulled his pants down!”

“… we got stoned and put a dinosaur hat on a watermelon. We called it dino-melon.”

"… I pulled it out and gave her the Dikembe finger-wag. No no no no no no no!”

Anyway, it's fun every once in a while.

This weekend, I was happy I went. But after the first game, I brought a pail to the bench and threw up violently. So I tapped out, and everyone realized that was a better idea than putting ourselves through another game.

“You look like shit,” Pete said to me. “What did you get into last night?”

“Went on a date,” I said. “With Miss Vermont.”

I showed pictures, then spent the next few minutes telling them how I messed it up. After a while, we all started to disperse back to our normal lives.

Freddie sat next to me when the crowd was thinning out. Freddie wasn't the most experienced guy, and he had this new girlfriend. Very loyal guy. The kind who combs his hair and tucks in his jeans. He's always on time and he never misses a Sunday game.

“What's up, Freddie?”

He fidgeted and scanned the room again to see if anyone could hear.

“You eat a lot of pussy, right?” Freddie said.

“What makes you say that?” I said. “And sure.”

“Does it ever make you feel kind of… I don't know… Christina likes it and I, you know, want to, you know, like it… and I do… you know… she just lays on the bed and, I mean, it's great… you know…”

Poor Freddie. He was clearly lost at sea here.

“What's the problem, Freddie?” I asked.

“It's when I bend over to actually do it.”

“You feel like your ass is too high in the air?”

“Isn't it, though?!” He sort of yell-whispered.

“Isn't what, Freddie?” I raised my voice. “IS YOUR ASS TOO HIGH IN THE AIR WHEN YOU EAT PUSSY?”

This got everyone's attention.

“Freddie,” Joey called back. “Feelin' the breeze!?”

“Ooooohhh yeah,” said Nick The Dick. “I love that nice wind blowing on my gooch and balls.”

“Just close your eyes, Fred,” Jason said. “And think of it as a lower-back stretch.”

Freddie's face flushed. Everyone came over and patted him on the back. This was clearly a team-bonding issue. This was like coal mining in West Virginia -- something we could all rally behind.

None of us liked to feel like we'd dropped the soap when we were, in fact, with a woman. We'd worked damn hard to be with this woman and taken a lot of lumps and after all that, there we were, trying to do a nice thing, and still having that fear run through our minds.

It's not a hatred for those who like that. But for those who don't, such positions certainly come with some inherent fear.

It was a pretty apt metaphor for life, really, or at least for being with women. You can do everything right and still end up with your ass in the air.

I was surprised at how Freddie's plight resonated with so many of the guys. We don't always talk about giving head. Shit. Remember "The Sopranos"? Just admitting it was enough to get you whacked on that show.

So with that in mind, I decided to explore the mindset of the male head-giver a bit further. I wanted to see if “high ass” was something men would admit to unprompted. To do that, I asked a variety of dudes a simple question: What are the three things you think about when you're about to go down on a woman?

-- Chris C., 24

-- John S., 25

-- Mark F., 26

-- Iggy G., 23

-- Frank U., 25

-- Henry S., 25

-- Jason B., 24

-- Anthony R., 26

-- Felix B., 27

Same, dude.