by Willam Belli
Don’t pry. If you see car seats, don’t ask. If that dick can make a life, that dick can give you life probably. Either that or he works at a day care, which means there might be fruit snacks in the glove box. Yum. (Also… Hi, Keenan!)
The easiest way to get rid of a trick is often the one thing you forget to factor in when leaving a nightspot. Did you park in a structure? Overhead fluorescent lighting is nobody’s friend, especially at 2:15 a.m. after dancing, drinking, and sweating through your shirt. Always pay first or valet, or he may decide to take a rain check.
This ice cream is blowjob flavored because if I eat it, that’s all you’re gonna get. You don’t wanna fuck with this manhole after even a drop of dairy.
25
How to SUCK LESS at
WHORAL SEX
Let’s talk about how babies aren’t made. If your mother woulda just been cooler about swallowing, you might not be here. Oral sex is rad. There is nothing I like more after untucking than head. My dick suffocates when it’s taped to my taint, and there’s no better way to revitalize it than some mouth-to-mouth resuckitation.
Sure, perfunctory childhood Popsicle training will come into play, but there’s more to it than just some up-and-down southmouthing. It’s not just about the oral. Would you go to an armless hooker? No, unless you’re into that sorta thing, which is totally fine. I’d prefer a participant with hands to change a simple beej into truly whoral sex. Use your hands. A lot. Make it a sloppy, wet hand job with a mouth. If you wanna get fancy, g’head. Gagging on a man’s penis is the most romantic thing you can do. It says “Yes, you, Mr. Man—I’m choosing your dick over oxygen right now. You’re welcome.” Guys love it. But not too much. If your gag reflex is too strong, just pull it out, spit back on it, get it wetter, and say something like “It’s so big/hard/angry looking.” If your partner still insists on skull fucking you like a watermelon, just maintain eye contact and his rapid-fire piston action will probably slow a bit. It’s the same reasoning behind mobsters making someone turn away before they shoot them. It’s hard to hurt someone while staring them in the eyes. Remember the end of Sister Act? Those mean goons just couldn’t shoot Sister Mary Clarence. Deloris van Cartier lives!
If you’re not going to take my advice about the eye contact, just shut your eyes. Balls aren’t pretty. You’ll find yourself drifting and thinking, “Just what the hell is that bump garden on his nuts?” Even worse, you may find your eyes drifting around the room, getting cockeyed watching that Slap Chop infomercial and wondering if those operators really are standing by, or fuck, did you leave clothes in the dryer? Focus. ’Cause you’re gonna get back what you give out. Treat others how you want to be treated… with their mouth.
Now, I don’t know much about clam digging, but I do know the couple of times I did it were fun. At first, I felt like my tongue was on a scavenger hunt, and it knew it wouldn’t win but it was still going to be gung ho about it. I learned a few things down there that made me a better man, like motorboating. Motorboating is an amazing activity to do on breasts but not so much two feet south. It seems fun, but the risk of injury down there is a variable you don’t want. If you give a woman really bad head, give her a gift certificate to an hour of Jet Skiing and that might make up for it. F’real. I know a bitch named Brandi who can get O-drunk on a personal watercraft and would run over a manatee if it got between her and her climax. If anyone wants to help me learn about cunnilingus more, I’ll happily crowdfund an instructional video on how to be a private pussy pleaser. Donald Sutherland would be my choice to narrate it. His voice has an earnest quality but also includes the perfect amount of bass to indicate the importance of the task at hand… or mouth, I guess. Or wait. Do you use hands? It is like a BJ? See!? This is exactly why we need this. Some men, like me, are clueless.* Do you manually open a woman a little while pleasing her or dive in like a swooping seabird, mouth first? Can I really just write the alphabet with my tongue down there? First things first: We’ll need to know what to call the Kickstarter. Tweet me any ideas.
Whatever gender you’re servicing, try not to put your hands on the floor. That’s nasty boots, OK? ’Cause if they’re on the bed, and you’re on your knees touching the floor, then touching the garden, then you’re touching the garden with your mouth—not cool. I mean I’ll eat a stranger’s asshole, but I won’t lick his floor. That’s gross. Makes me wanna gag, which reminds me: Turning off your gag reflex can be done in two ways. Squeeze your left thumb. The other way is to suck that damn dick like you really wanna suck that damn dick. Get the fuck outta the damn buffet line if you’re just having salad. Eat that cock and really show him how the lack of love during your childhood left a hole in your heart that only dicks and flat-screens can fill. Can’t spell “happiness” without “penis,” right?
GUMBALLS (FLAVORS OF GUM THAT MIX WELL WITH BALLS)
1. Peach Trident
2. Wintergreen
3. Juicy Fruit
ORAL CARE
Now’s a good time to talk about teeth, I guess. Y’know how a dumpster can be totally empty but you still wouldn’t wanna go in the corners and start sniffing around? Well, your mouth operates with the same theory. Bits of old food and trash are hidden up in there, and only flossing can help. While we’re at it, lemme just be blunt and say this: If you’re a teenager and you’re reading this, Fix your shit now! Tell your parents you’d rather have good teeth than a car. What you drove to homecoming won’t matter when you’re in your twenties, but what you did with your grill will. It will make your life so much easier. No one wants to stick their genitals into that cotton-gin-lookin’ jaws-of-life situation you’re trying to pass off as teeth.
I know plenty of you are reading this thinking, “Willam doesn’t mean me. I just got that one snaggle. It’s cool.” Don’t rationalize that you don’t have to get it fixed ’cause it’s not one of the front six or a missing molar. We all can see that black spot, and whenever I do see you, I fantasize what it would be like to put my tongue in your mouth and play with the void in your gum line, the way you do when you lose a tooth as a kid. Then I think, “Gross. It’s all rotted probably,” but I still wanna do it. Maybe it’s from birth, maybe it’s from partying. Whatever. Some of my best friends are crackheads or have teeth like them, and that’s cool. I’ll still be your friend. I’ll buy you a slice of pizza after the club. But if I see you buying a new car, I will ask the pertinent question, like “You didn’t wanna fix that toof first, girl?” ’Cause, again, you can drive a shitty car to the club and park it blocks away so no one sees it, but you can’t bring your dental danger up in there unnoticed. And if you’re doing crack or meth or too many Percocets and you lose some teeth, your morals are probably questionable anyway, so why not turn a couple of tricks while you’re at your rock-bottom and make the money to get your shit rigorous and right? Five hundred dollars gets that fixed. Go to a shitty neighborhood and call the dentist on the billboard by the low-income housing. You know the one. That way when we have brunch I won’t think you got a raisin in your tooth when you’re actually eating an omelet.
James Deen gave me this shirt, and I gave him the gift of laughter. His dick and his brain are both vast.
26
How to SUCK LESS at
ANAL
HOW TO MAKE IT A DIRTY FOUR-LETTER WORD
If you ever get to make out with me, you will immediately know exactly how I eat ass. I could get to the chicken part of a turducken with my hands tied behind my back and only using my mouth. To this day, I don’t use a spoon when I eat a pudding cup. My tongue can get all the way to the bottom on its own. But before you make yourself comfortable on my face, we should make sure the patio is clean. Nothing worse that sitting on a hairy fold-up beach chair.
Don’t make me eat your ass how a Gay4Pay performer eats out another guy in porn. They don’t eat out. They eat around. I don’t just flick a tongue to the left of the crack and hock a loogie on it, then tap it like I’m doing butthole Morse code. Douching is an es
sential act for going whole hog in bed. I’m talking to you, you verse tops who throw your legs up and say “OMG, I’m super wasted and think I wanna bottom”—(a) don’t equate bottoming with something you have to be fucked up to do and (b) no, bitch. Get up and stumblebump your ass to the tub, sir.
I’m also talking to you, you vegetarians who think you don’t need to clean your mudhut because you’re meat-free and stay regular with leafy greens. A hole should be as pure as the snow Bambi slept on before his mom’s blood fucked it all up. You too, vegans. I don’t want any pole stains from your whole grains. I’m also talking to ladies and gents who took a shower in the morning and by the end of the night have their back door scents wafting up to the front door. It’s nasty boots.
Let’s start with the prep work. If you think there’s a possibility of probing, eat something small beforehand. Nothing that’s hard to break down, like starches or corn. Salads can be really dicey, and eggs have way too many variables. Soup is always good. No beans or dairy. The only time I’ve ever douched in the morning and known I’d be cool that night was when I had soup for lunch and the guy’s dick was only, like, six inches.
The way to a man’s heart is through his stomach. Since I can’t cook, I usually just go in through the crawl space.
Just for clarification, there are five levels of anal cleanliness:
1 Dugeon of Doom. Just no. It’s a no. Don’t go back there unless there’s disaster relief on standby.
2 Stuffed Crust. The only time I say “Lemme eat your crust” is at the pizza place. So say I took a shower this morning. It’s, like, eleven o’clock at night now.
3 Eat Pray Fuck. Even though you had a full meal today, you cleaned out, hope nothing gets digested, and long for a launch out the escape hatch by the time anyone wants to make that exit an entrance. Shove some soap up there in the shower and a finger or two and pray.
4 Floor Model. Good to go for fucking. You used a disposable enema, like a Fleet, or a hose a couple of times.
5 Pool Party Ass. Bitch, stick your fist in. You just had a colonic, you fasted, and you’re as empty as a stepmom’s promise.
Bonus Hospitality Anus is something that’s suitable for casual—but not first—dates, bikini area grooming appointments, and especially doctor visits. Many think “Oh, lemme clean it all out for the doc,” but in reality, all that water washes away the necessary bacteria to give accurate results when swabbing back there for sexually transmitted issues and potentially cancerous cells, sometimes resulting from viruses like HPV.
Now, for those about to clean your b’holes, I salute you. One would think it would be common knowledge, but more than a few ruined sheets have told tales best left in the laundry room. So y’know how you can buy those drugstore enemas prefilled? Never use the water in them. It has saline (salt) in it and it’ll make you shit the house down. Use regular warm water, and I like to do some jumping jacks or some yoga positions and then about three to five cycles of squirt and dump. You can also get the shower attachment hose, but it can be hard to calibrate the amount of water going up there. Too much water up there and you’ll breech the lower intestine, which’ll make your task much harder. The goal is to clean the lower rectum. It’s usually about seven to nine inches in there—cozy, but big enough for some company.
If you know you’re not going to be having sex for a few hours and for sure will be eating something, take an Imodium A-D to slow down your digestive system. Live your life in the fast lane, but fuck like you’re in the HOV lane.
Now, there are certain times when you don’t want to even try with an ass. If the hookup is especially hot or a straight guy wants to try getting dicked for a minute, give it a go. But the minute you get even a snifference the room’s stinking, you pull out and get out. I’ve been in cuddle puddles that got muddy, and there’s no denying or hoping that that particular shit whiff will go away.
I’ve been out when I’m 95 percent sure I wouldn’t be getting any but still kept that 5 percent chance alive with smart after-hour food choices. Instate the just-the-tip rule. Order some fries and eat just the tips. It’s weird enough that he can ask what you’re doing and you’re probably shameless enough to reply with a wink that you only like the tip. It’s actually really helpful, because the best parts of the fries are the crunchy tips and the middles usually are soft. If he finds your flirty fry answer charming enough to advance to the bonus just-the-tip round, your ass should still be good to go.
If the ass play isn’t in the cards not because of some fault of your own, there’s not much I can tell you. I once fucked around with a guy who was six feet eight, and the second he pulled his pants down, I knew I wasn’t gonna shit right for a week. You’d think I’d love elephantitis of the cock, but sometimes it’s just too much. You want a sensible portion of dick, not the size that requires you to get a full-on colonic and fast for a week prior. Other times, I’ve literally said to guys “I’m on PrEP but I’m not prepped if you know what I mean.” They knew it was gonna be very proceed at your own risk, and I knew to get off as soon as they got it in because I knew the booty bombs could start in T-minus six inches.
Tops don’t think about this kinda stuff, and it sucks when someone asks you to hang out and you think it might be for sex and then they’re like “Let’s go eat,” but you know if you do, you won’t be able to get fucked good later. So you order some food and play with it. Maybe you eat a couple of bites and you know your douche is dunzo. Then when Mr. Man later wants to hit it, just give him the look like he’s a coach passenger waiting for the first-class toilet. Like he saw what was going into your mouth and he knows where it’s gonna end up. Insensitive tops will never learn. Have sex, then get a goddamned snack. It makes much more sense for a date. I can get behind that. And by that I mean I can really just get in front of that with my leg on your coffee table.
Getting a leg up while cleaning out can also be useful. Commode positioning seems weird to talk about, but it’s often left out of the equation. Squatting on the toilet allows muscles to relax in a way that sitting on it and trying to expel the water can’t allow. The Squatty Potty is a great tool for that, but so is just standing on the rim of the bowl like a toilet gargoyle.
This isn’t salsa, but you get the idea.
In other instances, your hole might need a holiday. Sometimes the day after I’ve been fucked, it feels to me like I’m about to give birth to a butt baby made of thumbtacks each time I try to poop. Add some mild razor burn to that sometimes and it’s not a party anyone in their right mind would want to crash. Closures due to pipe damage are a fact of life.
Lack of lube can sometimes inflict damage. It is as important to sex as fire is to cooking. If you don’t have lube and you still want to fuck, spit works well but keep reapplying. I fucked my way through most of Europe and ran out of lube somewhere around Belgium, and spit was my savior. I wasn’t happy just backpacking through the old country. I went buttpacking. (I also stole that joke from a nice lady named Producer Coinslot.)
Please don’t try to fuck me with a packet of lube. That’s like having McDonald’s condiments at a White House dinner. My ass should be treated like a municipal holiday. Don’t disrespect my picnic area. That includes the swimming hole, too. The iconic pool sex scene in Showgirls lasts less than thirty seconds, and that’s probably a good thing because fucking in water is a bad idea for women. It strips the natural lubricant their vaginas are nice enough to create for them. Men aren’t lucky enough to have any glands back there to secrete fuck juice, so it’s an even worse idea for them. Plus, it’s super disrespectful to future swimmers. Like sticking your whole fist into a bowl of communal salsa. Party foul.
As a stand-up type of citizen who likes to sit down on lotsa things, I’d like to stress that love is not a prophylactic. I don’t care if he loves you. Make him wear a rubber. If he buys you stuff, then maybe he can hit it raw. Just make sure one of the things he pays for is a prescription for PrEP. I mean you can top all you want without getting HIV
like 99-ish percent, but bottoming is still risky biz if you’re rawdogging. PrEP lets you live out your fantasy life with little or no penance after. It makes it almost OK to get pulled into a bathroom stall and have your foot slip into the toilet, soaking your shoe, while being pinned up against a wall that’s never been washed. I’m not saying don’t use condoms at all, but now when a condom breaks, I don’t worry that every time I sneeze for the month following that I’m seroconverting. I mean I wouldn’t go whole hog and start treating my body like an unlicensed sperm bank, but I definitely feel a little freer to do my thing.
There’s the school of thought that if the condom doesn’t break, you ain’t fucking hard enough. I can sometimes get down with some rough stuff, but I think the term “struggle snuggle” is a way nicer way of saying “Fuck me like an SVU episode.” To me, it’s way safer to do that kinda stuff with safe words and in well-lit rooms, because if you’re tied up, lotsa weird shit can go down. I was bound and gagged once for a B&D sesh and thought a guy was penetrating me, so I started rolling around like Sonic the Hedgehog. He undid the restraints and I told him how uncool it was that he was trying to stick it in raw, but he countered with holding his foot up and telling me it was his big toe. I was toe raped, you guys. In retrospect, I would’ve felt his Prince Albert piercing, so I know he wasn’t lying. (Hi, Damien!)