69'ing... Nice?

It's allegedly the sexiest number. But, in my opinion; Sexy? Nein.

“Alice, if you were just a couple of inches taller this would be amazing.”

“You’re too kind. And if you were just a couple of inches *longer*, I’d not be having to think about Chris Hemsworth…”

The humble Sixty-Nine. Widely regarded as the world’s sexiest and most suggestive number. I guarantee a sizeable proportion of you were incapable of reading it and not adding an internal ‘Nice' after seeing it on the page.

But, dear reader, I’m afraid I’m going to shatter some supposed universal truths. Prepare to have your minds blown (instead of a different part of your anatomy), because I’m here to argue that the number 69 is, in fact, not ‘nice’ at all, but actually nothing more than poor compromise for sheer impatience.

I can’t imagine there’s anyone reading this who isn’t already aware what 69ing entails, but on the slim chance you’re an innocent soul who’s stumbled across this corner of the internet by mistake - in which case welcome, and I apologise in advance for what else you may find - or, more optimistically, that this is being read thousands of years in the future by the insectoid race that has subjugated humanity and is scouring its entire written history to discover where it all went wrong, wherein, notably, the number has long since lost its sexy connotations, let me briefly explain:

Sixty-nining is, at its base level, two people having oral sex at the same time. It’s as simple as that. Both mouths are actively engaged in exciting things simultaneously. You experience all the joy of giving oral sex combined with the thrill of receiving the very same actions performed on yourself. It’s two fun things *at the same time*, which surely makes them exponentially better, right?

No. Of course it fucking doesn’t.

Quite the opposite, in fact. It makes them both *worse*.

This is controversial I know, and some of you may be finding this bombshell hard to swallow - pun intended - but let me explain with a facetious example.

I love toast. It’s a simple, delicious pleasure. I also love having a lovely hot bath. It’s relaxing and calming. I’m not however going to attempt to combine those two pleasures, as making toast in the bath feels like a mistake and only a fucking idiot would argue that indulging in both simultaneously would enhance both activities. Instead I could eat toast *then* have a bath, or have a bath and then eat some lovely toast. Doing one after the other is far more sensible and, dare I say it, more pleasurable.

Side note, I now want some toast.

Now, I can already hear all of you pedants out there shrieking in my direction:

“But Alice, this isn’t an accurate comparison. You said your pleasure was *eating* toast, not *making* it, so your analogy doesn’t stand up. You absolutely *could* eat toast in the bath and maybe that would be better because you’re not having to deal with crumbs…”

Well, Mr Pedant, get ready to throw yourself out of your pedant-tree because here’s my wise and well considered rebuttal: Go fuck yourself, eating toast in the bath is ridiculous. And the bread will get soggy.

Perhaps though, since this is a cause I very much believe in, a slightly less facetious example would be prudent:

You and your partner both enjoy watching movies together. You’re incredibly well matched and, whilst you each have your own personal tastes, you both enjoy the other’s suggestions as much as whatever you bring forward for movie night. Now, into this delightful harmony, you’ve watched many movies. You’ll watch ones you’ve suggested, and you’ll watch ones your partner has suggested.

But no one in their right mind is going to suggest watching both *at the same time*.

“But, Alice…”

Shush. I’m not looking for criticism at this time.

I love oral sex. Long time readers will know it to be one of greatest passions. I take more pride in my blowjob skills than almost everything else in my sexual repertoire combined. Receiving oral sex can be equally wonderful too (when it’s *good*, but that’s a post for another time) as there’s nothing quite so magical as finding the right tongue doing the right thing in precisely the right spot.

In short, oral sex - of both the giving and receiving variety - is an *art*.

But - and here, ironically, is the rub - the one thing an artist doesn’t need when they’re working their magic is a *distraction*. For example, someone attempting to do their own art in the immediate vicinity.

Sixty-nining is two people not fully concentrating on what they’re doing.

And do you know what’s better than one underwhelming oral sex session where neither party is doing their best work?

Two sessions! One after the other, with both individuals now operating at peak performance. Hell, there’s even an argument to be made that one will be operating above peak performance as they’ve now been incentivised to go for gold to return the favour!

Oral sex, if you’re doing it properly, requires focus and, sometimes, precision. So stop being impatient and trying to do it all at once. Take your time. Take your turn.

Consider the following anecdote as a final warning to anyone who still believes there’s an argument to be made in favour of the dubious number.

“Let’s 69!”

My heart sank. Ryan had fallen, more by circumstance than through intent, into what could loosely have been considered ‘boyfriend territory’, and thus was more than well acquainted with my sexual proclivities and preferences.

Which is to say; frankly, he should’ve known better.

“…and before you rattle off your usual arguments,” he continued, admirably display just how he’d fallen into the boyfriend bracket without actually trying, “consider this. It’s *my* turn.”

Fuck. He wasn’t wrong. It was indeed his ‘turn’.

To explain, both Ryan and I were big fans of sex. Especially with each other. We’d taken to doing it at practically every given opportunity. Which, as is inevitable, things had taken a turn toward the experimental. Not, that is to say, that we were doing anything radical, merely that we’d decided should either of us hold any curiosity towards a specific sexual exploration, we’d take turns in indulging each other’s curiosities.

For better or worse.

Long term readers may recognise Ryan from ‘It’s Valentines day: Let me put it in your arse!’ and my (very) brief foray into footjobs in ‘Getting Kinky? Put Your best foot forward’

So his track record in choices wasn’t strong.

It’d be churlish of me to say I entered into the act with the full intention of showing him how wrong he was to consider a sixty-nine a sexy and satisfying prospect, but it wouldn’t be inaccurate.

After a very brief warmup - Ryan possessed magic figures and knew precisely how to use them to excellent effect, meanwhile despite our ever increasing number of liaisons all he ever seemingly needed to be fully warmed was a single hefty squeeze of tits - we sat on the bed, and I let him take the lead as to how we ought to proceed.

Already, I was setting him up for failure.

“So,” I said, expectantly, “how are we doing this? Lying on our sides like two unholy foetuses, or straddling and dangling?”

“Your dirty talk is really on point today. Nothing screams sexy like the word ‘foetus’.”

Perhaps my derailing plans weren’t quite as subtle as I’d thought.

Unperurbed, he valiantly soldiered on, decreeing I should lie flat on the bed allowing him to kneel legs akimbo around my head. This would allow him to lean forward and engage in some tonguing while giving me ‘easy access to everything I need’.

You had to admire his confidence.

What ensued was as un sexually satisfying as it was brief.

None of the angles worked in anyone’s favour. He was essentially inverted planking atop me while lowering his upper half down to try to give his tongue access to its clitoral destination, but he was both massively uncomfortable and couldn’t have been further from the clitoris if it was his first time seeing a naked female and assumed it meant the tip of the nipple.

Meanwhile at his business end, our height difference was doing him no favours. The straddling created an angle where I could, at best, tongue his balls enthusiastically - rarely an issue, a teabag is a wonderful thing - or, on the occasion I managed to get his cock in my mouth, rendered him almost entirely immobile, as to move would run the risk of me getting a black eye.

“Having fun yet?” I asked, mockingly in the faux throes of ecstasy. I usually found if I could annoy him enough he’d give up on his own plans and fuck me to shut me up, which was often him at his best.

“This obviously isn’t working,” came his reply, his enthusiasm seemingly not yet dampened. “Foetus it is!”

And thus we shifted into a rudimentary spooning position. If one of the spoons was inverted, and the spoons were facing each other.

His cock looked much better from this angle. And it was a cock I was very much a fan of. So, as I felt his tongue glide upon me, I decided I should perhaps stop trying to prove a point, and actually have some fun.

I took his cock in my mouth, and set to work.

The issues were immediate.

I usually like to kick off a blowjob with some frenulum tickling - teasing the so called ‘banjo-string’ with the tip of my tongue. But from this angle his cock was upside down in my mouth, so rather than being conveniently placed immediately above the tip of my tongue, I’d instead need to use the underside to gain access to it. At which point the head of his cock brushed against *my* frenulum and I feared my world was imploding.

Meanwhile, Ryan was having his own issues. Theoretically, inverting everything shouldn’t be a problem - everything is in the same place, after all, simply the other way up. And yet, human brains and, more importantly, human anatomy doesn’t work that way. Suddenly tongue movements he knew usually guanrateed a response we being met with nothing - perhaps because the direction or pressure was different, or perhaps because I was far to distracted trying to deal with what was in my mouth to take note of any sensations emanating from further south.

I’ll save you from a blow by blow account (pun intended) of proceedings, as there’s only so many ways of saying ‘it just wasn’t right’ and I’m sure I lost most of you back at ‘foetus’ anyway.

Instead let me jump to the end in order to burst the ‘porn makes it look common, but it really fucking isn’t’ idealised myth that, while 69ing, both parties will invariably climax together.

Bullshit.

I’m not saying it *never* happens, but it’s certainly not the norm.

Ryan and I had persevered at our simultaneous oral sex adventure, him out of hopeless optimism that it might suddenly become wonderful, and me out of sheer stubbornness. But I was ready for things to end.

As such, the softly softly ‘lets discover this together’ stance had been dropped, and I was now driving things towards a conclusion.

Which is to say I’d hooked my arms around his things as was using them for support while I worked his cock with all my might.

It would be inaccurate to call it true deepthroating, as the angle due to the height difference meant his cock was never quite hitting the back of my throat, but otherwise the vigour and the sensation was proving much the same.

Ryan was very much enjoying it. But the more he enjoyed it, the less accurate his own tongue became.

I even added some not strictly necessary slurps and ‘GLUCK’s for effect.

“Mmm, fuck…” he said, words literally music to my ears as I knew what it meant. But then he held his breath as though stealing himself for a moment and asked “Are you close?”

“MO” I said. Which is the nearest you can say to ‘No’ when you’ve a cock filling your mouth and you’re unwilling to part with it to answer a stupid question.

“Then you might want to slow down, because otherwise…”

I didn’t let him finish the sentence. I prised myself free of his grip - an easy enough task given his tongue wasn’t engaged upon me at the time anyway - to go properly deep.

I took every inch of him in my mouth.

The GLUCK this time was entirely involuntary.

Ryan knew it was too late to fight it, so instead he did grabbed the back of my head and held me there.

It wasn’t necessary. I had no intention of moving.

He came.

He came surprisingly hard for someone who’d endured a very mediocre blowjob indeed.

The first jet of cum hit the back of my throat with such force, I swear some of it shot out of my nose. The remainder I swallowed with relative ease.

When his cock stopped twitching, I let it fall from my mouth and pulled myself up to lie facing him. I gave him a big, still slightly cummy kiss. He didn’t mind.

“Less sixty, all nine.” I said.

“What the fuck does that mean?” he asked.

Reader, I had no idea what I meant then, and I still have no idea to this day. But I had no intention of letting Ryan know that. So I swiftly mounted his face and rode his tongue till I was very happy indeed.

Which is how things should be done.

…Nice.