"I can't cum from blowjobs..." Challenge accepted!

A real blow to the ego.

When it comes to boasting or humble brags; ‘I can’t cum from blowjobs’ is an example of the medium that’s utterly inexplicable to me. Boasting about something you *can’t* do is entirely nonsensical; it’s like being proud of the fact you can’t swim, cook or eat with your mouth closed. This isn’t an actively developed skill to be nurtured, it’s something you’ve simply neglected to learn.

To clarify from the outset, this bizarre phenomena is only found among a tiny - though alarmingly vocal - stratum of men. I take no issue at all with guys who offer the comment almost apologetically, not wanting to shut down an entire sexual avenue (or perhaps ‘blowjob boulevard’ would be more appropriate?) but as a cautionary suggestion that, while taking a stroll along the route may be fun, it’s something of a dead-end meaning an alternative path to ultimate destination may be required. Often in these cases it’s not that they *can’t* achieve satisfaction via the medium of the mouth, simply that thus far in their lives they *haven’t*.

For these men, embarking alongside them on the voyage of oral exploration is a delight, with *both* parties actively enjoying the process and are equally aligned on an ideal ending. And when it comes - figuratively and literally - the happy (and often joyfully messy) result is considered a win for all.

But I’m not talking about those guys.

When a guy says “I can’t cum from blowjobs” with a thinly veiled sense of pride, making the statement as though it’s an immovable certainty in which there is simply no room for discussion or debate; *that’s* when I take issue.

When the clear inference behind the proclamation isn’t ‘it’s never happened for me before’, or even ‘it’s not my preference anyway’, but instead is indicating an unspoken; ‘…so let’s skip that bit entirely and you might as well let me fuck your arse instead…’

It’s not so much a statement that they *can’t* cum from a blowjob, it’s that they’ve arbitrarily decided that they *won’t*.

When it’s spoken with any sense of smugness, pride or out of a misplaced sense of self belief, i’m incapable of seeing it as anything but pure hubris.

And my only desire - exceeding even that of achieving my *own* satisfaction - becomes to prove them wrong.

Alex was already teetering on the precipice of talking me *out* of bed. No man I have known before or since has ever had such an issue with simply shutting the fuck up.

This was a shame as Alex was, on the face of it, very much ‘my type’. Tall and broad, he had the physique of an - albeit perhaps retired - rugby player who wouldn’t object to indulging in some post game tackling. Though I say ‘on the face of it’ inaccurately, as his face was actually his biggest issue. More specifically, a very specific portion of his face.

It was November and Alex had - despite, I can only imagine, pleas from the Geneva convention - decided to indulge in the ‘Movember’ challenge. This, for the fortunate few who’ve never encountered such an individual, involves growing a seemingly obligatory hideous moustache in order to conceal your upper lip from the world at large.

I’m told it’s not actually a Movember rule that the top lip topiary *must* be a crime against nature to look at, but I’ve certainly never encountered one that wasn’t.

However, somehow, despite the truly heinous facial fuzz - I can only blame excessive alcohol - I’d found myself wooed back to Alex’s place, post some night out revelry.

He’d not stopped talking the entire journey, and this alone had been almost enough for me to bolt. His quips and anecdotes were funny and engaging enough or I really would’ve fled for the hills, but the incessant talking had me repeatedly looking at his mouth, and the view was doing him no favours at all.

As a desperate attempt to silence him even for a moment, I decided to state my intentions for the remainder of the evening. I informed him in no uncertain terms that I wasn’t returning with him for more drinks and chat, or to meet his cat, or to examine his apparently impressive book collection. I was feeling exceptionally amorous, and I was going to fuck him.

Or, more specifically, I very much wanted him to fuck *me*.

It bought me around four seconds of silence while a big beaming grin crossed his face. A smile I was in no way able to enjoy because it was partially obscured by a mess of unnecessary hair that wouldn’t have looked out of place on the pubis in 70’s porn.

Thankfully, Alex took the hint. As we got to his place he took a firm hold of my shoulders and kissed me. Now I’m a big fan of men with beards and all manner of facial fair, so I’m more than accustomed to feeling a little fuzzy prickle when the lips lock, and I take no issue with it at all.

But this monstrous moustache was overhanging his upper lip so doggedly that I swear as we kissed I received little but a literal mouthful of hair.

It took all my willpower to fight the urge to gag.

I pulled back immediately deciding that, regretfully, kissing wouldn’t be an option until after I’d shaved the furry caterpillar off, perhaps while he slept.

“Let’s not waste time,” I said, hoping I’d manage to drown the vague disgust under a guise of eroticism instead, as I began running my hands down his body, sliding slowly onto my knees and drawing my face level with his crotch. “Let me get my mouth on something more exciting!”

It was as clichéd spoken out loud as it looks when being read, but it was the best I could do in the moment as my mind had wandered onto the terrifying possibility that ‘Movember’ perhaps meant horrifically sculpted pubic hair too.

Alex, perhaps understandably, wasn’t at all bothered by my lazy sub-par porn dialogue and excitedly dropped his trousers, his underwear quickly following in the blink of an eye. Mercifully, my fears were unfounded and his pubic hair was minimal and neatly trimmed.

His cock was impressive. While it wasn’t especially girthy it was notable in length. I say notable as I hadn’t been expecting something quite so sizeable as illustrated by the fact it whacked into my nose as it sprung forth excitedly from his boxer shorts.

Finally, I had something worthy that could distract from his moustache. The night was saved!

I was all set to make a start taming the beast, literally licking my lips in anticipation when Alex went and tried to ruin everything.

He grinned the unbearably smug grin of a bastard, the sheer self satisfaction of it so evident I could see it even beneath his tossers tash.

“Just to let you know, I never cum from blowjobs. So, y’know, enjoy yourself down there, but then let’s get to the real fun…”

Any thoughts I may have harboured of enjoying orgasms in my near future vanished in an instant.

My own pleasure would be naught compared to the satisfaction I’d feel when I made this fucker cum with my mouth.