Teasing the Beaver

Cunnilingus. I’ll be honest, it’s not my thing. Perhaps it’s a difficult topic for me because I can’t find a euphemism that feels enticing. “Teasing the beaver” sounds vaguely illegal, and likely to attract PETA enthusiasts. “Yodeling in the canyon” makes me feel slightly insecure about my anatomy. Then there’s the favorite of all Star Wars geeks, “French kissing the Wookie”—need I say more? As if calling my little Panty Hamster a Wookie wasn’t bad enough, the idea that some freak in his mother’s basement is not only aware of oral sex, but also names it, bothers me, to say the least.

But is this really about the words? Sure, most names for a woman’s anatomy involve some horrible reference to various unattractive mammals, but I think what bothers me most is the point of view. I mean really, how many of you women refer to Gina as the Afro Clam? And really, do you request oral sex by asking someone to partake of the Afro Clam Banquet? I’m guessing … no. So why are the names amusing but vaguely disgusting, while the sexual act that is singularly for us gets named from the point of view of the person who happens to be doing the servicing? It begs the question: to whom does the act belong?

I decided to take it to the streets and conduct a little research. With a bee in my bonnet and a fire in my loins, I gathered the most interesting women I know. As I sat around a table, surrounded by drinks and intelligent women, I felt confident that we might hash out some answers. Perhaps we could find some common ground that we could all have a laugh over, then pat ourselves on the back for being so enlightened and fulfilled. Instead, I came face to face with a rather uncomfortable reality. Oral sex had become the new frontier of performance anxiety, but not for him … for us. All women expressed some level of concern over her man’s feelings and her own performance, whether it be dread over an unshaved Gina, (God forbid the whisker biscuit might actually have a few stray, well … whiskers) fear to start anything that couldn’t be finished properly, (keep in mind this refers to her achievement of orgasm, not his ability to elicit one), or a willingness to engage only because it’s part of his expectation. As I sat there, my discomfort with oral sex became utterly clear. Not a single woman at that table really loved the act, orgasm was rare, and the need to be a growling badger of passion took precedence over pleasure taken.