Confessions of 400 Men - True Revelations of Lust, Fidelity, Feelings & Fantasy

“It’s hard being a man today, because nobody gives a fuck about men. If people see a homeless man on the street with a dog, they feel sorry for the dog.”

– Chris Rock

Sitting down with a stranger and asking him to describe, in detail, the perfect blowjob is definitely not the easiest thing I’ve ever done.

It was particularly difficult because the man sitting across from me was older than my father. Russ was a retired real estate agent from New York City, now living in Philadelphia. He’d found me through a flier I’d hung in a local coffee shop.

Males Needed for Research Study

All Ages and Ethnicities are welcome
Single/Married/Divorced/Widowed

Your opinions and insight are needed for a research study about men and women and how they behave in relationships. Interviews will take place in a coffee shop or other public venue.

We met at a bakery in Center City on a Sunday afternoon. Russ was tall and thin, with a warm presence that reminded me of my late grandfather. We began chatting – relaxed, friendly conversation.

First, there were the easy questions: Where are you from? How old are you? Do you have children? Have you ever been married? Then came the more intrusive questions about dating, intimacy, and relationships.

All the while, I was secretly dreading the question. The blowjob question. It lurked at the bottom of my questionnaire, like a landmine.

Do men, who are close to 80, even know what a blowjob is? I wondered.

I contemplated skipping the topic out of respect for the man. He was polite – gentlemanly, even. I couldn’t possibly ask. What if it made him uncomfortable and he got up and walked out?

I had purposely put the blowjob question toward the end of the interview. My thinking was that this would give me time to establish a rapport. Maybe they’d feel, if not comfortable, then at least less uncomfortable discussing it. In the past, other men had simply smiled and given me a one-word answer to my provocative question. Usually “Enthusiasm.”

Back to Russ. It was time. Taking a deep breath, I decided to ease him into it gently.

“So, okay, this next one is sort of personal. If you’re not comfortable answering it, we can skip it.”

Russ insisted he was an open book, and told me I could ask him anything.

“Okay.” I looked down at my paper, avoiding his eyes. “Describe for me, in as much detail as possible, the perfect blowjob.”

“Ha!” Russ said, slapping his hand on the table and spilling some of his coffee. “I’ll tell you exactly how I like my blowjobs. There are five things a woman needs to do to give the perfect blowjob.” He held up his hand, five fingers extended, eyes twinkling. Apparently, desire for blowjobs, like dieting for women, never ends.

This wasn’t the reaction I was expecting. Offering raised eyebrows and a blank stare, I stammered out, “Well, then, let me hear it!”

“So, number one, I want a firm hand grip. Nice and firm, no flimsy stuff.”

Oh, dear God, I thought, why exactly am I doing this?

Russ continued. “Number two, treat it like a lollipop. Lick the shaft, starting from the bottom, and work your way up to the top. And suck at the tip. Number three, take it in your mouth as far as you can.”

He counted off each point on his fingers as he went. “Number four, I like my balls licked. Period. Why do women ignore the balls so much?”

He looked at me expectantly, as if I might be uniquely qualified to enlighten him about womankind’s general point of view vis-a-vis having men’s balls in their mouths. Did he see something I didn’t? Did I look like an expert on ball sucking?

The tables had been turned. Russ seemed to be enjoying himself. I was the uncomfortable one now.

“And number five, use your hands a bit more than your mouth. Don’t make it all mouth. It gets sloppy with too much mouth. Oh, and, of course, no teeth. But I think most women know that already.”

I kept my head down and focused on writing his answers on my paper. Russ, meanwhile, was filled with enthusiasm.

“Boy, this is way more fun and interesting than I imagined,” he said with a wide smile, probably sensing my unease. Or maybe not. “Thanks for this!” he added.

It’s not everyday you get to hear how a 78-year-old man likes his blowjobs. And, quite honestly, why should it bother me? Why should I even care? I wasn’t planning on giving an older man a blowjob any time soon.

Russ finished by telling me he was thinking of dating younger women. “Women my age don’t give blowjobs anymore,” he said. “I’m thinking about dating women in their late thirties or early forties. You’re around that age, aren’t you?”

Suddenly finding new reserves of awkwardness, I told him that, yes, I was about that age, and moved on as fast as possible to the next section of the interview.

Russ called me a few weeks later and asked me to join him for a drink. Although I was flattered, I politely declined. This wasn’t the first time someone I interviewed asked me on a date, and it wouldn’t be the last.

Even though asking the blowjob question got easier over time – along with all the other personal, prying questions – situations like that still took me aback and made me reflect on my task. How, I often found myself wondering, had I gone from a six figure corporate job to asking strangers how they prefer their blowjobs?

***

Taking the Leap

At this point, you might be wondering how I found the time to interview several hundred men. It started off as an idea, something to do in my free time. As I became more interested, my plans became more concrete. I could quit my job and pursue these interviews full time. It seemed like the only way to do the project justice.

People always seem to know what they want to do, but lack the courage to walk away from their careers and follow their dreams. I had the courage and was willing and able to leave, but I wasn’t sure exactly what steps to take. For several years I’d been toying with the idea of writing a book and since relationships had been my trouble area, I thought it might be interesting to dig deep into them and see what I could find.

I had finally made up my mind to quit my job and was patiently waiting for the right moment when I was hit by a combination of serendipity and bad luck: I got laid off. My company was closing its doors, and I found myself blessed with a large severance and the time to indulge my curiosity.

Now, I not only had insight and desire. I had time.

***

Getting Past the Altar

Sweat was running down my back. I grabbed hold of a nearby table to steady myself. The bright lights hurt my eyes and I was overcome with the sudden need to be anywhere but here. I loved my dress, but everything else was wrong, terribly wrong. The room was too hot, and my anxiety was escalating.

I took my pulse. It was a frantic 172 beats per minute. I was standing in front of a full-length mirror, never looking better, preparing to walk down the aisle and marry the man I loved.

“It’s time to go, honey,” called my father from around the corner.

“Shit!” I whispered to my sister, the one comforting presence in the room. “Shit, Shit!”

Heather gave me a sympathetic look. “We can walk right out this side door and go get a cup of coffee. I’ll take care of the guests. You don’t have to worry. No one will care in five years that you walked away today, trust me.”

“No, I’m okay. I’m just nervous.” But, in spite of myself, tears were rolling down my cheeks. “Weren’t you nervous on your wedding day?”

I desperately wanted her to tell me this was normal, that everyone is anxious on their wedding day. Instead I found myself on the receiving end of an awkward stare, as if she wanted to lie but couldn’t quite bring herself to do it.

“Honestly, I couldn’t wait to get down the aisle. I was so excited I couldn’t make the time go fast enough.”

My heart sank. In that moment, I knew something was wrong, but I still couldn’t accept that I was in the middle of making a mistake. So, I pushed forward.

I heard the music playing. Everyone was waiting.

I thought about the good, honorable man I was about to marry and how much I loved him. He was good to me and I trusted him implicitly. But I wanted a career and didn’t want children, and he wanted a wife who stayed home and had babies. Both of us thought the other would change.

Even so, most women would’ve killed to find a man who wanted nothing more than to provide for her while she stayed home and raised a...