I do, oh Lord I do, have a fervent desire to bestow the perfect blow job. Not to mention an effervescent longing to write a salacious review of Nicci Talbot’s guide to a perfect Lewinski (Unzipped — How to Give the Perfect Blow Job).
You can’t help but take a task such as this personally — I can only speculate that I’ve been given the work because of my legendary prowess.
I looked in the mirror at my tongue. Hmm. I flicked it this way and that. It looked okay to me; like it could dart. I licked my lips. They became wet. They felt full. I opened the book.
One look at the penultimate section’s title — “A perfect blow job every time” — was all I needed to become as dry-mouthed as bitter lemon.
My swollen lips felt as though they belonged to that other blonde, the one with the hairy armpits. And my tongue, (the book recommends you work the back of your tongue by moving it in circles at the back of your throat) — gnnffff — felt like a mouldy jelly baby.
I found hints in Unzipped I hadn’t thought of, though I confess I don’t normally think too much in that situation — certainly no novellas being developed when I’m fellating.
The text gives long names to my instincts. How will I ever be able to go down on a beautiful man again without thinking about the corpora cavernosa, vas deferens and perineum?
And how pressing the latter, gently but not too gently (huh?), is a recipe for growing profits.
I might have got this part of the book mixed up with a strategy session we were doing the other day on headline earnings and earnings before interest, taxes, depreciation and amortisation. Considering that at the time of the session I was also doing the recommended jaw workout (p 59), it’s lucky I got the job.
And who has time to practise deep-throating? Nicci recommends you strap a silicone dildo or a phallic-looking cucumber to the end of your bed, to make sure that by the time you get lucky with a real man’s thing, he’s just wild for your cooking.
At what time of the day are you supposed to practise lying on your back with an oversized parsnip in your salivating mouth? Before which deadline? After you take your child to school? Who will actually use this book, I wonder? What do they do all day? What am I missing?
Talbot warns of potentially fatal disasters experienced by veggie users: They tend to break, she says, and this may lead to choking.
I imagine my poor mother and sisters finding me, spread-eagled and stark naked next to my bed with pieces of mouldy carrot up my nose. I imagine how they will try to explain this.
“She was doing a book review, you see,” they’ll say. “She was interested in writing. She was a nice Jewish girl.”
And there I was, a Darwin Award candidate of note, just trying hard to please.