The first time a guy spat in my face whilst fucking me, I was taken aback. He was a big, hairy, brute of a man, and though the sex was rough, it came out of nowhere, hitting me by the side of my nose. I had to stop myself from cumming right there and then.
I'd never really thought of myself as someone who went in for degradation, but in that moment, as the spit ran down my cheek, it was so fucking hot. This guy in particular was someone I'd hooked up with a few times. When not having sex, he was a gentle sweetheart, but as soon as the mood flipped, his aggression would rise to the surface, and he'd get a wild, animalistic look in his eyes. Usually, we'd end up dripping in sweat and other bodily fluids, but that one time, as we lay panting, it was spit that was on my mind.
I've been thinking about spit a lot lately. In large part due to the pandemic, and the fact that it's kind of outlawed now. After all, we spend our days wearing masks to keep saliva at bay. I guess absence makes the heart grow fonder.
But what is it about spit that gets me going? The answer is a brief one: scallies. At the end of the day, it comes down to them. My teenaged-years tormenters swathed in trackies, gobbing on the street. Spitting for them was habitual, and for me will always be synonymous. Don't get me wrong, at the time I hated them. Hated their cruelty. Hated their swagger. Hated their spit. But they do say there's a fine line between love and hate. As much as I hated them, I'd still steal quick glances at the bulges in their joggers; still dream up scenarios where they'd teach me a lesson in the woods behind school. And what better way is there to put someone in their place than to spray it, not say it.
I have to confess…I can't spit for shit. When I try, it usually comes out as a splurted dribble, catching more on my chin than firing off as a projectile. I lay the blame on my immovable, lazy tongue. It can't roll. It can't do tricks. It just sits there like a wad of meat. If you've ever heard my muffled, garbled speech, you'll understand its limitations. So, it's with this lack of ability that I'd marvel at the aggressive force and deadly precision of a scally – 9 spits out of 10 they achieve a facial strike.
In a weird way, in my head, spitting is a form of aggressive intimacy. The spit is an extension of the mouth. Like literally being showered in kisses. The spitter giving of themselves, regardless of the intent. There's almost a perverse pleasure in inverting the intention. What is used as a weapon – an act of violence – can be twisted into a show of passion. The spitter most likely doesn't intend for this, but fuck them, they just spat on me.
It's not just being spat in the face, either, so guys don't need to have the best aim. A shot to the face mid fuck can give a jolt of shock, but you can spit on my chest – it's broad and can take many hits - my back, my ass. Wherever, really. If it feels right in the moment, just let rip. God, I'm salivating so hard whilst typing.
This isn't to say that I want people coming up to me and gobbing on me in the street – especially during a pandemic! It's a sexual thing and should be restricted to sexual scenarios. The scally aggression aspect is the root of the appeal, but it needs to be transferred into a scene of consent. But, you know, if you've got your cock in any part of me, that's pretty much a given that you've got my consent. [NB: This is true for me, it is not true for everyone, especially in the eyes of the law. Spitting on someone without consent is classed as assault – do keep this in mind]
Spit isn't just about aggressive usage, though, it appeals on a multitude of levels, ranging from the tender to the convenient.
Who doesn't love it when a top looks down on you and tells you to open your mouth, as they purse their lips and slowly push out a tendril of saliva? Watching, waiting as it extends downward, catching the light as it eventually builds up enough weight to pull itself free from their mouth and lazily drop into yours. Nothing tastes sweeter as it runs down your throat.
And, as has been well documented, I have a love of outdoor sex. Cheeky, spur of the moment encounters. The likelihood is that you don't have a bottle of lube to hand, but you do have a build-up of spit in mouth. For me, spit as lube makes it 10 times hornier. It's not just out in the world, though, it's in the bedroom and the club, the living room, the bathroom, whatever room I'm being fucked in – spit is my number one form of lubrication. Obviously, there are some occasions when spit's not gonna cut it, but I'll always give it the old college try with mouth-made, before admitting defeat and reaching for the machine-made. I find the key is to work their cock good and proper with your mouth, get it as nice and wet as possible, then it's usually plain sailing from there. The way it churns into a foamy lather….Uff. Sorry, I think I need a moment.
For me, spit as lube has always just been hornier. To the point where I only really have lube in the house for the purpose of getting into rubber (and for those cocks that are maybe just a bit too big for au naturel). It just feels piggier and, if I'm being honest, it appeals to my vintage heart. Boys will be boys, indeed.
It should be noted, though, that spit as lube can be riskier, as it only really works when fucking bare – a hole can become chafed real quick if you're using spit with a condom, and the condom's likely to tear. I don't want this article to read as promotion of it, merely my love letter to it. You have to make decisions on these matters that are right for you.
I know spit's not for everyone, but for me the body fluid ranking goes: 1. Cum (obvs), 2. Spit, 3. Sweat, 4. Piss … then that's it – vomit and tears don't really factor in. I don't NEED spit involved in every sexual encounter, but when it is, it's all the sweeter. Whether it's dripping off my cheek(s), running down my throat or greasing up my hole, I know I'll be going to bed content.
I won't be getting spat on for the foreseeable future, certainly not until we've all had our vaccines and herd immunity has kicked in, but once this is all over, save a little saliva for me. The thought alone is enough to make my mouth water.
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