Cum: The Devil Is In The Details

Selfie taken by Morgan where the top half of xir face is cut off and xir cleavage is covered in a lube which looks a lot like cum

Welcome to my new miniseries, The Devil Is In The Details, where I get unreasonably in-depth about certain aspects of sex or kink that fascinate me! This week, I’ll be talking about cum…


I have a complicated relationship with cum.

In theory, I love it. I fantasise about all the different ways I can interact with it – about being spitroasted and having cum squirt into my mouth and my cunt simultaneously; about being splattered with it in unrealistic quantities by one or more parties; about going for a walk straight after being creampied and feeling it ooze through the fabric of my pants and start to dribble down my leg. In all of these fantasies, I am enthusiastic about it, because in all of these fantasies, it isn’t cum-textured.

I might be alone in this, but I find there’s a particular squeakiness to cum on skin that gets my autistic hackles up somethin’ fierce. It’s akin to the creak of teeth against fabric – something I also can’t stand – and it turns my stomach every time I experience it. I love the sensation of being covered in or filled with something thick and wet and hot – but I can’t stand it on my skin for any longer than a few long, sexy moments. I can cope with it in my cunt, as long as I don’t have to touch my cunt, or have it touched by anyone else. I do, however, like the sensation of it dribbling out of my cunt, especially if it’s then caught up by fingers and fed to me (be they my own fingers or someone else’s).

The ideal place to put your cum, though, is my mouth. I love the taste of it – the way that some notes of it differ between each person while the bass line of human-tasting tanginess remains the same. (Forgive the weird music analogy – I have a lot of synaesthesia around tastes, smells and sounds.) I have no objections to the feel of the actual substance in my mouth, and I relish the moment that it hits my tongue, whether it be sucked out of someone and pulsing gently towards the back of my throat or shot hard into my mouth as a reward for someone’s handiwork – be it me, the person who’s coming, or a third party. I love letting it drip off my lower lip as I stare, dumbstruck by lust, at the person who put it there, but I also love dutifully swallowing all of it, including those last few drops that can be squeezed out at the end of an orgasm.

The other thing I love about cum is this: it’s tangible, physical proof of a job well done. It’s hard to argue that I’m not sexy or that I’m bad at sex when somebody has just ejaculated inside or all over me. Sometimes, in role play, I act as though I dislike or am indifferent to my partner’s cum, and that it only exists as a necessary byproduct of my obedience when ordered to suck them off or lay still for them – but it’s definitely acting. I definitely want the cum. I’m therefore far more comfortable in the role of desperate slut, whose sexual greed knows no bounds and who can only think about getting their holes filled, getting to come and getting covered in and filled with the cum of another person (or other people, plural) – which, to be honest, is kind of the case for me a lot of the time anyway. If you catch me daydreaming, there’s a solid 60% chance that you’ve caught me thinking about the tingle at the back of my tongue that cum can sometimes give me, or the way a dick looks when it’s twitching and spraying cum everywhere, or any other thing related to cum and how much I love it.

Who knows; you might even have caught me having that one recurring fantasy where I jerk someone off in the shower and then lick their cum off the tiled wall.


The pandemic and subsequent semi-lockdown that’s going on right now means that I’ve lost a lot of work opportunities (because every other fucker at my agency is snagging jobs before I can). If you also want to give me a birthday present four months early, consider buying me a coffee or commissioning transcripts or captions from me!

A (Conditional) Defense of One Penis Policies

Stock image of a single banana on a square white plate, with a knife and fork to the plate's left and an empty drinking glass to its right. The table on which the plate lies is a warm brown colour and the banana itself is ripe, but not speckled. It is supposed to represent a penis.

The One Penis Policy is exactly what it sounds like: it’s a rule within a non-monogamous relationship that (usually) dictates that the vagina-owning party can only be sexually and/or romantically involved with one penis-owner. Usually, this happens in relationships with cis people, where the vagina-owning lady partner is bi, and usually it’s brutally criticised by other non-monogamous people for being phallocentric (that is, for putting the penis on a pedestal) and for diminishing the validity of vagina-on-vagina or otherwise sapphic relationships by virtue of deeming them less threatening, less jealousy-inducing and/or less “real” than penis-on-vagina or otherwise heterosexual relationships.

And I totally understand those criticisms. I do. “It doesn’t count if it’s with a girl” is an icky sentiment which manages to be misogynistic (in that it positions women and their relationships as less important than men) and manages to dismiss female sexuality (in that it suggests non-phallocentric sex acts are less important than phallocentric ones) in one fell swoop. Your penis-owning partner deeming your relationship(s) with women less important than your relationships with him (because he’s usually cis, let’s be real) can really hurt, so a lot of people avoid One Penis Policies in their relationships. And that’s their boundary and their right, and I respect that.

But.

We can’t wash societal bullshit out of our brains. (This is why I still have an eating disorder, Impostor Syndrome about my depression, and freshly-shaven armpits.) Even if we know it’s societal bullshit, even if we’ve read all the books and blog posts and hot takes and we’re logically aware that our feelings are being influenced by external structures, we still have the emotional responses that society has wired our brains to have. So even if a dude desperately wants to discard society’s phallocentric bullshit, he’ll still feel hurt and threatened and the rest of it when his partner interacts with another penis. It would take a lifetime to undo that societal programming.

Phallocentrism also means that an alarming amount of a dude’s identity is connected to his dick. In much the same way as my identity is tied to being a blue-haired autistic sex nerd with big boobs and lots of facial piercings, a lot of dudes’ identity is tied to their dicks – so in the same way I’d be hurt and insecure if my partner started seeing another person with blue hair and big boobs and so on, dudes are hurt and insecure about other penises entering your life. It’s much easier to draw comparison when there are similar traits to compare, and living in a phallocentric patriarchy means that the first place a guy is going to look to draw comparison is genitally. Again, he might be fully aware of how bullshit that is, but that won’t stop him from feeling anxious about you replacing his penis (the part of him that society deems most important) with another, “better” penis.

As for the diminishing of female or sapphic sexuality, that depends on the person. It can be hard to untangle phallocentric bullshit and the bullshit that suggests vagina-related sexuality is less valid, but frankly, if you’re dating someone homophobic enough to state or suggest that “it doesn’t count if it’s with a girl”, the absence or presence of a One Penis Policy is not going to save your relationship and you should run for the hills. If your partner, phallocentric bullshit aside, respects and values your relationships with women, it should show, regardless of whether or not he feels threatened by them. His behaviour as a metamour, the things he says to you in private and how readily he objectifies you, your girl partner(s) and your sapphic experiences are all things to take into account, but that’s a conversation for another day. Simply put, if your partner is homophobic, you’ll know, regardless of penis policies.

So do you have to instate and abide by a One Penis Policy because your partner can’t shake off society’s phallocentrism and misogyny? Of course not. I personally weighed up the hurt and insecurity my partner might feel about other penises against the desire I had to interact with other penises and decided, in the kindest way possible, that my encountering new dicks wouldn’t be worth the emotional labour for either of us. My partner didn’t explicitly veto other penises; he told me that he’d have a lot of difficult feelings about them, and I decided I’d rather spare him those feelings and leave other penises alone. That might change in the future, but it might not, and I’m truly happy with that: I feel like I can ask my partner for contact with his dick, or for penetration, or for any other unique experience that penises offer, and he’ll provide it at my earliest convenience, so there’s very little I’m missing out on in abiding by an unofficial One Penis Policy. And that’s the ideal setup.

All 800-odd words of this was to say: if multiple penises are important to you, you have every right to only enter/maintain relationships that are absent of a One Penis Policy. But if you have a partner whose feelings might be shielded by a One Penis Policy and multiple penises aren’t that important to you, there’s no shame in sticking to an OPP. There’s no right way to do non-monogamy, you and your dude needn’t feel bad for being susceptible to millennia of patriarchal brainwashing, and your boundaries are always, always allowed. Regardless of what they are, I hope you enjoy the genitals you interact with, or that you enjoy non-genital-related activities, to the fullest extent possible, and I hope to see y’all next week for another blog post.