On the second evening of a short Tokyo book tour, people from my publishing house took me to dinner at a popular new Chinese restaurant. Of the seven or eight dishes ordered that night, I remember one. The bottom of the serving dish was dark, oily red heat, some sort of Szechuan sauce, but the item itself was almost cool on the tongue. The silky, white, glistening almost-pieces were a chopstick challenge, but worth the trouble. The food slid down the back of the throat in the most sensuous way. You almost didn’t need to swallow. I heard my editor, across the table, telling her boss Ayaka it was
ma po
tofu. It was richer and tastier than the
ma po
tofu dishes I’d had in Chinese restaurants in the States, but otherwise similar.

“How do you like it?” asked the woman seated beside me, who had translated my book into Japanese. “We ordered it in honor of your book.”

I tried to recall a
ma po
tofu scene in
Bonk
. It seemed like the sort of thing a writer would remember. I smiled at her blankly.

“Cod semen!” she blurted. Everyone looked to see my reaction.

“No way,” I said. I shouted across the table to my editor: “I heard you telling Ayaka-san that it’s
ma po
tofu.”

“No,” said my editor. “I told her, ‘
Pretend
it’s
ma po
tofu.’”

I shared this story while drinking gin with Violet Blue not long ago—an undertaking which, should you be able to swing it, I highly recommend. She was just finishing up the manuscript for this book, and in need of distraction. My editor’s words—
pretend it’s ma po tofu
—struck us both as delightful advice, not only for the culinary adventurer but for the squeamish fellator. Delightful, though not especially helpful or hip or wise or savvy. For that sort of guidance, you need only turn the page.

Mary Roach

Introduction: A New View of an Everyday Sex Act

It’s difficult for me to hide my enthusiasm for fellatio. At first glance it seems like such a straightforward sex act, but when you look closely, it’s actually quite versatile. There are innumerable ways for me to enjoy how I give it, how my partner receives it, and how I choose to receive it myself (think the business end of a strap-on). There’s the pure pleasure of taking my lover into my mouth for the sole concentrated purpose of giving him direct, focused gratification. My intentions when giving head are concrete: oral contact, mouth to cock, an immediate sensation that clearly sends him the message that I want to give him pleasure, now. The feelings of not only having my lover’s delicate genitals in my mouth but also being able to directly control his stimulation are intoxicating. The primal sensory information of taking in the essence, taste, smell, and outrageously sexy up-close visuals of my lover is a powerful aphrodisiac that influences me physically, mentally, emotionally, and on levels I believe I simply cannot detect. And it’s an undeniable fact that my mouth is a sex organ. The moment I’ve got my lover in my mouth, the heat of desire, passion, and lust in focus, right in front of me, ties my arousal directly to him.

The ways I can elicit my own arousal from fellatio are endless: Giving head works itself easily into any context or scenario I can dream up. My fantasies make anything possible, and these fantasies can be accelerated by the mere fact that fellatio can be performed almost anywhere. I can be a dominant woman, doling out pleasure as I see fit—or I can even be a naughty young man with a pretty mouth. I can play with roles, becoming an overly dedicated nurse for a helpless patient, an earnest applicant for an important job, or a submissive slave. The exchange can be an act of love, tenderness, and devotion, and gazing into my partner’s eyes I can revel in the emotion and sensuality of it all. Or together we can make it a filthy, wicked blow job; quick, dirty, and hot. Any way I choose to approach or experience fellatio, it’s delightful. And I know I’m giving my lover powerful, focused pleasure.

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