Mouth-to-Mouth

I met Bubbles last April, during a time when I was partying often to cope with a pseudo-relationship that was going sour. On this particular night I’d gone to a friend of a friend’s birthday celebration at a bar called The Friend in LA’s Silverlake neighborhood.

We crossed paths at the end of the night, during the “let out,” the time when everyone disperses outside after the bar closes. I don’t remember who approached who, but the first thing I noticed was his long, dark hair. Giving me his alias, he told me he was a music artist visiting from the northeast and my friend and I asked if he could help set up audio for a podcast we were planning to start.

We exchanged numbers and around 4am he sent me a text: “Nice meeting today. I wanna see you again.”

The next night he reached out to ask what my plans were. Our friend groups pulled us in different directions, so we didn’t get together that evening, but he was persistent. Bubbles called me late the following night, after we’d gone to separate places, and that was the first time we hung out.

He showed up to my apartment with a bottle of tequila — the only liquor he drinks, he told me. We sat on my couch talking, smoking, and listening to his music for a bit before he made the first move by going in for a kiss. From there, we were off to the races.

It wasn’t long before I was performing fellatio, with him forcefully shoving himself down my throat. I remember thinking, Wow, this guy is aggressive. But he balanced it with tender moments later.

After fucking me from behind as I leaned against a wall, we moved to my bed, where the boning continued. His silky, tousled hair fell gently over my face as he thrusted on top of me. I didn’t mind. I felt totally enveloped by him and it was sensual. We took turns giving each other oral sex, alternating between that and making out.

At one point, in between rounds, I asked if there was anything in particular he liked or wanted. Bubs didn’t have any specific requests. He returned the question and I replied, “I just like connection.”

Passion is crucial. I like to feel loved, even if the sex is casual. It’s a fantasy for me, a lover girl who’s eluded by long-term romantic relationships.

Last April, the night I met Bubs

“I think we’re connecting, right?” he said back to me. I nodded in agreement before he started to kiss me again.

I really appreciated how much emphasis Bubs put on kissing. His kisses were slow and intentional, flirty and teasing in a push-and-pull sort of way. I hate when a partner is distant in the moments we’re not actively having sex. He was the opposite, keeping me close in the interim and showering me with what felt like infinite affection. 

The highlight of our hookup that night was when he did something I’d heard of, but had never experienced. 

He spit in my mouth. It wasn’t what I expected at all. I’d always imagined it to be vulgar and executed from a distance, with two heads separated as one mouth drops drool into the other. But this was sultry. We were mouth-to-mouth. At first I couldn’t even fathom how he did it because it was so seamless.

My mouth filled with a warm pool of his saliva and it elevated my pleasure in a way I’m still struggling to describe months later.

Ahhh. Now I get it, I thought to myself. Until that moment, I’d never understood the appeal of spitting as a sexual kink.

That initial hookup was physically intimate, but we only skimmed the surface of getting to know each other. We were both laidback and calm, conversing in a straightforward manner — I don’t remember us laughing at all.

He left early the next morning and a couple of days later I reached out to follow up about the podcast (my homegirl and I really did need some help).

He said he was shooting a video but added, “I’ll be around tonight.” He ended up flaking. He offered a haphazard non-apology and then said, “Let’s link later tonight if you’re gonna be around.” I was down to have him spit in my mouth again, so I gave the message a “like.” 

He flaked on that too. I didn’t care. I labeled him a fuckboy and barely gave him any more thought, except for when I was recounting our raunchy rendezvous to friends.

It would be seven months before I heard from him again.