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Vomjob: a fellatio myth or reality?

Updated: Feb 12, 2023

(Originally titled "Blowback: a fellatio myth or reality?"**)


I was supposed to post Part 2 of last week’s “Mo’ people, mo’ problems,” but I didn’t finish editing it. I wish I could say the reason for my failure was that I was busy doing something that needed doing in our busy household. But I’m not going lie. The kiddos were all out of the house for the afternoon, I got a wee bit stoned — with every intention of writing, mind you — and then enter stage left: PM.



Annnnd…welllll…one thing led to another, and now I’m lying naked in our bed and trying to pull together the will and the energy to get dressed so that I can do school pick-up. Finishing last week’s piece isn’t even in the realm of possibilities right now.



So instead of part 2 of PM’s POV, I pulled this little raunchy, weird piece from the hopper. Sorry. And you’re welcome. *winks*



It was November of ‘97. Thanksgiving night, actually. So I suppose that means I just celebrated the 25th anniversary of my first blowjob. Which happens to also be PM’s fellatioversary. So yeah, I’ve been giving PM head for a quarter of a century. Damn. That’s a long friggin’ time.



Anyways, why am I reflecting on this fact tonight? Well, it’s just that I’ve given many, many blowjobs over the years — the vast majority of them bestowed on PM — but I’ve never had an instance where I vomited on a dick before. Yep. That’s what I’m writing about.



Sure, it’s a comedic bit that shows up in movies, but I’d never experienced it for myself. It always seemed like more of an urban legend. And when I’d happen to come across something about someone vomiting on a guy’s dick, my first thoughts were always, Wow. That’s some gag reflex. But that thought would inevitably morph into a almost disbelieving stance. How does that even happen?! Why wouldn’t you just pull off before you actually vomited?!



Or if not the unfortunate consequence of an over-sensitive gag reflex, I guess I assumed that the blower was giving the blowee too much leeway. That the person on the receiving end was being too aggressive and that the giver needed to communicate this fact to their partner.



I mean, sure, I’ve gagged before. The gag reflex is my body’s attempt to prevent me from choking to death, so, of course, I have. Many, many times. Dry heaved a little. A cock pushed into the back of one’s throat and farther is liable to do that. It’s an involuntary response, and my throat doesn’t automatically know the difference between a bratwurst and a man’s johnson.





And, man, I find that a gag is hard to come back from these days. Once I’ve seriously engaged my gag reflex, it’s hard to ignore it again. And it then seems to get triggered that much easier after that. I remember handling the sensation better two decades ago. Like it was a mind over matter thing, and I was killing it. But now that I’m in my forties… *shakes head* It’s like my body is saying, Nope, we’ve decided this definitely doesn’t belong here, so we’re forcing the point.



But I digress…



So I’m here I am… I’m on my back at this point and he’s above me, straddling my torso…I’m blowing him, and he’s getting really into it. He groans and starts thrusting into my mouth. Nothing too rough. I can tell he’s just getting a little extra excited. He’s still holding himself in pretty strict check, but he’s stoned, and so the inhibitions tend to slip a bit. One of his hands slips into my hair, and I feel him put a little counter-pressure on my head as he thrusts forward. I gag a few times.



I’m not joking when I say that it seems to me that putting pressure on the back of my head only intensifies my gag reflex. It’s clearly a psychological thing — an instinctive response in a primal part of my brain that apparently takes this as a threat to my life. I like hands in the hair — it feels more like an act of appreciation or devotion, even. Hands forcing my head down? That’s a big nope.



But I’m not presently experiencing his hand as anything but a gentle encouragement, if you will, so I don’t pull off him entirely when the gags happen.



Every time a gag hits me, however, PM pulls back a bit and his rhythm falters. I know he’s giving me a chance to breathe and pull away if I want to. Above all, my PM is a gentleman, or so he would say about the matter if I asked him. But it’s fine. I’m 42, after all. I’m hardly unfamiliar with the gag reflex, nor is it going to deter me from achieving my goal.



I get it. He’s in the zone, and so I’m going with it, gag reflex be damned. Because most importantly at this point is the fact that it’s after 11:30pm, and I’ve already come spectacularly from the oral sex and finger-fucking he gave me on the couch earlier. So the truth is, I’m ready to settle in for bed. So hell yeah, I’m encouraging his hip thrusts, taking one for the team. And by “team” here, I really mean myself, because sleep is calling me.



I wrap my arms around his hips and slide my hands around his thighs and try to match his pace. I slide one of my hands back and gently roll and tug on his balls, the accompanying groan assuring me that I’m on the right track.



Now, if I really wanted to end this that much quicker, I could just pop off his cock, scoot him backwards 6 inches, and let him paint my face. It’s certainly my go-to when I’ve had enough and need things to finish up as quickly as possible. Not that he ever complains when I choose that route. Ever. But that’s how tired I am tonight. I don’t even want to take the energy to roll out of bed to do a quick cleanup in the en-suite. Tonight, when PM has gotten his turn and his rocks off, I just want to roll over and go directly to dreamland.



I slide my hand further under and use the pad of my middle finger to work his P-spot through his taint, and I can tell I’m getting the job done because his thrusts begin to hit the back of my throat with more force. His control is slipping. I concentrate on relaxing my throat and getting a decent breath every few strokes.



That’s when, for the first time, the gag turns into something more, making me sputter and cough around his cock. Acid erupts up my throat and onto back of my tongue…and the head of PM’s cock. I can feel a slight burn in my throat and taste the sour as I drag my mouth over his dick. I know for certain that it’s actual vomit this time and not just a heave.



That’s a first, I think to myself.



I don’t discourage his hips though. He seems to have sensed that this last gag was something different — my abdominal muscles contracting jerkily under his body — and he pulls back and off entirely as soon as it happens. “I’m sorry! Are you okay?” he gasps. “Yes,” I whisper, as I secure my arms around his hips and pull him into my mouth and down my throat to make my consent perfectly clear.



And so it goes. Every time I gag and get the taste of bile in my mouth, I make a point to pull him forward with more force, roughly taking him deeper down my throat. I don’t want him to feel bad or self-conscious and pull away. I want him to keep going. I’ve already gone so far as to vomit in my own mouth. I’m fucking finishing this, damnit.



So I’m working my neck in tandem with his hips, and time after time, I taste sour but force myself to swallow and keep going without hesitating. It feels like I’m trying to win a game or something. Like a contest. And I’m fighting my own body’s natural response. I seem to go on like this forever, but now that I think about it afterwards, it was really only maybe a half-dozen times over the span of few minutes.



What I do distinctly remember pondering, as I sputtered around his cock and attempted to take watery, acidic breaths, was whether I was in danger of aspirating my vomit. And then, naturally, I followed-up that thought with whether it was possible for one to aspirate semen. And as if I conjured a genie, I feel the first of PM’s hot spurts hit the back of my throat.



As he rolls off me, I find I’m still repeatedly swallowing, mouth sour and throat burning. He slides his arm under my shoulders and pulls me into his side. Kisses me on the head. No clue that I just vomited on his cock. I try clearing my throat a few times to ease the irritation at the back of my throat.



I find myself coughing a bit and wondering if I did, in fact, aspirate something, whether bile, cum, or both. And for a moment, I consider voicing my musings to PM. But then I hear his breathing -- relaxed, deep, and even. It would only make him feel bad over something to which I fully consented.



You can't die from aspirating a small amount of cum, can you? Well, I am alive, so I guess it’s probably fine.



The result of this strange little episode? I will no longer simply assume that someone who vomits while fellating must be the owner of an unfortunately strong gag reflex or else be a push-over to the penis-haver. It just might be possible that they’re pushing through the pain for a payoff. Like sleep, in my case.



Hope you enjoyed this strange little piece. I’ll catch you in two weeks.


Until next time, stay kinky 😉


**The original title of this piece included the term "blowback," which was the brainchild of a friend of mine. I honestly thought it may be the actual term for vomiting while fellating a penis. I have since discovered that the term for the phenomenon is "vomjob," per the Urban Dictionary. And apparently "blowback" refers to a person farting while receiving oral. *chuckles and shrugs* It's all Greek to me, but I changed the title to reflect this new terminology.

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