On Wednesdays, Amanda Chatel will be sharing stories about her strange, fascinating and sometimes wonderful dating life. If it makes you want to date, check out TheGloss dating page.
E was one of those men you stumble upon every once in a while who definitely had his, um, shortcomings. Unlike most men who might suffer from such an issue, E was well aware and discussed his lack of endowment to the point of it being uncomfortable. He joked that he had tried different avenues to “fix” it, but as with many advertisements that make impossible promises, he came up empty. It’s a fact of life that you can’t grow back your hair with a foam and you can’t gain a few inches on your penis with pills. It is what it is and it’s best to deal or make up for it in other ways. E made up for it by not only having a gifted tongue, but by being a bit on the kinky side, too. However, we all have a different idea of what constitutes kinky and what’s just straight up weird.
We’d been dating for a couple weeks when I slept with him for the first time, and it was just under a month’s worth of dates when I awoke to him feverishly lapping at my armpit as if he was a dog and my underarm was a supplier of mass amounts of Alpo. I had been dead asleep and while in the past I had woken up to a gentleman trying to have sex with me (the danger of sleeping in a fella’s bed), this behavior was completely new to me. I jerked away and asked him what he was doing. He explained that I smelled so good and he had wanted to do it since we first met. Of course, I smelled good! It’s called Dove deodorant and smells like spring flowers or whatever fancy shit the label says.
“Does deodorant taste good to you?” I asked as I got out of bed and stood in front of him wrapped in his sheet.
“I can’t taste it. I can only taste you,” he answered. There was a part of me that was throwing up a bit in my mouth and I focused on my throat so I wouldn’t insult him with a natural gag reaction. “Come back and let me do it again.”
“No. I don’t want someone sticking their tongue in certain parts of my body, and my armpit is one of them,” I snapped.
“But it’s so soft and clean,” he said smiling in what I now recall as a creepy sort of way.
“Yeah, it’s called electrolysis and deodorant!” I dropped the sheet to the floor, got dressed and headed home.
From the beginning, I knew E was a transition fella so I wasn’t about to get my panties in a twist over his weird penchant for licking armpits. We all have our fetishes, and although I appear to be lacking in that area, I couldn’t exactly judge him because of it. As long as it doesn’t involve shit or piss, my mentality is more power to you in whatever gets you off. A few days later I agreed to go to dinner with him and put the whole licking of the armpit thing behind us. I had made it clear that I wasn’t into it so I thought we could evolve past it. Besides, there must be plenty of girls who would like such a thing, and I’m sure he’d find them someday. After dinner I went back to his apartment — he had cable, I did not.
It was about 4am when I awoke, once again, to E licking the shit out of my armpit as if it was his last meal on earth. Had we not covered this? I smacked his head away from me and yelled at him to get control. Again he explained how much he loved it and just wanted to please me. I lept out of his bed, got dressed, and told him to go looking elsewhere for a lady friend who would enjoy having her pit covered in saliva. I wasn’t about to get woken up in the middle of the night by him and his armpit-hungry tongue for however long our casual thing was going to last.
Out of boredom, I’d see him a couple more times where he managed to keep his tongue away from my underarm, even when I was asleep (I think.) However, I was finally forced to throw in the towel not long afterward when he insisted I give him a handjob with my feet — which I guess would technically be a footjob. While I’ve met people since then where I could have done that as a joke, he and I didn’t laugh enough together for anything outside of missionary to be even remotely possible. I’ve learned that if you can’t laugh both in and out of the bedroom, there’s really no point. Licking an armpit is really funny, and if you can’t laugh at it — no matter how much you love it — then it sort of defeats the purpose of truly enjoying yourself.
Much to my relief, no one has tried to lick my armpit since.