Cunnilingus is my kryptonite. (Well, that and a 12-inch cock). Every single long-term relationship I’ve stumbled blindly into only lasted because my man ate my pussy every single day. IN FACT, looking back, I’m pretty sure it’s how my ex-husband tricked me into marriage. He could make me cum in under a minute; usually eating me out multiple times a day. One time we hooked up after a rowdy night of drinking, and a year and 600 orgasms later we were married. How could a self-respecting lady say no to such a gentleman? I couldn’t. I didn’t. Sometimes when I find myself thinking about him, it’s not just the Russian accent I miss; it’s that magical tongue.

I’ve been extremely lucky because I seem to attract the men I like to refer to as, “the cooter connoisseurs”—men who sniff, sip and spit that hoo-ha essence like it’s ambrosia from Athena herself. These men beg me to let them go down on me. OK, maybe they ask once, and my pants are off before they get the words out, but I’ve been blessed with a stable of stallions who are obsessed. I can’t say I completely understand the obsession—I’m definitely never going to complain.

But some crazy people just aren’t into oral sex, and that’s cool. To each their own, I guess. This is all fine and dandy if you’re with a woman who doesn’t like receiving cunnilingus herself. Maybe life without oral sex is fantastic. I wouldn’t know because for me (and many, many, MANY other women I know) IT’S A DEAL BREAKER.

First, we’re going to run a little test:

You kiss her inner thigh and work your way to her lips. Kissing softly. Lightly touching her clit. Fingers dancing around the entrance to her honey pot. You suck on her clit, lick it. Suck. Lick. Moving in circles. Her sensitivity building, her pleasure increasing. Your hands run up her thigh, you grab her ass and insert your fingers into her box. She gasps.

You lick. She gasps again, grabbing the sheets. “Ahhhhhhh…..” she sighs. Your fingers are moving faster now, in and out, in and out, in and out. “You’re so tight.” you say. In and out, in and out, in and out… “And wet.” You lick. You lick faster, flicking your tongue like a snake. She’s in delightful agony, breathing heavier, moaning.

“Right there,” she can barely whisper. Steady now. You gently push a finger into her ass, which contracts around it like a Chinese finger trap. The shocker puts her over the edge. You continue this pace and don’t break stride. She exhales everything out. She grabs your head as her throbbing pussy contracts. “Uh, uh ohhhhh…yes, yes, YES, OH GOD YOU’RE SO FUCKING HOT!”

Now, if you’re straight-up HARD (or at work desperately fighting a half-chub), congratulations, you passed. You love that sweet, tangy yoni goodness, and your penis is the only polygraph I’ll ever need. You can stop reading here, and, oh, say, read about why I love to give blowjobs instead. None of the following applies to you. You’re a sommelier of snatch.

If you read that, and you’re still flaccid: A. I suck at writing erotica B. You’re gay (which is totally fine—coochie just isn’t your thang) or C. YOU’RE A HETERO WHO DOESN’T LIKE EATING PUSSY.

My money is on B or C, and if you fall into category C, keep reading, ‘ya cunt. Your distaste for our cha-cha is unacceptable. Here are the most common complaints I’ve heard from men, and my thoughts about what you can do about it.

Some men crave punani the way women crave chocolate. For others, poon is an acquired taste. (Yes, I am going for broke with all the vagina adjectives here because I have an aversion to word repetition.) Think of her vag like frozen yogurt—the tangy base is always the same—the flavor fluctuates with the seasons, hormonal shifts, pH balance and how much pineapple she’s eating. If you’re going out with a woman who goes on three-day coke benders, chain smokes cigarettes and doesn’t drink any water—don’t be surprised when her stench trench stinks. But if she’s hydrated and eats clean, you’re just going to have to learn to deal. There are lubes you can buy to help if you find it intolerable, but my man friend said it best, “I’ve found that the more I focus on pleasing her the less I notice anything else.”

I have a theory that still holds up after YEARS of research: if a man loves oysters, he loves muff-diving. I always order oysters on a first date, and not just because it is, as the popular legend goes, an expensive aphrodisiac, but because barring a shellfish allergy or a religious dietary restriction I’ll know everything I need to know about your level of expertise when it comes to MY bearded oyster.

I came from a big family where dietary restrictions weren’t allowed. Too bad if eggs smell weird and feel creepy in your mouth. You ate whatever was in front of you, or you starved. No self-respecting sex goddess is going to unleash the full power of her sexuality upon a man who’s squeamish about poontang. If you want to experience the full range of what sex has to offer with a kinky woman—you’re going to have to learn how to love vajajay—or starve.

Every man has a different opinion about this. Some men love it natural. Other men love it shaved with a landing strip. I won’t date a dude who wants it totally bald because I basically just assume someday he’s going to get raided for having illegal photos of kids on his computer.

When I was married I got lazy about my upkeep down there because that’s the deal with marriage. I don’t get to fuck anyone else so I get to be lazy, right? At least that was how I understood it. Well, I got a little TOO lazy, and my husband was like, “Bridget, what the hell is the matter with you?” (Imagine that with a Russian accent for the full effect.) I was like, “Fuck you. I don’t make you shave. If you want me clean-shaven, do it yourself.” And he did. And it was the hottest thing ever. So hot that it became a regular routine and part of our foreplay. See? Creative solutions can inspire sensual traditions.

As we all know: “Only boring people are bored.” Perception is everything. I asked a friend to describe what he finds delectable about slurping the na na, and he said:

Nuzzling, tonguing, nibbling, tasting the fleshy, textured musk of the lower mouth is the closest I ever feel to the mysterious core of what is distinctively female and therefore instinctively appetizing and arousing. Knowing, feeling, seeing and smelling the incredible sensitivity and responsiveness of the pussy to each touch, kiss, brush of stubble, type of breath, pause and caress is itself a delicious world to explore. She is like a little magical creature I am petting, teasing and playing with in ways that only keep increasing the feeling of a coming cosmic explosion I know is building behind the eyes of the woman above, whose entire nervous system is plugged into my mouth.

I know what you’re thinking: “Blow it out your ass you white knight woman-pleasing wimp.” But I know for a FACT that this man’s actions speak louder than his words. You should be thinking, “Where can I take his class?”

Not if you know what you’re doing. I recommend practice. Another great resource is a new website I wrote about dedicated to exploring female sexual pleasure in detail. I strongly suggest it for amateurs with no patience.

I’ve heard this from men a few times: “I had a traumatic experience where she got her period in my mouth.” Ya know what? I had a traumatic experience where I was raped, and that doesn’t stop me from having sex. Get some therapy.

I find by propping a couple of pillows under my hips that it helps my man. Another good position is on your knees on some pillows while your woman is on the edge of the bed. Or another great position is to stop being such a whiny little bitch.

I wish there were words in the English language to describe the way it feels when a man really knows how to make my kitty purr. But there aren’t. Words like euphoric and ecstatic don’t even come close to describing the continuous tingle that runs up and down a woman’s spine; up and down, up and down, as the softness of your tongue, nibbling, sucking on her clit makes her feel weightless.

One time I lost the feeling in my face and my head was tingling for hours. I felt like pure light, like that Alex Grey painting. I was just energy, and waves of being washed through me like heroin. Endorphins, bliss…or maybe it was a small stroke, I don’t know. Whatever it was, the man who was responsible for my petit mal seizure focused all of his raw, male sexual energy entirely on me, on pleasing me. He was getting off on it. We can sense it when a man is truly enjoying himself and when you’re just dialing it in. The difference is in our minds is, “Just another selfish fuckboy” or “Holy shit…this one’s husband material.”

Bridget Phetasy is a writer and comic in Los Angeles. Twitter: @BridgetPhetasy.

Follow For the Articles on Twitter and Facebook for more Playboy Sex & Culture.