Ah, fellatio: a time of pleasure, a time of self-reflection. The slobbering silence offers a time of conversational respite in which us head-giving folk can lapse into our own psyches and consider the situation before us, as well as the broader themes and motifs in our lives … or something. We're definitely thinking something.

Here's what we're really ruminating on when all 5.40 inches of your penis are snugly in our oral cavities:

1. "Is my face a vagina?"

I know it's not … but is it? The ultimate measure of fellatio skill seems to be a person's ability to replicate a more southerly orifice with their mouth, so is my mouth capable of childbirth enough for this to be good for you?

2. "How do I make my teeth go away?"

It would be super great all my teeth fell out and I had to get dentures. Then I could just pop them in and out for a gummy delight every time I wanted to put a dick in my mouth, which is often because I am both hilarious and neo-cool. Also, I can't feel where your dick touches my teeth, because my teeth are made of pure American bone, so sorry if you have to interact with my permanent retainer more than you'd like to. The orthodontist told me I have to have it on for 20 years! Like bitch, I haven't even been alive for 20 years.

3. "I can't look at you when your penis is touching my esophageal sphincter."

Dudes are all like, "Look at me when you do it," and then they're like "Yeeeaahhhh." They want eye contact, because that way it's like, "I'm the guy whose dick you're sucking, RAAAWWWRRAAGGHHHH, who's the MAN?" which I guess is nice. But due to the angle of the neck-dick setup that we're doing here, I can't even try to look at you. I necessarily have to look down into your Amazonian pube forest.

Yeah. Even if I'm kneeling. Looking up at you both rips my eyes out of their sockets and cocks my head upward so that my aforementioned teeth get in the way of me doing anything productive, and it makes it so I can't get your dick in my mouth all the way.

Just chill and know that if I had eyes on the top of my forehead, I'd totally be making passionate eye contact with you right now … but I don't, so I guess it's re-runs of pube-ball close-ups for me.

4. Speaking of pubes …

I don't ever think about them. You think that I do, because you think about mine, but your pubes are not on my radar. I do not have neurons that communicate "dude pube" signals to my higher processing centers. If you have so many pubes that there are orangutans being driven out by palm oil farmers in them, bless your heart. If your pube situation is a barren, sterile wasteland of hairless expanse, bless your heart. I'm definitely going to notice, but I'm not going to care. I guess I appreciate when they're trimmed, but only so they don't go in my eyeballs?

5. "I'm the most sexual sex person ever, bow down to me."

This is awesome. This is great. He's loving it. He's moaning and squirming. Look at me go. I hold all the power. I can make him do whatever I want. I am a goddess. I am Cleopatra. I am Beyonce.  I Am Legend, the movie. All those hours of watching gay porn paid off even though my laptop is a giant Trojan virus, but I don't care because this moment is gonna go down in HISTORY.

And then —

6. "Wait, is this like … fun for you?"

I know I was feeling real cool 12 seconds ago, but … am I good at this? More importantly, am I better at this than his last girlfriend? More importantly, am I better at this than he'd be if he could suck his own cock? Wait what …

7. "Return the favor or die."

I don't know what "tit-for-tat" means but I'd imagine it applies to this situation.

8. "Can I kiss you after this or …"

It seems like some guys recoil in mortal terror if you try to make out after head, while others don't give a damn and will happily make out with your despite the fact that your lips are covered in penile epithelial cells. Which one are you?

And look, punk-ass, I'm not trying to regurgitate your semen back into your mouth like a mama bird feeding its frail spawn … I already swallowed it, so it's gone, see? Aaaah.

I guess I'll just wait over here until you either kiss me, or you toss a bottle of Listerine at me and instead of catching it, it nails me in the skull because non-testicle ball sports were never my thing.

9. "What the fuck kind of shape is this dick?"

There's more variation in dick size and shape than sequences in the human genetic code. so if you've got one of those ultra curved-up cocks with a tiny head and mutated child balls, you can bet I'm considering its dimensions as we bob away.

There's also a 100 percent chance I'm wondering if I can fit the whole thing in my mouth, and if I can't, whether I should try.

You uncircumcised? I'm thinking about your foreskin, tentatively.

Got a mushroom-tip? I'm pulling out mushroom recipes from the annals of my brain.

Dick curves at an unnatural angle? I'm hoping my vagina has a right angle somewhere in there that can accommodate that.

Whatever size and shape your dick is, I'm analyzing its geometry with stunning rapidity and precision.

10. "What gag reflex?"

Ha ha, remember those days of youth before I learned to breathe in and out at the same time? Ah yes, those were the days I still had a gag reflex. Whatever happened to that thing? Anyway.

11. Wait … was that my throat clit?

This feels cool in my mouth … pretty sure there's an oral clit. Right? Let me just push this dick all the way back there and feel around …

12. "Can we fuck now?"

Let's get this show on the road, fuckboy.