Except for a Cornell Daily Sun article from last year, there are relatively few accounts of road head on the Internet. Why? The practice, especially in areas where you have to drive to get pretty much anywhere, like the Midwest and California, is not necessarily a rite of passage, but it does inspire stories: While a routine blowjob is nothing to write home about, a blowjob in a moving vehicle could kill you.
That’s part of the appeal: Not only could you get caught, but you could also crash and die. There was “The Road Head Song,” a mock rap about getting road head 24/7, but spoiler alert: The cartoon music video does not have a happy ending. It might be less dangerous than texting and driving, but it all depends on how he can handle his head. The Cornell Daily Sun article offers tips for the ideal blowjob on the go; I guess the college-kid writer had had a bad experience and needed to let the world know that, duh, sucking a dick while someone is driving requires some precautionary measures. “Pick the right car,” “get your hair under control” (this is the only time that laundry-day bun on the top of your head will be sexy), “foreplay is your friend” (even when stationary), and “when you are about to finish, you should probably just pull over.”
When I put out a call for road head stories, I initially got radio silence. Maybe no one wanted to admit they’d done something that could put themselves and other drivers in danger. Eventually, though, some penis suckers coughed up the goods. And one choked on a dick.
When I was 16, I started dating a senior who was tall, had shaggy blonde hair (a “skater cut”), and blue eyes. He was a Minnesota pure-breed. Our short-lived relationship mostly consisted of driving around, smoking pot, and fooling around in the back seat or in his room. I would give him road head most times we hung out because we were always in his car. He lived so far away (a 25-minute drive, which in high school seemed far).
One time in particular, I remember I was giving him head while we drove through the “downtown” of our suburban shit hole, a downtown which consisted of a four-lane rode with a large strip mall on both sides. We were hotboxing, and I started to blow him. We pull up to a light, and while I’m sucking him he starts laughing. I pull my head up and peer out over the top of the door through the window. I see another car next to us; in the driver’s seat is a man whose seat is leaned way back. One of his arms is outstretched and resting on top of the steering wheel. Then I see the shoulders of a woman start to emerge, then the back of her head, then the rest of her body as she sits back into her seat. She whips her head around. The woman and I look at each other for a moment while my then-boyfriend and the other man are looking at each other. The woman cracks a smile and bursts out laughing.
I want to say that it was a surreal moment, realizing that I had just seen another woman doing the exact same thing, but then the light changed and the man drove off. My boyfriend laughed uncontrollably for the next ten minutes, recounting what had just happened in the way that stoned people do. “Do you remember that time a few minutes ago when we saw another guy getting road head while I was getting road head!?”
The last time I gave road head, I was in the drive-thru for In-N-Out. This guy I was casually dating and I were coming home from a bar. I was really drunk, really hungry, and apparently really horny. Anyway, we’d just left the bar, and I demanded he take me to In-N-Out because I needed a grilled cheese (he doesn’t eat fast food and has a ton of dietary restrictions, so he didn’t get to order anything). He drove me to the In-N-Out on Venice Boulevard, by the Expo Line. Their lines are ridiculous at all hours. While we were in line I started to tease him as a joke, but then ended up wanting to have sex, so I gave him head and swallowed right in time to order a grilled cheese (without onions) and fries from one of those attendants that walks up to your car. He drove me to my house and I ate all my food on the way there. It was beautiful.
The first time someone went down on me while I was driving was unexpected and exciting. I had just introduced my boyfriend at the time to my group of friends at a bonfire, and on the way back he wanted to suck me off. I pulled the driver’s seat of the car way back, pulled myself out of my jeans, and he began. I was constantly on watch for other cars, knowing if anyone was driving close enough behind us they would know what was going on. So we’re puttering along the road, me half enjoying a BJ, half being a nervous wreck of a lookout, and just when I finally relax enough to enjoy this awesome moment I pass a police car on the side of the road. I’m playing it cool, watching what I’m doing, and about another mile down the road, the most terrible thing I can imagine happening at the time happens. I cum.
Immediately, blue lights in the rearview mirror.
As I’m pulling over, he quickly jumps up, and I’m trying to put myself back together. The officer walks up to my window with his flashlight and wants to know why we are out so late and if we’ve been drinking. I was being pulled over for a busted taillight; meanwhile my pants are half buttoned and I’m a wet mess. He let me go with a warning, but I was sure he knew what was happening.
I used to give road head to my first high school boyfriend all the time—speeding down the highways in his mom’s BMW M3. Growing up in the Midwest lends itself to it; we would any old time. It was totally reckless, but he loved it, and I definitely have kept doing it in relationships since, if much more occasionally. We hooked up in his car in the school parking lot when he wasn’t driving, so it seemed a natural transition. It was so thrilling how fast he would drive; the fastest we ever hit was when another M3 pulled up next to us—I wasn’t going down on him at the time—but I swear we hit like 130. The most salient feeling was hoping no one driving by could see—or you know, kind of hoping they would.
The last time I gave road head I was in my early 20s. My boyfriend was driving his mom’s minivan. I forget where we were going, what we were doing, or why I even felt inspired to start; what I do remember is him slamming on the breaks to avoid hitting a car in front of us. His dick punched me in the back of my throat, but that was nothing compared to the pain he endured. It probably would have been less scarring to rear end whoever was in front of us.