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The Snowflake Diaries: An Ode to Face-Sitting

Let 2018 be its renaissance

Unlike other sexual milestones, I can’t quite recall the very first time a woman sat on my face. That strikes me as an idiosyncrasy born of the act itself — the way the world turns blurry and dazed when someone’s riding your mouth. Everything is taste and smell and sound and texture, and the question of where you are in time and space is abolished. They say that orgasm is when your mind goes truly blank, but with me, it’s the hot, enveloping crush of an eager skull-straddle that allows for busy thoughts to dissipate.

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If people come to face-sitting later in life than they do other forms of oral, that may be because it seems daunting, counterintuitive, even impractical to someone who hasn’t tried it. Unless you’re specifically searching for it, not much mainstream porn seems to bother with the position. Plenty of would-be jaw-humpers are afraid they’ll break their partner’s nose trying to get settled, or suffocate them by letting their full weight down. Speaking only for myself, I’m extremely down to die this way. And, like every bedroom maneuver, practice will improve the results. This is no occasion for shyness, y’all.

How do I love being smothered in pussy? Let me count the ways. For starters, there’s that perfect fit, the total docking between my lips and hers. Instead of trying to fit my awkwardly tall body on the mattress for a spread-eagle session, I can lie back in complete comfort and concentrate on nothing but clit. With her on top, she’s also in charge, which is usually more fun than the trial-and-error style of clam-diving — I feel her hips roll and slide and instantly know what’s working. Sometimes she’ll surprise you by pivoting for the curiously underrated sixty-nine, or so you can eat her ass out instead. Point is, she’s got options. It’s good to be the queen.

But hey, if she wants to keep going as is, that’s cool. There are few rewards finer than the way a woman’s shuddering climax vibrates through your cranium in this scenario. Afterward, you both drift back to a reality with softer edges, sweeter oxygen. And the more intimately acquainted you are, the better you’ll match energies in the effort, as face-sitting encompasses a spectrum of pleasures rather than a single prescribed act. In one dominatrix’s words, it can mean everything from “an innocent cunnilingus position” to a “submissive overwhelmed by their Mistress’s all-powerful vulva.”

Personally, I do seek to be overpowered and lightly objectified that way; short of literal bondage or physical punishment, I don’t often get an opportunity that falls squarely in my comfort zone. At the risk of getting all “woke male feminist” on you here, it’s nice to flip the usual script of man-treats-woman-like-sex-doll and become her plaything. Muzzled by the muff, mumbling in the moss, I’m taken by the idea that I don’t matter except as a conduit to carnal bliss. I’m pretty sure I forget my own name sometimes, and with it, all my own desires and anxiety. Part of me is convinced, in those moments, that I can actually survive off the essence of the person on top, drinking it, breathing it.

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As we cast about for this year’s sex trend — and you know the lifestyle-industrial complex won’t let us go without one — I humbly urge a return to this classic. That’s not to knock virtual reality dildos or whatever cutting-edge innovation is bound to grab headlines, but it is a call to celebrate all we can accomplish with the toys nature gave us. And while face-sitting is an experience available to all genders and orientations, it might constitute a special renaissance for women as they continue to challenge sexual norms that devalue or discard their comfort and gratification. Everyone deserves a seat at the banquet of carnal delights — after fighting for one, they deserve a proper throne.