I Sat On My Own Face

And it was beyond amazing!

In my past year on Medium, I’ve been taking careful note of the stories that appear to garner the most attention — and certainly the most claps.

And I’ve discovered that many of these stories have to do with sex. We just looove first-person accounts about fucking. Writers here let it all hang out, too. They eagerly share every wet and glistening detail. Who they fucked. Where they fucked. How they fucked.

It’s a fuckapalooza!

Apparently, the curators here aren’t getting any, or they’re getting too much. I haven’t quite decided. But they certainly have embraced the genre. So much so that the sex writers are trumping the rest of us scribes who believe that what we’re putting out is compelling content. Well, huh!

I am not nor have I ever been a prude and I love sex. I am a sexual beast, but some of these stories are a bit much. It’s as if the writers never heard of leaving a little somethin‘ somethin’ to the imagination.

Do we really need to know about every squirt from every orifice? Don’t most of us who’ve been getting it on for years already know that female ejaculation is a thing? Or that guys like to have their prostates stimulated?

This is not news. Neither is the fact that a hefty part of the population, women, and men both, like fingers and all manner of inanimate objects inserted into their assholes, but does that a compelling story make?

I’m struggling with this because…you know, I could be wrong.

I never really got into anal, by the way. Oh, I tried. Mightily. See, I have a hard time thinking of the trap door in a sexual context, but what do I know? Legions of ass fuckers can’t be wrong. It’s a sphincter thing. Go near mine and it just tightens up. Like when I watch the orange piece of shit in the White House expound on his own greatness. It’s an involuntary reaction.

I’m thinking I may have missed the boat on that one. I seem to remember my husband trying years ago amid my protestations. I wish I’d been able to let him in, so to speak. Too late now. My sphincter is only open for business during certain hours of the day. Limited ones, at that.

And, if the above-mentioned stories aren’t about actual penis to vagina or anal fucking, they’re about finger-fucking. In Ubers. On trains. Amid the clouds on hot air balloons. While gobbling Gorditas at Taco Bell. (Mucho napkins needed for that one, folks.) You name it. Every detail laid out for us slobbering readers to lap up.

So many nuances. How long. How far. How deep. Were the nails manicured? Chipped? Did the finger-fucker have raggedy cuticles?

Dr. Kinsey is probably spinning in his grave with glee right now.

As I’ve struggled to be my most “authentic” self here, I’ve come to the realization that I need to write about fucking more! Because I want 5k claps, and a shit-ton of reads, by God. And I’m going to do what it takes to get them.

I’m tenacious and I’m crazy. Combine those two and anything could result.

Did I mention the word “fucking” enough yet? Someone, please keep count for me. I don’t want to be remiss.

So, yeah. I decided to attempt the impossible and sit on my own face. I’m getting tired of my purple friend and I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but batteries have gotten super-expensive. (What’s up with that?)

You might think, “Sherry, how is this possible?” I wondered that myself but as you know, “no pain, no gain.”

I’ll take a little pain to have what might possibly be the best orgasm of my life.

First of all, to sit on your own face, you have to be very limber. I work out every day and I can execute a pretty fair somersault so I figured I was good. But still…I determined that I should go the extra mile so that my own face-sitting experience would propel me to next-level ecstasy.

And of course, my goal is to educate as well as entertain so I posted a pic (above) of the special stretching exercises I performed so that I could be as flexible as possible.

Sitting on one’s own face is no walk in the park, after all!

I stripped down to my underwear and went to work. (No shirt, no damned bra.) Thankfully, my husband wasn’t home as I twisted and gyrated to Marvin Gaye on Alexa. Our three cats supervised. They honed in on my every move. One of them looked at me like, “Hey, there’s no way in hell, Mom. Give it up.”

But give it up I did. To myself!

What a ride, people. It took nearly three hours but after much trial and error, I did it! I sat on my own face! I’m guessing that I had the look of someone in extreme rictus by the time I was done, but it was worth it.

I got up close and personal with my vulva and the rest of my vajayjay. After introducing myself, I went to town, achieved what I set out to do and then collapsed in a heap on the floor, my lips (both sets) and tongue swollen from my efforts. Talk about spent!

Luckily, our cats know when to skedaddle. As soon as they saw me start to topple, they fled.

There you have it. A whole new way to pleasure yourself, by yourself. Keep in mind though: Sitting on your own face takes a great deal of effort. If you’re the type of individual who shies away from hard work, forget about it. Sit on someone else’s face and call it a day.

But if you enjoy trying new things, as I do, throw caution to the winds and give it a whirl.

Once you get the hang of sitting on your own face, you won’t want to stop. It’s that addictive. In fact, I can’t wait to try it again.

Once the neck brace is off. In about a month or so.

Sherry McGuinn is a slightly-twisted, longtime Chicago-area writer and award-winning screenwriter. Her work has appeared in The Chicago Tribune, Chicago Sun-Times, and numerous other publications. Sherry’s manager is currently pitching her newest screenplay, a drama with dark, comedic overtones and inspired by a true story.

Disclaimer: Get your doctor’s approval before trying to sit on your own face. I absolve myself of any and all responsibility regarding the https://readmedium.com/our-very-own-fuhrer-579244aafa06same.

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