fat girl sex: the power of queening

Fat Girl Sex is a weekly sex column devoted to the celebration of the sexual empowerment of women, body and sex positivity featuring personal meandering about all the nasty things we do in the dark. 

Boy, oh, boy, the orgasms I have faked.

If you’re a person with a vagina who has sex with cis males, and you’re like me, you’ve probably resigned yourself to a certain amount of sexual dissatisfactions. What’s fucking scary is how selfless women are expected to be in heterosexual dynamics. We’re used as vehicles for pleasure while our own satisfaction is ignored. Throughout my sexually active years, I’d become so comfortable faking orgasms that I didn’t have to consciously perform them anymore, they just became a part of sex. Making my partner’s needs and enjoyment more important than my own.

And there’s blame to go around for everyone. Ultimately, it’s on me to voice my dissatisfaction and to stop faking it in favor of a more authentic, enjoyable experience. And it was my partner’s fault for centering their own pleasure to the point of total unawareness of what’s really going on. And what’s typically going on has nothing to do with the clit and thus…is absolute trash.

So, this is where I am: all women deserve to sit on a face. Queening or face-sitting is awesome because it’s all about reclaiming your throne. Shut up, silly man, and taste me. If he happens to suffocate…he suffocates.

I was beyond anxious the first time I sat on a face. Surely me and my size 16 ass would crush him to death. And while that might be unintentionally awesome, that’s not the goal here. One of the keys I discovered is in allowing your pleasure to take center stage in an unapologetic way. Smothering someone with your vagina is certainly one way to do so.

Last month, I met an angel. A charming, six-foot-one advertising executive with a lovely wife at home. They’re in an open-relationship if you can’t read between the lines. Every couple of weeks, I see this man and all he does is goes down on me. Not the only guy who goes down on me, but the only one whose sole purpose in my life is to fill me with ecstasy. While he puts a spit shine on my clit, I kick back and relax and bask in the wonderfulness that is uninterrupted oral sex for as long as I desire. Right now, we’re averaging 55 minutes per get-together. Seriously. 55 minutes. What a jaw, what a gentleman.

I never wear makeup when we “hang out” — I don’t even bother to shave. “This is all about you,” he says. A phrase repeated through our interactions. He even keeps his clothes on while we’re fooling around. He stops by to give pleasure, not take it. To worship at my altar, not pillage its riches. It’s one of the most sexually satisfying situations I’ve managed to squeeze myself into over the last 29 years.

Not everyone is going to find a handsome stranger who wants to eat their pussy for hours on end. Shame. But what everyone can do is to prioritize their pleasure in radical ways by refusing to perform sex and centering personal pleasure as a woman. If he doesn’t do that thing you like, ask for it. If he can’t find your clit, buy him a map and a flashlight. And if none of that works, find a new man…one who is dying to make you feel amazing. Because I promise you there’s a freak just waiting to make you cum — go find them.