Hello, ladies. My name is Ken.
I'm tall, blue-eyed and very Irish. I can quote Shakespeare's Love's Labours Lost and the latest issue of The Amazing Spider-Man with equal aplomb. I hold doors for women, dig on cheap beer and own at least four suits.
And I absolutely, positively want you to sit on my face.
See, that's my thing. Watching you position your body on my chest, facing my feet. Feeling you purr as you slowly move back toward my face. The way your body warms up and your thighs brace as my tongue slowly slinks out and goes to work.
Some guys dig watching the races, I like having my face sat on. Simple as that.
In fact, my love of being trapped under female glutes is so expansive and all-encompassing, my fetish so intensive, it extends to... having my face sat on by a woman while she's still wearing her pants.
The fuck? What the hell does that even mean, you might ask. But, sadly, it's all true. And damned if I can explain it, although I'm sure it can be blamed on the priest dressed up as a hermit crab who touched me indecently on my fourteenth birthday.
Anyway, yeah. I'm kinda into that. But the thing is, it's not the sort of thing you can just propose in any semi-romantic situation. You choose 'em wisely. If it's a girl I've been dating/seeing/screwing for some time, then I have no problem asking if she'd be willing to do it -- especially after I've had a few or have spent so much time fantasizing about her doing this, I'm operating with a painful, six-day hard-on.
One night stands, on the other hand, are a lot tougher; although "anything goes" is typically the rule, asking a girl you just met at the local over tequila shots to sit on your face with her jeans on typically elicits either laughter (as in, "He's obviously joking") or laughter (as in, "He's clearly homicidal and I just have to play along until I can call the cops or render him unconscious with a frying pan") or laughter (as in, "What the fuck. Okay."--admittedly rare.)
But there are only a handful of women you can request something like this of, as I'm often concerned about them going off and telling other people. Which calls to mind a great episode of HBO's Curb Your Enthusiasm in which Jeff, Larry's BFF, separates from his wife and worries that in divorce proceedings, she might start blabbing about his various kinks and fetishes. Larry counters by proudly stating that he's never shared anything even remotely deviant with his wife, so she'd have no dirt on him if they ever split.
Then, as is the case on Curb, everything unspools but quickly. Larry drives past his wife's buddy Wanda and innocently yells a comment about her backside, setting off a chain of events that has Larry, by episode's end, looking like the King of Ass Fetish Mountain (and there is such a position; I've even applied for it a few times).
Here's one of the episode's best sequences, when Larry's wife and Wanda confront him on the comment:
As a professional ass fetishist, let me reiterate: It's not an easy job. But somebody's got to do it.