You know I’m not going to apologize for great sex with a beautiful woman or anything that came thereafter. You do know that, right?

I think I’m finally going to tell the girl I’ve liked for over two years that I have a crush on her. I’m terrified, but it feels right. Wish me luck!

Two freaking years of crushing? Wow. I wish so much luck for you.

P.S. Write back and tell me you’ve been fucking for months now, please!

I met a guy at an out of town event and fucked him a couple of times, both of us thinking it was totally casual. Then I met up with him for a weekend, also intended to be casual and fun, but it ended up being super intense and deep, and I practically fell in love with him right then and there. We had an amazing energy and connection during sex that I really haven’t experienced before, and I’ve had sex with a lot of people. Then shit got all weird and fucked up, and it turned out that he was a jerk, and I had to break things off. Now I can’t stop fantasizing about sex with him. I spent last weekend with a FWB, and I thought about the other guy the whole time. The sex with my FWB was boring, and now I’m terrified that sex is only going to be interesting and exciting to me if it involves a connection like I had with that guy. I’ve always enjoyed casual sex and never even considered a possibility like this before, and I’m freaking out. What if I can’t find it again??

I guess it’s possible your palate has changed and casual sex is less for you than it was before. But the world being what it is and people being what they are, there are always amazing connections to be made with non-jerks. This is a fundamental rule of the universe, nearly as comforting as gravity.

I was reading through your back posts and I stumbled on the Dec 20th Con Tuesday post. Specifically the one where the confesser said that this picture made them heteroflexible and you responded with “She really is delicious, isn’t she?”

I clicked the link and turned bright red when I saw the girl in question….
Because if her nipples were pierced she’d be my twin from at least the neck down.

Hence, you’re delicious. Deal with it.

Forget the theory about going blind. I’ve given myself wonky teeth from masturbation.
How the hell? Well, I reflexively push my tongue into one corner of my mouth when I near orgasm, a bit like some people curl their toes or arch their back, and I’ve done this so frequently that yep… there’s a gap where I stick my tongue, and definite wonk to my teeth…a wank wonk, if you like! Ahaha! WANK WONK! I’ve only just thought of that as I typed it. God it’s been a long day.A long, hard day…o.0 …

You’re not alone. Chaucer’s Wife of Bath in the Canterbury Tales was famously gap-toothed, which was a trait that was supposed to signal a lustful nature at that time. Back in the present day, I’ve always been attracted to slight “imperfections” in grills (and to an extent, Japan is with me on this one, which is always comforting). I knew there was a reason, and so did Chaucer, apparently.

Last week I had the realization:
“Hey, here I am,
high as a kite,
a beautiful naked man and a beautiful naked girl in my bed.
This is the good life I heard about somewhere.
This is what they mean when they talk about sitting under your own figtree.
This is what you get if you’re a very, very good girl.”

What’s going to happen to capitalism when people find out that they can find the good life in their own beds? I’m not really that worried, to be honest.

So…I totally have the hots for a friend of mine. She is smart, unbelievably hot, and so amazing I can’t not smile when I think about her. I fantasize about making out with her for hours, and sometimes just cuddling.

The concern is that she just went through a break up, and I don’t want to pressure her in any way while she might be vulnerable. Also, any sexy funtime would have to involve my husband, and I don’t know if she would be down with that.

While I figure out how to proceed I think about fucking her while I run in the hopes of having rungasms;)

Tell me more about these rungasms. Also, you sent this in months ago, so I think it’s fair now to hit on her a lot.

For the first time ever I just had an orgasm that made me more horny. It was an awesome orgasm, too, not a baby one. I just want more- and since I’m not a multi-orgasm kind of woman, I’m definitely frustrated. But it’s a delicious, awesome kind of frustration.

The “I am a multi-orgasm kind of woman” version of this is the exact reason I can spend hours on end masturbating. I really never feel entirely done. It’s the best of all possible curses, I think.

Attention QPians! If you send me a secret I will post it on a Tuesday. That much I can tell you.

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Now, the religious right portion of his opposition and its supporters already assumed this about him, and were going to capitalize on it anyway. Also, the vast majority of people with any possibility of reelecting President Obama were clamoring for it. Recently, harder than ever. Then when he capitulated, some of them called it brave, and I don’t know that it was. Maybe a little.

He was also careful to say that his conviction here is personal, and on a policy level he thinks the matter of gay marriage should be left to the states. It makes no sense to me to assume that his activism for this issue will go beyond saying “Hey, yeah, gay people are totally real people in theory.” Still, I am happy about this development.

Why? Because it’s an important step. There needs to be a first time the United States had a president say that, and it finally happened. Fuck. Yes. Finally.

I think perhaps the most heartening aspect of the whole thing is that whether he and his advisers are correct or not, they must have thought it was a good move politically for him to come out as pro-marriage-equality. The fact that it wasn’t terribly brave is actually a good sign: it means we are already winning.

So I am grateful to Barack Obama right now, but not nearly so much as the drag queens and butches and other outcasts who fought back at Stonewall. Not as much as the throngs of people who have actively fought for gay rights when it wasn’t easy. Not as much as the people who came out to their religious families, confronting them with the concrete reality of what hatred and prejudice do. I’m thankful to the thousands upon thousands of individuals who created a world where our president was backed into a corner and decided that the savvy thing to do was stand up for what is right.

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Sometimes it feels like they got splinched¹, or have ellipses dangling from them. They feel unfinished; there’s more to the story. This is not a bad thing, but add the fact that there is some not insignificant delay in posting some of these, I often wonder about them months later.

There’s this guy I work with – he’s handsome and scruffy in all the right ways, always has that twinkle of good-natured mischief in his eye, and the way he handles a guitar makes me want to rip his clothes off and throw him up against a wall. Come to find out he is 17(!) years older than me, when I wouldn’t have put him a day over 35. I can’t lie, honestly, the fact that he’s a sexy silver fox makes it even hotter. To be continued (I hope).

I don’t think it was, to be honest, and I also hope this went very, very well for both of you!

The first time I came with a partner, it was a slightly older, solid butch with beautiful eyes. I wanted to marry her. We played sexual games in the field behind our high school for months–touching, taking off, kissing here, kissing there. An hour a day every Wednesday, Thursday, and Friday, when we had an extra long lunch break. I remember how long it took us to think about lying down–we’d always stand up and grind against a tree, against a wall, switching dominance and submission, tying each other up with the ribbons I looped through my hair. But the lying down was even better. We didn’t have to worry about gravity, and it felt like proper sex. She’d growl, “I’m going to fuck you” or suddenly, sweetly kiss my neck till my legs buckled. So many feelings, QP. So many feelings. None of them–as far as I could tell–orgasm, but a huge portion of them better than any orgasm I’d ever had. Maybe they were actually orgasms. It’s hard for me to define them.

But then? One definitely was. Definitely. This time it was in the apartment she shared with her sister, on her mattress (no bed frame). We’d been fucking for hours. She’d lightly scratch my ass when we recovered from the strenuous bits, like she thought it was beautiful. We played a sexual hide-and-seek under the blankets. I think we took a break at some point to watch Best In Show, with much handholding and cuddling and flirting. And then we went back to bed. She knew, QP, that I adored having my waist and stomach nibbled and licked at; she knew because she was the one to find it out. She licked up the sides, pressed her tongue into my bellybutton, had me screaming. Then she nestled her mouth and very sensual nose into the softness just between my pubic bone and my navel.

QP, did you know I stutter when I come? I didn’t. But as I tried to tell her she was giving me goosebumps, all that would come out was ”G-g-goo-goose–” I remember being worried she’d be like ”what the fuck is up with this geese talk?” so I tried to start the sentence again. But–again–all that came out was ”G-g-goo-goose–”

Because I was distracted. I was distracted by the fact that my vagina seemed to be shaking. I did not know what the fuck was up; my masturbatory orgasms were all clitty. But this was different. Her weight on my legs and her tongue on my belly and all the sunlight and suddenly the blanket was velvet and there was an earthquake inside me–and what was happening? This did not feel like any come I’d had before.

QP, I was sort of raped when I was little. It’s okay now. It was with an object, and by a woman. I really don’t like being penetrated. I am not going to try it again. I know. And not ever having a g-spot orgasm seemed like a fair tradeoff for not being penetrated.

Fortunately, the universe believes I should never do anything I don’t want to, and I should get everything I want. Because several months later, reading “I…

Okay, this one makes me sad. You sent in this beautiful, vulnerable, open confession, and I’m pretty sure my Sex Confessional form cut you off. And I’m sorry for everyone involved.

I join the universe in wishing all sorts of happiness for you.

I’m going out of town to visit a friend in a couple of weeks. I’m tempted to ask if he and his girlfriend will have a threesome with me. I don’t think he’d say no.

This could be an erotic story prompt, I suppose…

i met this woman several years ago through a video game we were both playing at the time and we became good friends and continued to talk after we had both left said game, we were both married at the time but have admittedly fantasized about each other ever since, she is a high school teacher and i have always had this fantasy about being punished by the hot teacher for be a bad little student. we met in person a few months ago after my wife left me and we had the hottest most earth shattering sex every day of that week. i cant wait to see her again after i get home from the army.

In my personal experience, the first sex with someone is never the best sex I’ll ever have with them. So if you already had the hottest and most earth shattering sex with this woman, what the fuck next? Galaxy-shifting sex, I’m guessing, so enjoy that.

oh god, QP…oh god. my other half found us a playmate and she’s literally quivering with antici…pation. i’m terrified and excited and dripping and horny and oh god, what if she hates me?

i had to share this with you. i can’t share with anyone else. by the time you read/post this, our date will have happened, and hopefully i’ll be able to report back with good news. she might just be the unicorn we’ve been looking for. cross your fingers for us?

Your date has most assuredly happened, but my fingers are so incredibly crossed that you, um, got to ride the unicorn.

…I can’t believe I went with “ride the unicorn”.

 After five months of involuntary abstinence, I came home and booty called an old friend as soon as humanly possible. His response? ”I guess I might be able to find some time tonight.” Fuuuck that, mate. When he texted me again four hours later I was lying in a naked, sweaty, sated heap with a delightfully skilled, endowed gentleman with six-pack abs.

I have closed today’s ConTuesday with a confession that’s wrapped up nicely in a reportedly delightful package. I would never leave you people hanging. Unless I would…

Confess things to me!

1. Yep, totally rereading Harry Potter.

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I didn’t so much select a toy as turn a blaring shade of red and wish I were back in the safety of my safe and non-threatening porn studio, while Reginald, whose idea all this had been, made suggestions. He quite liked the idea of remote controls, as I recall.

After a near meltdown, I finally picked a cheap, slim, plastic, vibrating insertable. Doubt not that I used it often and to excellent effect over the coming years, but that experience taught me two things:

1. Never go sex toy shopping on someone else’s terms and expect to have fun.
2. If I hadn’t had an excuse to go toy shopping, even with the internet existing, it may well have been years before I owned a proper sex toy.

When I finally got around to buying a sex toy for myself, it actually was years later, and it was completely different. The toy was, and I was. I decided what I wanted based, not on what my scary ex-boyfriend would be able to afford/be comfortable with/not think I was depraved because of, but on the pure intention of giving myself pleasure. I traded my own money for it in a declaration that my orgasms were worth something to me. And they were motherfucking poetic orgasms, too.

I’m not saying it’s not worthwhile to buy and accept sex toys for and from your partner. In fact, I will say right now that it is. But the other thing I’m trying to say is that sex toy purchases tend to be imbued with significance. When you buy one, it’s usually with a fairly powerful intention: self-love, wanting another person to have orgasms, or often a totally new type of sexual exploration. There is a reason we call one of the most popular sex toys of all time a Magic Wand.

Oh, and by the way, Buy A Sex Toy day is June 4th, which is a mere month from now! Let’s make magic, people.

(image source)

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This past weekend I was at a geeky convention¹. I could tell you stories about what happened there: about flirtations both new and continuing, about glances both electric and slimy, about my butt cheeks both covered and substantially less covered.

But instead I’m going to tell you about what I will charitably call an idea for an art project, and why it made me need to leave the room.

On Friday evening there was a chance to present ideas for projects and activities to improve the con, and get funding for them. I was watching the proceedings and trying to figure out how to convince the board that it wanted to buy me a life-size, working replica of the 1989 Batman film’s Batmobile. Another con attendee– middle aged, bearded, paunchy, and probably wearing a kilt² or something– was pitching his plan. He wanted to make a human-shaped PC kiosk, essentially. Quoth he: “The monitor would be the head, and we could make the body male or female, depending on how kinky we wanted to get…”

You know, because a male body’s normal and a female body is kinky. Yeah.

I think I may have been the only person in the room who flinched, or even minded, but Sigyn’s bowl, did that irritate me. I wasn’t even sure why, but I had to leave immediately to go run my hands up and down my intrisically-kinky-because-female body. Wait, no, I left to wander around the convention.

It took me a little while to suss out exactly why I was so bothered that a random nerdy stranger was othering and eroticizing female bodies, especially considering the fact that I live on Earth and we get this all the time. But I finally figured it out the main reason I wanted to Feminist Hulksmash things: in short, I was irritated because he was right. His casual, unaware sexism not only reflected how things worked, it was so self-evident to everyone present that things work that way that no one else even seemed to notice.

The female body is kinky. It is inherently sexual in our culture. Not only that, but even just the words “the female body” are usually code for a young, attractive, very likely white, able, cisgendered, female body. An older female body, a larger female body, etc. may still be seen as kinky, but now it’s a fetish. If you’re a woman and it’s difficult for whatever reason to sexualize your body, your womanhood is questioned, and you become invisible.

Now, these are realities that seem completely obvious to some of us, but there remain people who have never had any compelling reason to think about them. And I guess it bothered me to hear– not these facts, but their fruit, so casually uttered and so casually accepted.

My body is kinky. My body’s worth is measured in erections. Today I may live up to some basic, generic standards of attractiveness (and I’m not even going to pretend that within the current system that can’t be used to one’s advantage like possibly even more than the Batmobile), but tomorrow I may not, and on that tomorrow I’ll be a cipher or an ever more deviant kink. However I feel about myself or my body personally, these things aren’t really my choice. If I am very lucky, then for a relatively short time I can be lust-shaped; person-shaped is a rather lot to ask.

Some people wonder why feminists are still talking about privilege, about the male gaze, why we’re not shutting up now that we can vote and stuff. To these people I answer: It recently occurred to me that a kiosk may have more of a chance of just being person-shaped than I do, as long as you build it male.

(image source)

1. Which, as you read this, I may or may not still be in bed recovering from.
2. I don’t remember what he was wearing, but trust me, if there’s anything my years of con-going experience have taught me, it’s that there’s a 43% chance it involved a kilt.

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I think that the unexpected color may have already gotten more compliments than any other color my hair has been in the history of hair. Some guy actually asked me if he could rip it off my head and wear it in a weird Buffalo Bill-type scenario.

…I said no.

I have never been more like Socrates. I am really beginning to understand that I know nothing.

My wife started reading your blog a while back, and I followed suit not long after. It’s been a big part of improving communication in our marriage, especially about sex. We’d been okay before, but things are amazing now. Thanks!

If quizzicalpussy.com had a mission statement, which it does not because this is the first time that possibility has ever occurred to me, it would involve roughly 50% making people’s love and sex lives better, 40% navel-gazing, and 10% jokes about genitals. This kind of confession? Makes me smile even more than free sex toys.

Hey QP! An update on my feelings re: slutshaming lout. I told him about them, he rejected me, and I felt…waves of indescribable relief. My life IS better without him! Without him, there is queer bike porn and naked dance parties and super mega hotties who don’t think being poly means you don’t have feelings. Good stuff, QP!

Your life isn’t just better. From what I’m reading, your life is awesome.

I just spent the evening hanging out naked with my girlfriend and our gay flatmate (well my girlfriend was too insecure to strip). We spent the evening giggling, making penis snails and sails while fending off wandering hands. When me and my girlfriend went to bed she finally lost her cloths while I made the bed, and teased me till I learned that being achingly hard isn’t just a porn cliche. I threw her on the half made bed and we fucked each other till we came together, in one of the best orgasms of my life. Now I wish that she liked to cuddle after sex, but she just don’t like cuddling that much. (Except with her dog :) )

OMG I wonder what happened with that?

…

…

(subtlety)

I confessed a couple days ago that my (gay) flatmate, girlfriend and I (I’ll call them Alice and Bob) hung out naked. It evidently introduced some sexual tension, because tonight we had a threesome. Bob and I both enjoyed watching each other fuck Alice. Unfortunately I’m much straighter than I thought: the hornier I got the less interested I was in playing with Bob. Alice put a condom on her vibrator and put it in Bob’s ass, which they enjoyed (anal smells funny). All in all it was kind of fun, Alice and Bob both enjoyed it more than me. Still many orgasms and cuddles were had, and none of us feel weird about it, so all in all I’d call the night a success.

I’ll call you Cameron. Exploration, cuddles, and orgasms sound like a pretty successful threesome to me, Cameron. Glad you had kind of fun!

Last week, in the midst of some very explicit, very dirty texts, I told my Much Younger Lover (who is back in town) about your blog. He’s now read all of my confessions. I’m feeling a little exposed, but also really turned on by how hot he thinks it is. I’m sure I’ll know as soon as he reads this one.

I’m pretty sure more people use ConTuesday to flirt than I know. Of course, I know nothing, so obviously.

To the gentleman who said that he catalogues his sexual activity. I’ve been using the site nOOkist. Easy to use and it has a great cataloguing system with different positions etc.

Sadly I haven’t had the chance to use it since June because of a terrible dry spell, but that doesn’t mean I can’t share a good site for people who actually are sexually active.

I wonder if they have a smartphone app so you can literally update in real time. You know, and never get laid again because that is the rudest fucking thing I can imagine.

As a FAAB¹ Queer submissive, I am wholly attracted to how Nice Guy (Jan. 3) presented himself. Limits? yes. Safeword? necessary. Both in kink and in life, I often want to scream at the top of my lungs: ”COMMUNICATION IS EVERYTHING. FUCKING TALK!”

Point being, if Nice Guy wants to play with a sub who gets it (and wants it), and you don’t mind playing matchmaker, I’m available.

P.S. I write smut: fuckmedapperqueer[dot]tumblr[dot]com

I hope Nice Guy is reading this and that you two don’t live continents away and stuff.

I’m also, on a personal note, hoping that people who insist on responsible BDSM play aren’t as rare as all that, but that this confessor mostly just really likes Nice Guy’s writing style.

Confess!

1. Editor’s note: I am reasonably sure this indicates “Female assigned at birth” here, as it usually does.

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Attention Doctor Who fans: You deserve to know that someone out there has made the greatest dildo. Apparently, this prototype is not usable because the miniature TARDIS is too close to the edge and causing tearing to the silicone, but it is still the greatest.

The. Greatest.

In short, who wants to fuck themselves with a glittery time vortex? Because I sure do.

(via Toplessrobot, called to my attention by a tip from Smith, a clearly awesome person.)

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I’m happily married and I get a lot of real, live, two-party, human-with-a-pulse sex. Still, I would love to fuck a RealDoll. That fact has me feeling pretty dirty.

I’m not sure I’m inspired; their eyes always look dead to me. But I hear there’s an intriguing suction effect. Also, I’m not saying it’s a problem to be into dead eyes, or indifferent to them.

Tried the “folded deckchair” with my girlfriend a couple nights ago, due mainly to reading about it on your blog here. Three words: Epic. Freakin. Oragsms. Thank you thank you thank you. She came so hard and so much her abs hurt afterward. You are awesome!

This was roughly the experience I had! Of course, this wisdom isn’t universal, but it has much to offer us.

Best argument ender ever: “Shut up and put your cock in my mouth!”

I see your point here. It always worked with my high school principal whenever I had to go to his office for having hot pink hair¹. Back when I could get decent fucking hair dye.

I feel like I have been wanting more from my boyfriend than he has been giving me. I then realized I had to appreciate the things he already did before I could ask him to improve on anything I wanted above that. Since implementing this into our relationship not only have I been happier, I also realize that he does little stuff all the time that I was overlooking. I feel much more loved now and all I had to do was open my eyes.

Snap. This is goddamn inspirational and wise and hope-giving! Score another one for Anonymous.

I want an illicit make-out affair. I don’t want to actually have SEX with somebody other than my husband, I just want to have (possibly sloppy) makeouts with a man (or woman, or men or women or both), preferably in a darkened office or a library. And then go home and fuck my husband. Is that REALLY so much to ask?

I don’t know. Depends. Have you asked? Monogamous people: are you allowed to ask things like this?

Or maybe the “illicit” part is important and it needs to be a secret. I don’t know, Anonymous. You are as complicated as you are sexy.

I’ve started squirting lately. It’s small, not very pornstar worthy, but it seriously freaks me out. I know it’s not a bad thing and the boyfriend loves it, so I don’t understand why I can’t see it as okay emotionally. I just feel dirty and weird in a bad way.

Are you associating it with porn? Possibly porn you don’t like? With pee? With something negative someone said one time? It seems like your brain is okay with squirting, but your emotions have to catch up. So maybe you can trick them. What if every time you squirted you said out loud “That was so sexy!” or something similar. I feel like our emotions always catch up with what we tell them, sooner or later.

Sex is always best after skiing. I’m really tired but for some reason being on the slopes all day makes me hot and bothered.

You rich people should stop skiing and start buying poor people new cars and better hair dye.

Just kidding. Enjoy your cocoa and orgasms.

I’ve never been honest about my number. Ever. I tell people it might be around 12 or so, but really it’s more like upper 30’s. I occasionally feel bad about it, but I don’t regret a single one of my 30+ sexual partners. They were all very special. Thanks, guys and girls!

I think this is kind of inspiring because you’ve found over 30 special people to connect with in very powerful ways, and you have no regrets. I want to be able to say that someday. And I’d like to live in a world where I felt like I could say it, and not have to revise it or be judged.

My boyfriend and I just started doing sexy-type things and I gave him oral (which I’ve never ever done before) and it was awesome! Penises are awesome! Blowjobs are awesome! I feel sort of strange about this since I’ve always thought girls weren’t supposed to like it, but ohmygod so fun! Luckily, he’s sweet and (very, very) okay with it. Is that weird?

It is so very not weird. I know we get told a lot of bullshit about this stuff, but girls aren’t really supposed to like or not like anything in particular. There are a lot of people of all genders who love giving blowjobs, and many others who hate giving them. Enjoy, and take care of yourself.

Sex Confessional

1. May not have actually happened in reality.

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I attended a BDSM play party recently. My ass was sore the next day. These two things are unrelated.

Oh, there was some spanking– of me, even. Other asses (tits, backs, thighs, balls…) around me got rawer and redder as the night went on, but my ass’s complexion was largely unthreatened, despite a few delicious moments in which Rudyard Flicksnake, a man who does the most amazing things with whips, blades, and other paraphernalia, tried to wring pouty faces out of me. And succeeded. But even his wooden paddle, which I’ll admit was not my favorite thing, didn’t more me sore. The brutal yoga workout I did hours before the party started? That’s what did it. Yeah.

I know there’s not really a wrong way to do kink¹, but if there were I’d wonder about myself.

And I do wonder. I don’t know where I fit in the BDSM world. On Fetlife I identify as a switch, but my experiences are all light bottoming and lighter topping with sensation play (e.g. “Now let’s see what this toy feels like!”, or “Do more of that thing that feels awesome!”). I haven’t delved into the whole psychological aspect of domming or subbing, even just for a single scene. And, though I’m certainly open to both, I’m not sure I ever will.

In kink, and maybe in every other thing ever, it’s hard to effectively pursue a desire before you actually define it. I’m not sure what I want to experience in the kink world. I know why I want to be involved in it: I love the community, I love the sexy geekery, and I love experimenting and feeling new sensations and finding new ways to orgasm. However, I don’t fit in well enough to meet someone and rattle off my BDSM pedigree: “I’m a fireplay top with an emerging daddy dom side”, “I’m a rope bunny switch, but I only service top”, “I’m a non-painslut masochist with a huge subspace fetish”. I don’t have a firm grip on what I “am”, what like, or what I want; so far I’m just playing at playing.

I have some ideas of what I’m not. At this point, I do not connect with the masochist label. Not not not. After years of constant chronic pain, I have explored pain; it holds no mystery for me. I adore certain interesting sensations at the lower end of the pain spectrum: sensual sharpness, the thrill of electrical play, the cold point of a dulled blade, little things that pluck the nerves and wake them up, but once it starts hurting I will prove what a masochist I’m not. Hard. I also don’t think I’m a sadist. At least, seeing (and I’ll assume causing) someone else’s physical pain doesn’t do much for me.

Admittedly there are a lot of things I know I want to try, but I don’t know just how I want to express them yet. BDSM is a language with many dialects, and it’s easy to think you’re saying one thing while conveying something totally different. It’s not sorted in my head enough that I can list it here and tolerate looking at it.

Still, I’m going to keep playing as I have been. I want to keep pushing and trying new things. Kink is interesting, fun, often sexy, and there’s a freedom in it that recalls the experience of being a kid on the playground. Some of the equipment is worlds cooler; some if it is eerily close to what your parents stored in the closet and brought out when you needed “discipline”. But at least now you have a safeword.

I don’t know. Can I just say I have an experimentation kink for now? And an orgasm fetish? Because I know those ones are just empirically true.

(image source)

1. Unless it’s non-consensual, obviously.

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Um, what?

I’m a post-op Trans Woman, I’ve had my new vagina for seven and a half months.

I just found the vibrator that works for me and had my first vaginal orgasm…

My shoulder is super sore and I can’t stop shaking… no regrets, so much self love and discovery!

Woohoo! Motherfucking internet high five!

I’m just wondering if I’m the only one who finds masturbation to be really boring. I mean, the few times I try I can’t focus on any fantasies or what-not, I get really bored, and I stop a few minutes later to watch funny videos or do something I find entertaining.

I guess I’m wondering if I’m normal, because all of the blogs I read give me the impression that I’M DOING SEXUALITY WRONG. Like, I get that masturbation is supposed to feel good and orgasms are awesome and “if you don’t use it, you lose it.” But I’m just not feeling it.

I feel like whenever anyone wonders if they’re the only one who does or does not do sex a certain way, the answer is always “absolutely damn not”. If anyone’s normal, which I doubt, pretty much everyone is. And people normally don’t maintain blogs dedicated to things they find boring, so bloggers like me who write about masturbating are generally going to be pro-masturbation, and get excited about masturbating, I should think. But it’s not for everyone, and that’s totally cool.

I made myself squirt today!
Apparently, masturbating a whole lot (by way of positioning myself in the shower so that one stream of water hits me juuuust right) and thinking about Jon Stewart whispering dirty dirty things in my ears while spanking me and biting me and/or doing other fun hitty things was all it took!
It wasn’t even intentional. But now that I know I can…well. Let’s just say I shall be happy to devote more time to exploring this phenomenon.

I love it when the most specific fantasies do the most particular things. It makes me feel like life is a fighting game with combos.

A little backstory: I have a tiny office in my university, shared by three other students. There’s a small window on the door, so someone nosy could peek in if they wanted. No outside windows. My desk is right next to the door, but the other two desks are behind dividers.

Last weekend I was doing some work in my office, and after a while I needed a break — consisting, of course, of reading sexy stories and touching myself through my jeans. I was pretty furtive about this, even though I was alone in the room, the door was closed, and someone would have to actually make a point of looking inside the window if they want to see anything interesting. (If you’re not in academia, you might be surprised at how many people — mostly grad students, but sometimes even faculty — work during the weekends and evenings.)

Eventually I got worked up enough that I wanted more than fingers. Heart racing, I turned off the lights, climbed on one of my colleague’s desks, unzipped my jeans, and slipped my balled-up sweater in between my legs. My favourite maturbatory position is facedown and humping something — I loved the feeling of my breasts pushed up against the hard wooden desk, and feeling my clit rub against something firm but with a bit of give, while I imagined my boyfriend pounding me from behind. I migrated to my fantasy of donning a strap-on, and fucking another girl with a vibrator inside of me. I could hear nearby office doors opening and closing, locking and unlocking, and it gave me the good kind of chills to be reminded exactly where I was — the person whose desk I was pleasuring myself on could have walked in at any time. I’m not remotely attracted to him, but the thought of him walking in and turning on the lights to find me, apparently a Good Girl, squirming and sweaty on his desk — GOD that pushed my buttons.

But here’s my favourite part of the act: my cheek was pressed against the cool wood of the desk, and my hot breath curled the papers next to my mouth. When I was done, I considered replacing the blank sheets of paper — but I kind of liked the mystery, the slight confusion it might cause, and the wonderful little secret of what exactly caused those sheets to curl. :)

I’ve never been more attracted to you. (I don’t think.)

I was house-sitting last week for a friend, who happened to own a removable showerhead. I quickly discovered that it was the most awesome thing EVER. Then I realized that it was leaking and I thought I broke it, but no– the head came off and all that was left was a tube with a stream of water. Once I turned the power of the water down a little, I realized I’d been wrong before: THAT was the most awesome thing ever. :D I hope the sound of the water drowned out anything her neighbors might have heard…

Access to removable showerheads is a human rights issue. I’m not saying it’s high on the list, but certainly the world will never be quite right until all of us who want them have them.

I was on a long plane ride this week and I was having a lot of trouble focusing on the work I needed to get done. So I waited for a quiet moment and took myself to the bathroom. I locked the door, undid my belt, and slid my hand into my underwear. I began to rub my clit and with the other hand I grabbed my breast. At first, I wasn’t sure I would be able to come, but the tension grew rapidly and soon I was wetter than wet and coming hard. After I caught my breath, I cleaned myself up, checked my hair and noticed the rosy glow in my cheeks. When I left the bathroom, I gave a big, cheeky grin to the hottie waiting outside the door.

I have mad respect for anyone who can feel sexy on an airplane. I normally just feel sleepy.

Not that I’d say no to an orgasm, to be fair.

I’m slowly coming to terms with my sexuality being, uh, strangely non-sexual when other people are involved. I’ve always considered myself bisexual, pretty much attracted to men and women equally. But while I love cuddling, fondling, making out… I don’t enjoy sex that much. Yes, there have been boring/bad sex partners, but there’s also been at least 1 great one, but even that doesn’t compare to just masturbating alone. I’d think I was actually a romantic asexual, but, damn, I love masturbating, watching porn, thinking/reading about sex… Sexuality can be so confusing!

Sexuality can be wonderfully varied and confusing and fancy! And I suspect if all the spectra had more visibility, we’d find that romantic asexuals who like to masturbate and fondle are not that terribly uncommon. But you’d still be fancy.

Tell me something about yourself.

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