quizzical pussy

Thursday night. Just another chain restaurant at the tail end of the dinner rush. But what lurked there beneath the preformed burgers? What waited just beyond the salad bar sneeze guard? Pulsing debauchery. Desires dark and unspeakable. People everywhere, naked under their clothes! And munching. Yes! Munching!

I don’t mean to alarm you, but there’s a chance this is happening in your city too. I wonder sometimes if anyone even bothers to please, think of the children!

And of course by all this I mean that I made it to my first munch last week. The table was easy to find in the sense that it was in a detached section marked “reserved” that was literally right next to the entrance. I didn’t see a non-kinky diner all night, even by accident. It was a relief not to have to do any pervert profiling on-the-spot.

Everyone was friendly and welcoming as Laramy and I walked in. At a glance, they didn’t look like what I expected. I expected it to look like a gathering of the Sci Fi nerds I tend to hang out with, which would mean mostly nerds, many in nerd-themed t-shirts, probably (as Holly pointed out in comments) a lot of black clothing, some unnatural hair colors, and at least one guy wearing a hoodie with the sleeves cut off¹. These people didn’t look like that. They just looked like regular people having dinner at T.G.I. Appletuesday & Erma’s. Every time I try to form one nice, modest little stereotype, you non-me people ruin it. What gives?

Everyone else seemed to know one another well, and were seated at a long table. Laramy and I sat down at the free end. The munch organizer immediately visited us there, and gave us a little information about a BDSM education group the munch is affiliated with. As a curious kink novice, this has me very interested.

Then our friends came in, and everyone ordered food, and we didn’t get a chance to officially meet most of the group, and I didn’t feel an overwhelming sense of “these are my people and this is my tribe”, per se, but that would probably be sort of like finding your soul mate on your first blind date ever, or something.

Bottom line: BDSM community, you are promising. I shall forge ahead.

(image source)

1. He knows who he is. [↩]

I’m planning to attend my first munch this evening. I’ve wanted to start infiltrating the local BDSM scene for a while now, ever since I noticed a curious dearth of dorky pale chicks with crazy hair in same, an oversight I am all too happy to correct because it will hopefully eventually get me spankings and other lovely things.

Actually, let’s be honest. No local BDSM scene anywhere, to my knowledge, lacks dorky pale chicks with crazy hair, but currently none of them are me. I find that alarming. Rest easy, local kinksters. Help is on the way, coming to a bar and grill chain in your area! Tonight!

Eep. Tonight.

I have no idea what to expect. Social gatherings can be crackling, intoxicating for me, or they can drain all the color out of the room. In a new situation it’s so often a gamble which will happen. Is it going to be awkward or like stumbling upon a chattering of old, favorite-hoodie-comfortable friends? Maybe some of them will be even be sexy and enticing in an awkward, or friendly, way. Maybe not so much…

But I’m reasonably sure there will be a salad bar. So we have that going for us. And I’ve got Laramy and a couple friends coming, so it can’t get too terribly awkward as long as I have three people to hide behind. Overall, I think I’ll be glad we went.

My only real and unrelenting concern, though, is how do we find the table? Do we say we’re with the local munch when we reach the restaurant’s host stand? That doesn’t seem right, somehow. Everyone will be in casual clothing, so it’s not like I can scan the dining area for fetish gear. Maybe there’s a password and I don’t know it.

Fuck it. It’s probably “Batman”. Let’s do this.

(image source)

ConTuesday is upon us! What secrets will be revealed?

I’m still kind of jealous that my partner slept with someone else a couple of nights ago, even though I’ve just come home from sleeping over at my other sweetheart’s house. It’s hard to give other people the freedom you want for yourself. At least, it is for me.

I think far more people feel this way than would ever admit it. And I think the perfectly reasonable reason is often this: Say you and I are in an open relationship. I know how I feel about you. I know that nothing I have with my other lover would ever endanger what I have with you. I know that I’d be a idiotic beyond comprehension to jeopardize what I have with you. I know that.

But what you know? That’s something of a mystery. This is my theory, anyway.

Last week, I beat my submissive boyfriend more severely than I ever had before. He got so heavy into subspace that he had an intense orgasm without either of us ever touching his penis. Then we went and saw Harry Potter.
I just wanted to share that with someone.

An orgasm with no touching? You’re a wizard, Harry!

I love happy confessions like this. Doubly so when they’re kinky and maybe a little geeky.

Alright, I’ve got this fantasy. I’d love to anonymously fuck just some random girl. Either there should be absolutely no exchange of personal information or kind of an understood mutual lying about names and whatever. From there, just raw animal fucking with the understanding that we’ll never see each other again. This is one of those fantasies that will stay just a fantasy, but I don’t care. It makes me horny.

Rumor has it the 1970s were exactly this for ten years straight, except everyone was on roller skates.

I wish it could be with you.

I think we all wish that, my friend.

I mean… Wait. What?

I’m tired of feeling like I have to talk my boyfriend into having sex with me. He only ever wants to when HE wants to and it’s so frustrating to have him always decide when.

Ah, fuck-crossed lovers. These stories seem to end in tragedy far too often. I hope this one works out. I really, really do.

Come to think of it, there are so many fuck-crossed lovers that send in confessions I have half a mind to start a libido-mismatched partner exchange program.

If you have a secret, or are interested in our fictional sex-drive-matching services, go here and tell all!

Laramy and I were lounging with Viola on her bed, and somehow the conversation came around to blowjobs. Already your shock is palpable.

We came to a consensus that however fun it is to give and receive them, they’re particularly good as a warmup for intercourse. This is how Laramy and I do them about two-thirds of the time, probably. But not always. I also love those times when I get to make him come.

Penis-in-vagina/ass intercourse is unique for me because it feels like we’re making us come¹, giving each other simultaneous and reciprocal pleasure. Sure, I normally get to have more orgasms, so maybe my partner feels differently, but I round up to Team Us. Most of the many fantastic and varied other kinds of sex tend to have less of that particular “simultaneous and reciprocal” element for me. They can still be awesome, of course.

I can get off just from giving a blowjob, but that’s a completely different feeling than climaxing through intercourse. The stimulation is less direct, largely mental. When I come that way it feels more like I’m really bringing myself there, although I’m getting some of my favorite sort of help with that.

Laramy, on the other hand, once told me he generally doesn’t get off from blowjobs at all. Liked them, he insisted, certainly wasn’t planning on turning any eligible offers down, but he just didn’t come from oral sex. He said this after the first time I made him come in my mouth, though. Surely he was rearranging his belief system by then. Because I’ve never known him to lie to me, I see no reason to think that it was just a line to make me feel like a god damn sexual Tyrannasaurus, although it did. Oh, it did.

Anyway, back to Viola’s bed. There are limits, she are I both agreed, on just how long we’re willing to suck cock. At a certain point you wonder what you’re doing wrong, and why your jaw needs to be punished for it. Perhaps we were making my boyfriend nervous. While Laramy can and does come from blowjobs, he admittedly tends to take a while to get there sometimes. This is part of why it can be preferable² to just transition to fucking. “It’s not like I take that long,” he reminded me.

“No,” I agreed. “Sometimes it can be a challenge, though. It’s not like I can get you off in, say, four minutes or something.”

That’s when Laramy started to remove his pants. Enthusiastically. “Let’s see!”

“I mean, I’ll suck your cock for four minutes, sure. Happy to. But I doubt you’ll get off.”

“You’re on,” he grinned. The pants were off, the penis rampant, the challenge accepted. One doesn’t say “I’ll suck your cock for four minutes” to this man and expect him to laugh it off. Viola offered to time us. Laramy reclined on her bed, pants abandoned, head in her lap.

“All right then!” I probably didn’t say out loud, “I came here to suck cock and chew bubblegum, and luckily for your cock, I’m all out of bubblegum. Because otherwise, ouch.” My eye was of the tiger. Four minutes wasn’t long, but I was going to do my damnedest to make sure it was long enough.

I’d never strategized a blowjob before. Would a little preliminary teasing help or harm the cause? Should I mostly suck and bob, or concentrate more on doing that thing with my tongue? I did my best. Laramy might have been playing with some Viola boob.

“It’s interesting to watch from this perspective. This is what I’d see if QP were giving me a blowjob,” I heard her say³. He was getting close at this point.

When Laramy came in my mouth, I got that little jolt of triumph I always get, even when we’re not going for the four-minute blowjob title. Giver of Orgasms and Swallower of Seed am I, and mighty shall be my reign! Rawr, bitches.

“How was that for time?” I asked Viola in an all-business tone as soon as the cock was out of my mouth. Laramy, still blissed out from his orgasm, found this hilarious.

“Just about four and a half minutes. I was going to stop you, but I knew he was getting close.” High fives happened all around. We hadn’t quite made blowjob history, but it was hard to call it anything but a win, considering.

Between you and me, though? I probably would’ve gone longer, if need be. You know, for the team.

(image source)

1. I’ve heard rumors that you can have sex without having or even trying to have an orgasm, and that it can be splendid. I honestly wouldn’t know anything about that. Sex without any orgasms seems like a frustrating endeavor to me. [↩]
2. For my jaw and inside upper lip. [↩]
3. Note to self: remind her that I willingly service strap-on cocks as well. [↩]

It is, objectively speaking, what dead wigs hope they’ll become every time a bell rings. It’s long and layered, wavy, two different shades of blue, and just vampy as fuck. Worth every penny I paid. I’ve never worn it out of the house, but I’ve taken crappy webcam pictures with it on, and when I look at them there’s something strange and unsettling about them.

The girl in the pictures isn’t me. To be perfectly honest, she’s sexy.

It isn’t just her long, blue tresses, although she has mindbogglingly fabulous hair. There’s more to her allure. Framed by that tide, the landscape of her face is no detestable nation. Her waist nips in and her curves bloom out in ways I appreciate. Her skin looks soft and her lips sweet and kissable. At the risk of sounding horribly narcissistic here, she’s actually kind of my type as long as I forget she’s me.

I’ve been clean through a rainbow and yards of hair over the years, and I’ve had a lot of different looks, but somehow I’ve never looked quite like I do in that wig. I guess the biggest difference is that when I wear it I don’t feel like me at all. I’m someone different. Different enough, at least, to stop maniacally tallying the dark circles under my eyes and stretch marks and 15 lbs I wouldn’t mind losing instead of looking. Really looking.

And I don’t hate what I see again until the wig comes off. How fucked up is that? How perfectly normal.

(image source)

Sometimes I have to remind myself not to wonder who’s sending ConTuesday confessions. I mean, of course I can wonder, which is really only natural, but I made a pledge to myself early on not to try to figure out who sent in secrets. First off, it’s a fool’s errand. Although I know a handful of my readers, most are complete strangers. Secondly, the whole point of these are that they’re anonymous. It would be hypocritical of me to try to subvert that, even just through guesswork. After all, getting your dirt in my inbox is a sacred trust.

Well, maybe not sacred. Anyway, through no effort of my own I know exactly who sent in precisely two of the following confessions. But I’m going to try to play it cool, okay? Okay!

I just found a BDSM association in my area (all donations are tax deductible!) and the only thing that comes to my mind when reading their website is: oh my god, you are so adorable!!

If I knew who you were maybe I could figure out where you live and check out this adorable website! But no, I must be strong.

…Or do I know who you are?

No.

So…my boyfriend wants me to eat his poop. He essentially wants to poop in my mouth, and then kiss me, like we are snowballing his poo.

He poops in tupperware containers and puts them in our fridge. I’m afraid he is going to make poop pancakes!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

That’s pretty much all I have to say to you, person who I totally don’t know who you are at all.

I have what might be described as an unusual fetish. One of my friends posted a clip of an old kids’ movie on facebook in a fit of nostalgia, and my immediate response was, ”Oh god, must not tell him that clip used to be some serious fetish fuel for me back in my youth…” So I’m telling you instead.

Curiosity overwhelms me right now. I’m not asking, though. I’m not asking.

Hi, it’s Ozy. I used to confess things a lot here, but now I don’t have anything to confess because it all goes on my blog. :( Sorry, sex confessional! I’ll try to think of something really good for you soon.

Your confessions are missed, Ozy. Not that I know which ones were them, at all. Excepting one.

I identify as a switch. I’ve discovered that I prefer to be dominant towards men and submissive towards women. I am in a fairly open poly relationship. My girlfriend is submissive and my boyfriend is dominant. -.-

Sometimes though, I imagine them each as the other one. I’m pretty sure they wouldn’t like that so much.

Hey, I’ve been feeling the itch to dominate a bit lately. Maybe if I knew who you were we could… wait. No. Sacred trust.

Seriously, readers, your secrets are safe here. Fascinating and safe.

I don’t know if it’s sheer laziness or a priceless secret I must have known at one point but forgot, but lately my favorite way to masturbate is through my underwear, strumming my clit with the very tip of one finger. Back and forth: the soft smooth flesh and then my short, rounded nail, and back again through cotton. Delicious.

It is profoundly stupid how quickly this gets me off.

I spin through no sexy scenarios in my head, I tweak not my nipples, I employ none of the tricks that sometimes seem necessary when I’m all alone and not particularly turned on. Sometimes it’s a little harder to get off when your motivation is a vague urge that’s frankly first-cousins with boredom. But through my underwear like that, gently but not too gently, nothing else is needed.

It’s easy and comforting and uncomplicated and lets me ride orgasm after orgasm floating between them like a wish, which is exactly the opposite of how I feel about my broken body right now.

And what about my toys? My poor fancy toys, my pretty toys! My buzzy, soft, my steel toys. I love them so, but they’ll get neglected with a vengeance at times. Sometimes I’m just too smitten with my finger to bother with them at all.

It’s strange: sometimes the highest setting on my favorite vibrator just frustrates me, but a gentle strumming through cloth unlocks my entire body.  I can never decide whether my clitoris is too sensitive or not sensitive enough. And compared to what?

(image source)

It seems to me that virginity is one of those things that you pretty much get to define for yourself, like cheating or happiness. Other people, institutions, even laws may have their opinions, but when you break it down enough any definition of virginity seems arbitrary at best. Virginity is so confusing that some people don’t seem to know whether they’re talking about it or not.

I’m about to don my pedantry hat for a minute. Also my seldom seen, but very jaunty, theology hat. You’ve been warned. Immaculate Conception doesn’t mean what most people think it means. In common use, it’s become confused with virgin birth and used synonymously, but it’s never meant “conceiving a child while one is a virgin”. Immaculate Conception is an explanation by the Catholic Church going back to the year Way Long Ago A.D. as to why Mary (the mother of Jesus Christ) was good enough to carry and bear God’s son¹. They decided that Mary, unlike regular non-god-bearing people, had been conceived without original sin (a legacy from Adam and Eve) and was thus pure, immaculate. Later Mary conceived a baby while she was a virgin² and gave birth, but her Immaculate Conception was only a distant prelude to that virgin birth, and has very little to do with virginity whatsoever.

My personal theory is that people use the wrong term because it sounds fancier. People are suckers for fancy. Hold on for a second. Removing hats.

There. That’s better. Where was I? Oh, virginity. I don’t know what the fuck a virgin is. I don’t really know when I was one. My hymen broke twice, but neither of those were the first time I had an orgasm from someone penetrating me. And then it was still two years before I had a dick inside me. Except my mouth. Are we counting my mouth? Suffice to say I lost my virginity, if it was even a thing, but at this point I don’t really know or care when.

But when Laramy commented the other day that he’s never fucked a virgin, I’m almost positive he meant someone who’s never had penis-in-vagina intercourse. That seems to be the most common definition, although I can only imagine how gold star lesbians feel about that. Anyway, he’s mentioned it before.

“Is that one of your goals?” I asked him, curious, but smelling trouble from where I sat. Now, at our age virgins are getting a bit thin on the ground, so it wouldn’t be terribly easy to find one without actively hunting. And a casual, drama-free deflowering with one older, experienced partner who already has a girlfriend and one partner who doesn’t remember that pogs were once a thing can happen, of course. But it feels like it would be asking a lot of the universe.

“It’s not something I’m actively looking for, but it might be interesting.” One interesting thing about Laramy is that he says this about virtually all forms of heterosexual sex he’s not having at that precise moment.

“If you’re that interested, I’ll just get one of those fake hymens³,” I shrugged.

“That’s a thing!?”

Of course it’s a thing! Because sadly, some people still buy into one of the weirdest definitions of virginity: the intact hymen. And there are still places in the world where a woman’s future might depend on her ability to fake that, whether she’s a virgin by any other definition or not.

But I guess it could be a sex toy too. If you’re not too cautious with your mucous membranes.

(image source)

1. The later Protestant explanation is that she quite simply wasn’t, just like no one on Earth was good enough for a god to die for. This is probably why it took a Protestant to write “Amazing Grace”. [↩]
2. Or as a young, unmarried woman, depending on how you like to translate ancient texts. [↩]
3. Just for the record, I was in no way serious. I have no idea what’s in those things, but I can guess it’s not all medical grade silicone and hypoallergenic red lube. [↩]

I’ll bet you came here today looking for a ConTuesday. Am I right? It must be destiny because that’s exactly what I have for you.

She suggested out of the blue that we swap with them. Was I that easy to read? Of COURSE I want to swap with them. I’m all in. I’m somewhat sure that our lady friend would be, too.

But our man friend? Not a chance. Even to ask would be to lose that friend.

Dammit. Three out of four is a super-majority!

It’s a truth that can be devastating, or it can appear bright and pulsing with hope and redemption: sexual adventures are really only as good as the most reluctant participant.

Still, yeah. That’s a frustrating predicament.

I’m not the most overpaid person in the world, so when I was going to buy a vibrator this weekend, I sort of set a ceiling of $50. I came away for the shop having dropped $100 and change for a wiggly pink thing. Tried it out with my Significant Other last night and I was practically levitating every time I was racked with orgasms. I’ve come _a lot_, but never like that. What a fine investment! SO was grinning like a jackal every time he pushed me over the edge again. Yummy.

If you don’t mind, is there any way you can provide a link to this wiggly pink thing? Or even a name? This isn’t for me, mind. It’s for science.

Yesterday I discovered that if you make a girl cum for 7-8 times and don’t cum yourself…well….they’re not happy.

One thing that restores my faith in humanity when things are looking dire is the fact that we pretty much all want to give pleasure. We want to make other people laugh and smile and clap and come. I think that’s fucking beautiful.

It’s not your fault if you can’t come, of course. But this is probably the reason behind your discovery.

I’ve recently started really enjoying role playing daddy/girl scenes…the only problem is I can’t enjoy this with my Master because he already has a girl he enjoys this particular kink with, and I would feel like I was trying to take away something that was special and hers. But I don’t want to do this with just anyone. *sighs*

Have you talked to this other girl about it? Because, though it might not be the case here, I could imagine some little girls wanting a sister. Either way, good luck finding someone to explore with.

By the time this posts, it won’t have much meaning considering I’ll know one way or the other. But getting it out there before I know I think is important.

My boyfriend and I fuck like bunnies. We don’t use condoms but I am on the pill. He is very fertile (and has the babies to prove it) and convinced that I am pregnant right now. I’m one day late with my period, but that is just one day. I don’t think I am pregnant, but secretly maybe kinda sorta wish I was. It would be an awful time to get pregnant, but when is it ever a good time?

I’m hoping for an update on this one, and that you’re happy with whichever outcome you got.

Secrets go here!

 

I identify as bisexual, and sometimes I don’t really know why.

I’m still very much attracted to men and women. That hasn’t stopped. But the problem is, my lust isn’t necessarily confined to just those options. What about the people– people I’m certainly interested in possibly fucking– who don’t identify strictly as either, or who have a more complicated interpretation of gender? Am I ignoring them by calling myself bi?

Um, pretty much. Yes. I feel like I am. And that bugs me.

I could argue that I’m defining bisexuality as attraction to males, females, and everything in between, but I think that’s the cop-out. The term feels like it’s opting into a binary system: two options where manifold flavors exist. Plus, that would take care of between, but not outside those two genders, so mightn’t it still be ignoring people? Sexy, sexy people?

If I’m getting technical, I’m simply not bisexual.

I’m reluctant to go with pansexual, though. It makes sense, pan meaning “all” instead of bi’s “two”. But most people don’t know or care what the term means, opting instead to make the obvious joke about kitchen wares or the Greek god of nature and being a goat.

I have similar problems with queer, which feels the most authentic and accurate, but seems to generally come off as meaning “gay” to the majority of people who hear it. My partner is a man, so that would get confusing.

I know who I want to have sex with¹ so isn’t any label really and truly for other people? If all it does is obfuscate and befuddle, what’s the point? Why have one at all? It’s not a label, it’s my cue for a monologue. And I don’t like to hear my own voice that much. This is in no way a criticism of people who identify as pansexual or queer. I truly like both terms. I personally don’t know if I have the patience to explain them over and over, is my problem.

But it’s not like people outside the gender binary don’t get tired of explaining themselves all the time, is it? Maybe I should suck it up and stop ignoring them. I need to give this more thought, I suppose.

So I’m still bisexual. I guess. For now.

Really, my sexual orientation is “I’ll be attracted to whomever I damn well please,” but apparently for some reason that’s not a valid option.

1. Usually. Eventually. [↩]