quizzical pussy

I have a friend who has an interesting hobby: sending his male coworkers the most sexually harassingest text messages ever, ending each with “no homo”.

Example:

I wanna give u the 3rd best rimjob you’ve ever had in ur life, man. No homo.

And no, he hasn’t been fired. Yet.

When he told me about this I’d actually never heard the phrase no homo before, and thought he’d made it up. Turns out, not quite.

But now we have these, come to restore the balance of power, and I’m pretty sure I need one:

I quite like giving oral sex. Putting the main focus on someone else’s pleasure has some amazing perks, like getting a chance to really notice how much they’re enjoying themselves, which sometimes gets obscured in the torrent of one’s own orgasms, where one is me.

Of course, sometimes I get off just sucking cock, but it’s not the fast and furious coming that happens when I’m getting penetrated. It gives me more leisure to enjoy the process, to survey the shivering, shuddering, gasping fruits of my labors.

This might be odd, but in a way I never feel as sexually powerful as when I’m giving, not accepting, an orgasm. Not dominant, not submissive, just powerful somehow. Or no, powerful is probably the wrong word. I guess it’s more that I feel most sexually useful when I’m concentrating on giving pleasure. And maybe that’s almost like something vaguely approaching feeling sexy. For me, at least.

Perhaps this is why it’s so important to me to believe that I’m good at giving head. Maybe that’s why I was so scared to have sex with women before I tried it. It was terrifying, imagining that I’d have nothing to offer a sex partner. I’d had enough positive feedback from men that I could reasonably believe I had a moderate level of proficiency at blowjobs, but I’d be starting from square one with a chick. And if that was the case, why should she even bother?

Luckily, eating pussy didn’t turn out to be the obscenely treacherous puzzle box that popular culture would have me believe (at least not the pussies I’ve eaten so far). I imagine that possessing female anatomy barely hurts the learning curve either. I’m not saying I’m a rockstar at it yet, but I’m not inept either!

Of course, there can be drawbacks to giving oral sex. Some people just don’t taste all that great (in my experience, these people most often have shitty diets, but my sample size isn’t large). Pubic hair isn’t designed for easy swallowing. Jaws get tired, tongues get sore. There are STDs to worry about (as with most any sexual contact, but it seems a lot harder to convince someone to use barriers with oral sex), and there’s the frustration that can come when you realize that you’ve just sated a partner beyond any hope of further fun.

Often these issues are greatly mitigated or simply absent, depending on whom you’ve chosen to interface with. Some people taste good, have been tested recently, are always eager to reciprocate.

But there’s one thing I can never get away from that makes giving oral sex (specifically blowjobs) kind of less awesome than perhaps they should be. Wrapping my lips tightly over my teeth to eliminate any untoward scraping, I somehow always end up cutting the inside of my upper lip with my two top incisors. If I give another blowjob before that’s healed, the cut gets worse, and so on. I think I might need a mouthguard. Or maybe some tips from my clever readers.

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This ConTuesday has several sorts of anonymous confessions to sample: transgressive, triumphant, murky, and really kind of gut-wrenching.

While I was married to my first wife, I had an affair with her sister, that lasted about a year. In all honesty, I should have stayed with the sister, life would have been much better. One night, I butt-fucked my SIL, and then went upstairs, and woke up my wife, and had her give me a blow job. What made it even more weird was that my SIL stood in the hallway and masturbated while she watched us.

I recently discovered that if I apply really strong pressure to my clitoris as I’m orgasming, the climax keeps going for an extra thirty seconds or so. I wish it was socially acceptable to share these sorts of little personal triumphs with the world at large, but it’s not, so I’ll share it with you.

You know how something will randomly pop into your head and you’ll think “I have to remember to look this up on the internet later”, but you don’t have a smart phone and you every time– without fail– forget to look it up when you’re actually on a computer? Well, in a similar vein, I keep meaning to try this!

Boy, you are very cute and you have a tophat, which is always a plus. However, you violate the xkcd rule, so despite your flirting I doubt we shall ever have a relationship. …Maybe making out. But that is definitely the limit here.

If I wear top hat will you make out with me? I’m just curious here.

I confessed here before my boyfriend barely touches me. He’s doing such a great job convincing me he doesn’t find me attractive, that I’m starting to find him less attractive… I go to get my nethers waxed and think sadly how I’ll keep paying for this because at least twice a month, I know someone will touch me below the waist.

If I wear a top hat will you let me give you a big hug? Because this confession really makes me want to.

Send in your anonymous confessions using this convenient form! Make haste!

Once in a while you run across a person (in my experience, always a male, though I have no idea if this is pattern or statistical aberration) who opines that rape is a more horrific crime than murder.

O RLY?

I’m not interested in playing the “more horrific” game, nor being an armchair criminal philosophy expert. I’m really not. But there’s something disturbing about their reasoning.

Are you suggesting, person who has (every time so far) admittedly never been raped, that a rape victim would be better off dead? The response is usually something like “a murder victim’s suffering is over, while a rape victim has a whole lifetime to deal with what happened.” So that’s pretty much a “yes”. Rock.

I can’t speak for everyone, but I would prefer murder to pretty much nothing, and I think plenty of people who’ve survived rape, torture, and other atrocities may feel the same way. Some probably wouldn’t. But the bottom line here is that I don’t think a bystander is the right person to decide which of these people would be better off dead.

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ConTuesday is here, and with it comes more anonymous confessions! It’s pretty safe to say that none of these are about you, but we really can’t rule it entirely out, now can we?

My boyfriend misses his ex. I can just tell. He gets sad eyes when he talks about her. He says little throw away things, that reveal that he’s thinking of her. It happens a lot. I know he cares for me. She has moved on, and has a kid with another man. But, if he had a chance to get her back I believe he would leave me, in an instant. The weirdest part is, I’m not mad, I feel sad for me, and sad for him. I wish I could make him as happy as she used to…..

I (a guy, not that it really matters) once carried on a purely sexual relationship with a guy; I let him know it would only be a sexual relationship, although I wasn’t entirely honest about the reasons why (I just wasn’t that into him). I then dropped the relationship when I realized that -he- wasn’t interested in anything else; even though I didn’t want anything more, I guess I wanted to believe that he did, as the discovery eliminated all interest for me.

The guy I’m kind of seeing lives four hours away so we don’t get to see each other, or play with each other, very often. He was here last weekend for a visit and instead of immediately getting a hotel room like I knew he wanted to, I acted oblivious and we did other things all afternoon…. I knew he was horny and wanted to get me alone, and I kind of enjoyed making him wait. I’m not sure if that’s mean or not but since I fully intended to get naked with him (and did) I think I’m going to go with not mean, just playful.

I like my boyfriend best when he’s been smoking crack. He gets all sweet and slow. He’s more sexual and touches me more. It’s made me realize that I need to find a boyfriend who I like when he’s not on drugs.

Now, tell me something. It’s completely anonymous, possibly therapeutic, and undoubtedly interesting.

On ConTuesday last week I posted an anonymous internet confession about a person whose boyfriend’s sex drive has begun to lag behind hers*. I didn’t have enough energy to address this confession on Tuesday, when it appeared (at that point my energy was firmly at cut, paste, and collapse levels), but now I’m feeling slightly perkier and I can write what I wanted to at the time. It’s not advice, really. I guess it’s more akin to relating.

I’m afraid sometimes that I’m literally insatiable. If I’m attracted to you, I pretty much never don’t want to fuck you. I can have half my body caught in a giant bear trap, and if I can still part my legs it’s on like Donkey Kong. And hey, I finally found a use for this stuff!

But I’m aware that most people don’t work like that. Someone can be attracted to me and like fucking me and not want to fuck me right this second. My awareness of this phenomenon is mostly academic, though, because I still haven’t gotten past the part where I feel like it means something whenever someone doesn’t want to have sex with me (e.g. I’m a troll and not worth touching). I know that’s (usually) not it; it usually has nothing to do with me. I hope. But it’s hard not to take rejection personally.

Now that I’m thinking about it, I don’t think I’ve ever had a relationship with someone who quite matched my ridiculous sex drive. It comes close, sure. There was even a period there while I was seeing Edwin where I had no sex drive at all due to a health condition, but before and after that my sex drive outstripped his, though probably not by much. But sometimes it’s a huge problem, a deal-breaking problem. Not because I want to dump you if you can’t service me seventeen times a day, but because I genuinely start thinking you want to dump me if we’re not having regular sex.

Sometimes sex drives seem hopelessly unbalanced, though. Sometimes you just never seem to have any sex. I’ve been in this situation a time or two, and I can’t deal with it. I cannot be in an exclusive relationship that provides no orgasms. It’s not even a conscious weighing of pros and cons; it’s a bare and grimy fact. I can’t sustain it. I feel completely uninteresting and unloved. And if  I’m not getting sex from the person I’m with, I’d damn well better be welcome to pursue it further afield.

Guys seem excited, intrigued, when they begin to discover my sex drive. There’s so much promise there:  never having to feel like a supplicant to get laid, being able to count rather than gamble on having sex, not worrying if she’s into it or not, trying new things because the basic needs are finally there, satisfied. It can be a bright, shiny lure, a woman’s nymphomania. But I wonder if it doesn’t become tiresome for them after a while. Even if I never say a word, does it seem like just sitting there, my body, a pleasure-greedy monster, is somehow demanding things? It might get to be a source of stress after a while, and that’s not exactly the sex amusement park I’m pitching in the beginning. It’s more like, well, working at an amusement park.

*I’m assuming this person is a woman because of the “other women” reference in the confession, but I apologize if I’m incorrect.

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I remember a time when I was mortified to buy tampons. This was before self-checkout was widespread, and there were no real ways to work around that slow, petrified slog up to the register to hand the cashier unassailable evidence that I had a vagina, and that stuff came out of it.

Then I got over it, laughed at myself, and was afraid to buy condoms and spermicide products. When I filled my prescription for birth control I could tell myself a little story about how I was really on it to regulate my periods so this wasn’t about sex, even though it had this amazing side effect of greatly reducing my risk of pregnancy! But the condoms, the contraceptive eggs: those decisively pointed to the fact that stuff also went in my vagina, and that I was doing everything I could to facilitate the process.

But after you’ve bought condoms enough dozen times that wears off too, and the scariness goes out of the adventure. You don’t have to buy other stuff to buffer the potential shock a cashier might have, thinking that maybe you’re going to leave that store and go have sex immediately, forsooth! You don’t have to avoid the male-manned registers in fear of leering smiles. You just don’t care anymore, unless they happen to not have your favorite brand in stock.

My last hold-out was lube. For a while there, I could buy almost anything without a blink, save lube. See, I usually only use lube for anal play/sex, so there’s an extra stat boost in transgression that a cashier might judge you like really harshly, and oh wait, they don’t fucking care what I buy!

I think it’s part of growing up to realize that it’s not that big a deal to buy any product in a store that routinely stocks it.

Ohai. It’s ConTuesday, the official day of internet confessions from God knows whom! Here come some now…

I got the hood of my clit pierced a few years ago because guys had too hard of a time finding it – my clit’s too small. That’s not a problem anymore!

I have a fantasy where I’m a dog at a dog show and the judge comes up and does the judgey thing where they check the teeth and the coat and whatever else on the dog. And then the judge checks my balls and starts feeling me up and talking dirty, giving me a handjob. Different stuff happens from there. I’ve looked into puppy play but it seems (at least in my area) that puppy play is pretty nonsexual. Or at least the sexual stuff happens between dogs only. You know how there’s the joke about putting peanut butter on your junk and getting the dog to lick you? I tried that with honey and I have to say: get a dog with good technique! No teeth!

At the advanced age of 44, I find myself with a boyfriend whom I love and am attracted to, and a pretty irresistible attraction to other men. He’s older than I am, and he’s on the downhill curve of his sexuality. I’m way more revved up than I was earlier in my life, and still get plenty of attention from attractive men. I love my boyfriend (did I mention that?) and I’m very attracted to him (he’s hot!), but he can’t quite keep up with my sex drive. We’ve talked about the possibility of opening our relationship, and that could be fun, but even though I find myself attracted to other men, I don’t really want to do that. I don’t really want to fuck other men while I’m in love with my boyfriend, and I don’t want him to fuck other women. Maybe if we kept it between ourselves, maybe if we just had threesomes, it could work. I don’t want to be left out of his sexual experiences; if he’s having one with another person, I want to be there sharing it with him. If I have a sexual experience with another man, I want him to share it with me — I’m really sexually oriented toward my boyfriend, and very attached to him, and striking out on my own just doesn’t seem like much…fun. This is all quite painful because I’ve finally found a man who I could see myself growing old with, and this sex thing keeps gumming up with works. I really don’t know what to do.

[The other] week someone said “my girlfriend’s clitoris is too big for my taste”. I want to meet his girlfriend. If there’s one physical attribute that really affects me, that moves me past sensible personality-match thinking, it’s a big clitoris. Luckily for me it’s not the kind of thing that shows.

Got a secret? You should go here and share.

My ex Edwin and I have been talking a bit lately. I specifically don’t want to be the type of person who can’t be friends with exes, but the fact that I have a history of dating douchebags doesn’t help my cause there. But forgiveness is divine, I heard one time, and I can totally be divine if I set my mind to it.

I’m inclined to give Edwin a pass for a few different reasons, but the largest is that he really is so self-centered and socially clueless that he almost certainly never meant any harm, even when his behavior left a great deal to be desired. While I don’t want to date or fuck or even be close friends with prohibitively self-centered and socially clueless people (socially clueless is sometimes endearing to a point, but there are limits), I don’t mind a casual friendship with one here and there.

It’s weird to talk to an ex after a long period of no contact. Sure, he’s called me a few times sporadically on some pretext or other, but we stopped talking regularly last Fall, and now we seem to be inching toward a casual friendship point again. I guess. There’s something awkward about not knowing what you’re supposed to talk about, what’s going to open up old wounds or just plain be too personal. I pay attention to these things; I’m not sure he does.

In just a few conversations he’s mentioned a lot of odd and personal things, including but not limited to the following:

• He can’t go to the club without being hit on by all the ladies. (He’s mentioned this one on at least three separate occasions.)
• He lasts longer in bed than he used to.
• He’s so damn good-looking.
• The shower in his new residence is perfect for fucking in.
• He wants to find a Halloween costume this year that will show off his damn good-looking body.

It’s not that I have an issue with intimate disclosures (duh), but it all seems a little over-the-top, considering. Maybe he still harbors some resentment about the break up and wants to “[tell] me what I’m missing”, or maybe he thinks these are the sorts of things I’d be interested in because we’ve always been pretty candid in the past. Whatever the reason, these tidbits read as slightly off coming from an ex. Or possibly anyone else: I don’t want to hear anyone go on and on about what it’s like to be insanely fetching. Who even says that? It all ties in perfectly with his ongoing self-centered, socially clueless shtick.

I’m not exactly worried that he’s trying to entice me back or anything. Well, maybe a tiny bit, but I’m not vain enough to assume it. For now I’m just going to call it curious, funny, and slightly off-putting.  Still well better than our relationship when we were dating, though!

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I’ve never (literally never, which is probably weird at my age and player level) given nor solicited a phone number at a random pick-up spot. Flirting from a stranger always shuts me down right away. I know it’s terribly rude, but I don’t mean it that way. I’m just a shrinking violet. Really, ask anyone! (Okay, not really. But I really do hit a brick wall when it comes to flirting.)

But the fact is that with the cell phone number of a near-stranger I’d be tempted to send disturbing, creepy text messages, like “You’re painfully beautiful when you sleep,” and “We’re almost out of milk.” Because at that point in the possible courtship you really have nothing to lose and can really fuck with someone. And I’m afraid that it would seem like a perfectly good idea at the time!

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