quizzical pussy

ConTuesday! It is beyond, and by that I mean below, freezing where I live. I’m sick of winter. I decided to drain my battery yesterday using my amazing powers of stupidity and vacancy. You know what’ll cheer me up? Reading your dirty secrets. Yes.

This summer I met a guy at a music festival. The first night he danced near me and I could tell he was watching me, but didn’t have the guts to come up to me. Just as I was getting ready to leave, he walked over and introduced himself. I told him my name and walked away. The whole next day, I kept running into him and teasing him. By the evening, he had worked up the courage to dance with me. After the music ended, we went for a walk that ended in fucking under a tree by the local soccer field. He had the biggest dick I have ever had the pleasure of fucking. We moved from the tree to the picnic table, to the grass, to the chain link fence. It was the best public sex I have ever had. I couldn’t help but laugh the next day when I saw people eating lunch on the picnic table! When I went home to my husband the next day, my pussy was still sore from that night.

Note to self: attend more music festivals.

My significant other, to whom I am committed, simply does not come close to meeting my sexual needs. Of course I masturbate. But it’s not enough.

I consider making overtures to a friend, who has the same situation.

My S.O. has said, when speaking in generalities: ”If you have sex with someone else, I don’t ever want to find out about it.” Tacit approval?

My friend’s S.O. has basically said, when speaking in generalities: ”No.”

Half of my reason for not approaching my friend is my fear of rejection. The other half is my old-fashioned concerns about ”cheating.” (I never have.)

You just reminded of that three-part series on sex starvation in relationships that I was planning to write, and damned if I didn’t write only two. I’ll be addressing that soon.

Quite a few Thanksgivings ago, my wife and I watched an episode of HBO’s Real Sex that included a segment about women anally penetrating their men. My wife asked me if I’d like to try it, I tried to brush it off with a ”maybe” but the seed was planted in my perverted mind. Now all I want her to do is to take control and fuck me with a strap-on, but she wants me to lead the way on our endeavor. I’ve told her that I want it. I’ve purchased latex gloves and a sex toy for anal play. She will play with my asshole while I lick her pussy. But I’m frustrated that I have to make all the moves when I want her to dominate me. I want her to make me her slut. I understand that starting anal play involves communication, but I want to feel like her toy. I’m so frustrated.

Communication and feeling like a toy aren’t mutually exclusive. If you ease her into pegging you by initiating and walking her through it, she’ll have a chance to get comfortable with it on her own terms. Then you can start vividly describing how she’d take charge in your fantasies and take baby steps toward that. She might find a dominant top deep within somewhere along the way, or might at least learn to fake it once in a while as a special treat.

In my mind, this plan is going to work flawlessly. Good luck!

You know how they say an icicle is the best murder weapon, because the evidence melts away? Its also the best dildo when your mother is not only super conservative, but isn’t shy about searching your room. I found the pleasure of female ejaculation with a hunk of ice and an electric toothbrush.

Laramy, who looked over my shoulder a bit as I compiled this week’s ConTuesdy, says he can’t get the image of licking a frozen metal pole out of his mind. I really hope using an icicle as a dildo is nothing like that. Absolutely nothing.

Affordable electric toothbrushes seem like a godsend to young women who don’t have easy, discreet access to sextoys. Glad you’re having fun.

Send your sex secrets here. It’s anonymous and it’s highly gratifying.

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I’m aware that it’s only Tuesday, but by gum it’s been a long week. All I really want to do at the moment is fuck and sleep and fuck. In that order. So I’m doing this quickly, so I can get down to the one or the other. Preferably the both.

Any typos I make will be ignored until later, when I surreptitiously edit them and hope you didn’t notice.

Here are some confessions from the denizens of the internet!

I just bought my first vibrator yesterday! Its awesome!

I know, right?

Tonight, I lost my having-penis-in-vagina-virginity in a threesome. I’m not attracted to him or his girlfriend, and feel a little smug in having been the most attractive person in the room. They did it to ”spice up that side of their relationship.” I didn’t think it would affect me, but I feel… funny. A little depressed. It wasn’t very good at all, and from this point forward I will refer to this guy as turtlepenis, because it was hiding in its shell–didn’t even stick out–when he pulled his pants off. And now I wonder what having (penis-in-vagina) sex with someone I’m actually attracted to is like.

I’ve had sex with people I’m insanely attracted to and I’ve had sex with people I’m not-so-attracted to. I have to say, the former wins. Hands down.

It’s wrong to snoop. But that friend’s bedside drawer only takes a second to open and then close. Am I the only one who’s done this? I don’t look in bathroom medicine cabinets. I don’t look in checkbooks. I don’t go stand outside windows and look at people. But here, in this dark room of anonymity, I’ll confess that I’ve been a repeat offender at looking through bedside drawers and in sock drawers to see sex toys (I don’t handle them). I’ll tell you, something: I’ve almost NEVER been wrong, and I’ve got a weird sense of where the toy[s] will be hidden.

Usually my thinking goes: ”I knew it! Good for her/him!”

I would be very surprised if you were the only one who does this. How about it, gentle readers? Have you peeked? I have not, but my friends and I tend to talk about sex toys so there’s really no need.

I just had the urge to share with the web that relationships do get a second and even third creative sexual wind. After 19 years of togetherness me and my wife have just given anal a go (and she loved it to both our surprices) and are considering a threesome – so were there is love there is hope!

I’m not even kidding when I say that this confession makes me feel a whole lot better about the world. Thanks!

Confess! It’s not too late!

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Here are some interesting facts about ConTuesday, the best sex confession apparatus on the entire server that hosts my website!

• ConTuesday isn’t here to judge you.
• ConTuesday is a Pisces.
• ConTuesday is patient. Or rather, requires patience. If you’ve ever sent in a sex confession and had to wait weeks or even months to see it appear here, there’s a perfectly good reason for that. That reason is called lead time. I mostly, more-or-less post them in order, but sometimes I’ll nudge one to the front or hold it back for a couple extra weeks to put it in a theme post. Your confession will appear… it just might be next year.
• ConTuesday is subject to the whims and foibles of an evil villain named QP, who is rumored to have a monkey tail.

I’m in my 20s, but most of the time people see me and assume I’m around 15. I’ve been told that I seem to exude a sort of virginal, innocent exuberance. That makes me feel twice as wonderfully naughty when I’m walking around town with a plug up my ass, carrying a purse full of floggers and vibrators and strap-ons.

Virginal innocence and butt plugs are complementary colors.

The closer I’ve gotten to my male best friend over the years, the more he’s come to see me as a sister. Most of the time I see him as a brother, but once in a while I love to ”innocently” start pushing all his buttons. I know that I’m exactly his type, physically and mentally. It’s insanely fun to watch him start getting all hot and bothered. He tries so hard to hide it, and I pretend not to notice. Such a wonderful power trip!

I’ve learned to gauge the health of my relationship by my wandering eyes. When our relationship is solid and healthy, I don’t find most other men sexually attractive in more than an aesthetic way, and fantasies about people I know are rare. When our relationship is rocky, I start fantasizing about my guy friends during sex. When the shit really hits the fan between us, I start wondering what it would be like to be in a relationship with one of my guy friends, and I start getting seriously turned on just talking to them.

The problem is that I really, really like my fantasies about my guy friends. They’re ridiculously hot, partly because I don’t know what they’d really do in bed. Unfortunately, when my relationship is solid, I can’t for the life of me get those fantasies going in my head. Damn it, I don’t want to miss out on my hottest fantasies when I’m happy!

Play fights, maybe? Hell, I don’t know; I think about fucking my friends all the time. (Sorry, friends!)

I IM’d my friend last night and told him I liked his voice. I told him there was no context, but in reality I’d been listening to sex stories wishing he’d been ordering me around. Oops.

I’ve only been with four people. My first was with 15 girls before me and I was always for some reason pissed off about it because I haven’t had the chance to fuck as many. My guy now, I won’t let him tell me because I don’t want to resent his win over me. Between relationships, I feel extra compelled to boost my number. Exactly how unhealthy/rare is this outlook?

It isn’t any of either! I don’t really stress about my number either way, but on some level I can’t help but think it’ll be a damn shame to die without fucking all the attractive people in the world first. (Sorry, friends!)

Many years ago, I had sex with my friend’s husband. We’re going to a party tonight, at their house, and I’m dreading it because he won’t ”let it go” and understand that it’s never going to happen again. Sadly, it has nothing to do with the fact that he’s my friend’s husband that is keeping me from doing it (incidentally, they are ”swingers”) but the fact that he won’t stop asking for it AND he is the worse sex I’ve ever had. I’m so tempted to just come out and tell him that I’m not interested and, if he keeps it up, tell him exactly why.

Final fact: ConTuesday is written by you. Confession your secrets here!

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Once, long ago, I said a thing to my good friend Miriam Spiralti, and she never forgot it. In fact, in a way, I think she believes it encapsulates my personality. In her mind, this is probably my catch phrase. At least she brings it up a lot and cracks up every time. And what is it? I’ll tell you.

“Sometimes you just want a dick in your ass.”

The reason Miriam finds this statement so profoundly hilarious is the simple reality that no, she does not in fact ever just want a dick in her ass. But obviously I do.

Interestingly, I divulged this information before ever having successful, non-painful anal intercourse. But there was this craving that existed long before pleasure was thoroughly invoked. I’d grasped tantalizing teasers of how great it could be, but always cut with discomfort and pain because I was too passive and ignorant to insist on lube. But my body still knew what it wanted. Bodies are weird that way.

So I’m not really sure why it took me so long to try a butt plug.

I have a hard plastic slimline vibrator that I allocated for ass duty, and it enhances my fapping considerably. But putting things like fingers and hard plastic and rose quartz up your ass isn’t quite the same as using something firm-yet-squishy like a penis* or, say, the premium silicone Tantus Little Flirt.

The Little Flirt is wee, only an inch(ish) in diameter at its thickest (not counting the base, which is rectangular and flared). It is definitely a beginner’s plug. There’s a Big Flirt, which I haven’t tried yet, for those who feel that they’ve graduated to something bigger. The Little Flirt is, well, little.

The silicone is softer than I expected, but in practice it feels right. It and the tapered tip allow for comfortable insertion with a little water-based lube (keep in mind that silicone lube and silicone toys can result in silicone mess), but the shape retains a good degree of integrity even if you’re gripping the hell out of it in the throes of an anal orgasm, although the toy can sometimes feel dangerously close to being pushed out if the orgasm is mighty.

Let’s talk shape for a moment, shall we? Its contours are modest but you can feel every flare and cinch of them because they are happening in your butt. It’s awkward that I can’t really compare it to other anal-specific toys, but here’s what I know: it feels good when I have it in while I’m masturbating. And I keep meaning to try it whilst fucking.

In the interest of journalistic rigor (or something) I decided to bring the Little Flirt grocery shopping with me. While it was inside me, if you didn’t happen to infer that all on your own. Some people like to have a butt plug in all day, and premium silicone is one of the safer materials to use for that purpose. So I decided to go for it, although prolonged butt obstruction isn’t really a turn-on for me.

I want to be very clear that I was wearing sweatpants, no makeup, and I still had bedhead at two in the afternoon when I embarked on this adventure. It just goes to show you that the person wearing the butt plug in your local grocery store will often not be the first person you’d guess. Anyway, here’s what happened:

2:00 PM (in bedroom, just after insertion): This is going to be awesome. I think I’m already getting a little wet.

2:05 PM (leaving house): It feels like it might possibly slip out at some point. Get ready to be embarrassed, me.

2:10 PM (in car): It can’t possibly fall out while I’m sitting down. I am an evil genius.

2:15 PM (in parking lot): I can sort of see how someone could wear a butt plug all day.

2:20 PM (walking around store): How in the goddamn do people wear butt plugs all day long? It’s getting wicked uncomfortable now that I’m walking around. I need to adjust the Little Flirt a bit as I pass the makeup aisle. I hope it just looks like I have a wedgie.

2:30 PM: This feeling. The one in my butt. I do not love it. Also, Christmas music alfuckingready? Is that seriously what we’re doing today?

2:40 PM: The bathroom is now on the opposite side of the store. I am trapped on the far end of the grocery store with a piece of food-grade silicone in my ass. I brought this on myself.

2:45 PM: I WANT TO GO HOME –Oooooh almond milk’s on sale– RIGHT NOW PLEASE.

I’m going to go ahead and call this experiment “not a success”. I can’t tell you whether my shopping adventure would’ve gone better with another plug. Maybe I’m just not cut out for taking anal play to the streets.

The biggest downside to the Little Flirt, though, is really that it’s more gateway drug than toy. There’s the kind of pleasure that’s whole and satisfying unto itself, and then there’s the kind that ignites a burning need for more, NOW. We’re dealing with the latter kind. The Little Flirt is a warmup, a tease, a… actually, it’s exactly what it says it is. It’s a flirt.

In short, it is a beginner’s anal toy. It might not take long for you to crave something bigger, but it’s excellent for getting over your novice timidity.

Thank you, Babeland!

(image source)

*Apologies to people with penises for insinuating that your organs are anything short of titanium-hard, but you know what I mean, right? Rest assured that I find penises  much firmer than this toy, for what it’s worth.

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Do you ever look at your arsenal of sex toys and think, “I feel like none of these dildos are, you know, steampunk enough to grace my privy parts.” Honey, we’ve all been there. It’s embarrassing when there’s nary a gear nor a speck of bronze spray paint on one of the things that you own!

Enter Lady Clankington and her Cabinet of Carnal Curiosities, home of the Little Death Ray and soon-to-be home of the Butt Rogers Uranium Pistol.

I’d have to get my hands on one of these puppies to really weigh in on whether they’re spectacular sex toys. My guess is that they’re really going more for the novelty angle. Basically, we have a standard-issue slimline vibrator, or a slightly more interesting contoured (glass? pyrex?) butt plug seated in a cute gun-like handle. I’m not sure if the handles are porous, toxic, made of licorice, perfectly safe and easy to disinfect, or what. It would, however, be kind of fun to see one of these as a prop at a steampunk or Sci Fi convention. Is it sexual harassment if I keep it holstered?

The website is young, so more information should appear soon. I really can’t wait to see what the Dueling Academy section is all about. The game is afoot!

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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!

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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.

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This week all of the confessions are just a little more meta than usual. Enjoy!

Last week’s FWB confession made me want to confess this: Sometimes I hope that my former FWB’s current girlfriend will leave him after the kid is born… they’re only together because she’s pregnant, and I really miss his dick…

In relation to your post on penetration. I’m a guy who enjoys the occasional “pegging” by his girlfriend. And I do not feel particularly dominated by the experience. I asked for it, the first time we did it, and it always feels like I’m perverting her, that I am, in essence, controlling and dominating and corrupting her; she never gets off on it, although she comes close. It’s not the case, though, as she quite enjoys it; this had been a fantasy of hers for almost precisely the reasons mentioned in the article – the idea of domination. So we’re both feeling like we’re dominating and corrupting the other. The more confessional part? I haven’t really told her how I feel about it because I’m pretty sure it would lessen her enjoyment of the experience that I’m still feeling in control of the situation.

I’m challenging myself to send in 1 confession a week, even if it means creating adventures just to have something to send in each week.

You’re pretty much the coolest ever.

That doctor who chopped up little girls makes me sick, but Truth: my girlfriend’s clitoris is too big for my taste. I’ve not mentioned it to her,  I definitely don’t want her to be self-conscious about it. It still weirds me out and effects my attraction level. I know part of loving someone is realizing that those details aren’t important in the big picture, but it’s a turn off anyway. And I feel bad about it.

Why don’t you go have an adventure and then tell me about it?

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When you’re disabled you learn to live with limitations. That’s really the definition. No, I can’t drive that far. Sorry, I won’t be able to make it. I can’t keep up unless you slow down. Today I can’t get out of bed…even to shower. Fuck. These are sometimes the brutal facts.

In our culture, it’s seen as a virtue to scoff at personal limitations. We’re supposed to face our fears, defy the odds, and pull up our bootstraps. We look to the limitless, the boundless. We dream big damn dreams. We wait, breath abate, for the singularity.

Where does disability fit into this mindset? Disabled people are viewed in one of a few ways, generally: There’s the disabled person with some hope of a cure, a return to normalcy. There’s the disabled person who maneuvers around her obstacles to do something truly astonishing, like painting photorealistic landscapes with just her eyelashes. Then there’s the dreary, non-transcendent disabled person, whom you pity.

So basically, you can inspire hope or inspire pity. And you’d better have a phenomenal talent or something curable if you want to be in the hope club.

Of course there’s also the disabled person whose disability is less visible to the casual observer, but they don’t get the “disabled” tag at a glance. This last group doesn’t have it easy by a long shot, because it’s harder to get a break. The human attention span tends to gloss over the fact that you need special considerations or extra time. You have to remind people. They might even wonder if you’re not kind of sort of milking the issue. And like it or not, when you’re disabled sometimes it really sucks to have people expect you to function at the level of able-bodied people. Sometimes you might want special treatment because you goddamn need it.

I never thought that much about physical limitations until I got sick five years ago. Before that point, physical limitations meant worrying whether I’d fit into my skinny jeans. Needless to say I took my body and my health for granted. If I felt like dancing all night, we’re dancing! If I wanted to wake up at 5 A.M. to run a few miles, that’s what happened. I was the boss, and my body more or less did my bidding.

But losing control over your very motions is an extremely convincing way to learn that you’re not the boss of shit. Losing your balance teaches you that you’ll have to be a little more democratic about your “what me and my body are doing today” decisions. Chronic pain and exhaustion pin you to the mattress and make you give them your lunch money after screaming uncle uncle uncle. And you learn about physical limits in a way you never conceived of before. Sure, acute illness is a decent exercise in understanding this. There’s a point in a particularly horrible flu when you might wonder if you’ll ever feel normal again. You’re weak and suffering and you can’t imagine going to kickboxing class or walking your dog. In those moments, you probably kind of get it. But if you’re anything like I was, you forget those feelings within hours of beating the bugs back and emerging from the virulent mist.

The fact is, physical limitations are something we all live with even if we don’t pay much attention to them. You’re not going to jump 19 feet in the air. Ever. You’re probably never going to win an Olympic Medal. Sorry. You can’t sing G above high C. Unless, you know, you can. My limitations are just a little more depressing. For instance, I can’t walk to the bathroom right now without clinging to walls all the way there.

I’m committed to pushing my body as far as I can, when it’s wise to do so. I guess I still view myself as a disabled person who has hope, as ridiculous as that system of perception is. I want to burst through my limits and achieve the (currently) impossible (for me). But for now, I have these limits, see.

And one of them has exactly nothing to do with my illness or disability, and it’s this: WHY can’t I have my ass fucked in any other position than on my side, spoons style? What the hell is going on with my ass? Is it some kind of crooked freak or something? Seriously, anal is intolerably painful for me in every other position, but in that one magical set-up it’s amazing. I think I’ll say it again: What the hell is going on with my ass?

(image source)

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Countless times I’ve heard and read about how a woman is inescapably and biologically submissive: the penetrated, the supine, the taken. The image of being overcome and driven into is the source of apocryphal radical feminist notions that all penetration is at best a violent act, at worst automatic rape.

But to me, having something plunge inside an orifice that’s all-too-happy to accommodate it doesn’t feel all that passive. Nor does gripping that something in the crush of my mighty orgasm. Of course I’ve felt myself in the submissive position in sex before– in ways both lovely and horrible, but being penetrated wasn’t the factor that made it so.

One of the most alarming and saddening articles I’ve ever read on the subject of sex was Virginia Vitzthum’s 1999 Strap-on Epiphany. In it, Virginia recounts her experience of pegging (before it was called that) her boyfriend, Adam.

The article starts innocently enough. Sure, it flirts with the idea that a woman allowing someone to enter her body is empowering in its vulnerability or something, but it really doesn’t disturb me until she actually starts fucking Adam. Once she penetrates him, shit gets weird. (I refuse to resist pointing out that the link to the second page of this article says “Defiling Adam”. This is indicative of exactly the attitude you’re about to see.) Observe:

As “my” huge appendage disappeared inside him, his eyes showed shame, trust, fear and a sort of helpless adoration. In a way I’d never understood those words before, he was mine. The knowledge I could really hurt this person by being less than careful made me feel responsible, protective. The vulnerability appalled me at the same time; it was vaguely disgusting that he would let someone do this to him. Mixed in with the disgust was possessiveness. The thought of anyone else penetrating him seemed revolting. These observations clicked into place in quick succession; I felt like a projector being loaded with slides of maleness, of male seeing.

…I was conquering, silent, responsible, the taker. With his legs spread, Adam was agreeable, inviting, ashamed, taken.

When I first read this I was shaken. I’d never used a strap-on, and I wasn’t a man, so I felt completely unequipped to answer the question of IS THIS TRUE? Does penetrating someone really give you contempt for them? Is the act of being penetrated disgusting and weak somehow? This Virginia bitch had really upset me by suggesting that the sexual interactions I was having may be entirely different (in troubling, corrupt ways) to the people I was sharing them with.

I asked a few male friends, my boyfriend at the time. Some said, “Yeah, that sounds about right,” and some said “She’s overthinking it.”

In truth, I think that some people might equate penetrating with power, but it’s not an inevitable conclusion. Virginia’s views here weren’t objective, and they tell us more about her than they necessarily do about “men”. They tell us nothing about the native symbolism of a sex act.

Are you submissive to the food you eat? Is a canteen at the mercy of the water inside it? Eclipsing, holding, consuming, overlapping, absorbing aren’t words of weakness to me. We choose to think of the partner who welcomes the other into his/her body in such passive terms, but that’s choice, that’s perspective. It’s not innate to the nature of sex; it’s a commentary on our social paradigm.

I’ve had moments when I had a cock inside me and I was conquering, silent, responsible, the taker. Well, not silent, but close enough. And I refuse to be surrendering, tractable, helpless, and (wtf?) ashamed just because it feels good to fill my holes anymore than I would presume to project those words onto a guy I was pegging. It’s fucking piffle, is what it is.

…So 1999, anything else you want to tell me about sex? I’m all ears.

(image source)

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