quizzical pussy

Better late than never.

QP, this isn’t a confession, but please, PLEASE tell us how you met all your awesomekinky friends. I so want to live this life. I feel like I’m wasting mine – live with my parents, never had a long-term relationship, masturbating so much my clit is officially pushing up the daisies… I’m fucked-up and kinky and interested in all sorts of cool things and I want to meet other fucked-up kinky interesting people! With blue hair!

Tips? Should I get into theater or something? Should I move to Seattle? I heard Seattle has a great poly/kink scene. I dunno, probably I’m just stereotyping people and I need to be more open-minded. But I still can’t help thinking I want to find a cute butch girl and fall in love and use a feeldoe. How does one find other people who might be interested in such things?

My greatest talent may be recruiting amazing people onto my team. Okay, I actually can’t take a lot of credit for this because most of the time I don’t know how it happens or how I could have possibly deserved it. I can tell you, though, some of the major things I changed in my life between having a lot of the problems you have and now.

So, you’re trying to build a ridiculously awesome phalanx of glorious freaks. Here are my tips for you.

1. Become the kind of person you want to hang out with. Ideally, this will have the primary benefit of making sure you’re always in marvelous company, even if you’re alone. As a side benefit, the kind of people you want in your life will sense that you’re their kind of people. Interested in cool things? Do as many of those cool things as you can. Like people with killer style and flamboyant hair? Maybe you’d like yourself with those things. And if you don’t already, figure out how to love yourself.
2. Find the others. The internet will help you immeasurably here. I have friends and loved ones that I met at events I found on Fetlife (sign up if you haven’t, and don’t look for people as hard as you look for local events), through OkCupid (sign up if you haven’t, answer lots and lots of match questions, and pay attention to match/friend/enemy percentages. They aren’t perfect, but they’re indicative of like-mindedness and compatibility), and through mutual friends. If you’re a fan of something (particularly gaming or science fiction) try to find a convention you can go to; geeks are very often deviants. Some of my kinky friends I’ve known over a decade; some are recent additions. Some grew up a few miles away from me; some were born a continent away. They’re everywhere, people like you. We’re hiding everywhere in plain sight.
3. When you find people like you, be open. Share yourself with them, be interested in them. Care about them. Help them and accept help. Be an awesome friend to them because you’re lucky to have found each other.
4. Live life as much on your own terms as possible. If you feel that your current living situation is restricting you and it’s in your power to change it, do so. If you’ve explored what counterculture your current area offers and found it lacking, go elsewhere if you can. Go to Seattle if that idea speaks to you. Try new things. Take chances. Experiment a great deal. Look like an idiot sometimes.

Anxious-type confession.

Today was a day I was pretty damn bad at the sexy. Messed about in the shower this morning and couldn’t manage to please the penis of the penis-owner with whom I was messing about. Hands didn’t work (I pulled. Like accidentally HAULED on that sucker.), mouth didn’t work (I am ashamed to admit that I unintentionally bit), slippery soapy grinding, nope (kept staggering, having various limbs in uncomfortable positions etcetera). It made me sad.

And on top of that I’ve taken my first-ever birth-control pill in preparation for my first round of PIV sex so I will not be making of the babies, and I’m freaking the fuck out about all the horrible things that the hormones might do to my body… or worse, my libido.

Insert kinda sad face.

I hope your body likes the hormones and the penis pleasing is coming along nicely and happy face.

So, not terribly juicy, but I have had a crush on a certain someone since I was too young to know what a crush even was. First person I’d ever thought about kissing, and even throughout a very happy marriage to somebody else, extremely attracted and all weird with blushiness whenever we spoke.
FINALLY, after 26 years of waiting, in a position to maybe start a relationship, and he took up smoking.

What a colossal WASTE of TWENTY-SIX years of anticipation, because all that attraction gone.

Dear smokers: I’m starting to suspect you’d have more fun if you quit.

Love,

Quizzical Pussy

I’ve recently discovered that nothing turns me on faster than having my partner pin me down while he fucks me. During sex, oral, even masturbating by myself, it’s just… damn. I’m not a very muscly person, and generally speaking, having concrete evidence of how much stronger than me somebody is kind of freaks me out. But for some reason, with him it just makes me feel completely safe and loved. Also short-of-breath and tingly in the nether regions, but that almost feels like a side benefit.

Sweet Horus, I love being pinned down (by the right person). I’m not sure “safe” and “loved” are my key words on that one so much as “aroused”, but this is adorable.

I love it when I drag the ridge on the corona of my cock against her G spot as I’m on the upstroke. When I first started sex, I thought that the upstroke was a lost stroke, only good for getting some negative space to fill, and grind that clit with my pubis.

Now? I know that the Out stroke is as good as the In stroke, near enough.

I feel like I just learned something about having a non-silicone penis.

So I’ve recently figured out this whole squirting thing, and am pretty sure I could adequately direct a partner to get me to squirt. Problem is, I don’t want to. Know that whole “ladies you feel like you’re going to pee but that’s just your orgasm building up” business? Welp, for me, it’s not just the orgasm. Sometimes a dribble of urine comes out on the first orgasm. I have no way of telling when it will happen. And I really don’t want to gross out any of my primary partners.

Squirting is novel at first, and the orgasm is really good, yeah, but–urine or not– some of us still prefer not to make that huge of a wet spot. I mean, I get that it’s not a choice for a lot of people, but for me it mostly is, and I don’t try for it very often. My body my choice, dagnabbit.

While my boyfriend and I were getting ready to go to bed, like we do every night, he started crying because he was half-afraid I was a dream and he would wake up. I grabbed a box of tissues and held him until he stopped shaking.

And I realized neither of us give a fuck about gender norms.

I have this theory that giving a fuck about gender norms really limits the amount of soul-crushingly cute one can be. This is my impression of you and your boyfriend:

Hey. Confess stuff.

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Life feels so much better when it doesn’t get dark at 5pm and the trees are starting to eat again and when you send me your deepest, darkest secrets.

I fucked my wife at her mother’s house the other day, and she kept hushing me and trying to stop the headboard from thumping. Admitedly, the next guest room over was her older brother’s bedroom, and this was early morning. Dammit, I want that headboard to thump the wall so hard that no one in the house will make eye contact for the first hour that we’re up!

Have you considered the possibility that the hushed, surreptitious nature of the sex may have added to the hotness for your wife? Because I’m considering that right now and it seems like it could potentially be legit.

I was the first poster here. Oh guess what? He was fucking guys behind my back the whole time and lying about it.

Cheating shows an appalling lack of creativity.

my best girl had her final chemo treatment 3 weeks ago (she’s free and clear and clean for now, thank everything!) and in celebration of that, she let all of her hair grow back; head, underarms, bikini and all. turns out, due to some body chemistry changes, all her hair is growing back colorless–completely white. she always used to shave before, but i’m so enamored with her healthiness wonderful self that i’ve discovered that i absolutely love her fuzzy gorgeousness. now our latest sexy euphemism is usually something along the lines of “snow white meets the 7-inch dwarf!”

There’s the creativity I was looking for, and I hope your girl recovers like a boss.

I got tacit approval.
I want to use it. I’ve a wonderful, delicious, incredibly alluring potential partner, who wants to engage in peaceful, safe, harmless sex that we know could await us. It would be epic.

But if I have to lie about it, then it feels like cheating. And that’s the thing: my spouse said, when I got the approval: ”If you ever do it with anyone else, I don’t want to know about it. Just don’t bring home any diseases.”

I can’t lie to my spouse. I’m in this relationship forever.

I will also regret, forever, not doing this.

Integrity? Or loss of incredible, explorative, loving, meaningful sex?

It’s not that I’m disturbed by non-monogamy. I’m disturbed by non-straight-forward sincerity, with my spouse. Just because my life mate is mostly non-attentive sexually does not mean that I may make presumptions.

This sucks. I want a do-over.

I don’t get don’t ask/don’t tell relationships. Will someone explain them to me? Does anyone have an relationship configured this way that they consider emotionally healthy? I am trying to imagine it and it just seems avoidant, but maybe I’m missing something.

Plus, you miss out on all those hot recaps and squeeing together after dates and stuff.

My boyfriend takes *forever* to cum. And by forever I mean routinely over an hour. We’re both really new to sex in general and I don’t know how to deal with this (needless to say, not the problem I was expecting!). I just get so tired and he ends up taking care of himself while I lay there. Any advice? The internet doesn’t consider this a problem, apparently…

I have not run into this, but I definitely see how it could be frustrating. Any advice, quizkids?

I left a confession about 3 months ago disclosing that I had managed to orchestrate a friends with benefits deal with a friend for many years. We tried sex on psychotropics (LSD) and had an incredible time (she felt like a Dianic sex-goddess, and I had an incredible full body orgasm).

More recently though we bought a feeldoe (I linked her to your various feeldoe posts which met with great approval) and have had a lot of fun incorporating that into our play. Unfortunately neither of us feel comfortable bragging about our feeldoe play to any of our real-life friends (who would pass judgment on us – prudes) but luckily on the internet you are here to brag to QP(!).

At one point I had her insert the feeldoe and wear it out whilst we had dinner at a local dining establishment. Afterwards as we walked home to my place we found a nice dark alley and I gave her long passionate blowjob and jerked her off whilst she grabbed my hair and stroked my head as I sucked her. Then she reciprocated the blowjob whilst stroking her cock. When we got home we fucked for ages and I came a second time with such intensity that I could barely remain standing.

I must brag also about what a perfect match we are; the fact that after exposing her to futanari pornography that she loves it as much as I do, even identifies and longs for that body type. And just thinking about that makes me hard for her. As a bisexual cis-male that notion is to me the best possible thing in existence and I love talking dirty to her and walking her through the male sexual response whilst we both jerk each other off.

We’re still hoping to find a willing female partner to have a threesome with, and we’re looking at buying the feeldoe stout to add to the collection and give us more options when it comes to strapless cocks.

Okay, wait wait wait. This is some motherfucking creativity. Also, I now want to use my feeldoe while on acid. Badly.

This last summer, prompted by both your urging and my recent breakup, I bought my very first dildo on BAST day! It is rather classy, opaque black glass, voluptuous and slick-smooth and ohmygod I love it…
And I rather surprised myself by discovering an oral use for it… One of my favorite submissive fantasies is being fucked by one man while another holds me down and makes me suck his cock. Quite often I will get out my new toy, and it never makes it to my pussy, because even having something even vaguely penis-shaped filling my mouth (in addition to my usual manual method) is enough to give me a more intense, trembling and breathless orgasm than I ever had before.
So, thank you for convincing me to buy a sex toy… Best Purchase Ever. :-)
(though I may have to invest in something softer for my oral fixation… one of these times I may get carried away and chip a tooth…)

This is so awesome that I will light a phallic candle for your continued dental health.

Stats: Cisgender, black, pansexual, early-20something female.

I consider this a breakthrough. It isn’t big, but it could lead to big things, so I’m counting it as such. Here goes:

So I’ve been concerned about the way I’ve always masturbated. Not because I have any issue with getting myself off (far from it) or because it was unusual in any way (ditto), but rather because I had gotten so comfy with the position over the years (on my back, legs locked straight, index fingertip rubbing the left side of the clit) that I found it flat-out impossible to get off any other way.

Until last night! I was still on my back with my legs locked, but I used my middle fingertip this time, and it actually worked (I had tried other times a bit halfheartedly with no success). Such a small difference, but it’s progress! And though it might have just been the novelty of the situation, I felt that when I came, my spasms were slightly stronger than usual. I’ll have to do a side-by-side comparison to see. *puts on lab coat and goggles*

My master plan: Practice getting proficient with each finger on my right hand (the hand I’ve always used). Then do the same with the left. Then try multiple fingers and/or different motions. Then change the position of my legs. Then try to get off my back (I’ve always wanted to be able to do it sitting up on my knees). Then mix and match various fingers, hands and positions. Then (and this is a biggie) shift from pelvic passive to pelvic active if I can.

I’ve also considered how this might affect partnered sex and intercourse. And how toys might add to the mix … but one thing at a time. Don’t wanna jump ahead of myself. I’ve never felt so on fire with my own body’s possibilities.

Wish me luck! I love your blog!

Wishing you lots of luck! One thing I have noticed about people is that we usually figure out what (if anything) gets us off one way or another. We’re phenomenal that way. We’re not always honest about it, we don’t always like the fact that it gets us off, and it might take some of us a very long time to figure it out. But we eventually figure out all or most of the things, given enough heartbeats.

Or do we?

Confess.

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I started this blog determined to never apologize for not posting. The main reason for this is the sheer hubris of the idea of assuming that people care all that much whether I put a thing on the internet or not. But also, I didn’t want to put myself in a situation where I felt I had to do something as non-vital to anyone’s survival as type naughty words. The very idea is silly.

But then I made an express commitment to post the things you send me once a week, so I owe you this explanation for the recent two-week ConTuesday lapse: There was just no fucking way, you guys. My health has been a bitch, then I moved to a place that has required a great deal of work to make even borderline habitable. Then came a massive shift in my personal life. I love you and I love this blog and I love ConTuesday, but there was no fucking way.

But here I am, back, as you always knew I’d be. Typing naughty words.

Cuntodactyl.

To come, I need a narrative; so much so that I’ve got a major hobby in writing smut, and much of it reflects the stuff that I invent and refine trying to get my rocks off. That can be tiring and time consuming, so normally it takes me a while to get there.

But it turns out, I can also come just fine while watching hentai. And very, very quickly, since I don’t have to hold the narrative all by myself. w00t! who said girls don’t like visual porn, again? :D

People who say that girls don’t like any particular thing are necessarily wrong. Some people look down on using equivocal language, but I’d feel so horribly inaccurate without it! Also, though, yay for getting off! I quite like it myself.

I waxed to please my partner and now I’m disgusted by my body, have zero sex drive, and am grossed out that he thinks it looks good. ….help…..

You tried it, and waxing is clearly not for you. It grows back eventually, and I hope it does so swiftly and decisively. If your partner is making huge deal out of it, I would think a conversation about how much you hate being bald is in order. If he’s just enjoying it but not pressuring you, try to remember that he’s used to seeing naked genitals as much more sexualized than natural ones. Doesn’t mean your genitals have to fall in line with that or that he can’t tweak the common societally ingrained fashion-based reaction; it’s just that it’s not necessarily personal. But of course, neither is getting turned off by the fact that he’s turned on by something. Maybe that’s a deal-breaker, and that’s valid.

I’ve been reading your archives, and I masturbated to your descriptions of abuse by your ex-boyfriend Reginald Sleeth. (I’m really heavy into D/s.) I’m absolutely horrified by it and for that reason it turns me on like crazy. Sorry. (I’m a young woman, if that matters.)

You know what? I’m really just happy that that stupid, senseless farce of a relationship is now doing something useful for someone.  Everyone has my permission to masturbate to my horror stories as long as you promise not to abuse your partners. I think that’s fair, right?

So I hope it isn’t terribly terrible (but only rather terrible) of me to make this about me, but thank you for your writing about Reginald. Even though my own experience didn’t involve physical violence, I feel validated in calling it abuse. I also feel less alone in how fucked up I am because of it. Also maybe a little less convinced it makes me a terrible person, because you seem pretty awesome, so.

I’m posting this as a companion confession to the one above because I feel like they’re two sides of the same silver-lined coin. It isn’t terrible at all. I mean, it’s terrible that you’ve had to deal with abuse– I really hate that part. But if reading about my experiences has helped you come to terms with that abuse (which doesn’t reflect on you as a person whatsoever, just so you know) in any way, that is quite honestly the best reason I can think of for continuing to write about them.

When I write about things like my ill-advised soda bottle dildo experience I sometimes forget that the Reginald parts of the story are horrifying. I’ll think, hey this is kind of a funny story, and what about that wacky Reginald acting in typical douchebaggy Reginald ways? Classic Reginald! And I don’t concentrate much on how fucked up the whole thing was. This may be part of the reason I’m still not amazingly good at relationships and trust and stuff. Because it was fucked up. Incredibly fucked up. And just because that was how I learned to relationship doesn’t mean it was or is acceptable. I want us all to learn that.

I’ve just started seeing a guy who can push all my buttons in the best possible ways. Orgasms of a frequency and intensity I’ve never experienced before. Internet high-five, right? Not quite so much.

See, I was raised with”good girls don’t”. My brain wants to think that’s total bullshit, but I can’t quite seem to stop believing it. I enjoy the sex while it’s happening, but afterwards I feel self-conscious and a little ashamed. I hate it and I want it to go away so I can enjoy my sex in peace!

Good girls are mythical creatures who are born to embody parental wish fulfillment. People are multidimensionally good and bad and fucked up and strong and ecstatic and silly and getting closer every day to ending this go-around. People deserve–and are enriched by– amazing sex. I could not care much less what good girls do or don’t do any more than I care what manticores eat for breakfast. (Okay, I care a little what manticores have for breakfast, and I think it’s probably Special K in warrior blood.)

In my long-standing tradition of giving advice where it isn’t expressly asked for, I think you should keep in mind that you’re people, and no one is a good girl, and you are worth more than having to try to be a mythical thing that doesn’t–and will never– exist.

And I’m just going to fucking ::internet high five:: you anyway, so deal with it.

I am in school studying for a career in the medical field. Recently I ran into another older student I recognized from last semester and asked her if she’s studying to become a nurse. “No.” she tartly replied. “Bodily fluids. I can’t do bodily fluids.” I managed to rein in my urge to blurt “Shit. I must’ve drunk GALLONS of them by now.” I’d hate to freak out a future colleague, now, wouldn’t I?

Gallons, huh? I think I’ve fallen behind somehow…

I bought my first vibrator, a cheap one from the drugstore, a couple of months ago. It’s been much appreciated but it’s at the end of its life. While before, I was hesitant, now I am super keen for more toys. I was browsing the internet for toys and now I want more than I can afford! Do I get a cheap-ish bullet and kegel balls first and then a better set of varied vibrators or the set of vibrators first and then the kegel balls?? Do you have opinions on Leo Luna Love Balls? I could do with more reliable orgasm (sometimes it just doesn’t happen :( ) and I’ve heard good things about them. Plus the idea of walking around in public, going to classes and for drinks with them inside me is super hot. Too many decisions.

I haven’t tried the Lelo balls, but I have the Fun Factory Smart Balls, and they’re lovely, especially to wear about town to make yourself a little crazy before a hot date (with lover or toy). Careful, quizkids, sex toy collecting is a serious addiction and I totally suport it.

Memo to self: stop jerking off right after taking anti-depression meds, at least if you’ve already jerked off once that day. Twice now the 45-minutes-of-trying-without-relief-before-giving-up has happened, you could really stand not to experience that again ever.

I don’t think that sounds like much fun, no. I wish I could donate orgasms to people. Not in a creepy way!

Hey QP! My girlfriend (and fellow QP reader) and I are in a long-ish distance relationship, with us going to universities in different cities. While it’s a bit tough being apart a lot of the time for school, every time we get together it is just absolutely awesome. Just this last weekend makes for an awesome example…

The two of us had just done some sexy times and in our pleasant state decided to snuggle up and just enjoy holding each other. My hands started to get a bit antsy so I started softly caressing her back, hearing her sigh and moan softly as I moved them along her skin, paying attention to any spots she seemed to especially enjoy having my hands on. We ended up going for over 20 minutes of just being next to each other as I caressed her. Felt so damn good and I think she’s inclined to say the same!

Long distance relationships are tough, but those times when you do get together are so worth it.

And this week we close on a most triumphant ::internet high five:: because that is what we like to do here.

Confess!

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My nails have gotten long. Not quite is-she-really-going-to-put-those-talons-in-that-poor-girl’s-pussy-OH-MY-GOD-RUUUUUUN long, but pretty damn long. It’s getting annoying. Hold on a minute.

There. Better.

I used to keep them long all the time. I’ve never bit my nails; never picked at them. They waxed fat and elegantly tapered. It was down, I explained, to growing up younger than my two sisters, who loathed me on sight and liked to beat up on me. They weighed more and punched harder, but I was quick and squirmy and I had ten sharp little stilettos to fight back with. My mom had to resort to cutting my nails while I slept; otherwise I’d fight it. Over the years I got used to them and they just stayed that way. Once or twice I even painted them.

This may be why I never much got into the habit of fingering myself. It’s not how I learned to masturbate. From the very first I favored neater, less dangerous clitoral stimulation. In case you’re new here, you should know that this utterly belies my passionate love of penetration. Sex with no penetration of any kind is exceedingly frustrating for me. Maybe it reminds me of masturbation. Fucked if I know.

It was somewhere around the time I started seriously thinking about fucking women that I began to trim my nails with any regularity. The two main reasons were (a) Hypothetical compassion. The feel of untidy nails raking against one’s vaginal wall? I know it of old, and we are not on friendly terms. And (b) Everyone knows that it’s 78% less likely you’ll be scoped out as a pussy-loving person if your nails don’t look up to the task. That made up statistic is especially true if you tend toward the femme spectrum of gender presentation, as I do.

I want to make it manifestly clear that it greatly pleases me to get scoped by ladies. Oh, goodness yes! Ladies, mack on me freely. Please do.

Upon cutting my nails I immediately realized I’d just halved my dexterity stat: I was cudgeling things rather than picking them up. But I knew I looked considerably more lesbionic while flopping around with these ridiculous hotdogs where my tweezers had proudly perched, so I considered it a fair trade¹. And I got used to real fingers eventually. To the point where now sometimes I leave them too long, and without any natural predators like habitual gnawing they go to seed and get too lanky for my taste. Then suddenly I’m living in a bizarro world where I scold myself (“Bad lesbian!”) and can’t properly type or play a stringed instrument with nails that reach about half as high as they used to. Also, I have a girlfriend. Take that, prissy-nailed past Q.P.

The weird thing, though? I still barely ever finger myself.

1. And you know how much lesbians like fair trade, amirite? [↩]

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Are you ever pottering around the internet and find yourself wondering what kind of things and people and naked people QP likes to look at? I mean, yeah, probably not. That’s fair. But I still feel like it’s weird that I forgot to mention I have a tumblr where I keep that stuff.

Fap to what I’m fapping to. Laugh at what I’m laughing at. Squee for what I’m squeeing for. Guess which is which. I dare you.

Sexyfriend revealed to me that he was kicked out of boy scouts for being caught naked and fooling about with another scout. No regrets on either party’s side, and I found it adorable!

Cosigning the adorability. I think of consensual, non-exploitative, regretless sexual exploration as one of the most innocent things there is because the moment we learn shame and guilt is when we actually lose our innocence. And when we unlearn shame and guilt maybe we get it back.

And I just think we should be getting badges for that kind of thing.

I am the confessor who was afraid to have sex in this ConTuesday. At the New Year I met an amazing man and being with him has helped me move past a lot of my issues. We haven’t had intercourse yet but I actually feel ready this time, like I really, truly want it. We have had amazing sex and I love him. Oh also he’s bi and he wants me to fuck his ass someday. Sometimes we pretend, and I bend him over with his face in the pillow and it’s amazing too. Yay!

I am so fucking happy for you! ::internet high five::

I was in his bed. I was on my period. His fingers were on my clit…through three layers: pants, panties, pad. It felt great, but what I needed to make me come that night was bare hands on bare pussy (sex and even dry humping weren’t options for medical reasons).

So I said, “This feels really good, but it’s more like you touching my breasts than my clit–I’m not going to come tonight, but it’s not your fault.”

I was so afraid I’d disappointed him.

Later, as we cuddled our way to dreamland, I asked him to ‘tell me something, anything.’

The anything on his mind? “I’m really glad you told me what was up when I was touching you earlier. I would have sat here feeling guilty all night.”

For some unknowable reason, I keep feeling the need to dial back on enthusiastic/explicit consent stuff, emotional communication, emotional and sexual needs with this guy–afraid of seeming too girly, too feminist, something. But every time I ask for explicit consent, initiate emotional communication, or share my needs, it turns out to be even more necessary than I thought it was, and the results are much better than my best-case scenario.

And he thanks me, every time.

I still have my own issues with communicating about sex; I think most people do. I’m better than I used to be, but there’s still a part of me that feels unworthy of wanting things. And there’s another part of me that feels like I should just go with the flow because I’m so easy to get off anyway. And yet another part of me is pretty certain that sharing my desires will result in very bad things. But those parts of me are stupid, and on a more fundamental level every atom in my body vibrates with the understanding that talking about sex is  important and utterly wonderful when we do it right. So I squee for you.

You are awesome.

Not just for your posts (wonderful as they are), but especially for your confessionals. You claim to judge, yet you sit in wonderful care and ‘I’ statements. I have an incredible amount of respect for you for this. And not a little inspiration for striving to be a less judgmental person.

Much love for you

I sometimes feel weird about posting confessions like this, but they make my day, and you know what? I’m posting this anyway. Thank you so much for your kind words.

I just had an amazing sexting session with my former Mistress of two years. She nervously mentioned the idea of playing again … maybe with roles reversed and I soon had her begging for permission to masturbate.

After six orgasms for her and one for me I made her stop fucking herself before she got to seven. She was nearly in tears with frustration and “hating me” for how much it was all turning her on.

I’ll call this a success.

Yes. Yes, I would feel safe saying that it’s a success.

There has to be a word– perhaps in another language– for the exquisite naughtiness of being turned on by something we don’t strictly want to be turned on by (because shame and guilt and loss of innocence and lack of merit badges or, I don’t know, lots of reasons).

A couple of nights ago, we tried intermammary sex for the first time in years. I found it amazingly hot — way better than I remembered it to be, probably in part due to being in a good headspace and partly due to her being on top — and the dynamic for both of us was all smiles and gasps and goodness. Afterward, my wife said that she doesn’t see what the appeal of intermammary sex with her is to me — her breasts aren’t huge and she wonders why it’s so fun if they don’t ”grip” my cock. I told her, and now I’ll share with the QP readership: sternum on underside of cock is hot. Breasts brushing by, gently or frantically and nicely in reach, is hot. Eye contact and gasps and goodness are hot. Doing something a little different that we’d last done years ago before kids and mortgage and greying temples is hot. No change of breast geometry or cup size would change any of that.

The term “intermammary sex” would generally sound more like an antidote to hot if we were going by me (which we’re not anyway), but the fact that you had so much fun completely neutralizes that. Fuck yeah intermammary sex!

Fuck yeah sex confessions!

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There was a day this week during which every moment I wasn’t directly focused on other people I was fantasizing about killing myself or having my head bashed in with a cudgel. The good news is that the day is not today.

It was rather frightening, though. And so unaccountably weird.

Why am I even mentioning this? It’s the simple reality of the situation, but that doesn’t mean that it’s appropriate or useful to share. I don’t think I’m writing about these increasing mental health issues because I want people to pity me or make much of me. It’s okay to need attention when you’re in crisis, but I’m not asking for any. The thought of alarming anyone with this upsets me. Even worse is the thought of eliciting an awkward “Ummm why are you telling me this?” response. Honestly, I have been dealing with this almost entirely on my own so far, and successfully¹. But now that it seems to be getting so much worse, I’m forcing myself to write about it rather than keeping my head down and making jokes about dildos. Reasons:

1. This is as much of a diary as I have. While I realize other people read it, and I do try to limit myself in certain ways because of that, if I think about that too much I won’t write anything here. This is where I tend to go to be honest about my feelings. Even and especially the unpleasant ones.
2. When I get too secretive about my inner life– good, bad, or neutral– I always, always withdraw from the people in my life and feel isolated, which is not a productive way to manage self-destructive thoughts. I don’t expect anyone specific to read my blog, nor for anyone to react in any specific way. But at least I’m being honest at all, anywhere.
3. What’s going on is very weird for me. I don’t understand it, or why it’s suddenly gotten so bad. I am almost certain it’s related to a bombardier-beetle-like combination of chronic illness and hormonal weirdness. It’s also gotten worse as the days have gotten shorter in my part of the world, which could a coincidence or not. Anyway, I don’t hear much about people having out-of-the-blue suicidal ideations for a huge chunk out of the month because their lady hormones are acting up. People don’t walk around saying “Hey, so I’m on my period and I suddenly want to kill myself. You know how that goes!” And that makes me feel like this is a fairly singular experience, but maybe it isn’t. Maybe someone will google “PMS suicide” or similar and find this and feel a little less alone.

I don’t have any use for problems I can’t fix, so I’ve been tackling this issue as a project. I found two months’ worth of birth control pills left over from before Laramy got his vasectomy, and they are miraculously not expired. This is not a long-term solution for moderating my hormonal issues, but it could potentially buy me some time. I also bought a sunlamp just in case winter SAD is a factor. Today is the second day I’ve used it.

I am going to make sure next month is not this bad or die trying. Er… bad choice of words. But yeah.

1. Because look at how I’m all still alive and stuff! [↩]

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I recently went in for my six-month STI screening. Feet were placed in stirrups, blood was drawn, nethers were swabbed, and pee collected. Questions were asked and answered.

It quickly became apparent that I have too much sex¹. Specifically, sex with more people than the pleasant clinician would strictly like me to. After I silently tallied names on my fingers and told her how many people I’ve had sex with in the past year (and admitted that I don’t use dental dams), she snapped on her serious face and showed me a chart illustrating how having five sexual partners exposes me to the pathogens of 31 people. STIs are on the rise, she said.

I didn’t explain to her that I have deep emotional connections with everyone I’m sleeping with right now. I don’t think that matters to microorganisms. I understand that my lifestyle leaves me more vulnerable to infection than if I were in a monogamous relationship²; that’s why I get tested every six months. My ideologies, and to some my behavior, make me basically a slut. I accept that, and I enjoy the hell out of being one. I’m cautious and ethical about it out of respect for myself and my partners, not because I’m ashamed or have any misgivings.

The clinician loaded a paper bag with pamphlets, dental dams, and condoms for me. I don’t know what I’m going to do with all those flavored condoms; I assume there’s something sinister in them that makes them taste like something other than condom. But I can use the unflavored freebies for my strap-ons and save my fancy expensive condoms for fleshly members. Corking. “Make sure you use these every time,” she smiled, “that way you won’t have to come back and get tested again.”

“Oh, I’ll be back in six months,” I told her, also smiling. “Latex isn’t infallible, and I think routine testing is a good idea.” I didn’t mention the fact that I probably won’t use the dental dams. Safety’s important, yes. Absolutely. But realistically? Not to denigrate them, but I’m probably never going to eat pussy through a dental dam.

Thing is, I’m going to persist in being a slut. I’m going to keep getting tested. I’m going to keep having multiple partners as long as multiple awesome people want to sex me. And I’m going to try to make sure I stay free of diseases and babies and kanji tattoos³. And life will be pretty much amazing.

(image source)

1. For the record, I don’t, and in fact am convinced that’s impossible. [↩]
2. Provided neither of us cheated, which is statistically not something we can safely assume. [↩]
3. Results have come back, and I am indeed free of all these things! [↩]

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Did you know that today is International Transgender Day of Remembrance? I want to talk for a moment about how much transphobia sucks, but I don’t know firsthand exactly how much, to be honest. I know it’s worse than I can comprehend. I know it kills people. Actually, no, it’s cis people doing the killing– making the active choice to harm human beings for no other reason than their gender expression.

I want to remind cis people that we have privilege. I want the violence to stop. I want us all to stop not loving one another.

Trans* people, I can’t wrap my head around how hard it is to experience gender dysphoria, or transitioning, or living outside the binary, or transphobia, but I know it probably surpasses diamonds on the Mohs scale. I know I have some trans* readers, and some trans* confessors– maybe more than I’m aware of because not every confession discloses those kind of details, nor does it need to. It’s just another cis privilege to assume that an anonymous confession is coming from another cis person unless otherwise specified.

Now. Here are some confessions.

I have always been extremely sensitive to touch, texture, etc., to a really ridiculous degree. This results in a huge amount of pleasure for me (my favorite piece of clothing is a bamboo shirt, because it just feels SO good to wear it!) but can also be very annoying. For most of my adult life, I was so sensitive that sex was often difficult. Being touched too lightly tickled terribly. Being touched too hard HURT. Cunnilingus was impossible – almost painful. Touching my nipples without having me yelp and hit the ceiling was something that only two people (out of about 25 sexual partners) ever achieved. (It was so bad that in order to wear clothes during my period I had to put tape over my nipples). Orgasms with other people were very rare, because I just overloaded.

A few years ago I hurt my back, rather catastrophically. I’m now in chronic pain, which sucks, but it has also had an unexpected side-effect! Two years ago, I was put on a medication called gabapentin, which relieves neuropathic pain. It definitely helps with the pain, but it has also de-sensitized me somewhat, and opened up a whole new world!

Now people can suck on my nipples, stroke my belly, even lick my cunt, and I love it! It’s no longer insanely ticklish or almost painful – it’s amazing! The difference is staggering. My lovers don’t have to be ultra-careful anymore, I enjoy sex without the constant slight anxiety that I’ll be tickled at any second, I come much more easily, more often, and I’m suddenly having multiple orgasms (7 is my highest count so far). DAMN!

It’d be nice if my back stopped hurting, it really would, but I never EVER want to go off this med. I’m having more sex, with more people, and enjoying it far more now that I’m disabled by pain than I ever did when I was healthy. Chemistry for the win!

Sometimes even chronic pain has a silver lining. Mine is called “encyclopedic knowledge of nutrition and supplement esoterica”, and it seems a lot less sexy than yours, I must admit.

I have a gay friend who hates it when men ask him if he’s close. It kills his boner, well for me I hate it when people ask me if things make me wet, it kills my girl boner.

As a recently post-op trans-woman I haven’t learned yet how wet it’s even possible for me to get. So being asked means I try quantifying how wet I am as if there’s some ratio of how wet per units of horny. The math does not work!

So the confession and the lovely bit. I love it when I hear the wet sloppy sound of fingers, toys, genitals in my new vagina. I’m learning more about it every day and while I can’t tell how wet it is, I’m over come with excitement when I hear that it’s wet… very wet.

The math works for no one. The Pussy Wetness Unit (Imperial) is not the standardized metric of horniness. Even the horniest people sometimes need lube. But! ::Internet high five:: for the lovely bit.

I have bright-fucking-pink-hair and 50-inch hips. I’m plus-sized and have struggled with loving my chub-tastic-ness ever since I can remember.

And I have to say, waking up to my husband’s fingers kneading my lovely rolls and burying his face in my hair while telling me how much he wants to fuck me is the most empowering feeling ever.

This makes me smile, and not to be creepy, but I bet you’re sexy as fuck.

I’m going to miss my girlfriend’s dick once she transitions. A lot. I am, of course, super excited to have all kinds of crazy new sex and figure out how to have our old kinds of crazy sex in new ways and I love her and I love her body no matter what it’s shaped like. I’m not that enthralled about pussy, no matter how much I love women, but I suspect her pussy will convert me (in the same way that I wasn’t much on dick until I started fucking her.)

But OH MY GOD, HER DICK, IT IS SO PERFECT. It is the best dick in the entire world. It was made for my vagina. No one else will ever get to fuck that dick except me, and I will miss it until the day I die, in the same way that I get teary thinking about summers when I was a teenager driving with my friends with the wind in our hair, I will reminisce about her dick that way. I feel like a huge jerk. Like I’m not supporting her enough in her transition/identity, regardless of every other single thing I do to care for her and love her. Because I love her dick so goddamn much.

I have this feeling that you’re really going to love her pussy. Spoken as a total queer girl, I know…

I’m in a nonexclusive long-distance relationship with a beautiful woman. We met and had awesome sex before we knew about each other then names and where we’re from and sometimes I think we fell in love there and then, although it took a while for our brains to realize it.

She has two lovers, one of which she has a BDSM thing going on with for a while now. While I like a bit of kink in my sex, I use it as a spice. I’m not a BDSM person, whereas she enjoys it very much.

Because of that, I was a bit nervous and felt somewhat intimidated at the idea of her having a BDSM lover, fearing to become jealous about him giving her things I can’t give her and so on. But at the same time I felt secure enough in the relationship, and in our ability to communicate our own and respect the others feelings that I wanted to give this a try.

(If it hurt me or made me feel sad, I knew I could talk to her and we would work at a solution.)

Two days ago, she had her first Date in a while with that lover, and I was curious and excited (And nervous as hell.) to hear about it. When she told me yesterday, I realized I wasn’t jealous.

At most, I was envious, because the things she told me about made me so horny and excited, I wanted to fly to her right then and there, grab some restraints and toys on the way and do all kinds of kinky, naughty things with, and to, her. Hearing about her being dominated by her lover, and about her dominating him, gave me loads of ideas of things I’d like to try with her.

While I worry that there’s some competition thing going on there (Which I very much don’t want.), I’m still happy that, instead of feeling all jealous and hurt, I can be happy for her and excited about it instead. It makes me realize that I have grown as a person and gives me a good feeling for this still very new relationship.

Now I just need to find a way to see her more often (FU, long-distance relationship!!!) and oh what fun we will have! ^-^

Congratulations, you may be in a healthy open relationship! They’re not incredibly rare, but they take serious work and skill. You rock and your partner rocks.

I have this weird feeling in me all the time. Like there’s so many lovely people around me, and I want to do something with them, like some people I just want to watch while they’re nude, some people I want to touch or taste…

But I’m so afraid of people touching me or seeing what I look like without my clothes. It’s gotten so bad that I can’t wear thongs because they make me really, really horny, and I don’t even go to the beach anymore because I hate the way I look so much.

It’s like the more I know that I’m unlikely to ever do anything with anyone, the worse I feel and the more yearning I have.

There are people who get this weird feeling around you. Like you’re so lovely, and they want to do something with you, like see you nude, or touch you, or taste you. They want to reach inside your thong and hear your moans of pleasure. Believe it. Believe it. I assure you it is true.

Confess things!

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ConTuesday! Is imminent. Or here. Almost certainly here.

When her sighs turned to moans which turned to squeals which turned to the most compelling high-volume warbling, I finally began let up from rubbing her clit, so as not to overload her. She immediately hissed “Don’t stop!”, and the solo continued for a few seconds.

Always before, my partners had shown some reluctance to completely let go, and to be fully in the moment.

This was beautiful.

Fuck. Yes.

I tried anal play with a regular sized dildo for the first time (been scared because it hurts with just one finger) and it was only a little bit sore at the start. Then I came so hard I had trouble standing up afterwards.

It is just one of a number of things that I would never have tried where it not for you inspiring me to *ahem* experiment. Other such things include bondage and blowjobs. (No seriously, I was too scared to put my mouth anywhere near a guy’s crotch before I started reading your blog. Now I’m trying to figure out how to conquer my gag reflex and fit my husband’s porn-star-sized dick all the way down my throat. He sends his everlasting gratitude, by the way.)

Soooo, next on my list: buy a vibrating butt plug and a Feeldoe, and fap myself into a coma. Then somehow work the term ‘pegging’ into a conversation with the husband.

Okay, in the process of deciding between a quip about how nice it is that dildos don’t have fingernails and one about how prostate play is the new fantasy football, I realized that if I really, in any small way, have made anyone’s sex life better through this blog, I’m legitimately elated. More orgasms, more love, more oxytocin in the world… that’s the dream. Right there.

The best sex I ever had left me looking so beaten up I had to tell my mum I’d been paintballing. I looked like I’d been beaten up by an enraged mob and I LOVED it.

Now if I ever go paintballing I’m going to wish I were wearing much less clothing getting flung around by my hair far, far more. I guess I should thank you?

Okay, so I’m a guy, and I discovered that my hetero guy friend has been masturbating while we talk on the phone. I brought it up to him once while he was drunk, and he didn’t have much to say about it. As I say, he’s straight, so he has something invested in not admitting to masturbating while talking on the phone. I wonder why we care? I mean, it’s not MY hand on his dick. I’M not the one who’s stimulating him. And I know he pussy; I’ve seen him fuck it on more than one occasion. (And yes, I fully realize that I will receive little if any pity here for such a minor question of the labeling implications of this tiny aspect of my sexuality.)

Then, there’s me. Am I turned on by it? I don’t think so. I’m fascinated by observation, even if just aurally, of sex and masturbation. So why should it bother me to know it? I think, at this point, it’s the fact that we’re very close to the point where I’m aware and he’s aware that I’m aware, and that makes it pretty much a participatory act, regardless of whether I’m talking about sex or cars or our jobs, or whatever.

I’ve another friend, very open, who will tell me about her masturbation. Well what of it? We all do it, and as I say– ours is a very open friendship without secrets of any kind. But when she texts me about it as it’s presumably ongoing or just finished, a certain degree of my heterosexuality fires up. “Hetero” hell– my sex drive.

I and many of the people I love and fuck and possibly one or more of your friends wish we could all be more like bonobos, fucking and fapping and snorting pixie stick lines off beautifully sculpted backsides with casual abandon and without it ever getting weird. It’s a beautiful dream. Except could we take ourselves at all seriously with that hair?

I’m really excited that I’ve finally learned how to insert and use my menstrual cup because its cleaner, more environmentally friendly, etc. But I also get a kick out of going out into the world with a large silicon object in my vagina that no one else knows about. I realize you could say the same thing about tampons, but with my Divacup its exciting.

Plus, you’re keeping a little shot glass of blood warm in there and what is sexier than vampires!?!?! Probably nothing, right?

The other day, my friend said, “I have to do an observation and paper about a gender issue on campus, so I thought I’d write about your effect on campus sexuality.”

When I haven’t gotten laid–when I haven’t been kissed–in three months, that both reassures me and makes me feel like I’m fooling people.

Is it possible that your reputation as a total stud alone is affecting people campus-wide?

I, young and female, recently bought myself a new toy and I’ve discovered: putting things up my ass is a pretty sure way to make me come.

Hell yeah! Because “things” is pretty vague, though, I’m just going to leave this here:

Flared base.

I just broke a 2 year drought. That would generally be enough to brag about. However to make things even better, the friend I broke the drought with is one i’ve had some delicious unresolved sexual tension with for literally years, even prior to the drought.

Even better still? The currently casual nature of the relationship and mutual shared interest in experimenting with sex in a safe partner, including whilst on hallucinogens (also a shared interest) has already been discussed and arranged, date set and upcoming. By the time you guys read this that will have been and gone. Step after that one? MFM Threesome. If I could think of mutual female friends to join us the other would also be an option, if only you were here QP.

Best of all, we’re both very sexually compatible. In fact we match there perfectly. Neither of us is prudish about our sexuality or exploring it and we both share a common interest in delightfully long, marathon sessions of sex.

Sounds like a dream doesn’t it? Well let me assure the both of us that it isn’t, and that the power of sobriety (yes, we’re both fairly straight edge people, with only the occasional forays into psychedelics) and frank conversation led to this point and yielded immense dividends.

Long live candor, trust and all things sexy.

I think that’s a good note to close on. Candor, trust, all things sexy, orgasms, love, and oxytocin. And judicious psychedelics. I just gave you the formula for world peace, planet. Do with it what you will.

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Tuesday. Good day to read some confessions from the internet’s anonymous.

I just Googled ”sexless marriage”. Pretty sure a little part of me died tonight :(

Some people are perfectly happy in their sexless marriages. And then there are the people who aren’t, and I wish we could sprinkle them with magical orgasm dust and make their sorrows go away.

But I guess that wouldn’t be practical. I’m told magical orgasm dust is technically not a thing.

I turned down an interview last minute with an escort agency because they wanted me to shave. After decades of being told how I should look, giving up how I’ve chosen to look is the dealbreaker I never thought it’d become.

The sex industry knows better than anyone that there’s a market for how you’ve chosen to look. Fuck ‘em.

It distracts me from my work. It distracts me from my relationship. I’m getting sex maybe once a month from the woman that I live with. Our relationship is pretty good, but I’ve made no bones about the fact that sex is extremely important to me. I am vocal about my needs. I try to schedule dates. I send her texts and emails while she’s at work. I create times when we’re alone together. When we HAVE sex, she comes roughly 99% of the time. (Actually, more than me. I’m probably at 95%.)

She tells me that she feels like there’s always something more important that we should be doing. To me, the man who has told her how extremely important sex is to my relationship, this feels like a slap in the face.

Please, someone invent magical orgasm dust. People are suffering.

I know a guy with enormous hands and I’m in absolute awe of them. I keep thinking it’s like he’s got 11 cocks. I’ll bet one or two of those would feel amazing in my pussy. And other places.

The thing I adore about hands is that size is an issue, but in the most inclusive way possible: on one end of the spectrum we have tiny little fisting hands (awesome) and then there are decacock hands (also awesome). Do you see how much everybody wins all the time?

My boyfriend sometimes talks in his sleep. Last night we were cuddling and he was out like a light, he shifted and my half sleeping brain thought he was trying to get his arm back… I shifted up to let him roll over, and he wrapped his arms back around me, palm cupping my breast, pulled me close, and growled into my ear “I want you.”

Then he snored. Still, it was one of the more erotic things that’s ever happened to me, and if it weren’t for him having to get up in the morning and me being on my period ( getting up to remove a tampon would have spoiled the mood) I would have attacked him right there.

Tampons ruin spontaneity less than babies do, so it’s hard to even be mad. Also, so cute!

This isn’t very secret or exciting but more of a fun trivia from a kinky girl.

For all the things I’ve done when it comes to sex (the kinkier the better) I’ve never given oral sex!

Just the thought of having a nice, sexy dick in my mouth is revolting. Yes, I like dicks, very much actually, but not in my mouth. I do fantasise a lot of giving blowjobs, deep-throating and all such but I just can’t bring myself to actually do it when it comes down to it. Either I’m not an oral person or it’s just a hang-up and I’ll someday meet that special dick which will be my first blowjob. (Or maybe I have to get drunk and see if it works then?) The other thing is though; the thought of giving oral to a girl (sadly not tried yet) gives me the feelings that I would not mind that at all. (And then fucking her with a strapless strap-on of course!)

PS. OMFG, You are amazing! I only recently found your blog and I’m reading through all of it and have wanted to say that in every other post now.
PPS. Blowjob is such a funny name! (non-native English speaker here)

(Feel free to edit out the last part!)

I’m not editing the part where you say I’m fabulous, obviously. Or the part where you say that blowjob is a funny name, which is really just factually true.

As for the other part, oral sex isn’t for everyone. Maybe someday you’ll find the One Delicious Penis for you, but in the meantime it seems like you and your partners are having fun anyway.

I get an occasional email from a secret admirer I’ve come to believe understands me far better than does my RL boyfriend. I’ve no idea who/where he is or what he is like, but he sent me something today that for all its tameness made me want to run off into the sunset with him. There was also a stirring in my nether region. I can at least dream of escape.

If you feel like your current relationship is something you need to escape from, it seems like it mightn’t be terribly hard for a mystery person to top it. But I can see how there would be something splendid and giddy about having a secret admirer who seems to know all the right things to say, so maybe that’s all you mean. Hope so!

I have had a woman freak out at my circumcised penis. I don’t even know why I’m circumcised, I’m not Jewish or anything.

It was very disconcerting.

You might be circumcised because that’s just what happened to babies with penises in the region and time you were born. In my opinion, there isn’t a practical reason for it in most cases, and there are scads of ethical reasons not to take the choice of whether to have foreskin or not away from a person, newborn or otherwise.¹

Perhaps the woman who freaked out did so because she’s used to being sexual with men who were born in a region and time where most of the penises remained intact. Where I come from, women are more likely to freak out over uncircumcised penises.

They’re just penises, ladies. Relax.

Confess things.

1. I cannot mention circumcision without the requisite “stop cutting children’s genitals!” statement and I’m not even going to try. [↩]

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