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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Just kidding. Enjoy your cocoa and orgasms.

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

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

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

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

Sex Confessional

1. May not have actually happened in reality.

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Um, what?

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

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

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

Woohoo! Motherfucking internet high five!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Tell me something about yourself.

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For about thirty minutes last week my kissing life flashed before my eyes.

I’ve been making out with some people lately. Maybe other things too with some of them, but let’s focus for a moment on the making out. At this point in my life, if you called me a kissing slut I probably wouldn’t correct you. This is one of the ways, of course, in which my life kicks major ass.

One other way is that my health has been much better than usual for the past six weeks or so, allowing me to be out of bed and into people’s faces more. Until last week, when some acute infection brutally slapped my throat with a pus cactus. Which is why I was sitting on an examination table with a short, bright-eyed man chafing my hands, about to peer at my tonsils.

“Are your hands always so cold?” He asked me.

“Yes.” Sometimes it’s rather convenient. You can do ice play without running to the kitchen.

“Did you walk here? Is that why they’re cold?”

“No. They’re just cold.” He took out a tongue depressor and looked into my throat.

“Mono,” he said. “Have you ever had mono?”

“When I was 18.”

“This looks like mono. Do you have a boyfriend?”

“No.” The literal truth.

“Good, because if you have mono you can’t be intimate. We’ll do a quick test right now.” Having had mono, I knew that kissing fell under this intimacy umbrella. Not only that, but I knew that even though I’d felt remarkably well (for me) a week ago, I might have been contagious already for over a month.

Shit.

As a friendly, frizzy-haired nurse came in and tried to poke my finger for a blood sample, also expressing dismay at my cold hands because it was harder to squeeze enough blood out, I thought about what mono would mean for me right now. I would have to contact all my recent makeout partners and tell them I might have gotten them sick. I would possibly have to watch some of them grow sick and miserable for a long while, knowing I and my slutty, slutty lips were responsible. Meanwhile, I myself would be sick and miserable and cease to enjoy my recent run of good health. Also, my spleen would be enormous.

Then it dawned on me, this must be what it’s like to have an STI.

The nurse returned fifteen minutes later telling me we hadn’t gotten enough blood, so she stabbed another finger as I wondered how long having mono would mean going without making out with any sexy people.

I was playing pokemon on my DS but really composing a form email to warn people of my infectious face when she announced that the test was negative. My doctor returned and told me he thought it would be, and prescribed me antibiotics for my bacterial throat infection.

It’s clearing up.

But I almost had a not-quite-STI, and it was scary. Also, I couldn’t kiss the people I wanted to kiss on Saturday because, well, throat infection. But everyone’s spleens remain comfortably normal-sized for the time being.

But if it had been mono– and certainly if I had an honest-to-goodness STI– I know I would have sucked it up and told people and refrained from spreading the contagion further, however uncomfortable or inconvenient it was. There was never any question. Period. My fun is not worth anyone’s illness.

Which reminds me: April is actual-STI awareness month! Let’s all get tested and stuff.

(image source)

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I would love to read one of your ”sex journal” type entries on here involving you, Viola, and your Feeldoe.

Viola and I were just hanging out the other day, and she mentioned she wished I’d brought my Feeldoe with me. And believe me, so did I. I think I should probably start carrying it in my trunk at all times, just in case. More importantly, I think we can make this happen.

I’ve never even dated a girl with tattoos, but I find them incredibly sexy. I like to look at pictures of women that have large and elaborate tattoos. I don’t know that I would want my wife to be all tattooed up, but maybe we should go to a tattoo convention sometime. I think it would be a huge turn-on.

My personal opinion on ink: it can be beautiful and sexy and add to a person’s attractiveness, or it can be meh. This all depends on design and placement. I wonder if people more tend to fetishize the type of person who gets tattoos, which might have once been “rebellious” or “alternative” or “adventurous”, but at this point seems to just be “a random sampling of everyone with skin”.

Not trying to talk you out of your tattoo fetish, friend. Just riffing.

I’m afraid to have sex.

My first sexual experience has a lot of awfulness and misery attached to it. And I had this weird sort of assault-y experience at a party. Since then, I haven’t had sexual contact with anyone. Besides making out. But it’s gotten to the point where just the idea of making out alone (even though I used to love it!) has gotten too scary because it might lead to other things that feel even scarier. And it’s starting to inhibit my romantic life too. I don’t know what to do.

Please, please do not take this as snarky or rude in any way, but my advice is to get counseling. You can often even find it free or very low cost, and though you may not find the perfect fit for what you want that way, it will be better than nothing.

I say this as someone who went through about two years of free therapy through a local university with various counselors who changed every semester. Even in that non-ideal situation, I still made a lot of progress working on my issues with past abuse and sexual assault. Shit used to be horrible, and now it’s getting better every day.

Another thing that helped me was starting this blog. I have written so much about being abused and being raped, and doing so helped me process a lot of things I had previously chosen not to examine, not to confront. You don’t have to do it publicly– although the supportive and amazing comments I’ve gotten have helped me too– but maybe journaling will also help.

I hope this helps. Please keep in mind that you’re not messed up; what happened to you was messed up.

I’m a top and I’m REALLY kinky, but humiliation is a hard limit for me. I’ve tried poking around dominant groups on Fetlife, but almost all the ones I see for female tops are anathemaic to me. I see a lot of people talking about how what the bottom wants isn’t really important, and how men are too cowardly to play with them, or some really awful verbal abuse that makes my skin crawl. Whenever I read it I feel out of place because I’m not masquerading as a sociopath. I actually CARE about my bottoms and whether or not they’re having a good experience!

Am I really so strange for thinking the people I top are people and wanting them to have as much fun as I am?

People who say they don’t care what their bottoms want are either posturing or just straight up dangerous. Those are the only two options, and even the posturing is dangerous in that it sets a terrible example even if the top is privately doing everything right.

That being said, some bottoms are actively into humiliation. It’s not for everyone, and clearly not your thing, but some people want it. If it’s consensual and negotiated, the person doing the humiliating is performing a service. As you probably know very well, sometimes kink isn’t what it looks like from the outside. So I understand your concern, but I feel like you’re at least partially conflating humiliation as a fetish and actual disrespect.

So, just discovered just how amazing my vagina con be. Masturbated for maybe ten minutes, soaked my panties, my nice skirt and the bedsheets, without even noticing until I was completely finished. The only downside is I can’t figure out how to explain to my mum that I need new sheets without a really awkward conversation…

Dear parents of the world: Please never ask why your post-pubescent kids are washing their own sheets. You probably don’t need to know.

P.S. Yay squirting!

i am 26 years old. i know how to do sex but i have a secrete whenever i do sex in that situation i want to put my penis gentaly to my girlfrends nose i want she just wipe her nose on my penis but she dont like this .but i never force her to do so. but my sexual attraction is her nose.i do normal sex also .but this is my sex secret..am i mentally sik ?…please send me some solutions

People with nasal fetishes usually learn, through using it early and often, the correct spelling of “secret”, but I’m not going to get hung up on whether you’re trolling me or not. I’m going to answer your question.

You’re not mentally sick, but you’re with someone who doesn’t share your fetish or want to indulge it. You may some day get someone to wipe her nose on your cock, but it’s probably not going to be her. Oh, and if you stay in this relationship and do nose stuff with someone else, I’m pretty sure your girlfriend would consider it cheating, but you would have to ask her. If you don’t ask and just do, that’s definitely cheating.

I think your solution is ultimately the internet. You can find people into anything on the internet. But use spell check.

Confess things here!

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Just then, your stomach growls. Motherfucker.

Also, internet confessions.

There’s a woman who… I kind of feel… Well, I, um, produce vaginal mucous whenever I think about her. Which is almost constantly. And I produce mucous in such copious amounts that it seeps through my clothes and I get really anxious about other people being able to smell it. So, I started wearing pantiliners, but it was spilling out the sides, so I started wearing sanitary napkins with wings every day of the month, and now my sexual frustration is compounded with more general frustration. JUST QUIT IT, VAGINA. SHE’LL NEVER TOUCH YOU. I ALREADY ASKED AND SHE SAID NO. AND WHY WOULD SHE SAY OTHERWISE? YOU’RE GROSS YOU EMBARRASS EVERYBODY WHO COMES NEAR YOU.

Hey, I hope you don’t take this the wrong way, but why are you being so hostile to yourself and your vagina?

I wonder how messed up it is that I zone out on some clients and just start doing Kegels and fantasizing about their skills (or lack of them) in bed?

Sounds to me pretty much like it’s zero units of messed up. You know what’s truly messed up? Neglecting your kegels.

This is my most secret of secrets: I am terrified of passing gas during sex. I know that nothing bad would happen if I did, my lovers would laugh it off, but I’m still so scared of ruining something special.

So I clench. Which somehow tightens EVERYTHING in the process. Which makes the sex even hotter. Win/win?

Maybe I should just let go…what do you think?

If clenching makes you happier with your sexual experience, more power to you. But “happier” implies a comparison, so I have to ask: have you tried not clenching? Because I find that sex is an amazing interplay of relaxation and tension, and having a full range of both ends of the spectrum is where intensity really comes from.

Also, sex is not a neat activity. Fluid gets on things, air comes out of places, and all manner of sounds emerge from the beast with two backs. If your partner freaks out because you fart during sex on occasion, this would be a pretty strong indicator that said partner is not very experienced or realistic vis-a-vis fucking.

I’m not trying to tell you where your priorities should lie, but I feel like you’ll be missing out on a lot if this thing that really isn’t a big deal is your main focus every time you have sex.

I think I may have accidentally taken a 29-year-old’s virginity. I was lonely and horny, he was there, you know how these things go. It was awkward and absolutely terrible and went on forever (strange, right?). If I’d known, I could’ve at least bolstered his ego, done a bit of training, and not kicked him out of bed at the end of the romp. Ugh. Now I feel like a terrible person and I still didn’t get a decent lay.

Your guilt seems unnecessary. If a virgin wants The Virgin Intercourse Package, said virgin must declare virginity. That is really just sense. Unless you introduced yourself as a virgin-sniffing psychic or something, in which case shame on you. You’re better than that.

I hope you have been able to procure a decent lay.

I have a raging crush on a guy I sort-of work with. He has some of the most gorgeous, intense blue eyes I have ever seen, and long-fingered, sexy hands that I always find myself staring at because they’re safer to stare at than his eyes. And he’s a mechanic, and I always have a thing for blue-eyed, dark-haired guys who are good with their hands…

I have fantasies in which he is a sort of earnest, almost sweetly-dominant top, murmuring praise in my ear while I’m helpless under those strong hands… And I also have fantasies in which he kneels in front of me, smiling at me with those incredible eyes, and tells me that he wants ME to be the top– these were a surprise to submissive little me, yet I enjoy them just as much as the others ;-)

Unfortunately nothing will come of it… I’m in a very committed relationship already; and it would get both of us in trouble at work. Plus, I am the sort of socially awkward person who would die of embarrassment before I managed to finish communicating my interest to him. Or fail utterly to get my point across. Or just be mortified when he turned me down.

But I guess the real confession is that I wish I had him instead of my boyfriend of the past nine years. I feel like it might be time to move on. Not many girls have stuck with the same guy since they were 18, and this latest crush is making me wonder (again) what else I’m missing…

Fantasizing about other people aside, if you feel like it might be time to move on, it seems like in generally is. Relationships are hard enough even when you’re all in, you know?

Or I’m too idealistic. That also seems legit.

My roommate is showering with his girlfriend and making sex noises. I’m happy for him. But mostly I wish he’d finish up because I really need to pee.

The true horror intrinsic in this confession is the fact that it was submitted last October. You guys, what if this person is still waiting to pee? Besides the fact that nobody has a) that much stamina or b) that much hot water.

Confess things! To me! Do it!

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Last night was a singularly amazing night! After a couple semi-successful previous attempts, my amazing wife finally was able to be fisted, a feat I would not have thought possible given my hand size! I’ll make her a size queen yet…. mwahahahahaha

This is awesome. On a personal note, fisting still scares the shit out of me, but I would like to personally high five everyone who has accomplished it. Maybe there would be hand washing first.

Having never been given much freedom in the bedroom I’ve found that I literally lose my mind when the new guy I’m seeing growls “Tell me exactly what you want me to do” it isn’t submissive exactly but it’s so sexy that he wants to know what I want that every time I almost come on the spot and while it doesn’t sound like much but, well, really…it is.

Sometimes it’s the little things that get you. People growling things is sexy. People passionate about giving pleasure are sexy. Other things that are sexy include (but are by no means limited to) girls with pixie cuts, hula hooping, and devil-may-care archeologists in fedoras.

I’ve got this awesome friend who sometimes posts confessions here, like me. We don’t post every week, nor even every month, I don’t think. But there’s enough activity that we try to guess if the other has a Confession up, each week. If it gets to be past noon and we haven’t heard from each other on Tuesday, often a hint will get sent by one of us to the other. It is one of my favorite games.

I love this game! Can we make it a drinking game?

I don’t even drink.

I want to fuck my ex wife in law!!! I don’t know why but the last week she has been on my mind and in my dreams. She does things to me that drive me insane, to the point I wake up wet and feeling like I just came all over the place.

Not only is this so out of the norm for me but I have been thinking about not only fucking her but my ex also. Though he would die if I and his ex wife were playing with each other.

If scary P.S.A.s have taught me anything, it’s that you’ve already slept with all your partner’s previous sexual partners, so this is moot. And I sincerely hope you enjoyed yourself because P.S.A.s have also taught me that now that you’re sexually active you’ve completely destroyed your life.

And remember, kids, don’t do drugs! Also, confess things to me!

Just kidding. I want to fuck her too. But really, seriously confess things.

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This week my confession about not being able to masturbate properly because of roller derby was posted and quizzical pussy said I was one of her fetishes. This made me insanely proud.

On a related note, if anyone happens to want to send me pics of themselves in derby gear or maybe kicking some ass on the track, I’m not going to lie… I will probably masturbate to them.

I get turned on by awful (lyrically, musically awful, that is) sexually explicit rap songs.

I have experienced this as well, so I think I get it. What I’m really trying to figure out is why Japanese rapper Ilmari’s voice makes me feel so funny in my pants whenever I hear it despite barely ever even knowing what he’s saying! It has to be a resonance thing.

That’s how the pyramids were built, you know. Resonance. (Okay, probably not really.)

I want 2 have sex with u ladies

Despite looking like Prince lyrics, this is turning no one on. Maybe it really does need to be rap.

How many retractions of secrets do you get, where someone, immediately after a secret, enters in ”OH GOD DON’T USE THAT ONE?”

It’s gotta happen.

Oh, it happens! Not often, but it happens. Far more often I write an entire, non-ConTuesday post, then think “Oh God, I’m going to let people read that!? How can I live this down?” And then I inevitably do.

I think I’m falling in love with a long-distance guy.

The guy’s going out on a date with another girl in Friday. Intellectually, I want him to be happy with or without me. Emotionally, I want him to want to be with me.

My plan? Thursday night I’m going to strip for him over webcam, then stick five fingers up my pussy while begging for his cock. BEAT THAT, actually present girl!

You’re an evil genius. (Okay, probably not evil. Mostly just hot.)

I don’t think I can get myself off just using my fingers. I always need something more, like a vibrator or a shower head. Somehow this makes me disappointed in myself.

Don’t be intimidated by the evil genius webcam fisters out there. Or anyone else. If you’re working with a vulva/vagina combo (which you didn’t specify, so please excuse me if my assumption is incorrect), needing something extra doesn’t exactly put you in the minority. If you’re getting yourself off in a safe way and having fun, I think you should be the opposite of disappointed. In fact, I think you deserve a theme song with driving base and triumphant guitar licks, but that’s just me.

My wife bragged that she’d submitted another confession. I asked her what it was and she flirtatiously said that I’d have to wait and see it and guess that it was her. I have this sneaking suspicion that when you publish it we’re going to have some freaky, nasty, wonderful sex. HURRY UP AND POST IT ALREADY DAMNIT!!!!!!

Here is the deal, people: If sex is at stake or time is of the essence for any other reason when it comes to posting your confessions, let me know. I know a guy. I can make things happen for you. If there’s one thing I don’t want to avoid doing on my blog, it’s facilitating freaky, nasty, wonderful sex.

Communication is key. Speaking of which, tell me a secret!

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Many, many butts are perfect. And every perfect ever known to this world has had a but. Enjoy a few of each.

I started the SexLog as a whine to myself. She wasn’t having much sex with me, so every time she did, I would send myself an email about it, and put that email into a folder in my email. Every time I enjoined her to have a tryst with me, I logged it. At first, it was just a sad bitter little series of notes on the rare occasions that we had sex. But when the sex was great, I had to detail it, in fairness. When it was hot, I would detail the situation, how it started, and what positions we got into. I might mention what we said during sex.

Reading back over the last year, I see that we’re only averaging once a week. I wish it were more. But reading those times that we do have sex? Some of ’em are pretty damned erotic.

Once again whining is foiled by awesome sex! This happens a lot, I’m certain.

He makes me laugh until all the muscles in my torso feel sprung. He can make me laugh about anything — the crash and burn of my last relationship, the weather, my simultaneous lust for and terror of taking his clothes off, how mind-numbingly stupid bureaucracies are, what he wants to do to me with handcuffs and an order of Chinese take-out (extra sweet-and-sour sauce).

He’s outrageously, gratuitously beautiful to me, like sunrise in the Sangre de Cristos. The fact that other people seem to consider him either strange-looking or utterly gorgeous, no middle ground, only escalates that. It’s like being part of a secret club of people with good taste.

Every day I find something new to admire about him: His good humor about others’ assumptions, his damn-near epic determination, his delighted embrace of any kind of silliness that makes life a happier place to be, the core of stunningly improbable sweetness that underlies his nature, his playful and seemingly infinite patience with me.

It boils down to this: It’s harder for him to be just my friend than it would be for me to be his lover. But he’s making the effort anyway, because I am so goddamn scared to have sex with him, I damn near hyperventilate when he gets close to me.

It isn’t that he doesn’t want friendship; he’s been a good friend, including when I’ve deeply needed one. It’s that he wants to be more. When he says something or touches me in a way that leaves no doubt he wants me naked and writhing under him, it’s not news to him at all, but the bulletins are just starting to come in at my station.

It isn’t that I don’t want the sex, either. He makes my brain ache for it, never mind the standard achy naughty-bits. He makes me want to lick, bite, suck, pull hair, snuggle, see what his o-face is like, hear the sounds he makes (quiet? grunty? down-and-out nasty talk?). He knows all this, too; I’m pretty sure everyone who gets within 100 yards of us knows it. Might as well be tattooed on my forehead.

So what’s the problem? The past. Naturally. This is the sudden and unexpected beginning of the thing for me — and the end of a long process for him. He waited through my ill-advised relationship with his friend, and through my own blindered foolishness about the kind of man he is. Now he’s waiting through my absolute certainty that sex is going to ruin us, like it ruins everything else it touches in my life. It’s a good thing he’s patient; the more he’s my friend, the more we become something I don’t want to see ruined…and the longer his wait is going to be.

I hate that I feel that way; it’s not fair to him, and I’m religiously certain I’m missing out on an amazing lover, so it’s not fair to me, either. But I know that the moment the orgasms ended, I’d start counting down the days until I lost him — friend, lover, everything — just like every other time. And that thought is unbearable to me.

I hope you’ve worked through your past enough to look back on this confession and shake your head and smile, and maybe twitch a little from some muscle soreness from the mindblowing, love-affirming sex you had last night. Sex doesn’t ruin things; people do, and from how you describe it you are two people who are amazing together.

My friend and his wife really want to mess around with my wife and me.

I want to mess around with them.

My wife’s not sure. She hasn’t said ”No,” but she’s shy.

I don’t want to put pressure. The guy who puts pressure is That Guy. And we all know that That Guy sucks.

But any good partner should let his or her partner know what he or she wants.

So, it’s out there.

And I’m waiting. Tick. Tock.

Don’t be That Guy, no. But I guess you could always send her a link to this ConTuesday and tell her you thought she’d enjoy all the pics of nice asses, and oh, by the way, some guy wrote in about a foursome, so that’s interesting…

Send me a confession, won’t you please?

(image sources: 1, 2, 3, 4)

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Because my vagina is now so snobby and fancy and very used to getting expensive things shoved up it, it has informed me that we simply do not do tampons anymore.

A tampon costs about $.20 or so, making it the crappy $10 jelly dildo of menstrual devices. According to my vagina, I can go fuck myself if I think that’s going to cut it anymore. After all, my vagina is used to Feeldoes and Pure Wands and a boyfriend with the most beautiful penis I’ve ever seen. So to a point, I understand how a wad of bleached cotton with a dangly string is just insulting at this point.

The Diva Cup, a medical grade silicone menstrual cup, is mathematically just a better thing to put in one’s vagina, according to mine. At over a hundred times more expensive than a single tampon, it’s more appropriate for a fancy vagina, is the argument. I think. Now, I’m not sure how fair it would be to say that I honor my genitals’ wishes whenever they get ideas about things, but I was out of tampons and when I actually did the math¹ I realized that this scheme would actually save me money in the long run. So I ordered one and then promptly got my period, which ended shortly before my Diva Cup arrived.

…Which was a little annoying, but the thing about periods is there’s always another one coming along eventually. Until there’s not, at which point you throw yourself the best party ever.

So on that last period I used up my remaining Instead Softcups, which I hate. They feel roughly like sticking a garbage bag duct taped to a hula hoop up your hoohah, and yet somehow manage to leak anyway. Considering that these war crimes were my first experience with menstrual cups, the leap of faith I took ordering the Diva Cup only makes sense when you realize I’m often entirely ruled by whimsy.

I waited about a month and a half, I think, before I started my very first Diva period yesterday. I have to admit I was a little excited beyond that normal “Jubilation! Not pregnant!² Not in total thyroid shutdown!” rush. I like new toys, okay?

I’ve been using this thing for less than 24 hours, so I’m not actually writing a comprehensive review, just sharing some first impressions:

1. Size-wise, the Diva Cup is much (much much) more manageable than the Instead, which always seemed to end up askew inside me and half pushed out because my body had no idea where it was meant to go. The Diva doesn’t feel nearly as obtrusive.
2. There’s going to be a bit of a learning curve. You fold up the Diva Cup to insert it, and then you’re supposed to turn it 360° while still gripping the base (not the stem) in order to get it unfolded and correctly placed. Now, I said the Diva Cup was smaller than a hula hoop-sized apparatus. Notice that I did not say it’s small enough to perform finger acrobatics with inside my nethers.
3. Overall, I’m encouraged. It seems to be working without much leaking despite the fact that I’m almost certainly not doing the turny thing right. And a good thing too, because I’m already financially committed to using it exclusively for uterine lining management for the next couple years.
4. And! It just occurred to me that I’m doing something wonderful for the environment as well! I should really treat myself and chop down a few baby Mediterranean monk seals. I’ve earned it.

Moral of the story: My vagina makes sense. We should all listen to it more often.

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1. Math being a thing that I, being a person and not a vagina, can actually make use of.
2. Yes, even though my primary partner has a vasectomy and I haven’t played with another guy in months, and always use condoms with anyone who isn’t Laramy. I am that paranoid.

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So, because most men (as well as some women) happen to have prostates, before September ends I want to mention that it’s prostate cancer awareness month. Check out Ambulance Driver’s blog to learn about Kilted to Kick Cancer. He’s been promoting it all month by wearing a kilt around town, spotlighting other bloggers doing the same, and raising money for cancer research.

So check that out. And enjoy today’s ConTuesday devoted to penises, prostates, and health!

Did I mention that kilts are sexy too? That’s not even a confession. It’s a fact.

On to the confessions:

Not too far out I guess, but for ME it was…

Told my GF she could fuck me in the ass with a strap-on if she could find one with a small enough dick (had part of my rectum removed due to cancer and just can’t fit much up there). Let her (actually, begged her…) to finger me deep in the ass while she blew me. It was pretty good.

There are smaller dildos specifically for anal play that you can use with strap-on harnesses. For instance, the small version of this Silk dildo is 4 1/2 inches long. Might that work?

I’m a guy of average size (or at least what the internet calls average), and it has never really mattered to me.

R recently bought a realistic dildo (it squirts!) over the internet, and was quite startled by what came in the mail. The thing is -huge-.

Queue a bondage session with my blindfolded girlfriend, who has previously expressed reservations about my size, and was horrified by this thing. I got it out, and after working up to it, inserted – and within short order she had arrived at what was visibly the best orgasm of her life.

Size had always been a nonissue for me, but I do now have a deep desire to be able to do that to her without outside help; I am now insecure where I wasn’t before.

Some kinds of orgasms require props, much like some sports need specific equipment. She’s never going to give you a prostate orgasm with just her pussy, for instance, unless she has a genuinely singular anatomy.

The thing is, you gave her the best orgasm of her life while using an inanimate object. Now go tell Lance Armstrong he’s a loser because his bike’s doing all the work.

I could be happy with my sex life even if I never penetrated my wife again, as long as she still used the strap-on on me. There is nothing like a prostate orgasm. If you’re too uncomfortable with your sexuality to try it, I pity you.

Prostate orgasms are reportedly so awesome that I can really only curse my horrible luck being born a woman and try to content myself with the six or seven types of orgasms I actually get to have.

Also, I sincerely hope your wife is as into strap-on play as you are if you ever seriously consider making that your only sexual staple.

Last Friday I fucked this girl I’ve been scheming on. It wasn’t very good and afterwards I wished I hadn’t. She had a thin-lipped pussy, which I thoroughly licked (licked, not LIKED, as I like pussies with big fat flappy lips). She required that I wear a condom and then didn’t even blow me afterwards. She hadn’t fucked in 3 yrs, so now of course she is all in love and shit, even though prior to fucking she just said all she wanted was a hard cock, not a boyfriend.

In point of fact, this girl is smart to insist on a condom. Your sexual health benefits from it as does hers. But you probably already know that.

Good luck finding lusher lips, my friend.

I was just diagnosed with cancer and for the first time it truly depresses me that I may die a virgin… and soon. The closest I ever came was sending a woman(?) I “met” online a photo of my dick, and she said it was “a perfect cock”. I printed out that chat transcript and kept it folded up in my wallet for months.

I’m so sorry you’re dealing with this illness. I sincerely wish you a speedy and decisive recovery, and plenty of fucking in the immediate and distant future for you and your perfect cock!

Do you have a confession?

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