quizzical pussy

I knew you guys had more crazy confessions! Want proof? Here are some I’ve received in the last week (with one of my own slipped in). I once again have some in reserve, so if yours didn’t post today you’ll definitely see it in the coming weeks.

When my (now husband) and I started dating the idea that he was my first “real boyfriend” made him really uncomfortable- he always figured that I couldn’t know if I really liked him if I didn’t have anything to compare him to. To console him I told him that I had always been so busy I just had a bunch of fuck buddies instead of boyfriends- except that I only had one lover before him (who was 20 years my senior). Amazingly, this made him feel much better. But now, I have to remember that damn made up number, cause every so often he’ll ask a question about my “past”.

A guy who had a crush on me once told me he wanted to fuck me sweetly with my own cane (which I use for, like, walking), and I thought that was kind of a darling and intriguing concept. Too bad I wasn’t attracted to him in the least and his kisses felt roughly like a blobfish looks.

On a scale of one to obvious, one being obvious and obvious being really fucking obvious, how obvious is it that I wrote this one?

I’m newly married. And the sex with my husband is incredibly boring. And I’m terrified that I will never have awesome sex.

I bought an eroscillator – one of the deluxe packages with the powerful motor and all – and it just doesn’t do anything for me. I kind of feel like I’m blaspheming the ultimate Dr. Ruth endorsed toy of wonders every time I use my three year old magic wand instead.

Just so you know, internet anonymity may be the only thing saving you from getting clubbed like a baby seal and having your eroscillator wrested from your toy chest. Not because of any blasphemy or anything, just because I really want one and now I know you’re not using yours.

…

Got a sex secret or three? Let them fly away into the internet and be free! No one will know it was you… unless of course you’re me, apparently. But I’m confident you’re not, so have at it!

I have a confession to make. I totally watch the British ITV2 show Secret Diary of a Call Girl. I consider it kind of a guilty pleasure. It’s the type of TV critics seem to like to call a frothy confection: a half-hour drama following a high-class (“upscale”) London call girl (played by Billie Piper) as she juggles her secret career as prostitute Belle De Jour and her personal life as Hannah Baxter. Yeah, I watch it and like it. Now what?

I appreciate shows and movies that portray sex workers as real people who aren’t predators, victims, or addicts. I do understand and acknowledge anyone who feels compunction about glamorizing something that can go so terribly wrong, especially when that glamor might threaten to blot out the stories that need to get told. The tragic injustices exist: hell, they abound. Prostitutes can and do encounter violence and exploitation, and please let’s not forget the nauseous abundance of women, children, and men forced into sexual slavery to fulfill the global demand for sex workers. There are major problems with the sex-based sector of the economy, some of which of arise partly because so much of it has to operate underground, accountable to very little, and even less that’s ever concerned with the health, independence, and well-being of the participants. Misplaced moral outrage and criminalization chase sex work into the shadows, and we know all too well what happens in a darkness like that: that’s how Sméagols become Gollums.

I believe it’s time to make a clear distinction between sex crime and sex business. These horrible infringements on human rights shouldn’t find it so easy to ape a harmless transaction between consenting adults any longer.

But how about people who are drawn to prostitution and other sex work because it’s fun, because they enjoy both money and sex? Why the hell that should present a problem to anyone is beyond me. The self-created happy hooker who makes a deliberate career choice and executes it with responsibility deserves more play. That’s the kind of sex worker we should encourage. Secret Diary portrays a call girl’s vocation as difficult and complicated, but also rewarding and sexy. Plus, there are times I feel sure I could compose a panegyric to Billie Piper’s ass.

The show is loosely based on the real experiences chronicled by the real owner of the really fake pseudonym Belle De Jour, who maintains a blog and wrote bestselling books, remaining completely anonymous until early this week. Turns out (via sexoteric), she’s 34-year-old scientist Dr. Brooke Magnanti, a respected specialist in developmental neurotoxicology and cancer epidemiology. These days she’s spending her time researching children’s cancer. Yep, she’s a science geek who’s trying to keep kids healthy: your move, naysayers. She spent 14 months selling sex to support herself while she worked on finishing her thesis, and she doesn’t regret it at all. In fact, she enjoyed it.

Good on you, doctor, for coming out and proving that a whip-smart woman (who is not, as it turns out, some man’s wishful invention or a writer’s fantastical thought experiment) can choose to participate in prostitution, have a great time, and walk away when she’s good and ready.

Now, to wait for season 3 to start…