quizzical pussy

Check it out, you guys! It’s ConTuesday! It’s like explosions of badassery! And soup.

I need a cock in my cunt SO FUCKING BAD right now, I can’t fucking concentrate on anything. This is freaking ridiculous.

I swear I don’t remember typing this, but are we sure this isn’t me?

I was having a really lovely time in the shower -by which I mean I was having an orgasm- and I came so hard that I bit my shoulder without realizing it.

Three days later, I still have my self-inflicted hickey. I’m a lil proud.

Showering: you’re doing it right.

Speaking of shoulders, not many people I haven’t been in a relationship with know this about me, but I kiss shoulders. They are my go-to “casual, affectionate kiss” spot more than any other. I also sometimes kiss my own shoulder when I feel like I don’t have anything better to do. I don’t really pay special attention to them during sex or anything; just like to place what Daphne calls “decisive kisses” there.

So, I mean, are we sure this isn’t me?

I can’t decide which I miss more while my lover’s away… fuckings or backrubs…

This is how I know this isn’t me. Always fucking. Always. This is independent of the fact that I don’t think I’ve ever had access to a lover who actually gives amazing backrubs, which is unfair because I am quite good at giving them.

FUCK YOU I DON’T WANT YOUR PITY.

I’ve been in a long distance friends-with-benefits sort of relationship (labels are difficult) with one of my absolute best friends for a couple of months now. We’ve only been able to get together to hook up a handful of times because of the distance, and for a few of our visits recently we were having trouble getting me to reach orgasm. I’ve thought about the significance behind that wording a fair amount, that WE were having trouble together: it’s not just his fault that I wasn’t finishing. We hadn’t had that much practice having sex together, his last partner was into things that are really different from what I’m looking for, and I hadn’t had enough practice knowing and communicating what I wanted to help him be better for me. We had one awful visit a little while ago where I felt like I was never going to have another orgasm I didn’t give myself – that was a super shitty night for both of us.

Through continuing the difficult work of having as much sex together as we could fit into our schedules, I was finally able to articulate in my head some specifics about what gets me off. And then a few days ago, he patiently listened while I (at least temporarily) got over my embarrassment and insecurities of talking about my lady parts and shared my discoveries with him. Then he did an abso-fucking-lutely amazing job at carrying out my requests. And then I broke out my vibrator and we did it again. It wasn’t just that the orgasms were great, because they were, but the buildup to them alone was rocking. Like he just touched me and I stopped breathing (this might sound dangerous, but don’t worry, my body is usually good at starting to breathe again before I pass out, although at one point I did have to ask him to stop fingering me because I was feeling dizzy from hyperventilating… in like a totally awesome way).

Everything about that visit was wonderful – not just the orgasms. We spent so much time in bed cuddling and kissing and sexing, and then we showered together, and we cuddled for a bit on his couch, and then we went back to cuddling and kissing and laughing and talking and sexing in bed. I’m still so happy thinking about it.

This is a really good illustration of how communication can absolutely make sex. Results may vary, of course, but it’s a thing. Talk about sex more. Talk about sex a lot. Experiment almost as much. Don’t stress about orgasms or other goals. Enjoy each other. Then talk more.

Congratulations, you’re awesome in bed. Or something like that.

Hey QP!

So my girlfriend and I went out and shopped for a vibrator a couple of days ago and tried it out on her when we got home. I controlled it and she laid back and enjoyed the ride, giving the occasional direction to stay put or move, that sort of thing. After a while I noticed she was starting to orgasm, full body tension and all. She kept closing her eyes or rolling them back but I kept growling at her to look in my eyes as she came. When she was done she called it the “best thing in the universe,” and apparently her first full body orgasm. Plus the looking into each others eyes bit was very hot. Win?

Total win! ::Internet high five:: because obviously.

I tell people I have a thing for werewolves. This is not technically a lie. Werewolves are hot, I enjoy reading werewolf-themed porn, etc.

What I don’t tell people is that frankly the “were” part is completely optional. Wolves are sexy, end of story. I wouldn’t fuck one in real life because, you know, wild animal, teeth, claws, probably a bad idea. But I pretend I have a werewolf-only policy because if I claim I’m only into shapeshifters, it gives me an out. It’s not bestiality. Because if I thought bestiality was hot, that would be Icky and Wrong.

And I’ve recently realized that if I was alone with a Husky or similarly wolf-resembling breed of dog, and said dog initiated activity that I perceived as sexual… I don’t know if I’d stop it. I have no idea whether this is inherently fucked up or not.

In my opinion, the worst thing that can come from thoughts we don’t act on is guilt. It’s either guilt for not acting on well-intended thoughts, or guilt for having thoughts we perceive as bad, normally because we were taught to believe they’re bad. Guilt is one of the more destructive, useless emotions. Eradicate it whenever you’re able, is my advice.

I guess what I’m really saying is that if someone fantasizes about wolves I feel like that’s their business, and if they have consensual¹ sex with a husky, I feel like that’s between them and the dog. I have no idea whether that view is inherently fucked up or not, but I’m finding it hard to find two fucks to rub together on that one.

I took emergency contraception a few days ago. Since then, I’ve been ultra-mega-horny. My nipples have stood up so much they’re in pain, and I’ve masturbated twice as often as usual despite having a cold (usually a huge libido-killer).

Someone tell me I shouldn’t be using EC as a damn aphrodisiac. (I’m not, but if I had the money, I’d be tempted.)

The things I learn here! I took emergency contraception once and cried a lot. Which is like reverse masturbating, kinda.

Give me secrets! I hunger for secrets!

1. This can be dicey, but I’d say that when the dog is the aggressor and, if applicable, the penetrator, it’s probably consensual [↩]

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So apparently last week’s confessions were on the depressing side. I guess that makes some degree of sense, considering they were mostly about what happens when people fail to communicate. Which is usually, um, not triumphant.

So I’m thinking, what if I throw some joyous ones up here this time? I’ll even sweeten the pot with several blowjobs. No, not real blowjobs that I’m giving to you. Probably not. Well, maybe. You know who you are.

I love wearing my boyfriend’s wedding band while he and his wife are fucking my brains out.

How cute are you!?

I’ve been talking to someone on Fetlife for a little while now and, as luck would have it, our lives are putting us in close proximity to each other this weekend and we’ve decided to meet. We’ll be in a mostly public setting (private enough for serious flirting yet not private enough for one of us to end up stuffed in a duffle bag) and our time will be short so no time to play. But, I’m so excited to meet him that I’ve actually giggled, out loud, a few times when thinking about it.

I am so excited for you, and an update is absolutely imperative.

I got a new, beautiful, leather strap-on harness in the mail two days ago. Just wearing it, with and with a cock in it feels so right and so arousing. And then I fucked my boyfriend with a couple of different dildos, and he sucked my cock. (One particular dildo is my cock, the rest are just toys.) Despite the almost complete lack of physical stimulation for me, afterwards I rubbed my clit for a few moments and came really, really hard.

It was amazing.

I love everything about this sexual adventure. To get a little self-involved for a moment, not enough guys have offered to suck my cock. I have a guys-sucking-my-cock shaped hole in my life.

But I also have a beautiful, strap-on leather harness!

Talk about cognitive dissonance…

I just got back from a quick trip down the hall to the restroom after a middle-of-the-night marathon session of catching up with ConTuesday posts. As I stepped past the mirror I grinned as I caught sight of the half-dozen or so beautiful deep-red-and-purple hickeys across my neck and chest, made earlier this evening by a good friend of mine after I had already gone down on her a couple times.

She made the comment to me that in the last several years, she’d only come that way two or three times, counting the orgasm I’d just given her.

This is the second time we’ve had a chance to fuck, and I’d had a crush on her for ages and never really attempted to pursue anything, because she’d mentioned on more than one occasion that ”95% of the time or more I’m just totally into guys,” and me being trans just throws more frustration into the mix. (The Cotton Ceiling. It really is a thing. Really. QP, thank you for covering the topic so that my first exposure to the term itself — certainly not the experience, but the term — wasn’t the horrifically offensive words right from the horses’ radfems’ mouths.)

Oh, and the first time we fucked (within the last couple weeks even!) she was the one to initiate. And she bent me over and screwed me six ways to Sunday — it had been about a year and a half since I’d had that pleasure. She knew how much it meant to me, which is why she offered even though it wasn’t at the top of list of things that gave her pleasure.

And… and… also! There are no less than four other women who have expressed significant interest in sex with me, and the only thing really hindering that with any of them has been scheduling and logistics.

But somehow I keep finding myself bitching and moaning about how “it would sure be nice if I could make the sexytimes happen with anybody… maybe one of these days it will finally happen…” ~mope, pout, harrumph, etc.~

I guess I could just let myself accept the fact that I’m actually getting some of the things I’ve wanted for a very long time; that even though my libido is such that in an ideal situation I’d be having sex every day and maybe more than once… that I’ve come a long way from masturbating alone to the Gay Sex Lullaby to where I am today. I’m working on it. It’s a tough process, but I’m working on it.

Sometimes it takes a minute to adjust mentally from “I am in the middle of a sex famine and my nethers are threatening to atrophy” to “Hey, I’m getting laid sometimes! Like, it just happened, and may do again!” But I hope you get a whole fucking lot of the things you’ve wanted for a very long time to come, and your brain will get all the chances it needs to adjust to the Sex Feast that your life has become.

Sex Feast!

I love giving head. I’ve given to 4 guys and 3 of them said I was by far the best. I love to give. I don’t get off on it and I’ve never read any books or anything. I’ve never had any instruction at all. I just imagine what may feel good if I had a penis and I do it and watch a guys reaction or ask him about it later. Unresponsive guys or the ones that just stare down at you suck because, you can never tell if you’re doing something they enjoy. I also recently discovered how to deepthroat. I thought that was just when it hit the back of your throat but, my boyfriend told my to take it all and he’s a bit on the long side so I changed angles over and over again (spinning around with his dick in my mouth somehow brought him to calling me adorable) until he kind of popped down my throat and I got him all in. I haven’t discovered how to keep from choking but, I do enjoy this new technique immensely. Any tips out their for getting rid of the gag reflex?

I’ve recently been working on this gag reflex thing myself. I do not have it licked yet, but I’m getting better. I’m officially soliciting tips from my esteemed readership, because the only one I know of is practice.

I absolutely love giving head. It’s the freaking bees knees. But if I’m dehydrated on the job (haha) and just can’t get his dick lubed enough, do you have a quick solution besides some gross lotion that winds up getting swallowed?

Coconut oil makes a decent lube, though it’s not condom-safe and stays solid at colder temperatures, so it may take a bit of chafing to get liquid. Or, you know, if you’re female-bodied and make your own lube, that’s pretty hot…

Other suggestions?

So there’s a guy I’ve known, through work, for a few years… he no longer works there, but we have gotten back in touch and seem to be hitting it off. He is a combination of nerdy and… punk/goth, maybe? Rocks a long, spiky mohawk, tattoos, lots of black clothes… also ridiculously intelligent and hilarious. When his finals are over next week, I plan to confess the crush I have on him, though the idea scares the crap out of me. I refuse, however, to let this become another opportunity missed because I didn’t have the guts to say anything. So this is my practice confession… wish me luck!

I have a good feeling about this. I am precogging joy so hard right now.

Send me your confessions. You know it’ll brighten both our days.

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“I have not had sex in four months.
I am having the best sex of my life.
Both of these things are true.” –Anya Kless

As you were no doubt on the very verge of guessing, the words above were not written by me, but by a woman maintaining a polyamorous dynamic with Odin and Loki. Yes, them. Her blog, by the way, is fascinating.

The quote sits with me these days. To be fair, it doesn’t have much to do with me and my current situation unless you look at it from a certain, basically incorrect and completely mundane, point of view¹. See, I’ve been having some incredible sex lately. So incredible that when I slip into bed at night, visions of things that have actually and recently happened slap me and draw wetness. At times it almost feels like I’m cheating on imagination with recall.

There also hasn’t been a penis inside my vagina² since 2011. May 2012 is almost over, people. I haven’t been actively avoiding it or anything; things have just worked out that way. There was a not-distant time in my life in which I would have considered this a mitigated dry spell, framing the amazing sex I’m having now as some version of “not having sex”, calling it “foreplay”, “messing around”, or similar. I was not unique in this, did not invent the concept that some partnered, orgasm-inducing activities should mysteriously be considered more sex-like than others. It’s fairly common. I even suspect that some part of me is vaguely on board with this still, even though I can’t understand why or how I am or ever was. Emotional remnants will defy logic.

I am a huge advocate of people defining things for themselves. You know, if they want to. If you have very specific ideas about how having sex, fucking, and making love are distinct and discrete activities, that’s fine. In fact, I’d like to see an infographic or something³. And if you personally choose to define sex as penis-in-vagina intercourse and you’re not imposing that distinction on people or using it as an elaborate way of lying to yourself or others, I am not here to crack your stone tablets. But that definition simply doesn’t make sense to me or for me anymore. On the most practical level, after any sexual contact with someone, I would want to notify/be notified if an STI turned up. It only makes sense to me, then, to count anyone in said notification group as a sex partner. On an emotional level, am I meant to just not count the increasingly significant proportion of my lovers who don’t have penises? Does it make any sense whatsoever to stratify each sexual experience based on how closely it conforms to the heterosexual, procreative model? A black and white, exclusionary definition of sex doesn’t jive with the way I do things anymore.

Queerness really grays things up, you know that? I’m finding it’s very hard for me to define sex lately. Challenging myself to come up with something, I suppose my personal working definition is that sex is anything I’m doing with a partner (or partners) that may result in intentionally getting one or both of us off, although that is both vague and potentially inaccurate for any number of people. For example, some people have lots of sex and do not have or attempt to have orgasms. For another, if I’m calling something “sex” that my partner calls “foreplay”⁴, is only one of us right? And how much does that matter, if at all?

At the same time, I think I do still attach special significance to intercourse with a penis. Perhaps that shouldn’t be surprising, considering that’s how my sexual cosmology was ordered for a very long time. We do, after all, live in a world where you can refer to “going all the way” without making people screw their foreheads up into question marks. If I didn’t still buy into this paradigm on some level, I probably wouldn’t treat penis-in-vagina sex differently. As it stands, I have the tendency to want to build more trust and take more time getting to that point with someone, compared to my patterns with most other kinds of sex.

It is also a kind of sex I absolutely love. It’s something I’ve often missed over the past several months. And I should tell you that I write this with the distinct feeling that whatever this period is: famine, favor, or furbelow, it’s been looking sickly lately. I’d be surprised to see it make it through another month.

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1. And from that point of view, it has been longer than four months for me. [↩]
2. Nor any other part of me, including my mouth, until very, very recently. [↩]
3. Love those things. [↩]
4. Under my system, is foreplay even a thing? Does it just mean “anything we happened to be doing before the sexing started?” [↩]

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Confessions hot off the metaphorical presses of my email!

Had a lover with a foot-long dick, no technique, and no desire to acquire any. I suggested mutual oral one time, got three or four quick flicks of the tongue, and then back to PIV. I faked orgasms just to get him to stop.

No offense to any incredibly well-endowed readers out there, but I think just the foot-long dick alone would be a deal breaker for me. I’m surprised anyone with a cock that’s potentially lethal wouldn’t want to bother to learn how to use it, and all his available alternatives.

I seem to run into a certain man every 2 or 3 years, and he always follows up with a phone call saying some degree of how he’d like to fuck me, but I’ve not verbally told him I had any temptation to follow through with him. I saw him this weekend, and he asked if the patterned stockings I was wearing were thigh-highs or went to the waist. I said ”waist” and asked if he has a preference. He said ”that kind, so I can do this:” and made a ripping open motion with his hands. He and I made loose plans to see each other in about a month, and he said he is going to fuck me nine ways to Sunday. I went out and bought more stockings today.

See, and if they’d been thigh highs, I would’ve fucked you.

Just kidding. I just wanted to be creepy. Have fun!

I never, ever considered myself a pain slut. Sure, I like it rough and am in a Dom/sub relationship with one of my partners, but I was never craving pain. Then, in the beginning of the summer, my boyfriend started using his leather belt on my ass. I was shocked at how much I loved it. Mildly hard play sessions were pretty regular until we had a pretty bad fight that separated us for a few weeks in August. After we got back together we toned it down a bit but just a few weeks ago I mentioned I missed the feel of his belt on my ass.

Well, this morning we had a pretty intense session with the belt and it hurt a lot but I was flying. He asked me if my ass still hurt afterwards and it did, but not that bad. It wasn’t until I was getting ready for work tonight that I realized I have some raised red areas on my backside. I feel so proud of them, like maybe I am a pain slut now, hehe. Regardless, I feel like a very good little sub and at least that I have a bit more credibility in the kink scene.

Yay for pushing boundaries and enjoying more things! ::Internet high five::.

In my personal-in-QP’s-head kink scene, credibility comes from playing safe, treating others respectfully, owning who you are and what you’re into, sharing your knowledge, and displaying a delighfully sick imagination. How much pain someone can take doesn’t even begin to figure into it, but exploring does.

I have a hard time climaxing during sex. It’s not that I’m not into it or I don’t have the ability; I just get distracted really, really easily. I almost need to induce a zen-like state in order to get off.

I found out today I can do this by reviewing Attic Greek verb forms in my head. I swear by all true gods, I am going to shoot myself if this becomes a fetish.

That… that’s adorable. I’m not fetishizing it! But it is.

The situation – a gloriously painful breakup of a short and tumultuous relationship, a little over a year ago. In between? Lots of sex and a committed relationship (that ended badly in it’s own right). And now? I am still hung up on the guy that dumped me a year ago! How??? Why???

…is it those broad shoulders, smirking half-smile, and messy hair – exactly my type, no matter the gender? ….is it the fact that I kinda wish I -was- him that I can’t get over him? …is it because he is inextricably tied to my nostalgia for Japan? What the hell is with my persistent attraction, resilient even though he is a total slut-shamer and indecisive lout?

I’ve never held onto feelings this long after being dumped. I just don’t get it.

I don’t know why you’re still hung up on a slut-shaming lout; I really don’t. I agree with you that linking a person to nostalgia is a good way to give them a lot more power over you than reason dictates.

It sounds like you actually, if you’re being objective, wouldn’t get back together with this dude. Remember why. Remember what was awesome about Japan that wasn’t reliant on him. Remember that there’s nothing he can offer you that you can’t easily do without, or at least find somewhere else.

My most recent ex both introduced me to the joys of anal fingering and possibly ruined it for me forever by fingering me even when I said no. I can’t think of anal without thinking of being violated.

I am so very sorry you went through this.

Dear Way-too-many-people-on-Earth: Why is the concept of consent such a hard fucking thing for you to understand? Seriously.

I’ve started sleeping with my best friend, I’m only really attracted to him when I’m drunk but everyone says we should be in a relationship and it’s driving me crazy! I don’t want to go out with him, I just want to have sex with him when I feel like it and still be best friends, is that too much to ask??

You will have to ask him if it’s too much to ask. He may even tell the truth.

Confess your sexy things here!

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It is a fact both fundamental and under-appreciated: men’s bodies are sexy. The male body is a beautiful, astounding thing, and keeping it healthy is fucking important.

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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There is an art to giving a handjob. You will notice here that I don’t claim to have mastered this art, simply that it exists. I’ll admit that this is one of my weaker points when it comes to sexual skills. To me, a handjob is usually an entirely pragmatic maneuver: I’m trying to get or keep a penis hard until I can put it somewhere more exciting than between my hands. Handjobs, however artistic they have the potential to be, usually end up being transitional for me. I enjoy the penis touching, of course, but I can’t help thinking about what parts of me it could be touching forthwith.

And I have to admit, that sort of bugs me about myself.

I’m not a big fan of downtime. I would prefer that every moment with me be mindblowing for my lovers. In a perfect world my lips would vibrate, my cervix would have a tongue, and my hands stroking a penis would be as Aphrodite’s hands. In a perfect world. As it is, they are regular hands, and I sometimes worry that my handjobs are boring. There. I said it.

This is not why I gave my boyfriend Laramy the Tenga Egg Babeland sent me. But it’s part of why I offered to help him try it out. Also, though, sex toys are a hobby of mine, and you’re supposed to share your hobbies with your partner, right? It’s what couples do. Astoundingly, Laramy seemed much more eager to explore this than my equally avid interests in yoga and belly dancing.

The Tenga Egg is a cute, clever disposable masturbation sleeve. You can wash and reuse it if you’re careful, but it’s not the most robust sex toy ever made. It’s made of soft, flexible silicone elastomer, and available in six different textures. The cute, clever part is really in the packaging: these sleeves come in little plastic eggs with colorful labels. You can buy a fairly adorable single egg for $8.50, or you can save money and get a set of six in a crazy adorable egg carton! I haven’t seen a men’s sex toy presented this whimsically since some wag made it suddenly seem possible to fuck Yoda Yaddle.

You know you wish you'd thought of it first.

I was excited to see how Laramy liked the Tenga Egg, and maybe even get to feel like a handjob goddess. Why should my mouth get all the accolades? I mean, seriously!

The "Stepper"

The different textures include: what seem to be twisty vertical ribs, wavy horizontal ribs, a spider web (clearly the most erotic pattern known to man), knobby polka dots, thin spun thread patterns, and, the one Laramy ended up with, the “Stepper”, which looks– just to put this in the sexiest terms possible– like semicircular flaps arranged like scales. Or something. It seemed promising… stimulating.

We tore open the little packet of lube that comes with the Egg, applied it to both toy and tool, and took turns stroking. The sleeve is kind of like a looser, thicker, stretchier condom. Laramy said it felt good and the material was pleasant, but he didn’t seem to feel transported, as you might be if you were getting a handjob from, say, a goddess. Gradually, two problems became  apparent:

1. The lube provided was more sticky than it was at all lube-like.
2. The textured part of the Egg was concentrated around the sides, instead of the tip. All that exciting, scaly sensation was focused on the less sensitive parts of his penis. When fully stretched, the sleeve was completely untextured around the head of his cock.

The first problem is easy: inferior lube tends to get sticky. I would generally recommend someone use a lube they know they like when playing with a new toy anyway. But the second issue? Made no sense to either of us. Why would anyone design a toy with an emphasis on interesting textures and make sure those textures only touched shaft?

“Maybe it’s having to stretch too far because your cock is too big,” I suggested. Laramy did not hate that postulation. I think that might actually be what it was, though. Laramy does have a formidable dick, and otherwise we’re looking at just a glaring design flaw. Whatever the issue, the Tenga Egg didn’t work for him, although he thought it was promising in concept. He actually asked me if it was okay if he threw it away.

We ended the session with Laramy washing that horrendous lube off his cock and fucking me, which is usually exactly what I’m hoping to get out of a handjob.

Thanks, Babeland!

(image source)

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When you work as a phone sex operator, you are often essentially being paid to pretend you believe bullshit.

Yes, of course your penis is the exact dimensions of a foot-long meatball sub.

You’re talking to me while a Victoria’s Secret model is sucking your cock? Wow, Mister. That is really something!

So let me get this straight: You have interacted with real, actual people before? In public? Unsupervised? Oh, baby, that’s so hot.

I was uniquely suited to this task because I am naturally straight-off-the-bus gullible. When I was younger I somehow didn’t grasp the concept of lying to impress people. I loved to invent stories with fictional people, and I’d lied for self-preservation before, but it had never in my life occurred to me to prop myself up with false claims, and somehow that left me blind to it when others did it.

This led me to marvel at how that nice Mormon girl I knew in eighth grade had managed to join a gang of drug dealers. It also left me wondering how Reginald Sleeth, my first boyfriend, had managed to ghostwrite so many songs for indie bands without ever getting paid for it!

I have since learned to be a bit less credulous, but it’s still embarrassingly easy to lie to me sometimes. And this serves me well when people are lying to impress me and I’m supposed to seem duly impressed.

But this one guy took the cake.

I think one customer was single-handedly keeping the struggling phone sex company I worked for afloat. He called in almost every night I worked, and the dispatch ladies told me it was far more often than that.

As far as I could tell, he really did just want to talk.

I never heard any panting, quickened breathing, or sloppy slapping sounds. He never wanted to talk through his fantasies, he never wanted to talk dirty. He just wanted to talk.

Sure, it was usually about sex. He liked it best when I was playing a naive, innocent character and he could explain things to me. He’d tell me about his countless sexual exploits, and his preferences in women, and almost shyly describe his prowess. He loved to make a woman come over and over.

And I might have believed him, too, if it weren’t for the train story.

He’d traveled extensively, he said, in the days when that was as likely to mean great trains gliding across the country as airports and flying machines. And he had found women everywhere he went. This is a potentially true thing, since women are indeed just about everywhere. I have heard that scientists recently found a woman in Antarctica.

Once he was on a train and made his way through the observation car to the very back, where he could cling to the rear railing and get some fresh air.

As he took in the scenery of the tracks unraveling behind his mount, he smelled an unknown but intoxicating ladies’ perfume, and felt someone approach behind him, close, closer, pressing lightly against his back. He felt warm breath play at his freshly barbered neck, and then a soft kiss: a flutter, really. Lips on him, and then a gloved hand covering his eyes.

He felt his meatball sub of manhood stir, as the mystery woman’s hands reached around to unbuckle his belt and undo his pants.

And then they had sex, he told me. He never saw her face.

“Wow, that must’ve been really hot for… wait, you couldn’t see her face through the whole thing?” Trying to keep my voice giggly and shrill.

“She was behind me the entire time,” he told me, wistfully.

“But you had sex? Like, penis-in-vagina intercourse?” Completely breaking character now.

“Oh, yes. It was,” my customer concluded, “the most erotic experience of my life. She was the most beautiful woman I never saw…”

Oh god. Anatomy. Mechanics. Just… impossible. Hand over mouthpiece. Cackling. Gasping for air. Deep breath. Smile. Now. Give him what he’s paying for. Give him buoyant.

“Wow. That is really, really hot. You have had such an exciting life!” Give him brainless.

(image source)

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ConTuesday is upon us! Read on for your weekly dose of internet confessions.

You are DEFINITELY not the only girl who grew up wanting to bone Data in Star Trek. I was barely old enough to know what sex was when I decided I reckoned I could teach that android how to feel a few things.

I have a feeling that there are enough of us out there to make Brent Spiner a very happy man for the rest of his life.

I tried to comment there, but for some reason it didn’t work. *shakes fist* so here:
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I hate to admit it because she’s the most popular woman in porn right now (as far as I’m concerned), but I -love- Sunny Lane. Eager, excited, loves her job, comes at the drop of a hat… and it doesn’t hurt that she looks much like more than one of my lovers (is that weird?) Did you know her parents are her managers? Strange but true. Also, her (one) anal sex scene is super hot.

I, too, love Tristan Toarmino, whether she’s in a movie or directing it.

Beyond that, I rely on Ifeelmyself.com . I even had a friend on there, once, which was pretty hot. torrent up a few, so worth it.

–Crispin

Porn stars, like indie bands, just aren’t cool anymore once other people like them. That’s why my favorite porn stars are all webcam performers I found on craigslist Rhode Island.

Yes, Crispin, I am calling you out as a porn hipster. Also agreeing that Sunny Lane is well adorable.

I’ve always been sort of … negative in my opinion of myself, often in spite of specific evidence to the contrary. I’m poly, I’m married, I have two girlfriends and some other, less well defined sex partners. I figured I was, y’know, average, and the ladies were just trying to be nice. But I guess, after years of being told I’m large and know how to use it, and having gotten several of those occasional partners by direct reference, I have to actually accept it.

I know, an anonymous confession on the internet, from a guy, about how he’s got a big cock. How believable is that? *shrug* You said you wanted to hear something good, however, and it’s the most positive thing I can think of to say about myself. :)

I’m actually inclined to believe you, a guy posting to ConTuesday about how he has a big cock, partially because ConTuesday is anonymous so where’s the endgame? But also because you didn’t give fantasy inches. “My 10-inch tool” (or whatever) seen digitally always smacks of the over-elaboration that accompanies wishful thinking.

Similarly, when you are a silly girl in Middle School writing fiction, all your heroines have violet eyes with sapphire ringing the pupils. And gold flecks.

Guy I gave my phone number to yesterday: I want you. I want to ride you until your knees buckle, your toes curl up and you temporarily lose higher motor function. I want our involuntary screams of pleasure at all hours of the morning to wake everyone else on the block. I want to tie you up and do unspeakable things to you, and I want you to tie me up too. I want to lie in a heap of quivering flesh and sweat-soaked bedsheets with you. I want to lick every sweet inch of you. I want a reason to buy condoms in bulk. I want you… but I’d settle for coffee, so call me, ok?

Holy shit, please tell me he called.

If not, every guy out there who received a number a couple months ago and never called: You will never know if this was you.

Got a secret? Tell me. Massive extra points if it turns me on.

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It was probably ten years ago at this point, or nearly. Reginald Sleeth, the ex boyfriend by which all my other ex boyfriends come out looking pretty good, and I were sitting in a little sushi bar in Santa Monica. If we were between fights it was no more than a momentary break in the clouds, and the sun was not peeking through. The mood was heavy. Pop music played in the background. Our conversation was stuck at lull as we waited for our food to come out. I listened to the music for a minute, nothing to say.

“I kind of always knew I’d end up your ex girlfriend,” I announced calmly.

“Why would you even say that?” he demanded, angry. “That’s not fair at all. What a disgusting thing to say.”

“Ummm the No Doubt song that’s playing? Right now? Those are the lyrics.” Given, it wasn’t exactly the height of comedy to repeat the words to the song playing, but I thought it’d lighten the mood or something. Nope.

“Oh.” Icy.

To be fair, we were basically always on the verge of breaking up. It was probably in poor taste. But I guess on some level I did, kind of always know. Just like the song says. Maybe I meant it.

Here are some confessions that feature exes.

My ex boyfriend is internet famous, and rightly so because he’s talented… annoyingly so. We still get along okay, I consider him a friend. But guys my type ALWAYS turn out to be humongous fanboys of his. After we have the past relationships talk they have a million questions and want me to introduce them. So I either have to lie or live with the fact that I’m less interesting to heterosexual men than my ex boyfriend.

I figure for every fanboy you’re attracted to, there’s a similar, also-your-type guy who thinks your ex is just a little overrated. Unless your type is specifically your ex’s worshippers, which honestly would be worrisome for those of us that care about you and want you to move on.

Also, you realize you can skip over all identifying information when you have that past relationships talk, right?

I had sex with my ex (who is dating someone else) and it was fantastic. I missed fisting him!

I don’t know if this is in a sneaky or ethically open context, but either way it never ceases to amaze me that people can fit fists in their butts.

My boyfriend got drunk tonight and kicked me out of his house. I don’t even know what I did and he wouldn’t tell me — said he didn’t like me anymore — I was asleep and he sat me up roughly, sent me outside, called a cab and gave me 40 bucks to pay for it.

At least he was a gentleman enough to give me some cash for the cab. I called a dealer I used to know, bought some awesome coke, and don’t feel the least big guilty about the drugs because all I feel right now is peace and understanding — and I know that it’s over once and for all. I don’t even feel sad. It’s just over.

And here’s the sex part — I’m going to keep fucking him. Best sex I’ve ever had, and I’m not about to give that up. I’m just not going to be emotionally involved anymore. I’ve given up a lot of offers for sex while I’ve been with him — and it hasn’t been a sacrifice — but I’m going to start looking up those offers and offer him FWB. He’ll take me up on it, and I’ll have great sex with him, variety, and none of this bullshit anymore.

Yay. Thanks for the high dood. I’ll be calling you next time I’m hard up.

Every time I’ve ever had a no-strings-attached arrangement with an ex there were oh so many strings attached. But that’s just me.

Who the fuck wakes someone up just to dump them?

We only had sex once, it was bad bad bad because we didn’t know what we were doing because we were so young, and I got pregnant (miscarriage). But I think about my first love every single day. I miss him.

But I know for a fact that he wasn’t a good person, and he’d probably treat me like shit if I tried to get him back. Yet I pine.

Not to make assumptions here, but have you talked to someone about how having that miscarriage affected you? Maybe your first love, who sounds like a much better ex than a boyfriend, is more or less incidental to this story.

A couple of weeks ago I confessed that I missed my exes beautiful penis (not the size one) well I’ve found a new man who may not have the world’s most beautiful penis but uses it better than anyone I have ever met. I have had my faith in the world restored, and also think I may be the luckiest girl alive.

The original confession appears here. I’m very glad you’ve found a penis (or at least a penis user) that you can get excited about again.

Also, if this new guy would like to offer any sex tips to my penis-using readers, that would be just super.

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My sophomore year at University, I took a 100-level Women’s Studies class, partly because I was holding down three jobs and I wanted an easy course held in the evening, and partly because I felt like there were things I was missing out on.

I knew I was supposed to be finding myself (it’s what all the cool kids seemed to be doing in college), but I wasn’t. I was just going to class and working and trying to keep my relationship together. There was nothing revelatory about my life. But it seemed like maybe feminists could tell me where I was.

They couldn’t, of course. No one can. But for my final project in that class I wrote and illustrated an educational pamphlet on female genital anatomy. It was created to give young women a sense of normalcy regarding masturbation and a clear idea of what’s where in the vulvular region. And I don’t know why, but I’m still rather proud of it. Probably because it makes me laugh even now.

In retrospect, I really don’t think it’s possible to find yourself where and when you’re “supposed” to. Unlike the average clitoris.

Today’s confessions are about anatomy, more or less.

I’m an adult who wets the bed, and I’m terribly afraid every time I stay over after sex that I’m going to piss on him.

Some guys would be into that. Just saying.

My partner begs me to pee on him. CONSTANTLY. This does nothing for me, to the point where I find it disgusting. I did pee on his face for the first time in our many years together, and he loved it. I wanted to puke. Ah, love.

See, first confessor? It’s probably not exactly kismet that these two confessions actually came in the same day, but it’s something. Synchronicity, maybe.

Oh, and this commenter? You are good, giving, and game without a doubt.

My roommates are in the main lounge studying, but I feel a lot more productive–while masturbating, I finally succeeded in orgasming from nipple play alone. (of course the one nipplegasm didn’t stop me from subsequently going for the clit and coming again…)

Ooh I just had a nipple orgasm myself! Isn’t it cool how all the kinds of orgasms are different? You can have a five-course meal just of different kinds of coming.

I broke up with my boyfriend about a month ago, I don’t really miss him but what I do miss is his penis which was huge. I was going to have sex with someone else the other day but actually couldn’t do it because they just had nothing compared to him. I’m scared I’ll never be as satisfied with another penis as I was with his!

Not being a real size queen myself, I find it hard to relate to this, exactly, but I can sympathize. I’m imagining being condemned to skinny, three-inch cocks and a one-finger-at-a-time limit for the rest of my life, and I’m suddenly unsatisfied.

I’m scared I will never love another penis the way I loved my ex boyfriend’s penis. It was a beauty and now every single one I see is a true disappointment. I wish I’d taken a picture when I had the chance.

Wouldn’t it be nice if you and the previous confessor could just switch exes? I wonder if your “big”s are comparable. Unless you’re the same person, and your ex is mutant, unequaled in size the world over. In which case, balls.

But I remain firm in my belief that mammoth penii are out there, more than enough for both of you, just waiting to blow your minds.

Now, kind readers, blow my mind? Tell me something good.

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