quizzical pussy

ConTuesday is here, and it’s all about creative problem solving. Here are some innovative anonymous confessions from mysterious denizens of the internet:

As quite an overtly sexual, somewhat kinky type, I’m often attracting shocked/disdainful/disapproving looks from passers by, when sneaking betwixt clubs and hotels and whatnot.

When I receive such a look, I really enjoy (despite almost never finding the person attractive) vividly imagining the giver of the look and myself engaged in the filthiest sexual practice I can come up with at the time, then making eye contact and imagining how they’d feel if they knew what I was thinking.

I’m increasingly unsure if this is hilarious or genuinely sinister.

I’m a rather closeted bisexual-sex-fiend and there are no sex toy stores near me, thus explaining my lack of dildos. I use mascara tubes after they’re done. My fravourite is Lash Max by Maybelline ;D

Now I’m wondering if those vibrating mascaras would be any good.

I cheated on my boyfriend. Three times so far (all with the same guy). The first two times I just gave him head, but the third time we had sex. I really don’t like the guy I’m cheating with, but his cock is really fabulous so I keep wanting to do it even though I know I shouldn’t and really don’t want to except for the awesome sex. I wish my boyfriend gave me as awesome sex, then I wouldn’t still be waiting the other guy.

My husband and I have an “open marriage”. My husband fucks like a porn star but he kisses me like I’m his 90 year old Aunt. Kissing is just about my favorite thing to do, so much so that I’d rather make-out with someone than get oral. If he’d kiss me half as passionately as he fucks, I’d have no need for other men.

If only partners were modular and you could upgrade just one thing. Of course, people have been saying that since time began. Great sex and kissing are pretty great, though. I will have one of each, size large.

Have something to share? Give it to me.

A friend asked how long Laramy Fuquerton and I have been together now.

“Well, I mean…” I tilted my head thoughtfully, “It really depends what you’re counting as ‘together’…” We started fucking about a year ago, but we’d been making out for a month or two at that point. We sort of sauntered casually into “seeing each other” and lingered there a while until we finally admitted we were “boyfriend and girlfriend” about six-ish months later (our friends-in-common were all pretty amused when we finally figured that one out.) But we still didn’t say “I love you” until months after that. And we started being “in a relationship” on Facebook a while later.

It’s possible that we have commitment issues. Either that or he’s just been incredibly understanding of the ones I know I have. Which really aren’t that horrible. It’s just the swift, jarring kind of commitment that scares the shit out of me, so my tendency is to take it to the other extreme: the laughably obvious kind of commitment that gets lapped by molasses-flavored glaciers.

As a result, Laramy and I don’t really have an “anniversary”. In fact, anniversaries confuse me for the reasons stated above. They’re so arbitrary. I understand wedding anniversaries. A wedding is a finite date that you can point to and say “something started here”. But short of that, it’s murky: the kind of relationships I have don’t have inaugural ceremonies. I have never, in my life, thought I was on a “first date”. Of course, you don’t need a first date. You can use any of the following milestones as your anniversary:

• first awkward pat/hug
• first kiss
• first grope
• first manual sex
• first oral sex
• first intercourse
• first penetration with produce (not advisable, btw)
• first fight
• first time you met each other’s friends
• first time you met each other’s parents
• first time you had to apologize for asking to meet your new paramour’s parents because s/he’s an orphan

…and the list goes on and on. If a bunch of these things happened to occur on the same day, that makes it easy (note: I did not just call you easy), but otherwise it ends up being, like I said, pretty arbitrary. Then, some people have the grand idea of celebrating anniversaries for every little progression in their relationships, which for me would feel much like the:

• first time I wanted to die.

Seriously, that would suck.

Edwin Pomble, my boyfriend previous to Laramy, was more pro-commitment and pro-fanfare. To give an example, he told me he loved me the second time we had sex, when we’d known each other for a month, tops.  (I’m not saying that’s a bad idea in general, only that I sure as goddamn found it alarming.) He and I were together for four years, and I never quite got the hang of when our anniversary was (or what, precisely, it commemorated).  I was pretty sure it was in a month ending in “ber”, but I never advanced beyond that. If I’m being honest, I wasn’t very happy in that relationship and it’s possible that I actually just didn’t find it particularly worth celebrating. So my brain passive-aggressively refused to remember the date, which was a dickish move. And it bothered him that I couldn’t be arsed to keep track of which day in which “ber’. It should’ve been a clue to both of us that it was time to move on.

So I don’t know exactly how long I’ve been with Laramy. A year-ish. A really great year-ish, during which I’ve gotten to get closer and closer, at my own pace, to a person who amazes me and complements me and tolerates me and makes me happy. I’m incredibly lucky that way. And we’re worth celebrating, but I honestly think we do, constantly, in our own ways.

(image source)

Today's post isn't really about sex. But this makes up for it, no?

I was born in the United States, and that’s where I live. Today is Independence Day here. It commemorates not any victory or truce, but simply the intention to stop being a trodden-upon colony. This is kind of like celebrating your anniversary with a paramour on the day you first admitted you wanted to fuck each other rather than the day you actually did for the first time. Which is fine, really, just an interesting choice that becomes completely meaningless unless there’s some decisive follow-through. Which, in the case of the Declaration of Independence, there was. It was called the Revolutionary War.

I’m somewhat conflicted as a U.S. citizen. It always feels awkward that there’s not a proper word for us. “American” is desperately broad and kind of pushy, as if the manifest destiny myth gives us the right to claim ourselves the sole possessors of all flavors and varieties of Americas, some of which are entire continents. Sure, “America” in this case is just shorthand for “United States of America”, and no one else seems to need it as much as we do (try saying United Statesian. It just doesn’t work), but it bothers me anyway. Other things bother me more profoundly. Our country was never, even once, all integrity and liberty and pie. The United States government and its citizens systematically slaughtered and displaced the people of sovereign native nations to get us where we are today. They enslaved and exploited those people and so many others for generations. No ends justify those means.

I don’t believe our founding fathers were infallible or indefatigably noble. I don’t think that they necessarily planned for “all men are created equal” to mean seriously fucking everyone someday. They were, as we are, products of their era and culture, and that means they had some pretty shitty ideas about plenty of subjects. Instead of perfect intentions and godlike wisdom (or even the moral high ground), though, they gave us wonderful promises and forged them into law. That’s their beautiful legacy.

What I love about my home are the promises it was built on. Those flawed men gave us the framework to grow into an honest, fair, and free society, or as close as we’re likely to ever get. I intensely believe this, and it makes me grateful and yes, proud.

But just because those promises were made doesn’t mean they’re automatically kept. I don’t just think, I observe that we’re not as free as we think we are in this country. Votes become increasingly difficult to verify as paper ballots are phased out. Appointing corporate lobbyists to White House cabinet and advisory positions has become de rigueur. People are lining up to hand in their reproductive rights, relinquish free speech (funny how limiting someone else’s rights also compromises your own), and to thwart the one provision in the Constitution that seems designed to give us a fighting chance if everything goes irretrievably to hell. We’re losing cherished friends, family, and compatriots in two interminable wars that most of us don’t seem to believe in. Our president, who was stridently opposed to the Patriot Act while he was campaigning, recently extended it by a year, and was met with precious little outrage.

The government can do bad things. It will sometimes try to do them in secret. There are recorded, admitted instances where this has happened in the past. So I have to ask, has any government in history ever cleaned up its act and restored its integrity on its own, without a coup, a war, or at least the undeviating insistence of an incensed public? What makes us think a government that, for example, covertly performed mind-control experiments on many of its citizens without their informed consent mere decades ago can be trusted today?

And yet, apathy thrives. Helplessness encroaches.

I realize that everyone has a different vision of the ideal America (mine has a lot of naked frolicking). I don’t know the answers to everything, and I’m not pretending to. I just feel very strongly that no good can come from a nation’s citizens having fewer rights and sitting idly by while more important promises are broken. Even if you’re not using all your rights or you don’t particularly like some of them, aren’t they… I dunno… kind of nice to have? Just in case?

My fellow United Statesians, have a great Independence Day. See fireworks. Grill meat (or tofu, if you’re kinky like that) over fire. Celebrate your state’s relaxed sodomy laws. Do something outdoors. Our nation is beautiful and you have every right to love it. But today I feel bound to remind myself that freedom isn’t something you’re necessarily born with and get to keep. That’s the way it should be, in a perfect world, but in reality freedom can be taken away at any time. That’s when you have to decide whether or not you’re going to declare your intentions to fight for it. And then, fucking follow through.

Modern demons have advanced a bit.

Words are like people. Complex. They each have a history, an evolution. And just like when you sleep with someone you’re also sleeping with everyone that person has ever slept with (hawt), when you say a word you summon up all these wonderful tendrils of ghostly meanings that you might not even realize.

And some of the tendrils just tickle me.

Chastity and celibacy are now used interchangeably to mean “miserable”…er, rather, to mean “the state of not fucking”. In days of yore, though, neither of them meant that. You could actually be either and also get laid. Chastity referred to having no illicit sexual liaisons, so no-frills sex inside marriage for purposes of procreation was perfectly chaste. Celibacy simply meant “the state of not marrying”. Celibate clergy would have loads of bastard babies back in yore.

The etymological roots of incubus and succubus come from the Latin for “to lie upon” and “to lie under”, respectively. This suggests that even demons observe the missionary position. How bland.

There’s no point to this other than the fact that I find it terribly interesting.

(image source)

ConTuesday is upon us. I’m feeling really chatty today, so I’m going to (perhaps annoyingly) comment on every single confession I’m posting. As someone who cares about my readers and wants to make sweet, sweet love to most of you (not in a creepy way, I swear!), I care what you think. If my personal notes detract from ConTuesday confessions, feel free to comment or send me anonymous feedback on (oh, here’s an idea!) this anonymous form. However, you should know that I can’t possibly be arsed to care what you think about my extensive use of parentheses.

I hate it when I catch my boyfriend checking out other women. When I’m with him and see a guy who catched my eye, I’ve very discreet if I sneak a look, and I’d like him to use the same discretion. It seems stupid, because we both do it, and it’s utterly harmless when I check out another man. I know it’s harmless when he checks out another woman. And why pretend that we’re not doing something we both know that we both do? But I still hate it when I catch him doing it when he’s with me.

I think a major relationship perk of being bi is that I tend to check out chicks with my boyfriends and it’s really fun and bonding. This isn’t advice or anything, just a personal note (see above).

I wish one of my friends would dump his fiance. Mostly because she does shit like get drunk and tell him he’s not good enough for her, but partly because I miss the FWB situation we used to have. I keep thinking about him bending me over the arm of the couch and fucking me until my legs gave out. But mostly, it’s the thing about his fiance being a total bitch. Really.

I’ve been in the position where I’ve felt a friend was making horrible relationship decisions. I’ve also been the one making horrible relationship decisions. While I’ve never had it complicated by mad lust, I imagine that makes it roughly 500 times more frustrating. Why, oh why is it never appropriate to say, “Hey buddy, you’re with an abusive/evil/annoying/incompatible/etc. dead-end. It’s time to go back to the drawing board and also, unrelatedly, bend me over this couch.”?

A few weeks ago I decided to purchase a sex toy (two actually) as a surprise for my wife. I thought she would find it exciting. Was I ever wrong! As for now she is not open to the idea. She asked me a few questions. 1. Are YOU not happy with our sex life? Yes. I am. 2. Do I have, or have I ever had, any problem reaching orgasm? No. You have not. 3. Do I not immensely enjoy our sex? Yes. You do. 4. Then WHY bring home a couple of sex toys?! I was crushed. I also immediately felt stupid for not speaking with her about bringing home a foreign object I intended to place inside her most private of parts. After giving it some consideration, I realized that I had just received an amazing compliment. My wife is very satisfied with our lovemaking. She demonstrated that enjoyment again last night. Mind-blowing to be sure! I haven’t tossed out the toys. Hopefully one day we will be able to use them. If not, I’ll keep on enjoying our great relationship, both in and out of bed!

Sex toys aren’t for everyone. I have a dream where an amazing sex life is, though. Glad you guys found it!

My cum tastes good to me. I’m not sure if it’s the same as not able to smell yourself when you stink, but I like it. The weird thing is I’m a little proud of this.

Dude, own it. Apropos of little, sometimes my sweat smells like chicken soup. FOR THE SOUL. Okay, not for the soul.

Send me your sex confessions!

Anonymous confessions GO!

I just started sleeping with a boy who is submissive. I’m submissive too, and awhile ago it would have really bummed me out that he wouldn’t be interested in dominating me and I wouldn’t have been able to dominate him. But now I’m in a triadic relationship with two dominants, I get all the domination I need. And apparently this combination is really good for me, because it’s like I’ve discovered a hidden wellspring of my own dominance and last night, I dominated someone properly (as opposed to awkwardly) for the first time in my life. Certainly not as skillfully as someone with experience, but definitely with passion and commitment. And I loved it!

My first boyfriend and I started dating when we were 14, and we dated until we were 21 when we finally broke up. His parents never gave him the sex talk and he had no idea about girls’ bodies, he learned it all from me. Somewhere along the line, he got the idea that girls hardly ever poop, and when they do they are very tiny little “rabbit turds”. I thought this was hilarious, so for the six years we were dating (we never lived together) I kind of encouraged this belief. We broke up, and he ended up in another relationship. They went on vacation together, and a few days into the vacation I got a text message from him (after months of no contact) that just said “YOU LIED ABOUT THE POOP!” I feel kind of bad for this poor girl who had to deal with a 22 year old who didn’t know girls pooped, but on the other hand I still laugh my ass off thinking about it.

I’m seriously glad that I wasn’t drinking anything when this confession first came in, because I would need a new keyboard from the eruption of spit/laughter combo.

Had my first threesome tonight. I double teamed one of my old friends with benefits with her new husband. Not too sure how I feel about it. It was fun, and all about trying new things, but I’m not sure if I want it to be a more than a one time thing. I’m all for trying new things, and I did without crossing any of my lines but there is some stuff I’m not particularly interested in doing again. It’s not a matter of disgust or anything, more of a blah, boring, does nothing for me kind of thing. Anyway, I think a good time was had by all but if it happens again I’ll have to explain that there are some things that really don’t do it for me, that I’m just not interested in.

I recently got out of an abusive relationship with a girl. Now, I’m on a new relationship with a new girlfriend and we love each other dearly. However, I get the feeling lesbian sex makes her feel guilty or something. she isn’t too comfortable with her own sexuality and she’s pretty insecure about herself. We rarely ever have sex because of that. Though I hate to admit it, I now often find myself fantasizing with the kind of violent sex my ex and I used to have in which she would humiliate me and completely dominate me. I’m furious at myself for this.

I hate it when people talk about sex. Not out of a sense of modesty, but because my friends keep turning out to be kinky or bisexual or poly, just like I am. I want to be the most decadent person in the room.

Do you have secrets? Sure you do. Send them in– anonymously!– here.

Tuesday brings anonymous confessions as surely as June showers bring tornadoes. But anonymous confessions are way better unless I end up in Oz.

I keep a list of everyone I’ve ever fucked. Multi-year partners and one-night stands. It’s just their names, no details, no contact information. So far there are 18 entries. 5 have no last names. 1 has no first or last name. I’m not sure why I keep this list, or if it’s creepy.

I’m going with “not creepy”. If you had a spreadsheet with full names, current addresses, and mothers’ maiden names, that would be creepy. Come to think of it, though, I kind of keep a list myself, so my opinion might not count.

my boyfriend claims to have low sex drive and hardly ever has sex with me. Hmm. He spends an awful lot of time looking at nekkid women on the internet when I’m not around, though. Am I crazy to feel jealous? Clearly I’m inadequate. I’ve never had a man make me doubt my attractiveness before.

You’re not crazy to feel jealous. I think it’s usually silly when women feel threatened by chicks in porn, but when you’re not getting any sex it’s really easy to resent the fact that your guy is essentially being more sexual with strangers than he is with you. I don’t have any advice, and I wish I did, but I would feel exactly the same.

My first real life sexual experience was a full blown BDSM scene with a guy 20 years older then me I met on the internet. I was tied, gagged, blindfolded, beat to shit, fucked in the ass, beat some more then finally lost my “real” virginity before he pulled out and came in my mouth (which made me gag). It was awesome.

As a feminist, lesbian etc… I would have never watched the aforementioned “anal golf ball” porn, but found it super arousing…So much for studying for finals.

Have a confession that you’re dying to tell someone? Pick me! I’ll post it anonymously for you.

Buy A Sex Toy Day is mere days away, and I’m still not 100% sure whether I’m going with the vibrating, intercourse-enhancing We Vibe 2 or the life-changing g-spot phenomenon, the Njoy Pure Wand.

It’s apples and oranges, really. It’s not like we’re talking Freddy and Jason here. There’s no clear winner (that would be Freddy, by the way). They would fill different voids in my toy arsenal; I clearly need both of them eventually, but which do I need roughly now-ish? Like so many things in life, it’ll come down to whim.

Or maybe I’ll just take a vote on my sex blog.

Anonymous confessions from the internet! The first one is very timely, since Buy A Sex Toy Day is this Friday, and someone wants some tips on what to buy…

Can you recommend a sex toy for me? I’ve been inspired by Buy A Sex Toy Day, and I think it’s time for me to get better acquainted with myself. It needs to be cheap (under $50) because I’m unemployed and broke. It should be non-threatening, because this makes me incredibly nervous. And it should vibrate, because, well… I want it to.

Yay! I’m so excited you want to get a sex toy for BAST day! I wrote about the Wahl massager yesterday, and I have to say, I think it would fit your criteria very well. It’s unintimidating: it doesn’t look like a penis, it has no clues to its sexual applications on its packaging, and in a pinch you might even be able to convince people you use it on your sore neck. Oh, and does it ever vibrate! The only real problem is that it isn’t insertable, so if you’re looking for penetration you’ll want something more like this Orchid G, which I’ve never tried but have heard good things about. The bulb gives you g-spot stimulation, but it also makes it versatile as a clit vibrator. The major con to this toy is apparently that it’s wicked loud. If anyone has any other suggestions, please comment!

I was not very worldly when my first boyfriend started talking about anal. Didn’t sound like a good time to me, but if there’s one thing you can say about me, it’s that I’m game. One night he plied me with wine, teased the hell out of me and made me beg for a proper seeing-to. I was feeling very warm and agreeable when he flipped me over on hands and knees and very gently, very gradually eased his huge large cock in. I actually really liked it and I squirted. [two confessions in one: I didn't know about squirting and was horrified-- I def. didn't need to pee. Took me years to realize...] The next time, he was in a big, big rush. I was getting turned off by the relationship in general at that point, planning my exit, and maybe slightly less game than before. He hurried me to drink some cheap wine (ugh!) and then I was there on the floor, hands and knees. I admonished him to go slowly, to let me tell him when to move forward, but once things commenced, he decided to ram it home. Fucker. He was a big clothes horse and spent vast sums on clothes/shoes, but was the last of the galloping cheapskates in every other way. So there I was on the floor, NOT about to squirt, not about to have anything I’d remember as a positive experience and he’s going to town in pursuit of his own pleasure. I felt the bile rising in my esophagus. *gack* What to do? I was gonna puke. The combo of cheap wine, personal distress and rushing what could have been a good thing was a perfect storm of oogyness, and I had to think fast – where to direct my vomit? One of his prized shark-grey Bruno Magli loafers was nearby, yawning, oblivious to my plight– someone had to pay. I grabbed it and yakked. Instant boner-kill. FWIW – anal is now on my definite list of likes, but has to be done very carefully. I think it’s sad how many people miss out on it because they don’t do a little research and proceed in a way that won’t damage the fuckee. Lube. Lube. Lube.

I absolutely agree. Anal sex can be so much fun, but! Lube. Lube. Lube.

So me and my ex-husband swang, we split, and he loved me so much that he felt the need to find me a lover. Only thing is, is this lover he wanted me to get with was 1) A good friend of his 2) married and 3) my former capt. I acted all offended but contacted the guy anyway. We have been together for a year now and part of me so wants to tell my ex how much better in bed he is, but a bigger part wants my ex to be there to watch it.

I never told my first that he was my first- and he never noticed.

Do you have any deep, dark secrets, questions, or concerns? Send them to me. I’ll give them a good home.

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!