quizzical pussy

I get a lot of sex secrets. Sometimes if I’m not ready to use them yet I stick them in my laundry basket, hoping they’ll stay put, that they won’t wiggle away through the holes. But never, never have I met a fully domesticated secret.

They bleed onto the wooden floor of my closet. They flit around, nipping off shreds of my 2012 Baby Animals wall calendar. February’s infant orangutan? Almost unrecognizable.

I almost always eventually find them camped out under the bed. I think the masturbation sounds help them sleep.

I think I’ve got an insemination fetish.

My wife and I want kids in a few years. She’s infertile, so I’d be carrying, and we’ll probably be using frozen anonymous donor sperm, or asking a friend to be a known donor. Not a lover or ex-lover or potential lover. Most of the guys on the short list to ask are gay or monogamous or both. We’ll be conceiving our kids with careful deliberation, genetic tests and charts tracking my fertility and speculums and needle-less syringes. It makes sense. Bringing kids into the world is a big thing, and we want to do it carefully, thoughtfully, deliberately.

My pussy disagrees.

Ever since we started seriously talking about this, since it became a question of when and how not if, I’ve been having these fantasies. I want to feel a man come inside me, feel his semen in my cunt. (Can you actually feel that? I have literally used a condom every time a man’s penis has been in my vagina. I will probably never find out first hand. Roads untaken and all that.) Lately, when I’m alone and jilling off, nothing gets me so wet as thinking about hot little sperm making their way past my cervix.

I’m not pining for the heterosexual marriage I didn’t wind up in. It’s nothing like that. I don’t want to conceive while making love to hypothetical husband I’ll never have.

No, what I want is for a stranger to press me against the wall, shove aside my panties and enter me bare. I want my womb to take that man’s come and make life out of it. I want to be bent over a table, as one man after another, men I can’t even see the faces of, let alone know the names of, fuck me one after another, semen dripping out of my pussy. Every time another man adds his genes to the lottery I come again, cunt spasming around his cock, drawing his semen in. He withdraws, stands aside to watch the next man fuck me hard, his cock sliding sloppily through what the five-ten-fifty men before him left, panting and thrusting and trying to just enjoy the feel of cock in cunt while hoping against hope that he’ll be the lucky one.

Stop. Scene changes, I’m alone with just one man again. ”It doesn’t matter,” he says, all self-assurance and possessiveness, as he holds me close, one hand around my neck, as he thrusts into me slowly. ”It doesn’t matter how many other men you fuck, because you are mine, and you will carry my heir.” He could be many people, those men I keep in the deep of my subconscious, nothing like any of the men I might have married but didn’t, nobody I’d want to share my life with out in the real world. He’s dangerous, he’s powerful, he owns me. Sometimes he’s a medieval king, or a cliched evil overlord*, or a demon, sometimes generic and sometimes from a book or movie or game or something, but usually his identity slips and slides until he’s just an archetype, a platonic Master holding me, fucking me down, taking me, marking me as his, and I want nothing more but to conceive his child, and when he finally comes I feel it happening, feel his sperm invading me, and I orgasm so hard my vision goes black.

Sometimes I wonder what the hell this means, whether I’m sublimating my feelings about donor insemination and pregnancy in general and blah blah blah. Not today, though. Today I’m just going to appreciate the mind-blowing orgasms.

Even the ones that happen while I’m fantasizing about getting knocked up by Bowser from the Super Mario games.

Oh yes. Yes, you can feel it. Absolutely. It feels, I imagine, not unlike Sushie’s “squirt” move from Paper Mario.

i like to take sexy photos of myself. It makes me feel pretty and seductive and ok, maybe a little bad (in a good way). Sometimes I send these photos to a friend a few states away. Hey, he likes porn, I like validation, everyone’s happy. Until my exboyfriend hacked my email and forwarded the photos to himself. Bummer! I’m worried what he’ll do with them, but mostly I’m just angry because they’re MY BOOBIES and I’ll show them to who I want, when I want. So there.

You have every right to be angry. I would characterize this as going beyond “bummer” and going straight to “massively creepy stalker behavior” with a side of “egregious privacy violation”, for what it’s worth.

This past year, I got fed up of trying to be sexually satisfied with my workaholic partner alone, and decided to devote some time to pleasing myself. I joined a porn site, I started writing smut, and I have taken my self-pleasuring to a new level.

It has been fantastic. I feel those same feelings you get when you are newly in love- the constant drive, can’t-take-my-hands-off-you, stay up all night making-out sort of feelings, except by myself. As a result, my sex life with my partner has increased dramatically. Even though he is often still too tired to have sex as much as I want, I am perfectly happy if he lets me go down on him and then I can make myself come.

Not having my sexual satisfaction depend on anyone else has changed my life.

I feel inspired by this, to always use my computer for smut and never for hacking.

Also to develop a giggly, gropy crush on myself. Both good ideas, really.

I think that fucking someone in front of a bunch of other people would be really hot. Man or woman, but I’d want the people watching to be older men in suits, sexy sexy suits. Maybe they’d all take turns using me. Pretty basic fantasy I guess, but damn does it get me wet.

Also, the only person I’ve really had sexual relations with was this nice Jewish boy last semester. I’d suck his dick, he’d go down on me, call me names, hit me with various kitchen implements, all those nice things that nice Jewish boys are good at. But we never had penis-vagina sex, which makes me feel like other people think I should still call myself a virgin. But after having a binder clip stuck to my nipple, been spanked with a spatula, been fingered up the ass, etc and so forth, I just feel a lot less virginal. No idea why.

Also…I really really really really want to see what he’s up to this year. Damn you, sexy Jewish boy. Damn you. My own hand can only do so much.

I’d like to teach the world that virginity is a weird, made-up concept. It’s not even spatula-solid, really.

I do not understand why someone would be monogamous when there’s a chance of orgies on the table.

…Particularly when they then proceed to steal your sex toys.

Dear monogamous person/s,

Why would you steal my sex toys? What is wrong with you?

P.S. That would put all my sex toys into multiple-partner status.

P.P.S. Orgies!

Last summer, I visited the Southwest; there was no privacy, so I couldn’t get off at all, but my hormones were raging. Thus, a state of constant horniness ensued. Then one day, as the week-long heat was at its peak, I escaped to a pool which was deserted because of an oncoming storm. It was blistering, but strong winds had started to blow, and as I dropped my frustrated, overheated body into the pool, I had a sense that the moment was special, set aside from the rest – the moment before the break. I quickly discovered the water jet, planted my arms on the side of the pool so it looked like I was casually relaxing, shifted by pelvis against the jet, and came like fireworks as the rain began to fall. Then pushed off and floated, weightless, listening to the oncoming storm.

Whoever says masturbation can’t be meaningful and significant is wrong.

Never underestimate the transformative power of orgasms or weather patterns or water pressure.

Or secrets.

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I bet you think I’m going to be all bitter about Valentine’s Day right now: partly because I’m generally snarky and churlish about it, but also because of the “my heart being recently hulksmashed” thing. You’re so wrong, though. You’re so very wrong.

Know why? Because the bottom line is I love love. I believe in it. And I want everyone to have it in one way or another. If romantic love isn’t your thing, then I want you to have the greatest platonic friends money can’t buy. If it is, I want you to feel like you’re floating three inches off the ground, minimum. Today and every day.

Love is the shit. Happy V-day.

My gorgeous girlfriend is an electrician by profession and I think watching her wire equipment is about the sexiest thing in the world. She’s in the middle of a project now, and when she’s done I fully intent to jump her.

If you live in a porn flick, it’s the most adorable one.

My boyfriend moved in with me a week ago. Yesterday we finally had to give in and take a day off from sexy fun times because we were both too sore. Today we didn’t get out of bed until 7:30 pm. So much for recovering, neither of us can walk straight again.

Too much sex to walk right seems like the perfect Valentine’s Day gift. Surprise someone special!

I normally take ages to orgasm, and because of that sometimes it doesn’t happen at all because I plateau and then get stressed out about whether my partner minds how long it’s taking, or if it will happen, etc etc. As such I am quite uncomfortable with being on the receiving ed of oral, it doesn’t usually work.

I feel the need to tell you my fantastically awesome (in all other ways too) boyfriend gave me the most unexpectedly perfect oral the other day and I came in five minutes flat, maybe less. High fives all round?

Exactly fuck yes high fives all around! Good guessing there.

I’m poly, and my girlfriend is married to a man.

I harbor a secret hope that they’ll decide to have children because as hot as my girlfriend is, I think my head might explode from how incredibly sexy she’d look if she were pregnant.

This is really sweet and all, but I also can’t help thinking how depressed I’d be if a partner never found me sexier than the six or so months leading up to a traumatic shredding of my vulva.

But happy Valentine’s Day!

hey

well ive never actually really read any blogs regularly but i gotta say i love the combo of sex / intellect / humour and complete randomness! anyway this is from a couple of weeks ago. i hadnt long started a new job and only get 36 (yep, 36!) minutes a day for my lunch. i have enough time to drive home eat lunch made my hubby (hes not working just now) and scarper off back to work…until one day. he gave me a cheeky smile, dragged me through to the room….and made me come just as the alarm in my phone was going off for my time to leave for work! i might have been hungry at work but had a massive smile on my face for the rest of the afternoon! :) just had to share!

Okay, people. Basic human rights shit here: A lunch hour should allow enough time for a proper lunch and a quickie. 36 minutes!

I am moving in with my boyfriend on Monday. This is awesome. I had what was probably the best sex of my life last Saturday. (Er, with said boyfriend.) This is also awesome.

I am not going to see my boyfriend again until Saturday. I have already packed all of my porn.

This is less than awesome. (Time to read sex blogs!)

There’s an awful lot of smut on the internet. And hopefully a lot of one-upping the best sex of your life in your bed on a regular basis.

Since breaking up with my ex boyfriend I can’t stop fucking my friends. And it’s FANTASTIC.

Maye fucking one’s friends is the happiest, healthiest kind of relationship of all.

…Okay, maybe I’m just the tiniest bit bitter.

Sex Confessional

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ConTuesday is a certain cure for a clean mind. Don’t even take my word for it…

I finally anted up and got a Feeldoe!

I love having a cock now!

And so does my boyfriend!

Yay! And I cannot stress this enough: it never gets old.

Both my roommates were out, so I decided to engage in some old-fashioned hedonism.

What resulted was a forty-minute long INTENSE fuck session with literally all my toys. At one point I was rolling around on the bed with four sperate vibrators going at once, combining and alternating them all like some sort of Mad Dildo Hatter.

It was awesome.

Okay, so obviously I’m picturing this in my mind’s eye. There’s no way that’s not happening. But there’s also no way I can picture it without you cackling maniacally. I just thought I’d let you know.

I have this aunt who has low-level but persistent biphobia of the “they don’t really exist” kind. She also happens to be a lesbian. When it comes up (which, in fairness, isn’t THAT often), I feel like I should maybe talk to her, but as a straight (cis, white, etc) male I feel weird about confronting someone who is actually gay (not to mention 20 years older) about social justice and sexuality.

I understand your reluctance here, since you’re coming from a place of privilege, as they say. But speaking as a sexual orientation minority, I wouldn’t mind you saying “My bisexual friends think they exist,” or something like that.

It should also be noted that I’m not exactly Yo, Is This Racist, so I don’t know, I’m not an expert on confronting people sight unseen on their xenophobia. But no matter how many times I’m wrong about shit, bisexuals will still exist.

I had what I’ve been calling an “incident” two years ago. I told friends about it, but they never characterized it as rape, so I didn’t either at the time. I’ve been uneasy about it ever since. What happened was, I sought out and had casual sex with a guy one night. A few days later he came to my place, presumably to talk to me, and began pressuring me to have sex with him. Typical fore-play activity ensued, but I kept insisting I did not want to have sex with him, and he kept asking for it. I eventually gave in and let him have sex with me, and the thought process was, “If I have sex with him, he will leave me alone.” So I guess I said yes, but it was a complete internal NO which I feel a more intuitive person would have picked up on. He had my verbal consent, so I’m sure there’s no way he would ever feel as if he raped me. But I don’t know what to call it, or how to feel about. I just don’t talk about it.

What your friends said about the situation doesn’t define it. What I say about it doesn’t define it. What he thinks about it sure as hell doesn’t define it. Only you can know if this man pestered and harried you into manufactured false consent, and if you slept with him just to get him off your back. I can tell you that coercive rape is absolutely a real thing, and what you describe sounds like it could very easily be a textbook case.

If you didn’t give your consent willingly, the sex should never have happened. Period. I’m sad that you went through this.

My boyfriend is a chemistry major, and I would really like to fuck him in his lab coat.

Really badly.

Okay, so obviously I’m picturing this in my mind’s eye. There’s no way that’s not happening. But there’s also no way I can picture you guys fucking like this without Thomas Dolby’s “Blinded Me With Science” playing in the background. I just thought I’d let you know.

It saddens me that every time i watch a tentacle hentai it is always rape, because if it were me I would love it. Just the idea of having something large, muscular and that have COMPLETE MANEUVERABILITY just sets something off in me. Also the idea of it holding me down (or up) gets me wet.
I am a straight female. I like boobs I do, but anything below the belt…not so much. i feel like its weird and cant discuss it with any of my female friends.

You might want to check this out when it’s finally published. Also, check these out:

octoboobs!

Hey, so tell me about stuff.

(image source)

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Thank you for trusting me with your confessions. Especially the really bizarre ones. But also the sweet ones, the wistful ones, the confessions from crisis and the lurid missives of lust. All of them, really.

I have no idea who you are, but your minds are delicious.

My boyfriend and I are doing some anal play, with an eventual goal of anal sex. Unfortunately he’s a rather girthy guy and the pretty little butt plug I bought simply doesn’t come close to approximating him. Yesterday we went to the toy shop and did some looking for an intermediate step, or something slightly larger than he is, to keep working toward our goal.

All I could think was how intimidating the buttplugs look! The ones with gradual girth increases are all slim enough to not be useful and the rest either get fat really fast or incorporate some shape that frankly looks scary as hell.

We wound up getting a silicone dong that starts about where the plug leaves off and has a very gentle girth increase until it qualifies me for his lovely cock, and then some.

Plus, it was way cheaper than the ” anal trainer ” toys.

Am I the only woman out there who doesn’t really care about the toys (although I thoroughly enjoy myself when we use them) except as a means to an end? I don’t want it to vibrate or oscillate or be beaded or engraved or whatever else those things were. I just want it to be what I need, a way to allow my body to adjust to the point where I can give my love something he really likes.

This is the most romantic thing I’ve ever read that incorporates the word “dong”. I hope your system is paying off in anal orgasms and a sex life that gets better by the day.

I’ve found myself in a crisis situation. I have to have strong vibrations to get off, and my vibrator just broke. I go to school in a tiny, rural town without a sex-toy shop. My credit card is still under my parent’s account, so I can’t use it to order a new one off the internet. And I won’t be in a big city again until Christmas break.

Hopefully you already found a replacement, but if this happens again, remember that Amazon has sex toys. Who would question an innocent bookstore charge on a credit card statement? All you ordered was a package of AA batteries to go with your, uh, kitten calendar. Yeah.

I have fancied a guy for a while now and when we see each other we tend to flirt a bit / a lot depending on the occasion. Last night I revved myself up for a good night out with him present and hoped I could take things a little further. Unfortunately, he couldn’t stay long and I ended up flirting with another guy I barely knew before.

Now I can’t decide what I want.

Well, I actually do know what I want. I want to keep flirting and kissing and snogging and possibly more both of them. At least for a little while. Because in the end, I still think I’m monogamous. But a girl’s gotta have some fun. With a little luck, they’ll both be up for some non-exclusive fun.

I have never been able to wrap my mind around people who expect exclusivity while casually dating, before making an explicit agreement to be exclusive.

Whenever I read confessions from married/attached people about having very infequent sex I think ”I can sympathize. I know exactly where you’re coming from” and then, invariably, they complain because they’re only having sex like once a week. OH the HORROR. You poor thing. What I wouldn’t give to have sex once a week. In the last 7 weeks I can count, on one hand, how many times we’ve had sex. In fact, I can count the number of times on one hand, that had a freak farming accident, and had 4 fingers amputated. So, quit bitching about your once a week sex life and consider yourself lucky. (but I’m not bitter).

I feel your pain. Intensely. In another week I’ll be able to count the sex I’ve had in the last seven weeks on zero hands. Which is good, I guess, because those hands are occupied with furiously fapping and flipping off my life.

Of course, if I ever get married or have a live-in partner again, I do hope it will be with someone who wants to bone more than once a week. I really and truly do.

I have developed a huge crush on a co-worker. She’s pretty much amazing, as far as I’m concerned. I sat in my meeting today imagining all things I want to do to her and all the hot girl sex we could be having. Her style is super edgy and I don’t know if I’m judging her personal sense of style (which is incredibly ”non-normative”) and applying that to other aspects of her personality or if I might be pegging her as possibly queer because I want her to be queer as a consequence of my super big crush. A part of me feels like a judgmental jerk. The other part is still super turned on. I’ve decided not to press the issue and actually find out her orientation. I think the fantasy would be ruined should I discover she’s super super straight.

Wait, let me get this straight: you feel like a judgmental jerk for having had your gaydar tripped?

You know what is a good remedy for guilt? Hot girl sex.

Hey, guys! Visit the Sex Confessional!

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It’s cute how I can’t just get a cold or the flu and then recover from it like normal people. No, that would be silly. Of course it becomes pneumonia. Pneumonia in the midst of life trauma type stuff.

That, kind and indulgent reader, is basically why there was no ConTuesday last week. This week, though? Different story. There is a ConTuesday. I may still have pneumonia; I may still be having a month full of turpentine, gristle, and mud, but guess what? January’s almost over and I’ve always had luck with Februaries.

Hey, former sex worker here.

Every time a guy talks about how he’s “so good” that even prostitutes get off with him, I laugh. I laugh long and hard on the inside (or outside, if it’s online) and shake my head.

Guys, seriously: That is what you are paying for.

I know some women can have endless orgasms, but the general consensus is that after about ten it starts to hurt. Also, the pounding, slapping, whateverthefuck thing you think you’re doing REALLY DOES NOT WORK. A body is a finely tuned instrument, and it takes repeated practice before you can tune it to accept your stimuli.

The “orgasm” comes standard with the moderately-priced intercourse package, which also includes insincere platitudes and expressions of disbelief that you’re a virgin. It’s what you’re paying for. Be honest.

Sex work is one-tenth sex, three-tenths customer service, and three-fifths human affection and contact. That’s what separates it from a fleshlight. Start being honest about what you’re buying.

And hey, maybe if we can, as a culture, accept that affection and reassurance is more important than sex, people will start treating sex workers with respect.

PS: None of us care about the size of your penis, big or small. We don’t care either way, as long as you use a condom.

If I had enough money to pay for sex, though, I’m sure it would be different with me. Right? Right?

Last night I had a threesome with my roommate and her fuckbuddy. It’s the nicest thing ever to be having sex with a guy while your friend is in the corner reading Sandman, and no one has any problems with this situation.

Yeah, until it all gets jumbled up together and somebody pictures The Corinthian while climaxing.

The best thing I ever did for myself …was get a genital piercing. When I listen to music that’s heavy on bass, I have a built-in hands-free vibrator. When I go to concerts and stand by the amp… well. I think I deserve some kind of medal for this weekend, or a spot in Guinness: most orgasms experienced while standing in three-inch heels is all mine.

I can honestly say I have never wanted to shove metal through my skin more. Things I need to know:

1. If you are a clitoris-having person. I don’t want to assume, but I want to know if your setup would apply to me.
2. What exact piercing did you get?
3. Am I really considering getting a genital piercing based on the anecdote of an anonymous stranger? (Answer: I’m not not considering it.)
4. If I do this, what song should I listen to first?

Why do more boys not make noise? The guy I fucked last night made the prettiest noises… a couple of times he just kept saying “wow.” It was the hottest thing.

Oh dear Anubis, yes. I don’t really share this often, but male voices are a particular turn-on for me. I wish there were an industry term that made it easy to look for porn clips where guys talk a lot and make sexy sounds while fucking, because I would use it in searches even more than I use “The Corinthian rule 34″.

Sometime when I bring up the fact that I actually like sucking dick, a friend will agree and say something about how it makes her feel powerful and she enjoys the feeling of giving pleasure to her man. I usually just pretend to agree with that, but honestly, I like it for itself. There’s just something unbelievably hot about the feeling of a cock in my mouth, especially the smooth, soft head. And as for power, it makes me feel like a powerLESS sex object, and I LOVE IT! Does this make me a bad feminist?

Nope.

My girlfriend spanked my vulva too hard and it left bruises. I’m trying to figure out whether the mind-blowing orgasms I had with her at the time are worth the three subsequent days of being too sore for any kind of sex whatsoever. For some reason it’s the not being able to masturbate that annoys me the most.

I’m not entirely sure it would be worth the three days of frustration, but I’d be willing to find out for myself. There is something about this confession that makes me all squirmy and speculative. Probably the vulva slapping, if I had to guess.

Confessional.

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I feel guilty a lot, mostly because I do stupid things a lot. Not malicious things, not even selfish things… literally I-did-not-think-about-this-at-all-before-I-went-ahead-and-did-it-my-bad things. Or sometimes, alternately, I’ll have thought quite a bit about something before implementing, but prioritized the exact wrong thing. Guilt is not useful or helpful in any way, but it’s familiar.

It’s not exactly foreign to some of you guys, either.

…I shouldn’t be pointing it out like that, should I? I’m such a douche.

Had a hot, sweaty, sexy, awesome summer threesome with two lovely ladies once. Everyone was into it, everyone was into each other, and a half-dozen condoms later we fell asleep in each others arms. It was the perfect threesome.

All of us were poly, kinky, sex-positive, and dating others at the time. All three of us agreed to keep it to ourselves (and my housemate, who couldn’t help but notice). Despite this being one of the hottest things I’d ever done, I still feel a little guilty that we didn’t tell our respective other lovers. I felt even more guilty knowing that I’d have done it again.

With all the poly and sex-positivity in play, I’m curious as to why you kept it a secret. But no matter. I’m not here to judge. Say fifteen “Oh, God”s while masturbating to the memory, and thou shalt be shriven.

I don’t really get along with most of my co-workers, and I spend most of my time there yearning to be elsewhere.

However.

My supervisor is eleven years my senior, is tall and bulky, has piercings and a deliciously deep voice, and is an obnoxious, puffed-up braggart. I’m not normally attracted to men, and I can’t stand him, but I keep having these horribly vivid fantasies about him. Fantasies like locking up the training room, slapping him in the face, shoving him to the ground and forcing him to suck whichever cock I was packing that day, and then doing awful, degrading things to him until he cries. And then bending him over the desk and spanking him while I fuck him, and making him cry some more while I use him to get off.

I feel kind of guilty for thinking like that about someone I work in such close proximity with (apparently, I have a thing for humiliating and objectifying people who are much bigger and stronger than I am, physically speaking), but it certainly makes the work day go by more quickly…

Okay, I’m worried about saying this because then everyone I know will have to wonder whether I’m perving over them, but you have a right to have sexual and/or kinky fantasies about pretty much anyone and everyone you know. Very often, acting on it or even telling them about it would be crossing the line, but thought crime does not exist.

Unless it does. In which case I’m a monster and so are 98% of the people reading this, minimum.

I’m young, broke (but come from money), sexually rapacious and forced to live with a mother I can’t stand (we came within an ace of killing each other when I was 14), a father who could care less and a little brother I’ll miss when I finally leave this hell-hole. Now, onto the actual confession.

About a month or so ago, I was out with a few friends, ducking my mother’s return from a business trip in Boston, when I noticed that I was getting the once-over from a guy across the dance floor. I looked him over right back, he grinned and made a beeline for me. In a little under a half hour, I had danced with him, made out with him in one of the bathrooms, and gotten him nice and buzzed. Then I let him tag along with me and my girls (who also had a few guys of there own by the end of the night, so I wasn’t the only one).

We all crashed at my homegirl’s place, where the party continued … downstairs. Upstairs, in one of the spare bedrooms, my new friend and I were having our own party. I fucked his brains out until he fell into a deep sleep.

So deep he didn’t notice when I got curious and started rifling through his wallet. He had a lot of cash (mostly in 20 and 50 dollar bills.) I took three twenties and got the hell of there before my conscience could get the best of me.

Since then, I’ve been doing the same thing off and on: Pick up random dude, fuck him senseless, then go through his shit while he’s out cold (and I always leave ’em good and tired). If I find money, sweet. If I don’t, well … at the least the sex was good.

I’ve tried to feel guilty about this, but I need only to hear my mother’s ”you-have-shamed-me-merely-by-existing” tone to remind me why I feel the need to pick a lover’s pocket, why I can’t afford something as basic as underwear, and why I’ll never ask that sadist for a fucking dime.

I think this is generally referred to as a “sin tax”.

On a more serious note, I keep getting reminded lately that I should really and seriously never have a one-night stand. And why I should deposit the Christmas money that’s still sitting in my wallet.

Sometimes I kind of hate my boyfriend’s face. At proper angles/when he makes cute facial expressions/when his beard is trimmed, he can be the cutest fucking boy in the world, and once in awhile I do think he is just straight-up for realsies hot. But a lot of times I look at him and recognize that, objectively, he’s pretty fucking weird looking. Maybe even a little gross.

I would never tell him this, and sometimes it even works to his advantage – if we’re doing a rape scene, or if he’s just generally in Creepy Dom Mode, it really fucking turns me on to look up at his face and think, you know, ”oh, this ugly, weird-looking guy can do whatever he wants with me, and I’m completely helpless even if it disgusts me.” But sometimes, when we’re cuddling, I look at him and I feel like a fucking monster for thinking these things about such an amazing, sweet, perfect guy. I know I’m not perfect either, and I know it’s really shallow. But none of that stops me from thinking it.

Feel not guilty, my child. You should just hear the shit he thinks about you!

Totally kidding. I am such a dick.

Confess your sins and wins here!

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Life is full of little disappointments, isn’t it? Well, not so much for me; I got a unicorn horn dildo for Christmas. But for you people? Lots of little disappointments. They’re unavoidable.

But may the good stuff make up for them twelve times over this year!

Every week, when I read the confessions, and mine aren’t there (I think I’ve sent in 3 over the past several weeks) it gives me a sad.

I hope this brightens up your day. The only confession of yours that I know to put up has made it into the very first ConTuesday of the year!

If you’re still disappointed, fear not. I have a tingly sensation in my earlobes that tells me I’ll get to the others before too long. I’m practically the groundhog that way.

I am starting to feel like a Nice Guy.

I’m a sadistic top, and there are few things that get me wetter than tying someone up and torturing them (consensually!) for an hour or more. My relationships don’t always allow for this sort of play, so I sometimes play with different people (again, with the knowledge and consent of my partners).

I swear to everything that is holy, submissives are the most goddamn annoying group of people I’ve ever met. Since I’m still “young” by BDSM terms, most of the people with whom I play are fairly new to the scene. In between navigating “Tigger Syndrome”, daddy issues, and bizarre and creepy relationship requests (I agreed to hit you, that does not mean that we’re engaged or have a deep emotional connection, or, heaven forbid, that I’m the only one who REALLY UNDERSTANDS you.), I have to deal with people who find the idea of limits abhorrent.

“What do you want to do?”

“Oh, you know. I figured you could just tie me up and hurt me for a bit.”

“Okay, do you have any way you like to be hit? Caning, flogging, spanking…?”

*Pulls face* “You know, my PREVIOUS master didn’t ask questions. He just did what he wanted. Are you sure you’re really a top?”

Why yes, yes, I AM sure, and I’m sorry that trying not to kill you or cause emotional damage ruins the mood. (Spoiler: I’m really not.)

I get people complaining that I do things like check for circulation and breathing, or that I ask for a list of hard limits, or that I spend the first few sessions getting a feel for the bottom rather than just wailing on them until they safeword. The way I learned it, that’s how to be a GOOD top.

Unfortunately, it’s also the main reason cited when I ask why people don’t want to play with me again. Said people then go off to Creepy McWifebeater because he “doesn’t play with limits” and “provides the TRUE submissive experience”.

Ffffff… I don’t want to become a Nice Guy, but it’s equal parts frustrating and infuriating to see people my age care so little about their safety. I really worry about how “the community” seems to focus on going harder, deeper, longer than everyone else. It’s one-upmanship that’s not healthy, and I especially hate how I’m judged to be a “bad partner” for actually treating my submissive like a human being.

/sighs I get if you want that, but could you at least wait until the scene begins?

Maybe I’m not grokking the flagrant disregard for health and personal safety because I’m not very submissive (that I know of), but I can state as someone who’s beginning to explore BDSM as a bottom, you’re describing pretty much what I’m looking for in a top. I hope for my sake that you are not the minority.

Maybe– and this is just an idea– these people should try submitting to common sense, and see how that works out.

(Oh, and I should also note that I don’t personally know a great many people who identify as submissive at this point, but I can’t see the ones I do know pulling this rubbish. Yeesh.)

i’m bisexual. i’ve only dated guys so far and i’m currently engaged to the love of my life….who is also a guy. he’s monogamous, i have polyamorous tendencies but am content in monogamous relationships. i’m struggling a little in this one though, because, we are SO compatible and i truly believe we have the potential to be together forever – BUT HE’S A DUDE. i get so much shit for being bisexual when i haven’t so much as kissed a woman. i know i am – but what if i never get a chance to truly explore that side of myself? :(

I didn’t start exploring with women until I was in an open relationship, so I don’t have much in the way of advice for a bisexual in a monogamous relationship with someone of only one gender. Because you seem to really want to explore your attraction to women, part of me is sort of hoping that your fiance comes around to the idea of opening up things a little. But I don’t know if that’s fair. Sometimes people in open relationships are too quick to act like that’s the answer for everyone.

At very least, you need to get a female stripper for your bachelorette party.

My first lesbian experience involved a sexy, funny friend who was so stunningly hot that I still often imagine her pink nipples and orgasmic shudder when I masturbate.

My husband finds her just as attractive, maybe more, and several times per month we both arrive at screaming release while telling each other dirty stories about threesomes with this woman.

We both really want a threesomes with her.

The problem…neither of us are really into her boyfriend, and we don’t want to make things awkward in that way.

If you as a couple invite someone to a threesome and they bring their significant other, it is a sure sign that you’re dealing with someone who can’t count for shit.

I mean, you know she’s into at least one of you, so I think maybe I’d risk it and ask her what she thought about a threesome, provided she watched a respectable amount of Sesame Street as a kid.

You know your sluthood has jumped the shark when you’re making out with a guy on the floor, he’s groping your ass, and your roommates’ reaction is to continue discussing whether invisibility or flight is a cooler superpower.

That is just a waste. Flight is obviously cooler, and your roommates should all know that. Show me a person who would rather be invisible and I will show you one sneaky motherfucker.

Not that I have a problem with sneaky motherfuckers. They tend to have excellent confessions.

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I hope everyone out there is having far too much holiday fun. Here are some fun and lovely confessional curios to brighten up your winter (unless you’re in the Southern hemisphere, in which case I hope it brightens up your day in between trips to the beach.) Chins up; only four months or so to go!

Please link this to your awesome and sexy readers
http://marriedfreaks.com/?p=166

Done! They really are quite sexy and awesome, aren’t they?

Just before Christmas break is my favorite kind of year, because my professors always give out candy canes and I can watch and see who I think would be the best at oral sex.

(P.S. There’s this boy in my stats class- not terribly attractive, but ohh boy, if he’d do to my clitoris what he does to that candy cane…)

I love the way your mind works.

I woke up this morning soo wet. I wish I could remember what I was dreaming!

Not to assume I know your business or anything, but it was pretty much definitely a sex dream about Data from Star Trek: TNG.

Goddamit, Cupie, you’re so fucking hot.

Best confession ever. Okay, I’m lying. The actual best confession ever can be found here, but I do like this one. It has a certain something…

Not a sex confession but…

I am so in love with my boyfriend that all I want to do is wrap myself around him at night and fall asleep against his chest.

And that is scarier to me than any sex confession I could possibly make.

This is more adorable than a baby in a manger. By way a lot.

I’ve always been a cock-loving lass, but there’s this girl at my coffeeshop… when she smiles all I can think about is how the inside of her thighs would feel against my lips.

Raise your hand if you suddenly wish you worked in a coffee shop.

Give the gift of a juicy secret.

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ConTuesday may have some gratuitous italics today. I’m just feeling a little enthusiastic, I suppose.

I am so proud of the sex mirrors in my new bedroom! That is why people put mirrors on double sliding closet doors, isn’t it?

Sometimes I’m going about my business in daily life and I think “Hey, QP, you realize some people will only have sex with the lights off? That’s a terrible commentary on how society makes us feel like shit about our bodies.” And then I’m all like, “Whoa, self. I guess I didn’t think about that. I normally think of people as having sex with other human beings, but maybe you’re right. Maybe some of them do have sex with “the lights off”, whatever that means. Thanks for pointing that out.” Then, I refuse to talk to myself for the rest of the day for some weird reason. I am touchy.

But to answer your question, yes, sex is the reason for all mirrors! It also helps you figure out if you’re fucking a vampire, which can be helpful.

Have scads of lights-on fun, will you?

I’ve been thinking a lot lately about wanting to get involved with other couples.. threesomes where I learn to suck cock, for the right motivation, feature prominently. But my wife, she’s not so into the other women thing.. at least, not yet.

Hooray for group sex fantasies!

That “yet” in the last sentence worries me just a little, though, so I’m just going to play devil’s advocate here. Some women are straight. Not bi. Not at all. No matter how many bisexual/pansexual/omnisexual/queer women you know, no matter what Alfred Kinsey said, some women are irrevocably and permanently not so into the other women thing. Period.

Of course, it’s very possible your wife has expressed bi-curiosity, is shy, and you maintain a reasonable level of hope that someday she’ll choose act on it. In that case, the paragraph above wasn’t for you. It is for anyone reading this who thinks they might be able to coerce someone into experimenting against their orientation. I feel inclined to point out, though, that even if your wife is straight she may well have no problem with the idea of an MFM threesome.

Hi! Thank you for publishing my confession– I nearly spit out my tea when I saw it, which would probably have alarmed my brother and father (they’re watching TV in the same room…we’re not that close as a family!). Thank you so much for your comments too, they were really kind and nice! And I wanted to let you know that since then, I’ve had a one night stand where the guy came around 4 times, and I’m now going out with another guy, and he’s, well, definitely happy! So thank you!

I think you’re referring to the third confession last week, and if so I am so happy for you! And I know these things are relative, but it sounds like you might be seriously awesome in bed, so you get a giant internet high five from me!

Dear QP–I just have to confess that I love to give my man a blow job in the morning. If it leads to something for me, I’m for that too, but sucking on him and bringing him to orgasm just starts the day out right.

This probably doesn’t have to be a secret, but I’m damn glad it’s a ConTuesday confession because I get to administer another internet high five! At quizzicalpussy.com, we adore generous lovers.

The pic you used for the ”Rubbing one out” post…girls like that are totally responsible for me identifying as ”heteroflexible”.

She really is delicious, isn’t she?

I like reading about group sex, one girl servicing several guys, but it’s not something I would ever want to try.

Here’s what we do: I will service several guys, write about it here, and then you can read about it! Everyone wins.

Okay, probably not, but I’m tempted.

At this very moment, my husband is asleep beside me with his arm around me, holding onto my boob. Every few minutes, he giggles in his sleep and starts to play with it. He sounds so adorable, it’s making me laugh and want to jump him at the same time.

This makes me want to hug one of those chow chows painted to look like a panda because that’s how cute it is!

I’d like to have raunchy phone sex with the guy who voices the character of Brock Samson from the Venture Brothers. In character, of course.

HOLY SHIT YES. I feel like it would be more shocking if you didn’t want to have phone sex with Patrick Warburton. I mean, do you realize you could have a threesome with Brock Samson and The (live action) Tick? You could even get some Rip Riley action in there. Heaven! brb fapping.

And while I’m busy with that, why don’t you send me a sex confession, dear reader?

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ConTuesday is alliterative today! Watch out for cats, calliopes, and cauliflower! (Caution: May contain communism.)

I feel guilty about calling myself a bisexual because I prefer one gender over the other; sex with either is great, but kissing, and cuddling? Ah, they are only fun with one of them.

Sexual orientation can be pretty complicated, and what you describe sounds like a perfectly valid permutation of bisexual to me.

We want to have sex with the people we want to have sex with. We want to make out with the people we want to make out with. We want to have relationships with the people we want to have relationships with. Sometimes these groups overlap, sometimes not. If we’re lucky, we can find words to describe it, roughly.

At the cabin by the lake, we used the hose to rinse off the lake water from a swim in the lake. With a steel partition to block the view of prying eyes, we just doffed our clothes and washed off in the open sun. It was great being naked with the sun on us, and as I roughly scrubbed her body with my hands, I got an uncharacteristically huge erection, and pushed it against her belly as I kissed her mouth. I reached down and pressed my finger into her pussy, and found it getting wetter. ”Someone might see,” she protested, but she didn’t push away. She didn’t say know. She began to suck my cock.

Why did I think of a friend, at that moment? Why did I think of this other woman, not my wife, deep-throating my cock? I turned her around, and bent her over, and pushed into her from the rear, while I thought of our friend’s ass, wet from the hose water, which I pulled into me as I came, hard.

She hadn’t finished.

”You can owe me one,” she smiled.

That night, as she got ready for bed, I asked if I could give her oral pleasure. She said we could fuck instead, but I was adamant– I wanted to be there for her only. I put my all into it. I drew that clit out and sucked it while tonguing it, while finger-fucking her until the G-spot grew a hard knot, and her bishop was standing well outside of the pulpit. I pulled on the lips and ran my teeth along the precipuce, and used every oral trick that years of marriage to her has taught me to use. I know what her body wants. I drew it out, milking her almost to climax and then intentionally stopping short, and repeating this until she was begging me to put my cock into her, and I refused. This was soley for her.

When she came, it was loud. I felt her pussy rhythmically pulse at that amazing 0.8 second rate, forever. Seriously, it didn’t stop for a solid minute, while I left two fingers in her vagina, and slowly kissed the lips, mons, and clit (not too much!). She moaned that it was the best orgasm that she had had in about two years.

I was so glad. I felt like I owed her that, and more, having been thinking of our friend before. While giving her oral, I was thinking of no one but my wife. I do love her so.

You get a signature QP internet high five (I do a little flourish thing– totally trademarky) for confessing about great sex with a mega honesty bonus!

Despite several (ok, two and a half) drunken encounters, I’ve never made a guy come. Even through sex. I want to blame it on the booze, and say that they were just too drunk to come, but there’s still a part of me saying that it’s entirely because I’m just that ugly and inadequate. Especially since I’ve never once had someone express interest in me while either of us were sober.

They were too drunk to come. I’m about as positive as I can be without actually being all of those guys.

And please consider the possibility that you’re more approachable and flirty when you’ve had a few drinks. That is a lot more likely than the possibility that you are only attractive to drunk people, which is just… no. That is frat bro logic fucking with you.

Last night I had steamy hot car sex with my crush. I was staying at a friend’s place, but he had too many beers and passed out. My crush came over and we made out on the couch for a while. I didn’t want to get caught, so we went out to his truck and drove around the neighbourhood until we found an unlit street. We climbed in the back seat and got naked. The best part was when he had me bent over the back seat, was pulling my hair, spanking my ass, and riding me hard. We had to let the fans run for nearly 5 minutes afterwards to clear the windows enough to see to drive back. I don’t quite know how it happened, but I have a seatbelt shaped bruise on my thigh today :)

I just love car sex. I love car making out. I want a seatbelt bruise. I think I have confession envy.

I have a high sex drive…I mean, at least it seems higher than most people’s. Also, I just moved in with my boyfriend who is more ”normal.” We haven’t had sex much since moving in together, which is fine because everything has been so busy (living in a new city, he commutes an hour to work, I just started grad school). But lately, when I go to kiss him, he says he doesn’t feel like it. I think it’s because he thinks it will lead to sex, which he doesn’t want to have. But all I want to do is kiss. I miss feeling close to someone.

Now, I lay no claim to being nicknamed The Great Communicator any time soon, but you report that you think he thinks kissing will lead to sex. So you don’t know. So either you haven’t asked him or he is not answering. If you haven’t asked him, try to do so (preferably not right after you’ve just been rejected and emotions are high). If your partnership started out with physical contact, you have a right to know why it has come off the table just like he has a right not to want sex and kissing right now.

And good luck. This can be a very heartbreaking situation, and I hope you guys can work it out so both of you are happy.

Confess, my cronies!

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