quizzical pussy

Oh, were you looking for confessions?

I’m a bisexual woman and I have a thing for brunette curly haired Catholic girls with with squarish glasses. I have a type, and it’s rather specific. I love loving them. They’re not the only girls I’m attracted to, but I’m consistently attracted to just about every one that I meet. There’s just something about connecting with a girl who has realized she likes girls, against her background and upbringing. About kissing her, and teaching her to kiss and how to love. I never asked or chose to have some sort of special attraction to them. I just do. There’s something in their smiles as they throw off their previous inhibitions and there’s something absolutely wonderful about being myself around them. I’m that protestant girl who teaches all the good Catholic girls how to kiss, and it’s fucking awesome.

I don’t even know any Catholic people in real life. Are they real? Are you sure you don’t live in a musical comedy called “Do Black Patent Leather Shoes Really Reflect Pussy?”

Many times I’ve found myself in the role of ”The other woman”. Rather than being ashamed, or embarrassed, I love it. I love dating married, or otherwise attached, men. I love meeting a new man and finding out he’s been married for 10 years to a woman who doesn’t give head because I love being the one to break the dry spell, so to speak. In my experience, married men will stray quicker for head than for anything else. Ladies, want to keep your man at home? Treat him like he’s special occasionally, listen to him and, for God’s sake, occasionally suck his dick like it spews manna from heaven because if you won’t do it, there’s another woman who would love to give your husband everything he’s not getting at home.

“I love meeting a new man and finding out he’s been married for 10 years to a woman who doesn’t give head…” I will literally never be happy to learn this because it means I can probably never give him a double blowjob with his wife. And that’s just a little less beauty in the world, by my reckoning.

I tell men I know that I won’t ride behind them on motorcycles because of family tradition. That’s mostly true, let’s say 85%. The other 15%? The vibration of the bike, proximity to/touching the driver, and associated smells (sweat, leather, exhaust) are a volatile combination for me. The smell of bike on a man makes him more attractive; that same smell on a man I already find attractive starts a chain reaction that could wash my panties off as I’m wearing them. Mathematically 85% is bigger than 15%, but in practice that 15% will win almost every time. My hormones are very selfish–and very driven–molecules.

Needless to say I stay off bikes.

A newer friend of mine has one. His mind made his body attractive and he’s offered to take me riding with him. I’m never quite sure if he’s aware that he could have me naked with a word–he’s been warned about how he uses his vocabulary around me..but not the why behind it (he pushes all kinds of D/s buttons he doesn’t know I have)–or if I’m really not obvious enough. I often think he’s teasing me to get a rise out of me. I’ve tried to do the flirting thing, including casual touching, but it feels awkward because I don’t know if I’m doing it right. He says I clean up nice and I do try to look better when he’s around. Unfortunately, I usually see him in my work grungy state.

He and my statuesque (the word doesn’t do her justice) friend have been eyefucking for a semester in class. I’m not nearly as attractive in the same way, so I don’t have much faith in being the last woman standing. She says she just wants to fuck him. She knows how I feel about him. I’m not really built for the hit-it-and-quit-it or sex without connection. I’d feel obligated to avoid seeing him naked if she got there first. Sisters before misters or something like that. I know he doesn’t owe me attention. I don’t want to be a female Nice Guy (TM). I wonder if stomping these feelings down so I still have the opportunity to be his friend is wrong and puts me in Nice Guy territory anyway.

I want to take that ride. I want that mix of fear and joy and the knowledge that I’m safe, that my driver will keep me safe so I can share in the dangerous fun. I want to take several rides.

I want to ride him after each one. I’ve never been with someone who aims to please. I don’t know what a tongue ring feels like, but I want that knowledge. I finally want to have sex outside in a thunderstorm during the summer when the air is hot and dry and still like I’ve wanted to since I was a teen. He’s mischievous so I think he’d be game. I want to ride the bike to the coast, ride him, make his coffee the next morning, and listen to him read me philosophy by the ocean.

But he thinks I’m a “good girl.” Most men do. Not the fun (kinky?) kind that ought to be corrupted: the wrong kind.

The kind that’s code for “boring,” “unattractive,” and “neuter.”

There is not a kind of good girl that exists but that somebody, somewhere wants to corrupt her, and I bet some of them ride motorcycles. The fact that I find that truth reassuring rather than creepy is… I think it’s fine.

Not that I’m any kind of a good girl.

This week, for the first time, my crush tied me up, blindfolded me, and spanked me with his belt. It was amazing. We both had a lot of fun and I know I came away with tons of ideas for future play. The whole experience was wonderful. We discussed boundaries and safewords first. We sat on the couch and discussed what we wanted out of the experience. Then we played and fucked and afterward we lay there together, sweaty and exhausted, grinning like idiots. When we could catch our breath and use our brains again, we talked about how it went and what we liked and what we wanted to do differently later.

It was a wonderful, fun, sexy experience.

I love how you already have better communication with your crush than some people have with people they’ve been married to for a decade. And don’t blow, apparently.

I’ve had sex 7 times in the last 7 days with 3 different people. Each of them knows about one of my other partners, but not the third. I love how naughty I feel!

This is the setup for a really fun logic puzzle, isn’t it?

According to all available actual evidence, I am about as straight as they come. I have only ever dated guys, had sex with guys, kissed guys, found guys attractive. However, I can very distinctly imagine a girl that I would find hot as hell and want to fuck the shit out of. She’d be my height, curvy, butch, hair short or in a mohawk, icy blonde if not electric blue or red. She’d be devastatingly intelligent and cuttingly sarcastic, and we would have hot sex for hours. Unfortunately, I have never met a girl that comes anywhere close to this description. So for now, I guess I’m still straight.

Okay, really, I have no personal investment in you being straight or heteroflexible or bisexual or whatever, but part of me wants to find this woman for you. Maybe it’s my cryptozoology geek coming out.

Which just reminds me how hot I am for Slenderman.

Send me secrets, people. Please do.

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ConTuesday! Is imminent. Or here. Almost certainly here.

When her sighs turned to moans which turned to squeals which turned to the most compelling high-volume warbling, I finally began let up from rubbing her clit, so as not to overload her. She immediately hissed “Don’t stop!”, and the solo continued for a few seconds.

Always before, my partners had shown some reluctance to completely let go, and to be fully in the moment.

This was beautiful.

Fuck. Yes.

I tried anal play with a regular sized dildo for the first time (been scared because it hurts with just one finger) and it was only a little bit sore at the start. Then I came so hard I had trouble standing up afterwards.

It is just one of a number of things that I would never have tried where it not for you inspiring me to *ahem* experiment. Other such things include bondage and blowjobs. (No seriously, I was too scared to put my mouth anywhere near a guy’s crotch before I started reading your blog. Now I’m trying to figure out how to conquer my gag reflex and fit my husband’s porn-star-sized dick all the way down my throat. He sends his everlasting gratitude, by the way.)

Soooo, next on my list: buy a vibrating butt plug and a Feeldoe, and fap myself into a coma. Then somehow work the term ‘pegging’ into a conversation with the husband.

Okay, in the process of deciding between a quip about how nice it is that dildos don’t have fingernails and one about how prostate play is the new fantasy football, I realized that if I really, in any small way, have made anyone’s sex life better through this blog, I’m legitimately elated. More orgasms, more love, more oxytocin in the world… that’s the dream. Right there.

The best sex I ever had left me looking so beaten up I had to tell my mum I’d been paintballing. I looked like I’d been beaten up by an enraged mob and I LOVED it.

Now if I ever go paintballing I’m going to wish I were wearing much less clothing getting flung around by my hair far, far more. I guess I should thank you?

Okay, so I’m a guy, and I discovered that my hetero guy friend has been masturbating while we talk on the phone. I brought it up to him once while he was drunk, and he didn’t have much to say about it. As I say, he’s straight, so he has something invested in not admitting to masturbating while talking on the phone. I wonder why we care? I mean, it’s not MY hand on his dick. I’M not the one who’s stimulating him. And I know he pussy; I’ve seen him fuck it on more than one occasion. (And yes, I fully realize that I will receive little if any pity here for such a minor question of the labeling implications of this tiny aspect of my sexuality.)

Then, there’s me. Am I turned on by it? I don’t think so. I’m fascinated by observation, even if just aurally, of sex and masturbation. So why should it bother me to know it? I think, at this point, it’s the fact that we’re very close to the point where I’m aware and he’s aware that I’m aware, and that makes it pretty much a participatory act, regardless of whether I’m talking about sex or cars or our jobs, or whatever.

I’ve another friend, very open, who will tell me about her masturbation. Well what of it? We all do it, and as I say– ours is a very open friendship without secrets of any kind. But when she texts me about it as it’s presumably ongoing or just finished, a certain degree of my heterosexuality fires up. “Hetero” hell– my sex drive.

I and many of the people I love and fuck and possibly one or more of your friends wish we could all be more like bonobos, fucking and fapping and snorting pixie stick lines off beautifully sculpted backsides with casual abandon and without it ever getting weird. It’s a beautiful dream. Except could we take ourselves at all seriously with that hair?

I’m really excited that I’ve finally learned how to insert and use my menstrual cup because its cleaner, more environmentally friendly, etc. But I also get a kick out of going out into the world with a large silicon object in my vagina that no one else knows about. I realize you could say the same thing about tampons, but with my Divacup its exciting.

Plus, you’re keeping a little shot glass of blood warm in there and what is sexier than vampires!?!?! Probably nothing, right?

The other day, my friend said, “I have to do an observation and paper about a gender issue on campus, so I thought I’d write about your effect on campus sexuality.”

When I haven’t gotten laid–when I haven’t been kissed–in three months, that both reassures me and makes me feel like I’m fooling people.

Is it possible that your reputation as a total stud alone is affecting people campus-wide?

I, young and female, recently bought myself a new toy and I’ve discovered: putting things up my ass is a pretty sure way to make me come.

Hell yeah! Because “things” is pretty vague, though, I’m just going to leave this here:

Flared base.

I just broke a 2 year drought. That would generally be enough to brag about. However to make things even better, the friend I broke the drought with is one i’ve had some delicious unresolved sexual tension with for literally years, even prior to the drought.

Even better still? The currently casual nature of the relationship and mutual shared interest in experimenting with sex in a safe partner, including whilst on hallucinogens (also a shared interest) has already been discussed and arranged, date set and upcoming. By the time you guys read this that will have been and gone. Step after that one? MFM Threesome. If I could think of mutual female friends to join us the other would also be an option, if only you were here QP.

Best of all, we’re both very sexually compatible. In fact we match there perfectly. Neither of us is prudish about our sexuality or exploring it and we both share a common interest in delightfully long, marathon sessions of sex.

Sounds like a dream doesn’t it? Well let me assure the both of us that it isn’t, and that the power of sobriety (yes, we’re both fairly straight edge people, with only the occasional forays into psychedelics) and frank conversation led to this point and yielded immense dividends.

Long live candor, trust and all things sexy.

I think that’s a good note to close on. Candor, trust, all things sexy, orgasms, love, and oxytocin. And judicious psychedelics. I just gave you the formula for world peace, planet. Do with it what you will.

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ConTuesday: Kink edition. GO.

I’ve always considered myself to be pretty vanilla with sex, but now I’m not quite sure… over the past year, sex with my boyfriend has become much more dominating, but not really breaching any kink or bdsm territory. I get off on being told what to do, but, I don’t like humiliation or punishment or being called anything degrading, though I can see the fun in it. I guess I’d call it getting off on being completely under my partner’s control; as in, when I have sex, I don’t even think I have a choice. Almost like being hypnotized, I guess? I like being told in the moment exactly what to think, what to do, etc. and I’m only able to do it because I was told. It feels rather meta. I know this is really rather tame, but I also know that it’s not quite the norm. What do I even call a fetish like this? Is it bdsm?

A lot of times when people play with power and control like that, they call it BDSM. Sometimes they don’t. It seems like you could classify it as a form of sexual submission, but maybe one of my kink-proficient readers has a better term for it.

I’m not sure if it makes much of a difference what you decide to label any of this stuff as long as you’re happy with your sex life and content to let others be happy with theirs.

Lately, all I can think about is how badly I want to sit at someone’s feet while they pet my hair and tell me I’m a good girl. I don’t know how to find someone who’d be into that, and I’m deeply ashamed of wanting it. (YKIOK but mine isn’t, I guess?) It’s taken me days just to get up the nerve to submit this here, even, but here I go.

I just want to put it out there that I would do this for any number of very good girls in a heartbeat. I’m not a terribly kinky person, but even I love this idea. Not saying this in a creepy way, but to let you know that not only should Your Kink Is OK be in play here, it’s probably not even going to be hard to get this desire met.

I’ve been on FetLife for about a year now but only been “active” on it for about the last 4 months or so. Fuck my sexless marriage. So many kinky playmates and so little time.

Protip: FetLife seems like it would be frustrating-at-best to use as a dating/hookup site. Plug in to your local kink or poly community through FetLife, though, and you’ll mostly likely find awesome people willing to play and/or date married, ethically-non-monogamous people. Because I’m assuming that your spouse is behind you in this. If you are not “allowed” to be ethically-non-monogamous despite being in a sexless marriage, I just don’t even.

I never realised quite how dominant I am, or how much of a sadist under the right circumstances.
My other half is submissive to me at times, but god, I want more. I want… need… deserve to be worshipped. To be the reason he breathes, to be his every waking thought, to be asked permission for EVERYTHING. I would love to take responsibility for his pleasure, for his money, his diet, make him so happy he would realise he owes me total compliance and servitude. I want to be able to hit as hard as I want, to set him any task, however extreme… Don’t get me wrong, I’m not a total loony, I’d never force any of this on anyone or resent him for not giving it to me. In fact he does, sometimes, I just wish his appetite for extremism would catch up with mine because holy hell, do I have some exquisitely, deliciously awful ideas.

Yeah, I think you might sort of veer toward the dominant end of the BDSM spectrum…

I have a new friend who I like to work out with, and I think he is into me, while I am not attracted to him at all, in any way. The thought of making out with him (let alone going further) seems strange and unappealing. However, I’ve begun to have fantasies where he sternly but calmly tells me I need to be punished, and takes me over his knee and spanks me. I’ve gotten off to this three nights in a row.

One thing I love about the BDSM community is that it gives people a venue to possibly say “Oh, I don’t want to/can’t/mustn’t kiss you or have any sexual contact with you, but would you like to spank me/tie me up/set me on fire?” This is probably only something that happens if everyone is pretty good at basic negotiation, but it’s a start that we can even be aware of this as a legitimate possibility.

I have recently found myself potentially entering into a submissive relationship with a Dominant who is a collared and owned switch. While I am starting to answer to him for instructions and challenges about my own body, his Domme is the one who makes the rules about his body. After playing at a party recently, I noticed that while we have been having many intimate moments and much necking and biting, we have not kissed on the mouth. I found myself craving that in a scene with him and felt there was a lack of it. I almost lost control and pounced his lips with my eager mouth and tongue, but I was far too subby to do that. Good thing, too, because when I asked his Domme about it a few days later, she let me know that making out was a rule and a limit at the moment. I was surprised I hadn’t run into this already in the four months we have been playing, so obviously there are other hot and sexy things that we have been doing over the months that are more important. But as we are starting to grow into our dynamic, and I am giving him more control, I am struggling with this limit. I don’t know if it is more that I need the intimacy of deep kissing or if I am afraid I will not have the self control to obey the limit. And there is always the chance that the limit can be lifted, I guess, eventually. But I do find myself challenged now, because while I respect their limits, I am afraid they might not align with my needs, and that is upsetting, as I am otherwise very happy with how things have been slowly evolving.

Hey, everyone who thinks the kink world is a lascivious sexual free-for-all where people tap into animal urges and damn the consequences: You’re actually looking for swingers’ parties.

I kid, of course.

I’ve recently started going to the gym, and part of what is keeping me motivated is the utterly beautiful trainer who is now starring in several of my fantasies.

My current favourite: I’m kneeling with my clitoris pressed onto the vibrating PowerPlate and his cock in my mouth, while holding weights out with my arms…. if I drop them when I come, or he comes, I will be terribly punished.

Well, off to the gym.

Today I learned that working out makes anywhere from two to the majority of people want to be abused in lovely ways. This is why wii Fit didn’t catch on the way they were hoping. It’s too damn nice.

Tell me something, please.

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I finally had a sex dream! That I remember. Ish.

Some weird plot stuff that I only vaguely recall happened, and then I was in a tent with a strange little long haired man who may have been a shaman or possibly a hobo. I was not even moderately attracted to him, so didn’t really predict the impending plot twist of boning. Apropos of nothing, we had awkward, hurried, unprotected sex and then I was like “Damn, I’m not even sure how this happened or why, plus I’m probably pregnant now. Fuck.”

Not sure this qualifies as any type of fantasy fulfillment, which is usually how I like to think of sex dreams functioning. Not that I’ve given this a lot of thought or anything, but I’d more expect an orgy with improbably attractive nerdy cyborgs IN SPACE. Or something. Instead I got an unsettling, risky-feeling experience that I didn’t really want with someone I didn’t want to have it with. Yep, shit could easily happen while I was awake.

By now you’ve probably figured out that it wasn’t a lucid sex dream. But I’m calling it progress.

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At this moment, as I write this, I feel completely unmoored. I’m not sure that I know who I am or what I am or what reality is or if reality is. And it’s okay, really. There’s no reason that has to be a bad thing. In fact, I probably never really know anything; I probably only ever just forget that I don’t. Remembering feels weird and uncanny somehow.

Perhaps I will know, or think I know, things tomorrow. Today I don’t. Does that mean I will forgo giving people my opinions about their confessions? Never has before!

Sometimes I wake up and know that it’s going to be a terrible day at work, so I take the morning off of work to sit and home and masturbate.

Maybe I should try that. Is masturbation a valid treatment for feeling weird and uncanny, or would that just be positive reinforcement?

We met a couple of years ago, and there was an instant flash of recognition between us. Something really sexy, even though he’s almost 20 years older than I am (and that puts him well into senior-discount territory).

We established a friendship, but my partner was always (and rightly so) on alert because of the way his friend and I lit each other up, and I never pushed contact with his friend because I was worried about were it would go. I kept the boundaries pretty well-patrolled and I’m proud of that. It wasn’t a sacrifice at the time; I was happy with my guy and didn’t want to pursue relationships that might threaten it.

We weren’t open at the time, as you can probably tell.

Well. My guy and I broke it off — or, at least, we severed our exclusivity even though it seems as if we’re still seeing each other — and doing fine.

A few nights ago, my not-quite-boyfriend-anymore’s friend came over to my place, bearing wonderful gifts of food and books. We ran around town laughing like little kids, and ended up at my house in a ridiculous makeout session that didn’t end in sex (my choice) but that made my whole next day.

My head’s still spinning. I don’t feel guilty because my not-quite-guy’s free to do the same thing, and we’ve decided, for the moment, to keep any exploits to ourselves.

Gawd, that was fun. I really, really want to do it again.

I vote you do it again! How often in life do we meet people who really, truly light us up? Really.

I would love love love LOVE to do the group marriage. My wife watches ”Big Love” and sees Bill Paxton with his three wives, and she does not say ”game over, man!” She loves the thought of it. One wife is a business type bread-winner. Another is the domestic type, homemaker. The brides think of each other like sisters. The husband gives his love to each and all. Hell, with the right guy, I’ve no problem with a brother-husband, too. (My wife’s not sure about that.) We get economies of scale. The family wins.

Why is it so hard for this dream to be possible?

We’ve even got the first candidate for an addition picked out. I have more than once actually considered telling her.

The dream is undeniably possible for a lot of people, many of whom are currently in group marriages. The main problems include social conditioning to expect monogamy and to feel like anything else is weird or deviant or less than we deserve, and complexity. You know how hard it is to maintain a healthy relationship with one person? It necessarily takes exponentially more work the more people you add. But it’s possible. If anything is really possible or impossible or even really exists.

Another thing, though? Your wife might like to watch Star Trek and fantasize about space travel, but that doesn’t mean she’s seriously lobbying to get on a manned mission to Mars. If you’ve only talked about these issues in terms of a TV show, you may not know where she actually stands on this.

P.S. R.I.P. Sally Ride, you awesome lesbian you.

My college has a noble yearly tradition, the Beer Mile. Also known as the Naked Mile.

I’d never been naked with anyone. Not a single person. But I’ve now been naked with approximately 300 people.

It was glorious and anti-climatic and arousing and normalizing all at once. I’ve never seen so many naked bodies, but at the same time no single body stood out or was distinct. It was a sea of diverse but beautiful bodies.

My school had one of these too, but I had nothing close to approaching the gumption to strip and run it. Go you!

I will not mince words here: the thing I want the most right now is a titfuck, and I want it long, oily, and ended with me coming hard into my partner’s mouth. Furthermore, part of me wants this to happen somewhere public, in full view of other people.

I’m imagining people from all over the internet copying and pasting this directly into craigslist ads.

I wanted to mess around.
She sighed. “I don’t feel like I’ve got the time to waste,” she said. Then she said she would. I felt embarrassed. I said not to worry about it.
She went into the other room to watch TV on the couch. I felt so small and petty the rest of the night.

Yeah, cause wanting to physically connect with someone? Totally a waste of time. Totally petty.

What the fucking fuck?

Sex Confessional

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The more life experience I rack up and the more people I interact with, the more kinds of chemistry I discover. They’re distinct but often interconnected, and it’s easy to get greedy with them: sexual chemistry, energetic chemistry, intellectual, romantic, social, artistic, kinky, and clacking sticks together chemistry. Textual, comedic, cuddle chemistry. Indomitable as the periodic table, and significantly less predictable.

Last night I had sex, and then afterwards … the only way I can describe it is that my brain kept coming even after my body had stopped. All I could do was lie there twitching and thinking:

”Oh my god – so good – oh god – yesss”

For a good two or three minutes. You know that almost transcendent bliss you can get when you’re being fucked juuuuust right? Like that, except the physical sex part was over.

IT. WAS. AWESOME. I hope I can replicate it next time. You know, for science.

Science needs more data on transcendent bliss and sex, if you ask me.

I’ve been cursed with some sort of awful recurring infection of the lady parts. I’ve been to the doctor and had it treated, but it keeps coming back. The itching and swelling make it impossible for me to so much as masturbate, and needless to say I’m having to pass on sex way more than I’d ever like to. It’s really affecting my whole life because I just don’t feel like myself without this important part of my mind/body in order. I don’t know if this really counts as a confession, but it’s a frustrated complaint I can’t lodge to just anyone. Wish me luck.

This has got to be amazingly frustrating. I hope it gets better. Chemistry is very important to lady parts, and it can be a very delicate balance. Best of luck, truly.

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??

As a non-drinker, I really don’t understand the magical alchemy of drink to make people want to bone each other.

And in my opinion, what you honestly want is never too much to ask for, though you might not get it.

My roommate has the smelliest vagina ever.

I don’t have a problem with normal vag smells. I have ladyparts! I like ladyparts! I have been up close and personal with many ladyparts!

But holy shit, her vag. It is like a combination of fresh tuna and rotting garbage, and it is PUNGENT. The second she takes off her pants, you can smell it all through the apartment. Even when she’s not home, her room reeks of it and the smell comes rolling into the living room. It is awful.

I know she’s been to the doctor and everything’s okay, so I have no idea what’s causing it. I want to say something, but I can’t think of a way to say, ”YOUR ROOMMATES ARE CHOKING ON YOUR PUSSY FUMES” without sounding cruel or body-shaming.

So I’m venting here and burning scented candles, because that smell has taste, texture, and practically colour.

Back to ladyparts and chemistry! See, you guys? If she’s fine physically, maybe you have the most epic pheromone clash in history. Although I know it’s impossible, whatever you do DO NOT BREED!!!

I just recently read about estim. The concept is at first scary, and now entices me. I’ve had PT in the past, in which I had electronic stimulation to muscles of my knee and to my back. It felt like a disconnected person was twitching those muscles for me. Apparently, this can be done by connecting the electrodes to the glans and the base of the penis. For especially strong reactions, some put an electrode in the urethra, and another in the anus (or is it the rectum, up there?) against the prostate.

I mentioned this to my wife, just by way of something to talk about. She suggested that I get an estim rig. I’m embarrassed that I’m interested. I would like to talk to someone who’s done it before before trying it. But I would die of shame to discuss it with anyone.

I gather that I could get a connection for her that she would enjoy, too. Anyone have any input? Caveats? Experiments? Is it worth it? QP, have you tried it? Would you, and report back?

My personal experience with erotic electrostimulation is with the Violet wand and the TENS unit. The former is one of my very, very favorite things to play with. It kisses your skin with what feels like captured and refined chemistry. The TENS unit is kind of less interesting to me, and feels a lot like a disconnected person twitching your muscles for you. These are very harmless and cool and okay, maybe a little geeky things to get excited about. Don’t be embarrassed! Accept that electricity is a fun toy!

I submitted before – not sure if it’s been published – about starting anxiety medication again because my sex life, and more accurately, my relationship, were affected so badly by my anxiety disorders.

A few months later I can report that after a year of trying different medications, and a year of giving up, I have now finally magically found a medication that works for me, and my sex life, my relationship, and all the rest of my life are so much easier I am horrified at how I let myself suffer before.

Moral of the story: Sex is way, way better when it doesn’t cause panic attacks.

Massive happiness for you! Medication chemistry is a seriously important one for some of us.

I had a perfect fling. It was unmessy emotionally, and exuberant, and bright and wild, and sweaty and nasty and taboo and chock-full of ferocious fucking. Waking up groggy on a Friday morning in an unmade bed, sprawled on his chest, only to fuck more as his housemates pretended not to notice.

Except…He may also have given me an STD. And yet I can’t blame him? Or feel angry at him? And he is leaving, likely I will never see him again, and I feel this strange sense of loss that I can’t tell if it’s my ego (I don’t think either of us was drunk enough or motivated enough to fuck for one last time when I came to say goodbye, but still, he didn’t beg me to come to his place for one last go!) or if it’s natural regret that it came to an end (honestly, it was the perfect length and I can’t see it going any further in any way) or something else entirely. You’d think that an infection scare would sour me or make me reevaluate, but I’m having trouble holding the two thoughts in my head. It’s like a Jekyll and Hyde are living in my head, I can only deal with one set of emotions at once. Why can’t it be simple? Failing that, why can’t my emotions be less fragile when they really shouldn’t be bruised? I would settle for sensible reactions, not this mystifying fondness.

I think you’re being pretty sensible. It is really okay to be okay with this. Diseases aren’t personal, and if you can give him the benefit of the doubt that he wasn’t deceiving you about this one, what is the point of resenting him? Sure, a lot of people would, but isn’t that a byproduct of the sex-negativity we’re scrupulously taught? Do we get angry with a person who gives us a cold?

I mean, maybe we do. I don’t really think it makes sense, though.

Confess!

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Today I’m in the mood for triumphant confessions. Maybe it’s the fact that the heat wave broke a little, wherever the fuck I live. Maybe it’s my fundamental drive to see people be happy. Or maybe it’s because I want to sex-brag myself sometimes, but that seems a little vulgar on my own blog.

Could be anything, really. I give you jubilation.

I fucked the locksmith who came to change my locks today. It was pretty much like the plot of a billion unimaginative porn movies. Except that he bought me lunch first. I’ve never seen lunch in a porno.

It was totally porn sex too, but in a good way. He had me bent into all sorts of positions, and he fucked my ass, which I love.

I never thought I was the sort of girl who could pull off a random lunch time hook-up with the delivery boy. I wasn’t even sure that such a thing existed outside of fiction. It was awesome, though.

This is known as “living the dream”! The locksmiths I’ve met personally are not… well, I wouldn’t…

Well I’m sure they’re lovely people, but not in my ass.

This week, two of my favourite fuck-buddies told me we can’t sleep together any more because they’re starting to fall for me. Part of me is sad that I don’t get to sleep with them anymore, but part of me is really flattered that they like me that much.

This is a Pyrrhic victory, of course, but it counts as a victory to be consistently too dreamy not to fall for.

I’ve been extremely ticklish all my life, to the point where anything even resembling a tickle anywhere on my body sent me into giggles. Turns out, this also means that it’s incredibly easy to give me an intense series of orgasms without even touching my breasts or genitals!

Orgasms through tickling, or orgasms through being the sensitive sort of person who can be tickled at the drop of a hat? I feel like this is an important distinction without knowing exactly why.

So, I can’t actually get myself off with my own fingers. It somehow seems like a lot of effort for something I know I can do just as well in half the time with one of my toys and a bit of lube. I’ve only actually ever come twice from manual stimulation: once during phone sex with a now-ex, where he told me what he wanted me doing and was talking me through what we’d be up to if we were together (super hot, incidentally) and the other was with my current boyfriend, who was laying next to me fucking a smooth vibrator into my bum as I rubbed my clit. It was also the first time I’d ever climaxed with anything anal going on, other than the presence of a plug we’d been using to work towards full on penetration. Awesome!

Awesome is right!

Ever since I first watched it as a little girl, the peacock’s dance in the Nutcracker: The Motion Picture has turned me on wildly. Sometimes I think it’s what got me into cages/bondage and anthropomorphism. Beautiful girls just get more beautiful with the addition of a long, flowing tail, in my opinion.

I haven’t been secretive about my long-standing grudge against the uncanny valley and my ambivalence over anthropomorphism, but then again, how does one argue with this?

I’ve been having sex with a girl who’s 7 years older then me recently. It’s hard finding new things that she hasn’t done, but even still I have found a few different things such as being tied up during sex, and she loves me exploring to find new magic spots. Can’t wait to find some more!

Flowing tails, maybe? Tying each other up with? Or cages.

I come whenever I’m riding in a car over the Queensboro Bridge. Literally, I have a little orgasm from the vibrations. I can’t even think about that bridge without getting aroused.

It’s the sexiest of bridges.

Or bridges. Goddamn, yes, bridges. Maybe there’s a reason they named this one after a Koch.

Confessions wanted.

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I don’t often wax nostalgic about my sex life. So far in my life, sex builds on itself, getting better and better as I understand my body more and hate my body less and explore more facets of that ephemeral thing people call chemistry.

But there were moments. Numinous, they were. It cannot be denied that there were those moments. Little fairy lights that lace the past with unbearable sweetness: that’s how I want to remember my exes. My current, my future exes. May we all learn from the bad but remember the good.

I gave up my Much Younger Lover today. It’s mostly my own fault, I helped set him up with a great girl. They’re crazy for each other and it’s so cute to see. I’m happy for them, I really am, but my heart is tender and bruised. The sex was getting incredible. I mean crazy, mind blowing, screaming, gasping-for-breath incredible. Earlier this week when I fell asleep in his arms, I knew it was going to be so hard to give him up. I get to keep him as a friend though. If I had to give that up, I don’t know how I would manage. I can only hope he knows how much I’ve enjoyed our affair, how grateful I am for his discretion, how he gave me back parts of my self I thought were irretrievably lost, and how I will never forget him.

I think this is the classiest, most mature shit I have ever read about any illicit affair. I have never said this, but I think you may have actually done cheating right.

Not that I’m endorsing cheating. Just selfless love, mostly.

I broke up with my boyfriend. I have cried more than him. The thing is, I know that it kills right now but five years from now he’s still going to be the same person essentially and I will be leaps and bounds ahead.

I wish that he used our breakup as a turning point to realize his life is taking some bad turns.

He’ll figure out what he needs to figure out when he’s ready, and not a minute sooner. You can always count on people for that. In the meantime, go be awesome!

I feel silly saying this because there’s many more important things that I lost as a result of my recent breakup, but here goes in a secret place: I am worried I will not find someone as sexually compatible as he was with me. There were some issues towards the end re: mismatched libidos, but otherwise, we were excellent together in bed and I was totally comfortable with asking for everything I wanted and giving him everything he wanted. I liked his openness.

This is particularly related to his being a bisexual boy who wanted me to fuck his ass. Not sure where I’ll find that anytime soon, in high school.

If all else fails, college holds the rich promise of bisexual boys, boys who like to be fucked in the ass, and a capella groups with names that are also puns.

Is there another reason people go to college?

This happened years ago but one weekend of too much party time I had sex with four guys starting Saturday morning until Sunday afternoon. It was the most embarrassing and demeaning thing I have ever done, but I was in a perpetual state of arousement. As much as I was humiliated by what transpired I constantly orgasmed. Once I was naked I stayed that way and was constantly used and abused by these four boys. I gave oral sex to all of them several times and subjected to anal sex often as well as intercouse. I was sexually satisfied while as many as three of them violated me at the same time. There were possitions I was put in I had never thought possible and was constantly displayed to them in the most degrading ways. It only happened that one time and it happened ten years ago. When it took place and for many months afterwards I was totally mortified every time I saw any of those boys. Years later when I thought about the things they did to me it all the sudden had an arousing afftect I still today masturbate thinking about it. I think now that it was the most satisfying sexual experience in my life. The number of orgasms I experienced that weekend is astounding.

I may be mistaken, but it seems like this was a completely consensual experience, right? The word choices are confusing me, but that’s what I’m getting from it.

When I’m especially sad, my fantasies always turn subby. It’s not a bad coping mechanism, and actually it’s a pretty good way of tracking my depression. For the last couple of months, most of my fantasies were about kind but stern random people fucking me and beating me up. Wanking helped me relax and kept my thoughts away from the mess that is my life, but it didn’t make me happier.

Yesterday, when I was alone in the house, I locked myself in the bathroom with some vague background music, and had an epic, four-hours-long (later I transferred to the bedroom), extremely detailed fantasy about an ex-bf, my roommate, several fictional characters (including Kaylee Fry and Dr Tachyon) and the guy I currently like. I was kind but stern and I fucked them and beat them up. They worshipped me and we discussed ethics and at some points I was some sort of deity.

It was amazing. I came several times and I’m still feeling the aftershocks of euphoria. And best of all – my depression’s dissipating again! Hah!

Tonight I think I’ll be a pillaging pirate. (And tomorrow? I’m taking the guy I like to the movies.)

Imagination is the best way to engage sexually with exes. And vikings. And Dr. Tachyon. Whoever that is.

I am afraid that the combination of my inability to maintain strong boundaries and the partners I’ve had who have taken every inch they could get is destroying my ability to be sexual and enjoy my own fantasies.

There are people out there who aren’t douchebags. I just want you to know that. Maybe focus on regaining your trust in yourself for now? Past partners have no claim on your sexuality or your fantasies unless you invite them.

I lost my virginity on the floor of my bedroom the week before my 18th birthday. It was by girlfriend at the time’s birthday present to me. We started on the couch and made it all the way upstairs, but not quite into bed. I (not so) secretly wish that I could have sex that was literally all over the house again.

There are some moment from our sexual histories we really can’t revisit. This one? Seems more or less doable. Get thee to a couch, why don’t you?

Sex Confessional

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When I was much less legal and slightly less mature than I am today, I worked at an after-school retail job.

Aside: I have trouble relating to depictions of retail jobs, service jobs, really most jobs as drudgery. I’ve largely enjoyed almost every job I’ve had since I was sixteen. Two possible explanations for this are (a) like Beatrice, there was a star danced, and under that I was born, or (b) before I was sixteen, my working life consisted of babysitting, and all you need to know about that is that I have really never looked back on babysitting with any degree of nostalgia.

There was a stock boy at this retail job. He was kind of jock-ish, not very bright, not very attractive to my eye, and uninteresting in nearly every particular. For some reason, though, when he got near me the world suddenly jolted askew, and each time I felt all the whir of its righting itself in my dusty black work corduroys. It was the way he smelled.

I don’t remember it as a particularly good smell, but it was utterly compelling. Arousing, even. His scent brushed up against me and I would instantly want things my naive-to-a-comical-extreme brain couldn’t even process.

It bothers me that I seem to be describing a commercial for Axe or some shit.

In later years, when I learned about the existence of commercial pheromones, I remembered back to all the body building magazines he always read¹ and wondered. Of course, if he wore pheromones and I swooned for them, it would indicate that such things actually work on people, including teenage girls, and that opens up such a wealth of creepitude that I can only hope that it was something else entirely: my sexual repression, a weird scent memory I can’t place, or the inexplicable arbitrariness of chemistry.

I’ve read a theory or six about how some people smell good to us (and not always the same people, although I have an intuition that certain people smell good to none of us) based on many factors, including genetic dissimilarity, I think. I’m completely simplifying, of course, and have little to offer in the way of analysis, but the concept does grip the imagination. If the people we should² be mating with feel “right” in some fundamental sense, perhaps the world seems a little less confusing.

In terms of efficacy, I’m not sure how olfactory science measures up to dating site algorithms, astrological synastry, getting your friends to vet new potential paramours, blood type comparison, or getting all renegade and just fucking/dating/marrying/breeding with the people you feel like fucking/dating/marrying/breeding with. Still, it feels good to hear “you smell good”, and it is more pleasing to be around someone who smells good to you than someone who doesn’t. So that one makes more sense, at least, than testing how one partner responds when the other has blood drawn, or whether one half of a couple can remain calm when a rogue gunman bursts into the lab. Which legit happened, you guys.

I mean, I’m all for the 1920s. What other time period opened with a huge victory for women’s rights, celebrated my signature look of short hair and not-big boobs, and had the keenest slang this side of the cootie garage? And how! But I think attraction and compatibility may be approximately eight million times more complicated than any technology we had then, or indeed have now. Which doesn’t mean that we should stop trying, only that we will probably never run out of opportunities to laugh at our past attempts.

1. I imagine such things are sold in the back of body building magazines. [↩]
2. For whatever value/s of “should” apply… [↩]

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It’s hard for me to wrap my mind around the concept of anyone thinking that masturbation is wrong. So I have this body, right? And it’s mine. But there are certain parts of it I’m not supposed to touch because if I do it might feel good. And that… would be bad.

Um, what?

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

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

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

Woohoo! Motherfucking internet high five!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Tell me something about yourself.

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