quizzical pussy

Sometimes… okay, often, I get this nagging feeling that I’m most likely Not Awesome. I’ll tally my list of accomplishments and it’s just so damn short, with this dearth of recent entries. I’ll look in the mirror and I won’t even see myself, just an unqualified failure to be a Victoria’s Secret Angel. Or, easiest of all, I’ll just listen to the people who tell me I’m a walking suckgasm and deserve nothing good out of life.

But then I look around me and see all these amazing people I have in my life. I have friends who are more interesting, brilliant, accepting, and tolerant of my flakiness than I ever dreamed possible. Some of these friends, shockingly, even find me attractive and want to play together: an outcome far beyond my loftiest fantasies. And my boyfriend? He challenges everything I used to believe about relationships, after years of making stupid, harmful-to-everyone-involved decisions in my love life, just by being himself. I didn’t know what it felt like to be loved and respected by a partner until Laramy showed me. Did I mention he’s awesome? And he picks me.

Even on the most superficial level possible: I, Quizzical Pussy, mere mortal, have gotten to have sex with some of the most exquisite, intriguing, and frankly hottest people I’ve ever had the privilege to meet. Not bad for a cripple who sucks at flirting and can’t tell whether people are into her or not.

So with all this evidence in front of me I have good reason to wonder if maybe I’m just a little awesome after all. Otherwise wouldn’t these seriously cool people shun me? I mean, even allowing for the fact that they’re also kind, wouldn’t they at least try to keep some distance?

Of course it doesn’t do to base my entire self-worth on the fact that people of excellence want to know and possibly even fuck me. But it’s good to remember that maybe I have some good points I’m not seeing, that they might. And I love these people; I trust them. Maybe they have a point.

And even if I’m seriously Not Awesome in any way, shape, or form, which I accept as a distinct possibility, life is making up for that by being boundlessly awesome in some of the ways that matter most.

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Happy Valentine’s day, everyone. May those currently with a partner be ecstatic with your choice, and may those currently without one flirt your little asses off. Above all, may there be orgasms aplenty for everyone!*

I have a feeling I’m going to be spending the evening in bed.**

*If you’re into that sort of thing. Otherwise I just hope you or someone else is treating you very, very well today.
**Sadly, probably not in the fun way. But I’ll make up for it later, trust me.

I have sex. I fuck. Because I find the term hilarious, I bone. I do all these, and additional things, passionately and sometimes with a deep, abiding love thrumming through every molecule of my body.

I’m not really a “make love” person.

Disliking the phrase “making love” is probably at least a little more hackneyed than the nomenclature itself. I don’t care. It rubs me the wrong way. It’s overly sentimental and treacly and euphemistic. Edwin Pomble never once– in years– said he wanted to “make love” to me… until after we broke up and he was was feeling particularly maudlin one day. I laughed at him. I’m a bitch.

If you need to make love, if just having sex isn’t going to work for you, I’ll gladly microwave a mess of peeps for you to stick your dick in, because I’m clearly not sugary enough. Then I’ll go fuck three of your best friends. Notice I will be doing the microwaving because I’m a romantic.

But I have absolutely no issue when the term pops up in old movies, when it means flirting/making a pass/wooing. That’s adorable, and it makes more sense. You’re literally forging a love bond out of a preliminary attraction. That’s making love; the other one is making babies .*

I’d say we should bring the old definition back, but at this point it’d just confuse everyone beyond redemption. Just think how many times a day you’d be obliged to launch into an explanation featuring Cary Grant.**

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*Or for some of us, avoiding same.

**Not that this would be a bad thing. Just time-consuming.

Here are some interesting facts about ConTuesday, the best sex confession apparatus on the entire server that hosts my website!

• ConTuesday isn’t here to judge you.
• ConTuesday is a Pisces.
• ConTuesday is patient. Or rather, requires patience. If you’ve ever sent in a sex confession and had to wait weeks or even months to see it appear here, there’s a perfectly good reason for that. That reason is called lead time. I mostly, more-or-less post them in order, but sometimes I’ll nudge one to the front or hold it back for a couple extra weeks to put it in a theme post. Your confession will appear… it just might be next year.
• ConTuesday is subject to the whims and foibles of an evil villain named QP, who is rumored to have a monkey tail.

I’m in my 20s, but most of the time people see me and assume I’m around 15. I’ve been told that I seem to exude a sort of virginal, innocent exuberance. That makes me feel twice as wonderfully naughty when I’m walking around town with a plug up my ass, carrying a purse full of floggers and vibrators and strap-ons.

Virginal innocence and butt plugs are complementary colors.

The closer I’ve gotten to my male best friend over the years, the more he’s come to see me as a sister. Most of the time I see him as a brother, but once in a while I love to ”innocently” start pushing all his buttons. I know that I’m exactly his type, physically and mentally. It’s insanely fun to watch him start getting all hot and bothered. He tries so hard to hide it, and I pretend not to notice. Such a wonderful power trip!

I’ve learned to gauge the health of my relationship by my wandering eyes. When our relationship is solid and healthy, I don’t find most other men sexually attractive in more than an aesthetic way, and fantasies about people I know are rare. When our relationship is rocky, I start fantasizing about my guy friends during sex. When the shit really hits the fan between us, I start wondering what it would be like to be in a relationship with one of my guy friends, and I start getting seriously turned on just talking to them.

The problem is that I really, really like my fantasies about my guy friends. They’re ridiculously hot, partly because I don’t know what they’d really do in bed. Unfortunately, when my relationship is solid, I can’t for the life of me get those fantasies going in my head. Damn it, I don’t want to miss out on my hottest fantasies when I’m happy!

Play fights, maybe? Hell, I don’t know; I think about fucking my friends all the time. (Sorry, friends!)

I IM’d my friend last night and told him I liked his voice. I told him there was no context, but in reality I’d been listening to sex stories wishing he’d been ordering me around. Oops.

I’ve only been with four people. My first was with 15 girls before me and I was always for some reason pissed off about it because I haven’t had the chance to fuck as many. My guy now, I won’t let him tell me because I don’t want to resent his win over me. Between relationships, I feel extra compelled to boost my number. Exactly how unhealthy/rare is this outlook?

It isn’t any of either! I don’t really stress about my number either way, but on some level I can’t help but think it’ll be a damn shame to die without fucking all the attractive people in the world first. (Sorry, friends!)

Many years ago, I had sex with my friend’s husband. We’re going to a party tonight, at their house, and I’m dreading it because he won’t ”let it go” and understand that it’s never going to happen again. Sadly, it has nothing to do with the fact that he’s my friend’s husband that is keeping me from doing it (incidentally, they are ”swingers”) but the fact that he won’t stop asking for it AND he is the worse sex I’ve ever had. I’m so tempted to just come out and tell him that I’m not interested and, if he keeps it up, tell him exactly why.

Final fact: ConTuesday is written by you. Confession your secrets here!

I think most people keep secrets from their partners. Not all, mind, but a solid majority. It doesn’t have to be a deep, dark secret. It can be something benign and trivial that’s kept back to avoid hurt feelings or drama or unnecessary complication. Does that weaken the relationship? Depending on the severity of the potential revelation, sometimes not at all; sometimes only if the secret gets revealed in a non-anonymous context. So! Have a peek inside some other people’s relationships! Or possibly yours…

I wrote in before about not being able to get my partner off with blowjobs. I found a happy medium! I still can’t get him off that way, but he makes the most wonderful sounds and thrashing spasms if I go down on him after sex.

Wait a minute… this isn’t a secret you’re keeping from your partner, is it? This is a celebratory confession! I have to say, you guys, I love celebratory confessions. They make me wanna give all sorts of cyber high-fives.

I get turned on when other women hit on my boyfriend. Which is reasonably often, cuz he’s a sexxay guy. I wish that he got turned on when guys hit on me, which also happens reasonably often, but he just gets insecure.

Clearly someone should be hitting on both of you at the same time. Trust me. This is the optimal solution.

Every time I have sex I use the same fantasy to get off. I’m throwing a dinner party for my husband’s boss in hopes of helping him get a promotion. I go into the kitchen to check on dinner. My husband (or so I assume) comes up behind me and lifts my short red sequined dress up to my waist. He then bends me over the kitchen island and pulls my black lace thong to the side and begins to fuck me. About half way through I hear my husband, who is in the dining room, ask if we need any help in the kitchen. I realize that it’s not my husband fucking me, but his boss! It feels so good that I just go with it! The boss tells my husband we’re coming (cumming)…..and we DO.

I totally get this. I was just reminded yesterday after a dream full of high adventure and flirting with my ex Edwin’s old roommate that I had quite a lot of fantasies about him when Edwin and I were together. There’s an unconfirmed rumor that I was tempted to spring that little gem on Edwin at one particularly horrid point after we broke up, but I opted for the moral victory by being nice instead.

I just took your fun fantasy to a dark place, now didn’t I!?

I want my significant other to fuck me. Why won’t she? I’m very, VERY specific about times and needs. Is this what I’ve signed up for the rest of my life?

There’s this theory (I think I made it up) that if a partner refuses to accommodate, or at very least consider, your requested fantasy early on (minus a “getting comfortable together” grace period) it is very likely never going to happen. Maybe I’m wrong. Maybe relationships get an experimental second wind. I hope for your sake they do.

Another theory of mine is that if your partner doesn’t accommodate your safe, reasonable sexual needs, then that partner should either be willing to negotiate ways to let you pursue those needs further afield, or be willing to let you move on. But only you can decide if getting fucked is a sexual need or something less urgent.

I am a married woman, mother of multiple children, straight-identifying but, I kissed a girl and, yes, I liked it.

Notice that this isn’t necessarily a secret from this woman’s partner, but Quizzical Pussy does take her liberties. Anyway, every girl I’ve kissed so far is a wonderful kisser. I think there might be such a thing as beginner’s luck, but I’m secretly hoping that we women hold the keys to the kissing kingdom.

Now it’s your turn to fess up to something you’ve been hiding from your lovah. Or from anyone else. Secrets go here.

ConTuesday is here, and with it comes more anonymous confessions! It’s pretty safe to say that none of these are about you, but we really can’t rule it entirely out, now can we?

My boyfriend misses his ex. I can just tell. He gets sad eyes when he talks about her. He says little throw away things, that reveal that he’s thinking of her. It happens a lot. I know he cares for me. She has moved on, and has a kid with another man. But, if he had a chance to get her back I believe he would leave me, in an instant. The weirdest part is, I’m not mad, I feel sad for me, and sad for him. I wish I could make him as happy as she used to…..

I (a guy, not that it really matters) once carried on a purely sexual relationship with a guy; I let him know it would only be a sexual relationship, although I wasn’t entirely honest about the reasons why (I just wasn’t that into him). I then dropped the relationship when I realized that -he- wasn’t interested in anything else; even though I didn’t want anything more, I guess I wanted to believe that he did, as the discovery eliminated all interest for me.

The guy I’m kind of seeing lives four hours away so we don’t get to see each other, or play with each other, very often. He was here last weekend for a visit and instead of immediately getting a hotel room like I knew he wanted to, I acted oblivious and we did other things all afternoon…. I knew he was horny and wanted to get me alone, and I kind of enjoyed making him wait. I’m not sure if that’s mean or not but since I fully intended to get naked with him (and did) I think I’m going to go with not mean, just playful.

I like my boyfriend best when he’s been smoking crack. He gets all sweet and slow. He’s more sexual and touches me more. It’s made me realize that I need to find a boyfriend who I like when he’s not on drugs.

Now, tell me something. It’s completely anonymous, possibly therapeutic, and undoubtedly interesting.

I’ve never (literally never, which is probably weird at my age and player level) given nor solicited a phone number at a random pick-up spot. Flirting from a stranger always shuts me down right away. I know it’s terribly rude, but I don’t mean it that way. I’m just a shrinking violet. Really, ask anyone! (Okay, not really. But I really do hit a brick wall when it comes to flirting.)

But the fact is that with the cell phone number of a near-stranger I’d be tempted to send disturbing, creepy text messages, like “You’re painfully beautiful when you sleep,” and “We’re almost out of milk.” Because at that point in the possible courtship you really have nothing to lose and can really fuck with someone. And I’m afraid that it would seem like a perfectly good idea at the time!

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My flirting skills are roughly on par with T-Pain’s singing ability sans Auto-Tune. I’m aware that I recently described performing lap dances for my friends, so I should probably clarify. I can flirt recreationally– purely for the joy and play of it all, but when the flirting might have a purpose (i.e. testing the waters for imminent sexin’), I suddenly have no idea what I’m doing. I can easily come on to people whom I feel sure aren’t a sexual possibility, when I feel safe with them and I know that they’re not going to read too much into it. But with strangers, I freeze. I don’t turn diffident or timid, understand; I’m just completely non-sexual. I’m practically one step shy of calling any potential suitor “bro”.

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Example:
Interior. Restaurant. Evening. Quizzical Pussy enters and sits down. An attractive gentleman caller saunters up to her table. Things are about to get pretty fucking uncomfortable, folks.

Gentleman Caller: Hi, I’m Roger Jollylad. I saw you when you walked in and thought you looked like lots of fun.

Quizzical Pussy: Ohai. I’m Quizzical Pussy. I try to bring the party, whenever possible. It’s kind of you to notice. (offers high five, like a tool)

Gentleman Caller: You’re cute.

Quizzical Pussy: My favorite dinosaur is Parasaurolophus. What’s yours?

Gentleman Caller: Do you want to maybe hang out sometime?

Quizzical Pussy: Ummmmmm. I’m going to go fight those guys in that booth over there. I’m pretty sure they’re assassins or something. Peace,  bro.

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It’s especially bad with guys. I think it’s because it’s so much easier to assume (because of statistics about sexual orientation and stuff) that women aren’t going to take pleasant recreational flirting seriously. Often, when a male comes up to talk to me in a bar or some other “let’s pick someone up” type of venue, he’ll end up asking me if I’m not into guys, because I’m just that neutral.

I’m not opposed to something coming of the “safe” flirting. It’s not a matter of teasing to get a jolt of power or control. Normally, for me, this type of flirting is about showing affection– not withholding it, and unexpectedly finding that playful flirting has transmuted into serious flirting is often a welcome and sweet development. Thing is, I’m not nearly as worried about people wanting to touch my naughty bits as that they will think I’m assuming that they might want to.

See, I’m concerned about being attracted to people without permission. About offending them for presuming that they’re viable conquests. I have no idea where I got this, or if it’s common at all. Maybe lots of people feel this way and no one admits it because it’s kind of silly. Rationally, I realize that most people aren’t going to backhand me for daring to see them as sexual possibilities. Even if not interested, chances are they’d be flattered by a little attention, right? It’s not because of logic that I’m so wary of imposing my libido or interest on people who haven’t invited it. It’s something else. Something stupid. Something I have the hardest time shaking. It’s so bad that I won’t allow myself to admit (even to me) an actual desire for someone until orgasms have come into play, or at least a vigorous make out. I can think you’re objectively pretty and even say you’re attractive in a general sense, but I won’t feel or express actual lust until I have the go-ahead that only physical interaction provides. And even then, I’m so very careful.

For someone who’s kind of a sex fiend, this is slightly obstructive. If I flirted a little more, a little better, judiciously, I bet I could get way more laid.