quizzical pussy

Anyone feeling libidinous lately? I jockeyed myself through about fourteen orgasms yesterday, although to be fair I only squirted three or four times. As my victory lap, I’m posting confessions I find especially hot in some way (or at least inspire me to think dirty thoughts). I actually get a lot of arousing confessions, and they wouldn’t all fit in this ConTuesday installment without the compilation thereof cutting drastically into my masturbation time, so perhaps this will be the first of several “QP’s Choice” ConTuesdays. Who knows?

But seriously. This way lies hotness.

When I was in studying philosophy in undergrad, I would regularly be reading something so interesting that I’d somehow get aroused and have to take a masturbation break.

I feel weird defining myself as a sapiosexual because that implies that I’m such a smartypants I get to decide who and what is intelligent and then use it to satisfy my own sordid desires, but fuck it. I’m pretty much a sapiosexual and this makes me feel funny in my smartypants.

This is Confessor #4 from June 7th: I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but he never called. Ah well.

I have this funny feeling it was his loss entirely. Thanks for the update.

This is very very simple. From an early age, I had a terrible crush on a totally amazing older ”father figure” man. He was well-off, well-educated, well-traveled, well-read, well-everything. Tall, slender but strong, blue eyes, darkblonde hair, wonderful voice. He had lost his first wife years ago, married again, had two children with his second wife and I had never met his children because we didn’t live in my hometown anymore. (Actually, we lived in the country, all of us. He had homes in several places.

Years go by, I run into this man, about ten years older than I…and he seemed so familiar and so nice and handsome and sexy and elegant and classy. Ta-da! My preteen crush’s son…over that summer I attended several family functions and parties…the two of them were there. OMG! His father, my serious first crush, had only gotten more handsome, more charming, and he and his second wife were still very much in love. I was considered too young to date this man’s son by my strict father…but I was allowed to go on many family trips and visits.

As if my little mind had a mind of its own, soon, very detailed dreams began of being, uhmm, sexually and romantically involved with one or the other of these two men. And wait. There’s more. Sometimes, the dream revolved around being with the Father…and he and his son ”share” me. Then, it switched, in this dream, the son and I are very very involved and somehow, the son and father began to share me. In incredible and erotic and intense ways. I never really lost my crush on the Father…and I may have seriously fell in love with his son…only our age difference got in the way and then I met my beloved husband.

To this day, we occasionally see this family socially and in and around town. The father’s lovely wife recently passed away, tragically. The son…oh my. He’s very much a chip off the ol’ block. Two more handsome elegant charming and truly kind men, are hard to find.

And I still have vivid dreams and yes, fantasies of belonging to both of these men, and of course, now include in various ways…my beloved husband.

I. Am. So. Bad!

Just for the record, I think it’s really sweet and romantic that your husband now figures into your fantasies. It has to be true love when you share with your lover in even your most hidden fantasies.

I have a cute friend. A cute friend, recently available, whom I would kind of like to fool around with. I think it could be a lot of fun for both of us, probably not too serious, good times all around. Sadly, the cute friend has an extraordinarily crazy ex, and, alas! I am having serious reservations about involving myself in any of it.

Clearly you’re wise beyond your years, ignoring the fact that I have no idea how old you actually are. Too many of us would grasp the shiny and ignore the giant warning signs that we would have to file a restraining order before the whole thing was through.

I feel bad for cute friend, though. One (possibly sustained for quite some time) bad decision could potentially hobble cute friend’s fooling around prospects for years, depending on how scary the ex is. This is why we need to start training and distributing Hell’s-going-to-have-no-fury sniffing dogs (who should all be Papillons because awwwww). Prevention is the best cure here.

But failing adorable toy dogs and time machines, sneaking around can be really hot if you want to start fucking not wisely but too well.

My girlfriend posted on twitter tonight that I had left a pair of my panties at her house after spending the weekend there. A few moments later, she texted my to say she’d just masturbated while wearing them. It’s one of the hottest texts I’ve ever gotten and I just had to share it with someone.

That is insanely hot. I don’t know which of you I want to be more in this scenario, but I’m willing to try either. Or both. Yes. Both. In a “trading off” sense; not in a “both parties are me” sense, because frankly I already masturbate wearing my own panties and while it’s not half bad I think we can do a hell of a lot better if one of us starts being someone else.

Tell me a secret.

Henrietta Tansy is this girl I know. Young, healthy and comfortable, whip smart. Also the kind of girl who will actually say, out loud: “I’m worried my eyes are just too big for me to ever really be pretty,” knowing perfectly well that they’re “too big” just like they’re “too blue”, or the lashes that ring them “too long”. Then of course she’ll lament for hours how difficult it is to have so many ardent admirers, and confide how deeply she wishes people wouldn’t judge her based only on her (admittedly extraordinary) looks.

In short, hers are Mary Sue problems, and the story never ends. I want it on record that I have never slapped her. I’m not going to insult your intelligence by suggesting that I have never wanted to.

She’s currently in her first serious relationship, with a guy she pursued, something she’d never had to do before. “It’s so empowering!” She made a fist and pummeled the air as she told me this. “I wanted him, and I went after him, and now he’s mine!” To be honest, it doesn’t appear she had to work very hard. As she reminded me, she’s so much better looking than her new boyfriend she’s surprised they don’t get strange looks walking down the street. When he seemed uninterested at first she was indignant. But with a little persistence she seduced him, and she couldn’t be prouder if he were every bit as attractive as she is!

And yet again I was reminded that being the pursuer is something I’ve never experienced. My relationship with seduction has been mostly avoiding mocking laughter by eschewing it. So if it were empowering I wouldn’t exactly know, but it wouldn’t exactly surprise me.

I have this sense that there was once a time, long ago, when people were meticulously taught social graces as part of a well-rounded education, much like children are theoretically supposed to be taught geometry now. They learned how to be charming, how to have presence, how to hold a conversation, even how to tell a story that captivates one’s audience. Of course, this could well be a romanticized version of the past that’s a side effect from getting my working knowledge of old timey social interactions from novels. Dialogue is usually a little snappier when an author’s had the chance to mull it over for months and then edit it a few times. Perhaps these social graces have always been things we pick up only if we’re lucky, with one in a million of us seeming magically born with them like Henrietta was born freakishly adorable.

The one thing I know is that they are skills, and as such can be learned. And pretty much the only group who seem focused on systematically improving theirs are Pickup Artists.

As a community, Pickup Artists are at times awe-inspiring in their pursuit of self-improvement. When I make it a point to observe their process without judging their motives, it becomes clear that what they call “inner game” is largely an effort to build self-esteem. And while beginners learn scripted gambits to start conversations, the ultimate goal seems to be attaining true, engaging conversational skills. It’s only mildly off-putting that having legitimate discourse is often referred to as “improvising” rather than “talking”. The problem (if there is one, and that depends on your perspective) is that for some reason this is all done in the service of getting laid. All that effort to become a better¹ person gets cast in a manipulative light when it’s so single-mindedly libidinous, and frankly dehumanizing for anyone else in the sexual equation. But at least it’s honest.

I’m not honest.

I want what Pickup Artists want. I know what it’s like to feel like a social loser, and deep down, I don’t expect people to overlook that and see that I have a good heart and throw me a great big party with balloons. To be fair, my heart isn’t really all that spectacular. What I really want is to be charming and witty and poised and ever so magnetic. And my motives aren’t just to be well liked and make people smile, although those things are certain wonderful and welcome. I also want to be desired. I want to infect your mind like a melody and stab through you like hunger. It may be weakness telling me this, but I think it would feel empowering.

Even if I never took advantage of it, I’d want to know I had that power to seduce if I chose. It bothers me that the thing stopping me has never been nobler ideas about reciprocity and ethics and all that. Maybe those things factor in somehow, but it’s mostly fear I’d fail and look like a loser.

What makes this even worse is that I’m fairly sure that “Hey, wanna do it?” would work often enough that the question of seduction as art is barely worth thinking about.

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1. …or at least more socially pleasing [↩]

Thursday night. Just another chain restaurant at the tail end of the dinner rush. But what lurked there beneath the preformed burgers? What waited just beyond the salad bar sneeze guard? Pulsing debauchery. Desires dark and unspeakable. People everywhere, naked under their clothes! And munching. Yes! Munching!

I don’t mean to alarm you, but there’s a chance this is happening in your city too. I wonder sometimes if anyone even bothers to please, think of the children!

And of course by all this I mean that I made it to my first munch last week. The table was easy to find in the sense that it was in a detached section marked “reserved” that was literally right next to the entrance. I didn’t see a non-kinky diner all night, even by accident. It was a relief not to have to do any pervert profiling on-the-spot.

Everyone was friendly and welcoming as Laramy and I walked in. At a glance, they didn’t look like what I expected. I expected it to look like a gathering of the Sci Fi nerds I tend to hang out with, which would mean mostly nerds, many in nerd-themed t-shirts, probably (as Holly pointed out in comments) a lot of black clothing, some unnatural hair colors, and at least one guy wearing a hoodie with the sleeves cut off¹. These people didn’t look like that. They just looked like regular people having dinner at T.G.I. Appletuesday & Erma’s. Every time I try to form one nice, modest little stereotype, you non-me people ruin it. What gives?

Everyone else seemed to know one another well, and were seated at a long table. Laramy and I sat down at the free end. The munch organizer immediately visited us there, and gave us a little information about a BDSM education group the munch is affiliated with. As a curious kink novice, this has me very interested.

Then our friends came in, and everyone ordered food, and we didn’t get a chance to officially meet most of the group, and I didn’t feel an overwhelming sense of “these are my people and this is my tribe”, per se, but that would probably be sort of like finding your soul mate on your first blind date ever, or something.

Bottom line: BDSM community, you are promising. I shall forge ahead.

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1. He knows who he is. [↩]

I’m planning to attend my first munch this evening. I’ve wanted to start infiltrating the local BDSM scene for a while now, ever since I noticed a curious dearth of dorky pale chicks with crazy hair in same, an oversight I am all too happy to correct because it will hopefully eventually get me spankings and other lovely things.

Actually, let’s be honest. No local BDSM scene anywhere, to my knowledge, lacks dorky pale chicks with crazy hair, but currently none of them are me. I find that alarming. Rest easy, local kinksters. Help is on the way, coming to a bar and grill chain in your area! Tonight!

Eep. Tonight.

I have no idea what to expect. Social gatherings can be crackling, intoxicating for me, or they can drain all the color out of the room. In a new situation it’s so often a gamble which will happen. Is it going to be awkward or like stumbling upon a chattering of old, favorite-hoodie-comfortable friends? Maybe some of them will be even be sexy and enticing in an awkward, or friendly, way. Maybe not so much…

But I’m reasonably sure there will be a salad bar. So we have that going for us. And I’ve got Laramy and a couple friends coming, so it can’t get too terribly awkward as long as I have three people to hide behind. Overall, I think I’ll be glad we went.

My only real and unrelenting concern, though, is how do we find the table? Do we say we’re with the local munch when we reach the restaurant’s host stand? That doesn’t seem right, somehow. Everyone will be in casual clothing, so it’s not like I can scan the dining area for fetish gear. Maybe there’s a password and I don’t know it.

Fuck it. It’s probably “Batman”. Let’s do this.

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ConTuesday is upon us! What secrets will be revealed?

I’m still kind of jealous that my partner slept with someone else a couple of nights ago, even though I’ve just come home from sleeping over at my other sweetheart’s house. It’s hard to give other people the freedom you want for yourself. At least, it is for me.

I think far more people feel this way than would ever admit it. And I think the perfectly reasonable reason is often this: Say you and I are in an open relationship. I know how I feel about you. I know that nothing I have with my other lover would ever endanger what I have with you. I know that I’d be a idiotic beyond comprehension to jeopardize what I have with you. I know that.

But what you know? That’s something of a mystery. This is my theory, anyway.

Last week, I beat my submissive boyfriend more severely than I ever had before. He got so heavy into subspace that he had an intense orgasm without either of us ever touching his penis. Then we went and saw Harry Potter.
I just wanted to share that with someone.

An orgasm with no touching? You’re a wizard, Harry!

I love happy confessions like this. Doubly so when they’re kinky and maybe a little geeky.

Alright, I’ve got this fantasy. I’d love to anonymously fuck just some random girl. Either there should be absolutely no exchange of personal information or kind of an understood mutual lying about names and whatever. From there, just raw animal fucking with the understanding that we’ll never see each other again. This is one of those fantasies that will stay just a fantasy, but I don’t care. It makes me horny.

Rumor has it the 1970s were exactly this for ten years straight, except everyone was on roller skates.

I wish it could be with you.

I think we all wish that, my friend.

I mean… Wait. What?

I’m tired of feeling like I have to talk my boyfriend into having sex with me. He only ever wants to when HE wants to and it’s so frustrating to have him always decide when.

Ah, fuck-crossed lovers. These stories seem to end in tragedy far too often. I hope this one works out. I really, really do.

Come to think of it, there are so many fuck-crossed lovers that send in confessions I have half a mind to start a libido-mismatched partner exchange program.

If you have a secret, or are interested in our fictional sex-drive-matching services, go here and tell all!

It seems to me that virginity is one of those things that you pretty much get to define for yourself, like cheating or happiness. Other people, institutions, even laws may have their opinions, but when you break it down enough any definition of virginity seems arbitrary at best. Virginity is so confusing that some people don’t seem to know whether they’re talking about it or not.

I’m about to don my pedantry hat for a minute. Also my seldom seen, but very jaunty, theology hat. You’ve been warned. Immaculate Conception doesn’t mean what most people think it means. In common use, it’s become confused with virgin birth and used synonymously, but it’s never meant “conceiving a child while one is a virgin”. Immaculate Conception is an explanation by the Catholic Church going back to the year Way Long Ago A.D. as to why Mary (the mother of Jesus Christ) was good enough to carry and bear God’s son¹. They decided that Mary, unlike regular non-god-bearing people, had been conceived without original sin (a legacy from Adam and Eve) and was thus pure, immaculate. Later Mary conceived a baby while she was a virgin² and gave birth, but her Immaculate Conception was only a distant prelude to that virgin birth, and has very little to do with virginity whatsoever.

My personal theory is that people use the wrong term because it sounds fancier. People are suckers for fancy. Hold on for a second. Removing hats.

There. That’s better. Where was I? Oh, virginity. I don’t know what the fuck a virgin is. I don’t really know when I was one. My hymen broke twice, but neither of those were the first time I had an orgasm from someone penetrating me. And then it was still two years before I had a dick inside me. Except my mouth. Are we counting my mouth? Suffice to say I lost my virginity, if it was even a thing, but at this point I don’t really know or care when.

But when Laramy commented the other day that he’s never fucked a virgin, I’m almost positive he meant someone who’s never had penis-in-vagina intercourse. That seems to be the most common definition, although I can only imagine how gold star lesbians feel about that. Anyway, he’s mentioned it before.

“Is that one of your goals?” I asked him, curious, but smelling trouble from where I sat. Now, at our age virgins are getting a bit thin on the ground, so it wouldn’t be terribly easy to find one without actively hunting. And a casual, drama-free deflowering with one older, experienced partner who already has a girlfriend and one partner who doesn’t remember that pogs were once a thing can happen, of course. But it feels like it would be asking a lot of the universe.

“It’s not something I’m actively looking for, but it might be interesting.” One interesting thing about Laramy is that he says this about virtually all forms of heterosexual sex he’s not having at that precise moment.

“If you’re that interested, I’ll just get one of those fake hymens³,” I shrugged.

“That’s a thing!?”

Of course it’s a thing! Because sadly, some people still buy into one of the weirdest definitions of virginity: the intact hymen. And there are still places in the world where a woman’s future might depend on her ability to fake that, whether she’s a virgin by any other definition or not.

But I guess it could be a sex toy too. If you’re not too cautious with your mucous membranes.

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1. The later Protestant explanation is that she quite simply wasn’t, just like no one on Earth was good enough for a god to die for. This is probably why it took a Protestant to write “Amazing Grace”. [↩]
2. Or as a young, unmarried woman, depending on how you like to translate ancient texts. [↩]
3. Just for the record, I was in no way serious. I have no idea what’s in those things, but I can guess it’s not all medical grade silicone and hypoallergenic red lube. [↩]

Guess whose desktop PC bricked out the day after her computer genius boyfriend went home after visiting? Yeah, totally me. And I may be a nerdy in my useless, fact-spouting, “It’s a Fact” girl way, but I don’t know enough to get myself out of this kind of mess. That is a fact.

Laramy, aforementioned computer genius boyfriend, insisted on making a special trip back up here yesterday after work to fix it for me, which he did. Utterly. Then he insisted on taking me out to dinner. Why, you ask? What did I do to deserve all this, you ask? Nothing. I’m just unreasonably lucky and he’s incredibly amazing.

And the very best part? I got to see him an extra bonus day.

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This is a public service announcement: Bisexuals exist. Sometimes I get sick of people pulling the “phase” card, telling us to make up our minds, or assuming that once we start fucking people of one sex that means we’ve sworn off people of another. There is even a TV Trope about this (warning: TV Trope link goes to TV Tropes, so prepare to lose your day if you click).

Some people just get to have more options than you do. Deal with it.

This public service announcement is also a ConTuesday that features people who really can (and perhaps even do) have it both ways.

I’m dying to have a MMF threesome, but my boyfriend has gotten into this rut of non openness and the idea of it being the death of our relationship. I don’t really think I would want him to be a part of it tho’, I would actually rather find an established male bi-sexual couple who want to play with each other as much as me. I want it to be fun and giving, and flirty. I’ve done it with toys, but I want the physical sensation of being between 2 warm bodies. Just the thought of it makes me quiver and get wet.

I’ve never had an MMF threesome, and it’s a huge fantasy. But I have to say, I’d rather have a “devil’s threesome” where no one felt like it was the consolation prize of threesomes. I’d rather just forgo it than have to deal with two guys trying to avoid each other trying to have a 100% heterosexual experience with me. So two bi guys? Yum.

I love my boyfriend. I love his personality, I love his quirks. I love how geeky he is. In bed, he’s perfect. He’s sexy, he turns me on, he’s ok with my sleeping with the ladies (because, you know, sometimes you just want boobs.), he likes being dominating, oh how I love being submissive. The problem is, I had a great sex drive… I was ready for sexy times at the drop of a hat… and he has health problems. Of the, sex is limited because ow my body hurts bad and I just can’t sort. It got to the point where it made me feel terrible to so much as suggest sex, much less actually having sex, even if he initiated, because it would put him out of commission the rest of the day. And then he’d feel terrible because I used to love sex, and now I just can’t get into it. And I’d feel terrible for making him feel terrible.

I’m not old enough for this yet. I love him, but I miss sex with him.

Trying to have a good sex life while working around your health issues can be really, really frustrating for everyone involved. Hope you guys have figured out a way that works for you! Also, ha you’re bi you exist ha!

So, over the course of an extremely raunchy (and fun!) marathon sex session last night, my boyfriend of 18 months came out to me that he is bi. He seemed a little surprised (and relieved) that I wasn’t squicked out by the fact at all.

Hey, I figure I’m bi, he’s bi, as long as we keep communication open and play safe, there could be a lot of fun to be had!

Bi-on-bi love is a beautiful thing. Also, in order to accomplish it you have to have two bisexuals who also exist. Just saying.

I had a friend who was a pre-op transsexual. I wasn’t attracted to him, but it was intriguing, the penis with breasts. I mean I didn’t find him at ALL hot, but his cock was huge and and there was something very sweet and accommodating about his way. That was some strange and singular sex. I think I was his last big hoo-rah, and I think I’ll never be curious again about sex with a man with boobs. Now, sex with a man AND with a woman with boobs, otoh…

I have a bit of a crush on a woman who happens to be trans. No idea what’s going on under her clothes, but I do know that she is so freaking cute and I am equipped to deal with any eventuality. Why? Cause bi!

I’m on Fetlife, but I don’t use it much. My curiosity about BDSM is steadily growing, so I think that will change, but at the moment I only visit occasionally.

To tell the truth, I’m kind of trying to work myself up to going to my first munch. It seems like it’d be either terrifying or boring (possibly both) to go to one alone. Hey, Courage? You’re needed in the general vicinity of the sticking place.

But there is one task for which Fetlife is uniquely suited, and I will always, no matter what, maintain a profile there for this purpose. When I’m considering cities I might like to move to in future, I always hop on Fetlife and see how many users are in that area. If their ranks are strong, I feel okay about the possibility of living there one day. If not, I mentally scratch the place off my list.

This might not be rational, but it is immensely reassuring. I may not have a whole lot of kinkster cred, but I prefer to know that I can find a respectable number of  joyous, responsible perverts in my area at any given time, and I probably always will. It makes me feel less alone, somehow.

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

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

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

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

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

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

–Crispin

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Holy shit, please tell me he called.

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

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