quizzical pussy

Oren Regardie will be the first to admit that he’s lucky. And, at least by many people’s standards, he is pretty damn lucky. Let’s look at this: he is married to Poppy, who’s one of those women men just spontaneously collapse over because of her sheer multi-disciplinary awesomeness. He also has me, and I’m not so terrible either. And together, Poppy and I make a pretty adorable, crayola-headed pair; actually, we look like the Manic Pixie Dream Team. In addition, because he’s charming and attractive and because we move in social circles that are very snuggly indeed, Oren never has a shortage of lovely ladies to make out with and cuddle and whatnot. So his life doesn’t suck. It really doesn’t.

Last Saturday night the three of us (a couple of our friends have taken to calling us The Trident) were hanging out in a bar with several friends, many of whom are fetching ladies. The bar is equipped with booths and bar stools and even a dance floor, but only two comfy chairs. One of my friends and I (both of us with chronic pain issues) agreed that the moment those chairs were open they were ours. And, because the Universe loves us deeply, that didn’t take long.

Oren came over to occupy the space between us, and some communal cuddling happened. Then some other ladies joined us. Because of the magnetic nature of cuddling in public, we soon had a joyous heap of people (mostly women) cuddling, with Oren roughly in the middle but not singled out in any way. But something interesting happened, though it’s only interesting when you actually think about it: the bar, which was mostly populated by males, started to kind of sort of wish he were dead. Men–total strangers– kept coming up to him, some congratulating on his pimposity, most commenting enviously on his position and acting vaguely hurt that they were being left out. When he got up to go to the bathroom a few guys hovered around, hoping to take his place. Glares followed him as he returned.

This dimly recalls the little economist who met the three of us on New Year’s Eve and had his mind blown as soon as he figured out our dynamic. “It was nice meeting you. Touché on the harem,” was his parting shot to Oren. But really this is not rare.

The really weird thing is that no one ever thinks to high five (or scowl at) me. I mean, there I was nestled between my incredible boyfriend and my gorgeous fuck-buddy-for-life Viola– kissing each at various points, and holding hands with another pretty chick. I’m going to go ahead and call that motherfucking lucky, but to average bar guy to process that I’d have to be a subject rather than an object, I guess.

Because when you break things down, it’s weird. Oren is lucky, sure. He is. Having two people you love loving you back is goddamn remarkable. But Poppy has relationships with several totally amazing guys, and no one ever seems to harp on that in quite the same way. It holds hands with that weird insidious old-timey sexism that warns never to congratulate a bride because that would be indelicate. You wish her joy. Because it would be rude to imply that her groom is the prize rather then her, and that she accomplished something by finding someone she wants to spend her life with. How vulgar to imbue a woman with agency, or attribute desire to her.

This cuts in every direction. When women are reduced to objects with no desires, men are reduced to insatiable desire.

I started reading Y: The Last Man. I’d been meaning to for a while, and it’s very good. But it’s hard to get around the fact that being the last surviving man on Earth seems to be a fantasy for a lot of guys (though admittedly not the main character of the comic, and I’m sort of expecting the series to deconstruct that), while I physically cringe when I think of any moderately realistic narrative of a last woman because in my mind it would automatically invoke absolute metric tons of rape. It’s such a bleak way of looking at gender dynamics, but is it inaccurate?

I hope so. I don’t know. I sure as hell know I wouldn’t want to be that woman.

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Can we just talk for a minute about how hard it was for me to go through last week without a new episode of Rupaul’s Drag Race? Because it was moderately difficult, and I also may have strep throat. Again. But I see now that the logo website has uploaded last night’s episode now, so I can watch it whenever I like. Which will be soon because I’m not getting out of bed until I absolutely have to.

Someone invent a bathtub bed immediately! And bring drag queens and epsom salt, please.

The thing about boarding school is that someone might just drive up next to you while you’re trying to have sex with your boyfriend outside in the grass. Whoops.

I feel like this would be as dire a hazard if I’d tried to have sex in the grass outside my public high school as well, but maybe I’m missing something…

I just got a new roommate. He’s tall and cute and has an accent. We cooked dinner together today and he stood just a little too close the whole time. He would sort of brush by me, barely touching my ass with his arm. I know that having sex with roommates is dangerous business, but that doesn’t stop me from wanting to.

You guys are totally going to do it. I get enough confessions in which people bemoan that they’re not having sex with their roommates (isn’t that more or less what a partner becomes after the sex dries up?) that this is novel.

Anti-anxiety meds are awesome! Except they make me take twice as long to come without affecting my sex drive, and given that my libido’s a fairly ravenous beast, this has been… less than fun, shall we say. Couldn’t even be certain I’ll be able to get myself off for a while, which was kinda awful for me.

And do you know what helped? Fantasizing about someone used sexually and prevented from coming. Ah, my contrary brain, I heart you so when you’re not been a panic-attack prone dick.

Yay for managing anxiety!

Sometimes when I’m masturbating I imagine finally– finally– being sexual sated for a while. It’s one of those fantasies that I’m well aware will never happen, like sex in space.

i want to send you a confession, but i have a problem. it involves a very specific set of circumstances and those involved read contuesdays, something for which i can only blame myself. so, instead i just lie here, naked in bed, frustrated but unable to confesss why, reading sexy confessions and wanting to add my two cents to the confessions, yet unable to do so and so getting more frustrated…. if this goes on much longer i might explode :P
but on the other hand i now understand why some people like being sexually frustrated, of course it does make paying attention to lectures at uni a little more difficult…

Okay, you guys. It is only polite to pretend you don’t know who submitted ConTuesday confessions, even if you totally know. (It’s also polite to pretend that I’m a sex goddess and everyone wants to do me, but that’s unrelated.)

I used the Cardiograph app on my phone to watch my heart rate as I brought myself to orgasm and then came down from it. Science is fun!

As if graphs weren’t erotic enough on their own!

I’ve known I was kinky since I was 12, but I just had the best sexfest EVER with a guy who’s totally new to BDSM. He didn’t let that stop him; I’m pretty sure he didn’t even let that slow him down, because he did things to me I didn’t even realize were possible and not just like, mythical things people who claimed they had good sex lied about. New guy’s completely recalibrated all my sexual barometers, is what I’m saying. We had sex so many times over the course of three days that by the end, neither of us could really even get aroused any more, much less orgasm.

That’s not really the confession, because, well, it was great but it’s not juicy. The confession is that my long-term ex who previously held the #1 position–well, he recently said some truly shitty stuff to me and I had to cut off contact with him entirely–and now I’m very tempted to get revenge. New guy seems to be way more awesome, and he’s nine billion times better in bed (rough estimate). Ex couldn’t fuck me for longer than 20 seconds without premature ejaculation (seriously), was too lazy to ever explore more than the ‘usual’ bdsm stuff I specifically asked for, and his dick was tiny and he hated oral and basically, he was a lazy fuck.

I am extremely, EXTREMELY tempted to send a text to my ex that says: So sorry, you have been DOWNGRADED. All those times I said you were good in bed? I realize I was unintentionally lying, because I’ve now experienced truly transcendental fucking. Have fun finding someone who’s willing to overlook your tiny quick fucking-selfishness, because I would rather just revisit my memories of the guy I just met than ever see you again.

Unfortunately, that’s way too long for a text. Suggestions on how to cut it down? :P

You know how they say that living well is the best revenge? Fucking well is specifically excellent in that regard. If you tell your ex any of this, though, it’ll give him an excuse to forget you cut off contact. I’m sure you know this because, well, you’re saying it here.

Also, why haven’t you lost that jerk’s phone number, though?

I have a great (open) relationship with my boyfriend.

I also love my friend, and he loves me. Platonically. Yes, platonic love is a real thing, not a euphemism. He’s not my type, sexually, and I’m not his. But I yearn over him, every thing I think or experience I imagine what he would say, the sight of him unhappy is devastating, and his company may be my favorite thing in the world.

I don’t know if this is disloyal to my boyfriend, or totally crazy, or what. But I can’t pretend it’s not the case. I think of my friend and I as Heloise and Abelard, though hopefully with a less gruesome outcome.

Your friendship makes me smile and I think its awesome. I think Heloise and Abelard were kind of each other’s type sexually, but I don’t know. I’m wrong sometimes.

My boyfriend and I have been together for two and a half years, but the last year has been horrible. We haven’t been having sex very often–maybe once or twice a month. And I’ve tried talking to him about it (because, frankly, that’s not enough for me). But last week he says that he’s by sex and that he doesn’t ever feel aroused. But, those sound like two different things to me. I really want to fix things between us. He just shuts down when I try to talk to him. I don’t know what to do.

People scattered all over the world are noticing the missing word and going “He’s what by sex?” but I guess it doesn’t really change the gist of the confession. I hate telling people to nuke their relationships because it seems so myopic, but if you’ve been miserable for an entire year? And he’s not talking to you except to tell you that he doesn’t want to have anything like the sex life you want to have? I’m really sorry, but what are you actually trying to save?

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to watch drag queens bicker.

Confess.

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I have a cold right now on top of my regularly scheduled chronic illness. I am happy to report that the math works out: while sick sucks, double sick sucks even harder. I also mildly resent living in a world where I have to show state-issued identification in order to buy cold medicine. I guess my point here is, can we just legalize meth and for that matter all the drugs already?

Double sick on mescaline might be okay.

Sometimes, when I’m having a hard time staying focused on sex (and I need to if I want to come), I think to myself…

That’s a fucking penis inside of you/person’s mouth on your cunt/pussy in front of your face! (or whatever is happening at the time)

and for some reason, it always turns me back on, sometimes so much so that I come seconds later.

It’s almost like you’re dirty talking to yourself. I can see it.

A girlfriend and I broke up a few months ago. At the time I considered the split to be a mutual decision; we had been drifting apart mainly due to schedule problems but there were other issues as well. Although we were compatible and the sex was good, we just weren’t at the same place in our lives.

Anyhow, I thought that I had processed the break-up. She and I remained friends. Life has been hectic for me and I haven’t been dating since. Then she let me know that she was seeing someone else. She had a reason to let me know, it wasn’t just a cruel or flip remark. And the news hit me like the Titanic hit the TARDIS. I feel insecurities about the end of our relationship that are totally irrational. What does he have that I don’t? (Aside from a similar job, schedule, and income to her, and living right down the street from her, and basically none of these problems that made her uncomfortable about our relationship). Does he make her laugh? Is he wittier than I am? Does he get her geeky references? Does he know about that tiny spot on her nipple that drives her wild?

What did I do wrong? (Almost certainly nothing, which is one of the most irrational bits). The fact is, we just weren’t as compatible as I wanted us to be. And I know that there are other women out there with whom I’ll be able to read comic books while we cuddle and play Portal 2 and have Dr. Horrible Sing-A-Long time. So why am I so distressed about this whole situation? I’m bothered that this is bothering me at all!

For most people, it’s probably one thing to walk away from a relationship that wasn’t working, but another to feel like they’ve been replaced. This is irrational brain stuff, yeah, but it’s pretty natural. When your favorite independent coffee shop closes down and a big FOR LEASE sign goes up, you probably go through a lot of emotions that are more or less not entirely unlike sadness. But when you see that the location has reopened as a fast food franchise, the original sadness may come back up along with indignation and revulsion and a weird craving for deep fried carbs. This is how we work. Double sick will never not suck. Unless mescaline.

But I hope you’ve come out the other side of all that by now. If not, you will.

So I have a massive oral fixation and love giving oral sex, and I was able to give my boyfriend his first-ever blowjob. Yay, me! Unfortunately, he’s not so familiar with blowjob protocol or the idea that yes, my lips do actually spend most of their time being chapped as hell and that you can’t just grab my hair and have my mouth be ready. But when I tell him that I don’t like/can’t do something, he gets extra-super-careful with me, like he might break me or sommat, and I don’t know if I have all the words to explain exactly what kind of spontaneity lets me not feel completely caught off-guard. I keep thinking, “Just fucking say something!” but then I remember that there are a lot of different ways to say something and not all of them are accurate communication. I’m shit at communication, and even though I’m practicing, it’s a miserable sort of practice, and I really don’t know what to do, and I usually just end up babbling myself into meaningless circles. I’ve become super-nervous about cuddling now, because I like to cuddle a lot, and make out for hours, and he isn’t used to the idea of that so when things get heavy he sort of instantly assumes that penis-in-vagina sex should be happening. I really like him, he’s wonderful in bed, and mostly, I’m just sad that he’d never spent more than five minutes making out with someone before moving on to sex. But how do I convey how wonderful I find making out to be? Or how I don’t find orgasms to be the sole reason to have sex? Or how he’s SO FUCKING SEXY?, because he seriously has NO idea, and it makes me sad that he doesn’t like lots of parts of himself? Please help! I don’t know what to do! I’ve exhausted the Internet’s supply of kittens in the effort to make myself less mopey, and it still hasn’t completely worked.

I feel that I should point out that you seem to be able to convey a lot of these things you want to say in text. I don’t see any good reason one couldn’t make a “How to fuck me” living document to share with one’s lovers, or an infographic, or even a pop-up picture book. It could include the details of what you know you like, what you know you don’t like, what you’re attracted to, what you fantasize about, what you’re curious about, what you find sexy about your current partner/s, and everything you think someone may care to know. It may be a slightly different way to communicate than you have in mind (or maybe not), but whatever works is of value.

I am not coming when I have sex. I do feel great and all, but I feel there’s more to it. What can I do to discover what I’m missing?

If you are having orgasms while masturbating, I would try to incorporate getting yourself off into the partnered sex you’re having. Before sex or after or during or all of the above. It might teach your partner some things about how you like to be touched, and just making your orgasms part of whatever sex you’re having may be “more” all by itself.

If you are not having orgasms in any context at this time, I hope one of my readers has good advice for you because I never know the answer to that one.

I am seriously considering becoming a “sex worker”. I’m a married, mostly stay-at-home mom in my 30s and I’m tired of living paycheck to paycheck. I recently talked to someone who is a “paid companion” and she sees a couple men on a semi-regular basis. All are men she would date even if there wasn’t money involved. My husband and I have an open marriage and he has no problem with me seeing other men. He’d be aghast knowing I was doing it for money. Still seriously considering it. An extra 1,000 a month sure would make things a lot easier.

I really don’t see this as much different than going to my regular job. I use my skills to provide a desired service and get compensated for it. Only in this case, instead of using my skills to line the pockets of a greedy boss, I’d be doing it solely to benefit myself and my family.

If I lived in the Firefly universe I know in my heart of hearts that I would be a registered companion. And I know I’m not the only one. Show of hands?

Can we just legalize everything already? Christ.

So, i’m 20 years old and i’ve have been dating my first honest to god boy for about 2 months now. We met online,which amazed me since all the guys i’d met and gone on dates with from this particular site were complete duds. We’re both nerds, which is awesome as I was in need of a Doctor Who buddy. It is the best perk ever that I find him so attractive and enjoy putting his cock in my mouth. The fact that he can make me laugh whenever we’re together for hours on end is amazing as well.

My sex drive has always been ridiculous. Ever since I discovered masturbation in earnest at age 15. I’d always kind of had that ”warm tingly” sensation down below when I saw naughty things, but it took me forever to make the connection that a HAND goes down there. So it was inevitable that after about 4 weeks of dating, he somehow ends up eating me out while I writhe in ecstasy on his bedroom floor. I believe there was some sort of tickling hi-jinks and my legs ended up spread eagled in a skirt.

After that, we took to doing oral and other naughty things out in semi-public places. First, it started with him giving me the best oral in a garden and a few other places. I think the most excellent place and situation thus far was a crazed round of dry humping, oral, and anal in a park. I innocently ask for a back massage and laid on my stomach. Since my ass is amazing, he naturally decides to bare it, kiss and then rub his cock against it. We then proceed to happily fuck in the park in the late night gloom. A few people pass by but we’re at the bottom of a slight dip in the landscape so it’s hard to see us. Sprinklers are slowly turning on, so we know we’ve only got about 5 minutes or so before they decide to turn on in our patch of grass. With 2 minutes to spare, he comes. I happily clean him off, and we fix our clothes and cuddle for an hour or so. As if we hadn’t just had the best sexy times ever, we pick up the conversation we’d been having prior about silly things on tumblr and we play games on his phone.

Best relationship ever? Maybe.

::Internet high five:: and a wish for many happy adventures in the future!

I totally just submitted a confession about my boyfriend and I doing it in parks and whatnot, but I just had to brag about the fact that our kinks match up so well.

I idly mentioned that I have a thing for pegging and feminization. He smiles at me and says.

“So, you want to dress me up like a girl, bend me over a table, and make me your bitch?…That sounds good to me.”

Score!

::Internet high five:: x9,000 for real.

Quizkids, how I love you. Tell me your tales.

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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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Real talk? You guys are geeks. And I’m so into it.

So you talked about a unicorn horn dildo a little while ago. I had seen it once before and thought it was cool, but had no idea who sold it. Then you linked it! And I bought it! And made a fornicorn costume, the dildo proudly riding on my head. I had to make a fabric sleeve for my strap on harness, and I was able to switch from unicorn with a horn on her head, to fornicorn screwing the jelly out of this girl at the party. You made that happen!

That is amazing, and I am not even throwing any snark here: If my blog never accomplishes another good thing, I’ll now always feel that its existence has been justified.

This is a response to confessor #4 on March 20th, who mentioned reciting Attic Greek verb paradigms while getting off. Beware! I, too, took Attic Greek some years ago. The class was really too big for the subject, and intensely boring, so I took to fantasizing about fucking my boyfriend instead of paying attention. No harm, right? Unfortunately, when it came time to study for the final, I couldn’t keep my hand out of my pants. Where the passive voice endings should have been in my memory, was just a vivid image of him bending me over a sleazy motel room bed and riding me until I came, loudly and wetly. Pleasant? Yes. Helpful on an exam? No.

Some people would claim that this confession is nerdy but not geeky. But if you ask people the difference between a nerd and a geek you’ll find you get widely varying responses. I can’t justify pedantry about things that are entirely subjective, can you?

I just saw some still photos from the upcoming film of The Hobbit. I think I want to fuck a dwarf.

Hey, it happens.

Speaking of sexual encounters that involve Sci Fi and pre-packaged comfort food! I have difficulty reaching orgasm to the point of being very nearly anorgasmic. I’d actually been happily and extremely sexually active for over a year before having one by myself, and for over two years before having one with a partner. And, when I first started having orgasms with partners, I would consistently go into shock afterwards. Like, shaking, unable to move or feel any of my limbs, borderline hypothermic, usually crying a bit, and in desperate need of comfort food. To say I required aftercare is something of an understatement.

So, I was watching Star Trek with one of my partners, and we were having a bit of sex during it, and he got me off. But there was no food in the house. He bundled me up in all the blankets, and got our (at the time) friend to cuddle with me while he went out to get me some macaroni and cheese from 7-11 (the only place open at 2AM). He had to go twice because he got the wrong kind the first time.

For my birthday a few months later, he got me a texts from last night t-shirt that said ”What can I say, he found the keys to my heart: orgasms and macaroni and cheese.”

This is by far the most heartwarming story I’ve ever read beginning with Star Trek and ending with an internet meme. And you know there’s competition.

I played WoW for many years but it’s about 3 years since I stopped now and I still miss it. Mostly because it’s great for meeting new people whom I can befriend and then hopefully have sex with. Also because it was one of the prime ways to socialize with my fuckbuddy who lives far, far away. I often traded services in game for special sex in life with my FB, it was a win-win situation for me and he didn’t find it that draining to use his time in Azeroth for a bit of helping. I think it also added a sense of hotness because it reminded us both of selling sex. As I don’t see my FB very often it gets lonely in my bed and now that I’m not playing WoW I struggle to meet new sex-partners. I’m trying to find a substitute game (not as time consuming) or other platforms to reach the same goal. Going out to bars isn’t my thing and I think putting an add on a dating-site isn’t really reaching my target group. I want a nerdy guy for sex, not someone ready for marriage and kids. Any advice from the awesome QP or her readers? (Preferably something that is applicable to Northern Europe, but I’m not that picky.)

Are there any Sci Fi or comic conventions nearby? Because I don’t know if you’ve ever seen the 1973 animated classic Charlotte’s Web, but there’s this scene in it where Paul Lynde freaks out in song form about how fun it is to binge eat garbage at the fair. That is roughly how I see this playing out, except totally not in a bad way. Also, readers, please share your geek-finding secrets.

i’ve been pretty neutral towards you personally in terms of attraction for as long as i’ve been reading the blog – maybe 6 months, though my shitty time perception means probably quite a bit longer. i like your writing, the layout of the blog, the CONCEPT of the blog, and we apparently have a few kinks in common.

however, a recent con dropped a reference to Sandman, and you dropped not one, but two Sandman references right back. count me officially interested.

I often wonder how many of my sexual partners are really just using me for my nerdy references.

Do any of you out there use people for their winning personalities, emotional depth, and the mindblowing sex you have with them? Confess the shameful truth here.

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There once was a time I sincerely worried that ConTuesday would die a stunted, quiet death. Would people continue to send me their secrets? Would they run out of secrets? Would my internet form work correctly? Was I going to be homeless and die (totally relevant)?

Things did not turn out that way, and I still have unposted confessions in my inbox that date back as far as last November (note: I do not strictly post these things in the order I receive them). I will get to them. I will. I swear.

My husband and I got a dog recently. She gets really confused when we have sex. She’ll wander into the room to investigate the noises, then howl or try to jump on the bed because she doesn’t know what’s going on. She’s too short to actually get on the bed, though, so we can just see the top of her head or the tip of her nose over the edge of the mattress. Her earnest confusion/concern is just so funny. I kind of love it because giggly sex is the best.

Why is it that when a dog does that it’s adorable, and when I do it it’s just creepy? Is what I’d like to know.

Seriously, though, I think the most crazed a dog can get about its master having sex is when it’s a heterosexual dog who is very bonded to an opposite-sex human. Extra crazed points if the dog is descended from a warrior race. Aldo Melastophilus had a sweet, playful, Chow mix, and every time he started paying attention to me she would try to wedge herself between us. I don’t think she would have minded much if I’d died, actually.

So my boyfriend of over a year, who was my very first partner and who I have since tried several things with (roleplay! vibrator!) that I would never had dreamed of, has a much stronger sex drive than I do. Or maybe I should say I have a much lower drive than he does. I feel like I never really *need* sex – I never masturbated or had real sexual thoughts before I started dating him. But this does bring up awkward situations in our relationship, where he is super horny and I am not, but feel bad, and so sometimes will try and work myself up to have sex with him. I don’t know if there is a way to fix it or work it out better or anything.

Unmatched sex drives are an utter puzzlement to me. Not because it’s weird that they’re a thing, but because I can’t think of many solutions that don’t involve extreme compromise on one or both sides, or non-monogamy.

If you want a higher sex drive, there are some standard things to consider. If you’re on birth control, that might be adding to your lower sex drive, even if you feel like it was naturally low in the first place. Other medications may also be a factor. You can also add more exercise to your routine, as your mobility and energy permit. It’s one of the safest things you can try, and many people find that it makes them hornier for reasons disparate as “feeling hotter” and “more balanced hormones”. Keep in mind, though, that having a lower sex drive than your boyfriend is not intrinsically a problem. If your mismatch is indeed a problem, it belongs to both of you. No one is right or wrong in Libido Town.

My most recent fuck buddy and I both work on a relatively esoteric subject and can’t discuss it with many people. The other morning we went from crazy fucking, to talking about our subject, to him fingering me while I sucked his cock while he talked about our subject, to more crazy fucking, and back to our subject, all seamlessly. It was a relief to share two of the most important things in my life with one person who appreciated them both.

This is probably a ramped-up version of how geeks tend to feel the first time they first fuck a person of compatible geek type. Like coming home, innit?

We got caught. His best friend saw us through the window. I don’t think she’ll tell, but I’m scared and embarrassed. I’ll probably never be able to look her in the eye again.

I have no idea what you got caught doing, but I have unshakeable faith that my readers would never, ever do anything to be ashamed of. Hold your head high, my friend.

I don’t have a partner, and I’ve only ever once almost had p in v sex, (he was saying no) and this depresses me a ridiculous amount. It’s like I have these incredibly stupid standards I set for myself, but all I really want is some guy to fuck me.

And it’s a bit of a cycle too – I feel so inexperienced and socially/sexually retarded so that it’s all of a sudden so much harder to initiate anything.

It’s not juicy, in fact kind of lame, but hey. All types, yeah?

All types. So true. If I didn’t believe firmly in the concept of “all types” as it applies to attraction and sex and love, I would have never felt worthy of those things from anyone. And for a while I didn’t, but now I want a time machine just so I can go back and hug self-loathing me. And win the lottery.

You are hotter than you will probably ever grasp, is what I’m saying. Anyone you share your self, body, time with has pretty much won the lottery without the inconvenience of procuring a time machine.

I worry sometimes that the reason my husband doesn’t initiate sex more often, or say yes more when I initiate, is that I don’t make it good enough for him, that I’m lazy and selfish.

This counter to the fact that he told me numerous times that he likes what we do fine, mind you. So it’s probably just libido mismatch and paranoia. I hope.

Is he on birth control? Does he exercise?

One day I will have a good response to the libido mismatch conundrum. I’m working on it.

Hi QP! Maybe this is a boring confession, but I just stuck my finger up my butt!! I’ve never been into anal before, but I was on one of those random chat/webcam sites and masturbating with some random guy, and I was getting really into it and he started talking about anal and I just DID IT. I even got myself off with just my finger in my butt. Oh man. I feel so exhilarated.

There is no way I am telling my boyfriend; he’s told me there’s no way he’s into anal, but I had to tell somebody so I am telling you!! Thanks for letting me share :)

Your butt is not boring, and don’t let anyone ever tell you that!

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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I am increasingly convinced that I will never fully comprehend all the intricacies of and possibilities deriving from my sexuality. But if I ever do, there will still be yours to confound me.

So one of my favorite things to do is write erotic fiction. Today (Sunday) I spent almost the entire day holed up in my hotel room, alone, working on a new project… and I’ve lost count of how many times I had to stop and masturbate when my imagination got the better of me. At least 4 or 5. I may not be able to walk tomorrow.

But you know what would be better than a day of whacking off in a hotel room? Getting laid for real. I need a boyfriend.

I think what we need here is a meet cute involving you, a dreamy chap in lovely your area, a horrible mix-up where he accidentally picks up your laptop in the hotel bar, thinking it was his, and reads fantasies there that he swears he could have written himself (even though he certainly doesn’t have your turn of phrase), and oh, probably mad blushing on your part.

Your romance cannot be consummated until your soreness from all that fapping eases up a little. But when it is…

I recently read a post of yours about squirting and it involved doing Kegels if ejaculation doesn’t come easy. So I looked up a how-to for Kegels and found out that they’re actually really, really easy for me, and that doing the exercise gives me a bunch mini-orgasms. In fact, clenching those muscles is frequently how I cum during PIV sex, and explains why sometimes I orgasm when I pee. Still no squirting, but I thought it was an interesting discovery!

People who refuse to do kegels really don’t even know what they’re passing on. It could be mini-orgasms, or squirting, or not leaking pee when they’re septuagenarians.

So I suddenly realised that sometimes when I masterbate I fantasize my sexual story in words, possibly more than images – do others do this?

I squirted for the first time, it was a bit surprising and weird but arrived at in a very pleasurable way involving showerhead on clit, dildo and lubey ass fingering.

I texted my boyfriend to tell him this, I know he’s out at the moment and it turns me on to imagine one of his friends picking up his phone to see this…

In a sexual context (and in most other ways I can think of), the answer to “Do others do this?” is always “yes”. It’s the foundational law of nature that makes Rule 34 whir along smoothly.

Also, ::internet high five:: and I love hand showers like the internet loves disturbing people.

In what seems like a never ending quest to have my wife fuck my ass, I found some alone time the other day and was able to finger myself a little as well as slip small butt plug in. Apparently it didn’t quite hit the prostate, but it was quite comfortable. I used a finger vibe to send some vibrations through the plug, which was nice, but not earth shattering. I want to wear it while she rides my cock to see if it can hit my P-spot. Also I’m planning on finding something longer, bigger, more curved to see if something else would tickle my fancy…

Yes, so totally get something longer, bigger, and more curved. I suggest doing so on June 4th, but I’m not picky. I really just want amazing orgasms for everyone.

I’m 28, short, geeky and busty, and I am unabashedly attracted to middle aged geeks who are tall, skinny and shy. I can’t help but think I am actually an answer to somebody’s prayers. My favourite boyfriend is 50, and I honestly don’t think people know what they’re missing by not tapping this excellent niche market. Genuine enthusiasm is PRICELESS.

I like to think I was an answer to the prayers of awesome people, because for some reason I’m very attracted to them.

Okay, I’m probably not, but still.

My boyfriend and I are learning everything together. We’re both really excited to finally be having sex (it took us over four months of growing into our sex lives to get here), but! There’s always a but. (No, not a butt. A but.)

I am amazed by how much it hurts. I get very wet at all the right times, and it did hurt slightly less the second time, but when he’s in, especially going in, it hurts so much that I haven’t been able to really move around or do any serious thrusting (we’ve been doing mostly cowgirl, a bit of missionary.)

Even now, the ache feels great afterward, but I really want it to get better.

I hope it gets better too! Did you guys work up to inserting two or three fingers before the penis made its debut? If so, did that hurt? Did you or would you be willing to try it with toys? Sometimes people have more pelvic tension when penis-in-vagina intercourse is happening.

It may really and truly be worth it to go see a doctor if this doesn’t get better on its own.

I’ve never seen Dr Who. What’s worse, I have no desire to ever see Dr Who. I feel so left out… ::frowny face::

Anonymous person, I feel like I don’t even know you right now.

But don’t worry, Doctor Who is not for everyone. Although, much like short, busty 28-year-olds, geeky middle-aged men usually get well excited about it.

Sex confessions go here!

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There are some confessions that come dressed in lemur-themed wrapping paper with matching bows and ribbons expertly curled at the ends. Some appear in grease-stained paper bags, still warm when shoved hastily into my waiting hands. Occasionally– so seldom it barely bears mentioning– they’re hurled at my window like tomatoes.

Sometimes it feels like they got splinched¹, or have ellipses dangling from them. They feel unfinished; there’s more to the story. This is not a bad thing, but add the fact that there is some not insignificant delay in posting some of these, I often wonder about them months later.

There’s this guy I work with – he’s handsome and scruffy in all the right ways, always has that twinkle of good-natured mischief in his eye, and the way he handles a guitar makes me want to rip his clothes off and throw him up against a wall. Come to find out he is 17(!) years older than me, when I wouldn’t have put him a day over 35. I can’t lie, honestly, the fact that he’s a sexy silver fox makes it even hotter. To be continued (I hope).

I don’t think it was, to be honest, and I also hope this went very, very well for both of you!

The first time I came with a partner, it was a slightly older, solid butch with beautiful eyes. I wanted to marry her. We played sexual games in the field behind our high school for months–touching, taking off, kissing here, kissing there. An hour a day every Wednesday, Thursday, and Friday, when we had an extra long lunch break. I remember how long it took us to think about lying down–we’d always stand up and grind against a tree, against a wall, switching dominance and submission, tying each other up with the ribbons I looped through my hair. But the lying down was even better. We didn’t have to worry about gravity, and it felt like proper sex. She’d growl, “I’m going to fuck you” or suddenly, sweetly kiss my neck till my legs buckled. So many feelings, QP. So many feelings. None of them–as far as I could tell–orgasm, but a huge portion of them better than any orgasm I’d ever had. Maybe they were actually orgasms. It’s hard for me to define them.

But then? One definitely was. Definitely. This time it was in the apartment she shared with her sister, on her mattress (no bed frame). We’d been fucking for hours. She’d lightly scratch my ass when we recovered from the strenuous bits, like she thought it was beautiful. We played a sexual hide-and-seek under the blankets. I think we took a break at some point to watch Best In Show, with much handholding and cuddling and flirting. And then we went back to bed. She knew, QP, that I adored having my waist and stomach nibbled and licked at; she knew because she was the one to find it out. She licked up the sides, pressed her tongue into my bellybutton, had me screaming. Then she nestled her mouth and very sensual nose into the softness just between my pubic bone and my navel.

QP, did you know I stutter when I come? I didn’t. But as I tried to tell her she was giving me goosebumps, all that would come out was ”G-g-goo-goose–” I remember being worried she’d be like ”what the fuck is up with this geese talk?” so I tried to start the sentence again. But–again–all that came out was ”G-g-goo-goose–”

Because I was distracted. I was distracted by the fact that my vagina seemed to be shaking. I did not know what the fuck was up; my masturbatory orgasms were all clitty. But this was different. Her weight on my legs and her tongue on my belly and all the sunlight and suddenly the blanket was velvet and there was an earthquake inside me–and what was happening? This did not feel like any come I’d had before.

QP, I was sort of raped when I was little. It’s okay now. It was with an object, and by a woman. I really don’t like being penetrated. I am not going to try it again. I know. And not ever having a g-spot orgasm seemed like a fair tradeoff for not being penetrated.

Fortunately, the universe believes I should never do anything I don’t want to, and I should get everything I want. Because several months later, reading “I…

Okay, this one makes me sad. You sent in this beautiful, vulnerable, open confession, and I’m pretty sure my Sex Confessional form cut you off. And I’m sorry for everyone involved.

I join the universe in wishing all sorts of happiness for you.

I’m going out of town to visit a friend in a couple of weeks. I’m tempted to ask if he and his girlfriend will have a threesome with me. I don’t think he’d say no.

This could be an erotic story prompt, I suppose…

i met this woman several years ago through a video game we were both playing at the time and we became good friends and continued to talk after we had both left said game, we were both married at the time but have admittedly fantasized about each other ever since, she is a high school teacher and i have always had this fantasy about being punished by the hot teacher for be a bad little student. we met in person a few months ago after my wife left me and we had the hottest most earth shattering sex every day of that week. i cant wait to see her again after i get home from the army.

In my personal experience, the first sex with someone is never the best sex I’ll ever have with them. So if you already had the hottest and most earth shattering sex with this woman, what the fuck next? Galaxy-shifting sex, I’m guessing, so enjoy that.

oh god, QP…oh god. my other half found us a playmate and she’s literally quivering with antici…pation. i’m terrified and excited and dripping and horny and oh god, what if she hates me?

i had to share this with you. i can’t share with anyone else. by the time you read/post this, our date will have happened, and hopefully i’ll be able to report back with good news. she might just be the unicorn we’ve been looking for. cross your fingers for us?

Your date has most assuredly happened, but my fingers are so incredibly crossed that you, um, got to ride the unicorn.

…I can’t believe I went with “ride the unicorn”.

 After five months of involuntary abstinence, I came home and booty called an old friend as soon as humanly possible. His response? ”I guess I might be able to find some time tonight.” Fuuuck that, mate. When he texted me again four hours later I was lying in a naked, sweaty, sated heap with a delightfully skilled, endowed gentleman with six-pack abs.

I have closed today’s ConTuesday with a confession that’s wrapped up nicely in a reportedly delightful package. I would never leave you people hanging. Unless I would…

Confess things to me!

1. Yep, totally rereading Harry Potter. [↩]

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This past weekend I was at a geeky convention¹. I could tell you stories about what happened there: about flirtations both new and continuing, about glances both electric and slimy, about my butt cheeks both covered and substantially less covered.

But instead I’m going to tell you about what I will charitably call an idea for an art project, and why it made me need to leave the room.

On Friday evening there was a chance to present ideas for projects and activities to improve the con, and get funding for them. I was watching the proceedings and trying to figure out how to convince the board that it wanted to buy me a life-size, working replica of the 1989 Batman film’s Batmobile. Another con attendee– middle aged, bearded, paunchy, and probably wearing a kilt² or something– was pitching his plan. He wanted to make a human-shaped PC kiosk, essentially. Quoth he: “The monitor would be the head, and we could make the body male or female, depending on how kinky we wanted to get…”

You know, because a male body’s normal and a female body is kinky. Yeah.

I think I may have been the only person in the room who flinched, or even minded, but Sigyn’s bowl, did that irritate me. I wasn’t even sure why, but I had to leave immediately to go run my hands up and down my intrisically-kinky-because-female body. Wait, no, I left to wander around the convention.

It took me a little while to suss out exactly why I was so bothered that a random nerdy stranger was othering and eroticizing female bodies, especially considering the fact that I live on Earth and we get this all the time. But I finally figured it out the main reason I wanted to Feminist Hulksmash things: in short, I was irritated because he was right. His casual, unaware sexism not only reflected how things worked, it was so self-evident to everyone present that things work that way that no one else even seemed to notice.

The female body is kinky. It is inherently sexual in our culture. Not only that, but even just the words “the female body” are usually code for a young, attractive, very likely white, able, cisgendered, female body. An older female body, a larger female body, etc. may still be seen as kinky, but now it’s a fetish. If you’re a woman and it’s difficult for whatever reason to sexualize your body, your womanhood is questioned, and you become invisible.

Now, these are realities that seem completely obvious to some of us, but there remain people who have never had any compelling reason to think about them. And I guess it bothered me to hear– not these facts, but their fruit, so casually uttered and so casually accepted.

My body is kinky. My body’s worth is measured in erections. Today I may live up to some basic, generic standards of attractiveness (and I’m not even going to pretend that within the current system that can’t be used to one’s advantage like possibly even more than the Batmobile), but tomorrow I may not, and on that tomorrow I’ll be a cipher or an ever more deviant kink. However I feel about myself or my body personally, these things aren’t really my choice. If I am very lucky, then for a relatively short time I can be lust-shaped; person-shaped is a rather lot to ask.

Some people wonder why feminists are still talking about privilege, about the male gaze, why we’re not shutting up now that we can vote and stuff. To these people I answer: It recently occurred to me that a kiosk may have more of a chance of just being person-shaped than I do, as long as you build it male.

(image source)

1. Which, as you read this, I may or may not still be in bed recovering from. [↩]
2. I don’t remember what he was wearing, but trust me, if there’s anything my years of con-going experience have taught me, it’s that there’s a 43% chance it involved a kilt. [↩]

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