quizzical pussy

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. [↩]

Share/Save

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. [↩]

Share/Save

Attention Doctor Who fans: You deserve to know that someone out there has made the greatest dildo. Apparently, this prototype is not usable because the miniature TARDIS is too close to the edge and causing tearing to the silicone, but it is still the greatest.

The. Greatest.

In short, who wants to fuck themselves with a glittery time vortex? Because I sure do.

(via Toplessrobot, called to my attention by a tip from Smith, a clearly awesome person.)

Share/Save

I wrote something somewhere else that isn’t here. It’s about sexual orientation in the Whoniverse’s 51st Century, and how it’s kind of moderately wack even though it seems amazingly cool. Or something. If you’d like to read it, head over to Doctor Her, the feminist Doctor Who blog!

(image source)

Share/Save

I’m loath to write about spirituality here. Partially because it is so deeply personal that I anticipate the majority of people judging me no matter what I say about it, and being judged is so not my kink¹. Also because I’m very newly discovering mine, and with my long and bumpy history of attempting stone skepticism, anything beyond Secular Humanism still breaks my head a little. Or shames me, I don’t know. But mostly I don’t want to get too esoteric because this blog is technically supposed to be about boning, and I want to honor that.

But I still wanted to write about the Sacred Sexuality workshop I attended over the weekend. The more I thought about it, the more I realized that it has almost nothing to do with spirituality unless you want it to.

In truth, sexuality has always been sacred to me. No matter how much of a good, skeptical-of-everything atheist I was trying to be, sex always carried with it the potential for transcendence. Reginald Sleeth once asked me if he could be my god², and I replied that I already had one. Beauty was my god: a day in the park could feed me like communion, art could deliver a homily, and the spark of skin on skin, at its best, was transfiguration. The beauty I found in people was scintillating, variable, overpowering. What I got from touch sometimes seemed to verge on mysticism.

No matter what you believe, it’s hard to deny that human connection is possibly the most powerful and transformative force in human experience. Love between people can help us feel pure joy, can inspire us to greatness, can lead us gladly into profound sacrifice. Fear between people can unravel lives.

So really, Sacred Sexuality is all about accepting and intensifying whatever magic we personally find in the positive aspects of human connection. It’s being fully present with the person you’re with, and truly seeing them, feeling them, tasting them. It is to sex what savoring is to food. It is using attention as a sex toy.

It’s really not that weird, actually.

When I’m touching you, kissing you, fucking you, I am grateful for you. I can be grateful to God or the Universe or the process of evolution that put you on this planet: all of these, none of these. I can just be grateful that you’ve chosen to share yourself with me for this little time. Gratitude is never careless– it takes nothing for granted. It doesn’t even have to be slow and sensual; even if I’m urgent, devouring, I’m completely present. I am with you. I am being with you. That’s how you allow touch to be a sacrament.

You know, from the couple of hours’ experience I had over the weekend hearing about it, at least.

(image source)

1. It is probably weird that I have no such fear of judgment writing about the madcap ways I like to have orgasms, but there are clearly different kinds of exposure and vulnerability. [↩]
2. No red flag there, right? [↩]

Share/Save

I can’t have pi pie today. I’m on a very strict diet where I can’t even eat my signature gluten-free sugar-free pumpkin pie with pecan crust, which I assure you is the honest to goodness equivalent of eight orgasms. I’ve been on such a diet before (the strict no-pie one; not the eight-orgasms one), and normally I’d gripe about my no-pie status and maybe do a little pouting, but this year I’m okay with it. A sparse and mind-numbingly simple diet can be oddly emotionally healing¹. It can cut through whatever complicated shit we deal with regularly– not just with food, but in other ways. Maybe the psycho-spiritual benefits of fasting aren’t just the hallucinations and euphoria you go through when starving.

I mean, I still wish I was eating pie right now², but it’s not bothering me that I’m not. And I can still celebrate cake’s more sophisticated and delicious brother in all his geeky glory. Without, um, eating him.

But seriously, eat a slice for me, will you?

Oh, and about that other holiday that’s happening today? These are my thoughts on that.

(image source)

1. Holy shit. I just realized I’m doing Lent. Kind of. [↩]
2. Seriously, whenever you happen to read this, I almost certainly wish I were eating pie at this precise moment. Because pie. [↩]

Share/Save

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

I finally anted up and got a Feeldoe!

I love having a cock now!

And so does my boyfriend!

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

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

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

It was awesome.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Really badly.

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

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

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

octoboobs!

Hey, so tell me about stuff.

(image source)

Share/Save

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

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

Hey, former sex worker here.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Nope.

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

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

Confessional.

Share/Save

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

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

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

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

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

I am starting to feel like a Nice Guy.

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

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

“What do you want to do?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

We both really want a threesomes with her.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Share/Save

The most pressing matter is what to wear.

In my head, a play party is populated by people in surplus costumes from The Matrix. I’m aware that this is Real Life and it’s not actually going to look anything like that, but I can’t shake the mental image. I suppose I will find out tonight.

I don’t have a long black leather trenchcoat. I don’t have experience with BDSM. I might not even have anyone there I’ve met in person more than twice. I’m excited, but it needs to be said: Eep.

My first BDSM play party starts in a disturbingly few number of hours, and I am quite honestly nervous as fuck.

It’s probably going to be awesome, as long as I can manage to get myself there not-naked.

(image source)

Share/Save