quizzical pussy

If the subject of gay marriage always elicits a “Why is the government even involved in marriage anyway? Let’s just stop doing that, okay?” from you, and you don’t stridently bring that up whenever your straight friends are walking around getting married and being married, I think you’re derailing from the basic issue of giving people their civil rights. If you were never all that fussed about the government sanctioning unions before gay marriage became such an imminent possibility, I question your motives in fussing about it now.

If, more generally, you don’t think it’s important to fight for the civil rights of people being deprived of theirs simply because it isn’t your personal pet cause, I think you’re dearly in need of perspective. Figure this shit out and catch up. We’re trying to make the world suck less. It will not stop sucking, and some people will still be left out in the cold, and that is not okay. But we’ll be another step closer to optimal sucklack.

And sucklack is a fundamental American value that our founding fathers were pretty jazzed over.

(image source)

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I don’t know if you’ve noticed or not, but marriage equality is kind of a big deal in the United States this week. Today the U.S. Supreme Court heard a case challenging Proposal 8, a law that delegalized same-sex marriage in California. Tomorrow the court hears another case challenging the hilariously-named Defense of Marriage Act. If these laws are successfully overturned, the government will have slightly but significantly caught up with the reality that anyone worth their trace minerals already understands: Civil rights are non-negotiable, no matter whom one thinks one’s sky daddy is mad at.

So here’s a ConTuesday all about the manifold ways different people are doing– or want to do– marriage. Can we stop pretending it does– or is even supposed to– mean just one thing?

I don’t want to come out as a lesbian to my closed-minded conservative family until I’m married to my amazeballs girlfriend. Because then they won’t be able to dismiss my romantic/sexual orientation as “just a phase”. Because then they will have to deal with the fact that the government considers my relationship as real and important as my parents’ 25 year marriage. Because it’ll piss them off SO MUCH harder. ;)

At a certain point people are just choosing to be pissed off, and it’s our prerogative to troll the shit out of them by being fabulously, blissfully happy.

About two years ago, I met a man and, at the time, there was some serious flirtation and obvious sexual chemistry. It was a one time deal (meeting him. nothing happened.) or so I thought.

Fast forward about a year and this man ends up being my kids soccer coach. I see him all the time at functions, some of which include alcohol (fund-raisers with no kids present). Conversations have gotten more and more sexual. Flirting has gotten more blatant. Offers have been made. Through the magic of social media and it being socially expected that you ”add” everyone you know, I’ve come to realize our kinks mesh perfectly and he is likely a ”swinger”. I too am in an open marriage, which he is not aware of, although I know he suspects it.

Now the conundrum…what to do? Whenever I meet someone I’m very attracted to my fantasies tend to revolve around pleasing them in very specific ways. It would be easy enough to make the offer and give him head he’d never forget. We’d both love it and I don’t think it would be an issue for either of our spouses. I know it wouldn’t be for mine. However, what if we were found out? To say the proverbial shit would hit the fan would be an understatement. This is a big part of the reason I have resisted telling him that my husband and I have an open marriage, despite the fact that he’s asked.

I know I shouldn’t let it happen. I know it could blow up and be a very bad situation. But, every time we’re together and he catches me alone or we put ourselves in a situation where we have a bit of privacy, I can’t help but think how easy, and how incredibly hot, it would be.

Within minutes we could be alone, making out, then his cock in my mouth, hearing him moan, his hands wrapped in my hair while he forces his cock farther into my throat, holding me there while he shoots jet after jet of cum down my throat. Ten, fifteen minutes tops, and it would be done. We’d straighten ourselves up. I’d leave him to collect himself while I slipped back into the crowd then, a few minutes later, he’d do the same. Mostly no one would notice and, if anyone did, they’d never be able to prove we were together. It would be so easy to get away with but, what if we were found out?

It’s that damn “what if”, and the backlash, even though our spouses wouldn’t obejct, that keeps it from happening.

The situation here is that the four major people involved in this situation would be cool in degrees ranging from “why not?” to pleased as delicious sherbet punch. But they have to worry about what completely other, uninvolved people think. Please stop cockblocking us all, scandalmongers. I’m fucking serious.

I want to keep my spouse as my beloved life-long partner who i share my life and family with. I just want to fuck somebody else. Sadly, this has occurred to me 10 years into marriage, so negotiating it is next to impossible.

Sometimes marriage means you get to fuck other people, and . This is true of more straight marriages than gay marriages because guess what? There are only a tiny fraction of the gay marriages there should be in the first place!

But to shift soap boxes slightly, if we could get non-monogamy to the point of mainstream acceptance I think we’d really have a chance at that sex utopia I keep dreaming about.

Okay, well probably not.

When I got married to my partner years ago, I never never imagined I could fall in love so hard again that I’d want to marry someone else. And here I am–having the best sex ever, looking deep into eyes that are not my husband’s. I am seriously pissed that our culture does not condone multiple marriages. Then again, the whole legal concept of “marriage” is fairly ridiculous. Maybe I will get divorced from my husband now just to prove a political point, and then maybe I will just ask my second (new) partner, a woman, if she wants to be my life-partner too. Then we can all three of us live in happy bliss…this is my dream, quizzicalpussy! This is my dream!

My dream too, quizkids. In my lurid sex utopia you’d be free to share legal rights, benefits, and social status with any family you built in its entirety. You wouldn’t have to pick a legitimate love and a secret (or secondary) one. Your life could reflect your heart, and mine could reflect mine, and Charlton Heston’s could reflect his. Shocking and tawdry, I know.

I love my husband so very much. He really has been a wonderful force in my life and I would have never been able to start my own business without his support. But I’m feeling like I love my boyfriend more and more, more than my husband.

I know a lot of it is that Boyfriend is better at reading my moods and not overly pressuring me for anything. The husband is completely oblivious 95% of the time.

Thing is, if I say anything, then everybody feels bad. Husband’s last wife left him for her boyfriend she had while married to him. Boyfriend’s been married twice and both women left him for women they were seeing behind his back. He would also feel horrible with even the slightest idea that he was “stealing” me.

So I say nothing. I remind myself often that I’m lucky to have two men who really do love me. And I count the days between visits to the boyfriend.

Sometimes parents have favorite kids. Sometimes things like that are just temporary. Things happen. Love is a weird thing to try to quantify.

I got married for the financial security and health insurance, and I will get unmarried if the real thing ever comes along. I’ve never explicitly told my spouse the degree to which I’m using him.

This has been happening for millennia, basically, except we really have made exceptional strides in healthcare in the last couple centuries. It’s amazing, really.

I think that getting married may have been a mistake. Ostensibly, there’s nothing wrong. My husband is kind, funny, a good person, and one of my best friends. We even have an open relationship so I can have other relationships – I have a boyfriend that I’m intensely in love with.

The problem is that loving my boyfriend this much has made it very obvious to me that I don’t love my husband in the same way and sometimes I don’t think he loves me that way either.

My husband and I haven’t had sex in weeks and weeks. And even when we have have sex in the last 6-8 months, it’s been spotty and not very good. He’s gained weight and is depressed about it so he has been having trouble gaining and holding an erection (but never wants to talk about it or see a doctor and has forbidden me from saying anything to anyone about it). So, anytime we have sex, it’s this rush to take advantage of the erection before it’s gone which leads to sex being a routine of me getting him hard with my mouth or hands and then him sticking it in. I couldn’t tell you the last time he went down on me or tried to please me in any way. So, why bother? Funnily enough though, he still has sex with his girlfriend.

On the opposite end of this spectrum, my boyfriend can’t get enough of me, tells me I’m beautiful all the time and finds me so sexy that even being near me gives him an erection. Sex with him is multiple orgasms, epic oral sessions and him teasing me until I’m begging to be fucked. Spending time with him is him actively showing me how much he loves me and making me feel cherished.

I’m trying to keep in mind that I’m caught in the middle of a lot of NRE, but I’m finding myself so ambivalent about my husband and marriage and this is not the first time I’ve struggled with feelings like this, which is why I’m starting to think that marriage was a mistake. Sometimes I think we’re still together simply because we never had a good enough reason to break up. At the same time, I don’t know that I necessarily want a divorce and the upheaval that would cause, plus I don’t believe in just walking away from that kind of commitment. I’m finding myself fantasizing that he’ll leave me for his girlfriend though.

I don’t know what to do, but I haven’t been able to fully tell anyone how I’m feeling so it feels good to get this out.

On one hand, if you don’t actively want to be in a relationship, and this feeling persists over time, that’s something you should take seriously. You see, if we’re lucky, we have a handful of decades to have the most vivid and magical experience we can have here. If your partners disrupt that journey for you, you are making a daily choice to waste 24 hours while joy lies dormant. This is how I see things.

On the other hand, NRE is crazy and can make us crazy, and it might be a good idea to wait until it subsides before making drastic decisions. Comparing a mature relationship with the frenzy of new love isn’t really fair, is it?

On the every hand, I’m not really qualified to give relationship advice, and I’ve never been married. Not even for like a second.

My relationship with a very nice, pretty, gentle, utterly straightlaced and almost asexual man ended recently.

As the relationship was coming to an end, I stopped fantasizing about getting married, and started fantasizing about finding a dominant, kinky man that would fuck me until I was sore, then do it again the next day.

FOUND HIM! More confessions will be forthcoming, definitely.

First thing: ::internet high five::

Marriage isn’t for everyone. It should just be up to the people involved– and only them– to decide whether or not they are among the people it’s for. Go go gadget equality!

Confess here.

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My nails have gotten long. Not quite is-she-really-going-to-put-those-talons-in-that-poor-girl’s-pussy-OH-MY-GOD-RUUUUUUN long, but pretty damn long. It’s getting annoying. Hold on a minute.

There. Better.

I used to keep them long all the time. I’ve never bit my nails; never picked at them. They waxed fat and elegantly tapered. It was down, I explained, to growing up younger than my two sisters, who loathed me on sight and liked to beat up on me. They weighed more and punched harder, but I was quick and squirmy and I had ten sharp little stilettos to fight back with. My mom had to resort to cutting my nails while I slept; otherwise I’d fight it. Over the years I got used to them and they just stayed that way. Once or twice I even painted them.

This may be why I never much got into the habit of fingering myself. It’s not how I learned to masturbate. From the very first I favored neater, less dangerous clitoral stimulation. In case you’re new here, you should know that this utterly belies my passionate love of penetration. Sex with no penetration of any kind is exceedingly frustrating for me. Maybe it reminds me of masturbation. Fucked if I know.

It was somewhere around the time I started seriously thinking about fucking women that I began to trim my nails with any regularity. The two main reasons were (a) Hypothetical compassion. The feel of untidy nails raking against one’s vaginal wall? I know it of old, and we are not on friendly terms. And (b) Everyone knows that it’s 78% less likely you’ll be scoped out as a pussy-loving person if your nails don’t look up to the task. That made up statistic is especially true if you tend toward the femme spectrum of gender presentation, as I do.

I want to make it manifestly clear that it greatly pleases me to get scoped by ladies. Oh, goodness yes! Ladies, mack on me freely. Please do.

Upon cutting my nails I immediately realized I’d just halved my dexterity stat: I was cudgeling things rather than picking them up. But I knew I looked considerably more lesbionic while flopping around with these ridiculous hotdogs where my tweezers had proudly perched, so I considered it a fair trade¹. And I got used to real fingers eventually. To the point where now sometimes I leave them too long, and without any natural predators like habitual gnawing they go to seed and get too lanky for my taste. Then suddenly I’m living in a bizarro world where I scold myself (“Bad lesbian!”) and can’t properly type or play a stringed instrument with nails that reach about half as high as they used to. Also, I have a girlfriend. Take that, prissy-nailed past Q.P.

The weird thing, though? I still barely ever finger myself.

1. And you know how much lesbians like fair trade, amirite? [↩]

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I used to play a game called Questions with an old boyfriend. I could ask him any question about anything in the world, and he’d have to answer it. Then he’d ask me one. We’d do this for hours, indefatigably. It was like Truth or Dare except no one ever–even on accident–chose dare. Perhaps it was immature to play a game instead of having organic conversations, but I don’t know. It was kind of cool to have permission to ask anything I wanted to know; to in fact have someone waiting and eager for each query. Sometimes I get too comfortable accepting that everyone is a mystery, which makes me less likely to be vulnerable myself. And I seldom ask completely random, off-the-top-of-my-head questions out of the blue like that.

Maybe sometimes context is the enemy of edification.

More than a year ago now, I found myself in a fit of frustrated horniness over a lack of response from a potential paramour. Being a long-time conTuesday reader, I had a flash of inspiration! So I wrote in a confession detailing my various dirty thoughts on the subject. Took me ages.

Looking back, I credit this as at least one of the reasons I felt comfortable introducing dirty talk to a more recent budding relationship. This has been a very successful introduction. And I may never have been able to get over my embarrassment and just jump in if it hadn’t been for the surprising success of my efforts to talk dirty to an internet-full of strangers.

So, this isn’t really a confession. I just wanted to let you know how much I appreciate conTuesday. And that whatever else the world will say about it, it certainly helped at least this person’s sex life to be better and more verbal. So thanks. *hugs* and/or *gropes* to you, QP, whatever suits your current feelings ;)

I will take all the hugs and gropes! This makes me incredibly happy for so many reasons, the least of which is not how deeply I love dirty talk myself.

This winter break I am passing through a town which I had previously visited this last summer. Who is also passing though at the same time? The woman with whom I had a several night stand with while I was there in the summer. I fucking love coincidence. She recognized me even though I had grown a beard in the mean time and she thinks I am sexier with the beard. Unfortunately we only had one night this time, but we made the most of it. We kept in touch this time round, so does this mean we are now “fuck whenever we can” buddies or something like that? I don’t even know, I’m just really happy with coincidence right now since it also turns out that she lives within weekend travel distance of me.

PS: I feel kind of bad about how much of a mess we made out of the hotel room, but mostly awesome that I can brag about it.

There’s no way I can know for sure if you’re “fuck whenever [you] can” buddies or not, but literally all signs point to yes.

And always tip housekeeping. It keeps the guilt at bay and not enough people do.

First off, let me preface this by saying I am a longtime reader and lover of this blog and of ConTuesday.

I have to admit, though, sometimes I wonder about the word “confession”…

When we confess our stories about sex, does that imply that sex/sexuality are supposed to be secret, private–and that we are doing something naughty or wacky or abnormal or illicit by revealing them?

In our normative society, there is so much sex-negativity, so much terror of the body’s pleasures…such lustphobia. So I wonder about your use of the term confession to air folks stories. I wonder if there aren’t hints of sex-negativity laden within the term that perhaps (though I’m sure this is unintentional on your part) sticks to the word confess/ion.

Thanks for reading! I’m so glad you like the blog.

You make an excellent point. If there were no sex-negativity in society we wouldn’t need to surreptitiously disclose our sexual foibles; we’d just as soon shout them from rooftops or post them on facebook. And I would put my legal name on this blog, and there would be sex booths on every corner where, if you felt like it, you could insert quarters and have a comfy, automatically sterilized surface on which to fuck that person you happened to be walking down the street with, or that stranger with the comely backside. And all that would be awesome. The fact that we feel we can’t be open about sex does, tautologically enough, indicate that we feel we have something to hide. And that chafes the idealistic libertine.

But about the actual word “confession”, I hate it when people try to prove a point using dictionary definitions, but I do want to highlight something that I think is rather neat:

We all know how the average guy likes contemplating or viewing girl-on-girl action (especially oral), or at least wouldn’t be turned off by it. But I wonder for you or for other women reading your blog here how man-on-man action is considered (again generally oral)? I’ve had girlfriends who appreciated (and particiapted) in my bi-sexual flings, and I’ve had girlfriends to whom I would not dare confess my desire to have an occasional penis play buddy. I don’t stray but I am sometimes beside myself with cravings…

I have a strict policy that the sex I’m not having isn’t about me, and therefore isn’t for me. So if someone I’m with is bisexual, awesome. If not, awesome. Bisexuals are objectified enough, and no one needs my help making sure they stay that way. That being said, the visual of two people I find pretty having sex with each other is something I will always appreciate. I’m usually more immediately and visually attracted to women, so two men have a lower chance of making me drool than two women or a hetero pairing, simply because the odds I’ll be attracted to both of them are lower. But goodness, it happens! And is hot.

But I guess what I really want to say is that your sexuality is fine whether chicks fetishize it or not, you know?

I have been seeing someone for the last few months that was supposed to be just a friends with benefits situation but has turned into something more. Not a relationship, but there are definitely feelings involved on both sides. He’s awesome, funny, amazingly hot, the best lover I have ever (EVER) had and has a perfect dick.

The problem? I have herpes and while I am usually very good about disclosing, I totally chickened out on telling him when we first got together. Then, I felt like it was too late so I justified it to myself that I am confident in my ability to keep him from getting it (I have a perfect 15 year non-transmitting record on this). I know, I KNOW I was fooling myself thinking that it wasn’t that bad, but I stuck my head in the sand and was able to ignore it for the first few months.

But, as my feelings for him deepened, my guilt about this grew more and more insistent until I finally I knew I had to tell him. This is the HARDEST thing I’ve ever done in my life. To admit that I’m not the person either of us thought I was, that I was a coward and selfish, all the while I was sure that he would never want to see me again and who could blame him? He was quiet through most of the conversation, but told me that he forgave me, that he believed me when I said that I had never lied about anything else (I hadn’t) and that I was sorrier than he would ever know. He said he needed to think about it and to give him a little space.

Cue a week of immense guilt, self recrimination, anxiety, depression, a lot of crying and cutting myself again after not doing that for years. Ugh. I finally texted him after a week, unable to take the silence any longer and we made plans to hang out and talk.

He came over and it was like nothing had happened. He kissed me when he walked in, and just started talking about his week and was casually physically affectionate. He made a move to have sex and I stopped him to ask if he was sure. He said that he had thought a lot about it and while he has some trust issues, he also missed me too much to not have me in his life, so he made a decision to keep me in it.

JOY! RELIEF! To be able to be with him and not have this secret eating away at me is unimaginable happiness.

Then we proceeded to have our hottest sex to date, which I didn’t even think was possible. DAMN I love his dick.

I’m so glad things worked out for you. You deserve awesome sex with someone who values you, and I’m glad you’re having it!

Everyone, please remember to disclose your STI status to new partners before sexing them up in any way. It’s vital to their overall health, your emotional health, and the health of your relationship and reputation, casual or not.

My boyfriend takes *forever* to cum. And by forever I mean routinely over an hour. We’re both really new to sex in general and I don’t know how to deal with this (needless to say, not the problem I was expecting!). I just get so tired and he ends up taking care of himself while I lay there. Any advice? The internet doesn’t consider this a problem, apparently…

I have never really encountered this problem. There’s an actual medical condition called delayed ejaculation, but I don’t know if that applies here. Anyone?

I have trouble with taking advice from people who are in relationship styles that I do not want to emulate. For example, my parents are in a loveless marriage and have been for at least a decade, my best friend never talks to his girlfriend about sex, even though they both have extremely high sex drives and unmet sexual needs and fantasies (they’ve both told me this individually), and my other friends don’t even know what they want out of their lives yet.

Still, every one of them keeps trying to give me advice about my singleness. People, I know what I want out of a relationship and it isn’t what any of you have. I want open communication, hot sex, and loving companionship. I will not follow your advice if it got you to places that fall short of that.

I think it’s amazingly gracious of you to characterize loveless and communicationless dynamics as “relationship styles”. I’m not sure I’d much want to hear what they had to say about my love life unless it was because I wanted to know what to avoid.

But I suppose people who are self-aware enough can learn from their own mistakes and pass on that wisdom to others (one of the main reasons I can think of for people consistently coming to me for relationship advice since like 1996), and whether they have the courage to make changes in their own lives is a separate matter.

But seriously, who wouldn’t rather be single than stuck in a loveless marriage? That, along with forgetting how to play with toys and have stupid adventures, is how people die inside.

Tell me a secret.

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ConTuesday initiated.

Hey there. So I have a bit of a problem. Not a relationship one thankfully, I’ve been with a great girl for a few months and I’m loving it. The problem is, I worry.

See, I’ve got some scars, emotional and physical (and not in places I can show the general public) that’s left me feeling really tense and jumpy when I’m touched, especially if it’s unexpected. Sex can just become awkward when girls think you have endurance when really your body’s tense with the desire to jump off and just run. But with this girl, I’m not feeling that way nearly as much. Hell, she even likes scars so that’s a perk. But seeing my body being better around her makes me worried that if something happened and my body really was just playing nicer specifically around her that I’d have to go back to the tension.

So really I think I just need someone to tell me to quit worrying and enjoy the awesome time we’re having. Or something around those lines.

Quit worrying and enjoy the awesome time you’re having together. You deserve it. Seriously.

I nicknamed my lover giggles because she giggles when she cums. It’s the cutest thing ever :-D

I love cute things!

I really do.

Finally broke down a mental barrier and admitted to myself that I have an intense sexual attraction towards my best friend.
Promptly began fingering myself and fantasizing. It was DIVINE. Probably also aided by the fact that I switched back to using my right hand after a long spell with lefty.
I came somewhere around the neighborhood of twenty times, and now have wrinkly raisin fingers from all the juices!

Twenty orgasms. There is only one way to respond to twenty orgasms.

::Internet high five::

I told a guy that I’d been sexually assaulted a few months ago, and that was why I couldn’t hook up with him.

I wasn’t assaulted. I just didn’t want him standing that close to me.

I’m pissed that we live in a world where certain people will only stop being creepy if someone plays the survivor card. Whether that was true or not in this case, I’m pissed off that it’s no stretch for me to believe it was.

In general, though, I think it would be great if people wouldn’t lie about being sexually assaulted. Ever. It just gives apologists traction.

I am a bi-curious guy with a nice long-term girlfriend but for a few months now have been having penis-play fantasies. I had long ago a few tepid experiences with guys and decided to explore some more. So, I decided to try a local gay bath house for some (safe) play. I was able to have a guy’s nice balls in my mouth as I brought him off with my hands. In return he gave me a great blowjob. I will certainly be returning.

Hey, bi-curious guy. I’m glad you’re having fun and exploring your fantasies. Just in case, though, I’m going to leave a sentence about hoping your girlfriend has signed off on these bath house encounters right here, and you can pick it up at your convenience.

Here to brag and feel generally awesome for being an out poly person at my university!

I was afraid to come out at first, but my school is very accepting, and not a single person has given us a hard time about it. My girlfriend, my other girlfriend, and her boyfriend, are confusing to some, but nobody has been hateful or told us that there’s something wrong with us.

If you’re worried that people will judge, you’re probably right. They will judge. But probably not that much/that negatively. Most people probably won’t care that much, and will be perfectly happy to let you be as you are, and be somewhat confuzzled about your relationship(s).

My one wish is that people would say what they mean when they ask me, “So how does that… *pause* … work?”

This is such a happy thing to read, and I hope you experience acceptance like this post-university. I hope we all do someday.

I seem to hallucinate when I have a particularly intense orgasm (I’m the one who confessed to thinking I had seven toes once)!
During a rather good session last night, I believed that it was Christmas… not like ’ooh, this is amazing, like all my Christmases come at once’, more like I would go downstairs to see all my decorations up and a turkey in the oven… then momentarily lost my fear of spiders. For those couple of minutes, I totally accepted the horrible little abominations in all their extra-legged scuttleyness and was at peace with the idea of them being in my house or even on me. Now I’ve come back to earth, I cannot stress enough how NOT okay with that concept I am, nor how not-Christmas it is.

I often have visual hallucinations when I’m climaxing, but there’s never been a narrative, I don’t think. But I’m really quite okay with spiders even in mundane reality. All I ask of them is that they eat as many earwigs as they reasonably can.

My ex and I are friends. Legitimately friends. We only broke up because of distance (about 7 hours drive time). So when we occasionally hang out we will usually hook up.
This past weekend we had rough hotel room sex in a multitude of positions for a good 2 hours before continuing in the shower. It was amazing. While my friend doesn’t have the biggest penis I have encountered he has the best technique. It was so good we had another shower “quickie” the next morning.
I was sore and tender until Tuesday.

Sore ’til Tuesday. It’s the new American dream.

Confess!

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“They say Hunter S. Thompson typed out the entire text of The Great Gatsby just to get the feel of writing a great novel. That’s why I yell your name when I masturbate.”

I can honestly say this is the best terrible pickup line I’ve thought up in like a week, and I can also honestly say that I have too much regard for myself and the rest of my human family to ever use it. But seriously, I sometimes wonder if I couldn’t have been a work-of-art level douchebag if life had gone just a little differently.

No regrets. Steady now. Breathe.

Last semester, I did the grad school application and visiting dance, and ended up visiting quite a few schools. Not surprisingly, in the small academic community, I ended up seeing quite a few of the same people visiting these schools with me. Well, one person in particular.

He was tall, dark haired, and slightly unconventional looking, but damn did I love flirting with him, and flirting my way too! Not the silly coy flirtatious eyes, or telling him that he’s attractive. No, I like to flirt in the most egregiously insulting way possible. I think I told him he was literally the worst human being I had ever met. And at the last visit, after a great party, we ended up back at the hotel, standing outside his door, and he pulled me close to him, and holy shit I have never felt such a concentrated urge to kiss/fuck/entangle myself with someone in my entire life.

But I was in the ‘breaking up’ stage with my bf at the time, and it would have felt like cheating. So I pulled away, I apologized, told him he was freakishly attractive, then went to my room. We ended up going to different schools, and I wonder if I’ll ever see him again.

Even though I know (I think) that I made the right decision by not cheating on my then-boyfriend, I regret that good decision ALL THE TIME. And there’s still this little part of my brain that brings up a fantasy- we’re both at the same academic conference, I attend his talk, we meet for drinks after, he invites me up to his hotel room and this time we’re both deliciously single.

I think it’s probably accurate to say that most of us are going to lie on our death beds regretting, if anything, the things we didn’t do more than the things we did do. But that could be wildly inaccurate because I guess there’s always the possibility that we’ll all die in broad daylight because of a natural disaster or a Mayan calendar¹ and not even have proper death beds.

Nevertheless, you’ll have sacrificed potentially great sex for not being a douchebag, and I think that’s entirely valid. Noble, even. I’d say you  definitely deserve to run into this guy at an academic conference soon and pick up where you nobly left off.

I wanna sex up my man, and he’s just sitting there watching Naruto. All sitcoms but Married with Children have lied to me ;___;

One thing I’m sure of is that no one is going to lie on their death bed thinking “Damn, I wish I’d watched more TV…” All you people watching TV instead of sexing each other up, I respect your choices, but please make sure those are your actual priorities and you’re not just being lazy. You’ll thank me when we’re almost dead.

I’ve just realised that I like it in the ass. Like, I feel like I’m much closer to a g spot type orgasm from anal sex than vaginal, the few times I have tried it.

Weirder, I’m a mostly dominant woman, I’d say 90% top, but once a partner made me eat brownies and toffee sauce from a pet bowl whilst he fucked me in the ass, and that was amazing.

My man now, who I sincerely hope to be with forever because I truly love him, is very submissive and I very dominant of him, so I’m not sure how I’m going to work this in but I WILL think something up. Perhaps order him to assfuck me, in a sort of ’you’re mine and I’m using you for my perverse pleasure’ sense? That might work.

I’m going to be slightly douchey and quote myself. “Are you submissive to the food you eat? Is a canteen at the mercy of the water inside it? Eclipsing, holding, consuming, overlapping, absorbing aren’t words of weakness to me. We choose to think of the partner who welcomes the other into his/her body in such passive terms, but that’s choice, that’s perspective. It’s not innate to the nature of sex; it’s a commentary on our social paradigm.”

I got my Much Younger Lover back. Things didn’t last with the girl I set him up with so we started seeing each other again. He does the most wonderful things with his mouth on my pussy. The last time he went down on me he told me I came for over a minute. I had no idea it was that long, I just knew I couldn’t breathe for ages afterwards. He’s away right now and I haven’t had sex in weeks. I’m so horny that I’m climbing the walls.

You know that “if you love something set it free” shit? You did that. Turns out if it comes back you get minute-long orgasms. Now here is a picture of a butterfly:

QP, I’m so excited, and wanted to share. I am a straight girl in a long-term monogamous relationship, but recently I’ve been having thoughts about kissing this girl I know. There’s clearly interest on her part but I found to my surprise that the interest goes both ways! I thought I’d never have the chance to pursue that but I spoke with my boyfriend about it and he gave me the green light to pursue makeouts with her! So now I get to have cuddles and makeouts with this freakin’ awesome chick AND an awesome, supportive boyfriend. How lucky am I?

You are basically living the dream. ::Internet high five::

Last night my room mate / semi girl friend gave me the most intense orgasm I’ve ever had!

Tied to the bed, clover clamps, and the most amount of fingers I’ve ever had.

I was so high after. It was so good, this morning I was questioning if I’ve ever actually had an orgasm before.

“Some orgasms are more equal than others.”

Another horrible pickup line, admittedly, but also rather true.

Confess here.

1. Okay, admittedly not the Mayan calendar one. [↩]

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Oh, were you looking for confessions?

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

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

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

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

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

Needless to say I stay off bikes.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Not that I’m any kind of a good girl.

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

It was a wonderful, fun, sexy experience.

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

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

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

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

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

Which just reminds me how hot I am for Slenderman.

Send me secrets, people. Please do.

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When Viola and I hang out, I usually try to remember to bring the Feeldoe. And I’ve gotten better about this recently; lately, it’s usually at the ready in my bag with my cute little tin of condoms, just in case its moment comes.

Thing is, it never seems to. Because we always get distracted by flesh and mouths and occasionally slipping between the filaments of the cosmos or something. And we both forget that lovely chunk of purple silicone while we feast on each other.

There’s always next time. Maybe if we shortened our typical “next time” intervals we’d break the toys out more often. Maybe. It would be good to experiment with that. You know, for Science.

And if this pattern holds, somehow I think I’ll rally.

(image source)

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How I know I’m generally clocked as heterosexual: When speaking to someone I’ve just met, if I mention “my girlfriend”, it is almost always assumed that she is a platonic friend that is female, in the way the term is often used by straight women. I wonder if I presented as less femme if the assumption would be that I’m having sex with her.

Yeah, we totally had sex.

(image source)

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Click to read this wizard comic about being queer!

A few months ago I went on date with a genuine lesbian, which was roughly when I realized that all the women I’ve had sex with have been bisexuals or pansexuals or otherwise not lesbians.

Aside: Consider for a moment that Sappho, erotic poet from the island of Lesbos and entire reason we call women-loving-women lesbians, was almost certainly married to a man and had a daughter with him. Perhaps more telling, her writing pervs over men as well as women. Why she is the Ur Example and Trope Namer of a male-excluding sexual orientation? I do not know.

The date went well. We were both kind of nervous; we talked for hours about hip hop and families and law school and other entry-level topics. Then she told me that her lesbian friends thought it was super gross that she was on a date with a bisexual. They argued that bisexuals brought disease into the community, and were just generally icky because of touching penises or something.

Um. Okay.

I am not sure how rare that point of view is, but it sort of both introduced and answered the question of why I haven’t had a lot of sex with lesbians. Maybe, to an unknown number of them, I am tainted with penis and super icky and therefore unacceptable. And it is absolutely their right to feel that way.

When I say I’m queer I mean that I fit under the LGBTetc. umbrella. I mean that politically and personally, I deeply care about LGBTetc. issues. But that is the broadest possible meaning of queer (unless we’re going with queer=weird, in which case we are all in this boat together), and some people choose it as a more specific identity. I have considered doing so myself, sometimes even to get away from all the (largely inaccurate) negative perceptions that come with being a bisexual. When people ask me what I think the term “queer” means, I usually tell them how I think of it when other people use it in the more specific sense: “Whatever assumptions you’re about to make about this person’s gender, orientation, identity, they are asking you to think again.” And that might be a terrible definition, but it makes a certain kind of sense to me. If I identified as queer over bisexual/pansexual, to me that would mean that I’d prefer for people to keep going and push further after clocking me as straight (as they tend to do), or assuming that because I’m a bi chick I’m icky, and have a conversation with me about my orientation and identity, rather than just having a term that declares outright whom I like to bone.

That’s appealing, in its way. But then, some days I don’t want to be all didactic. A surprising number of days, really. Therein lies the trib…

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