quizzical pussy

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.

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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.

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One of the best Valentine’s days (er, nights) I’ve ever experienced was the one where my friend Eloise and I drove through far too much snow to go to the local lesbian club.

We were probably both new-ish-ly single. Or possibly I wasn’t; I’ve spent more of my adulthood in relationships than out, but I haven’t always given a fraction of a shit about sentimental days where I’m supposed to buy candy.

Still, I made Eloise a mix CD of various slightly-fractured love songs because I make excellent mix CDs and getting them is often one of the perks of being my friend and driving me places. (Erasure’s “Waiting For Sex” was on it, as was mc chris’s “nerd grrrl” and Liz Phair’s “Flower”. Look me in the fucking face and tell me that mix wasn’t inspired.) We hopped in her car and on the other end of the drive we found a magical land of drag shows and women making out.

It felt like home. Wait, no, it felt like fun.

For some reason that’s the exact kind of New Year’s Eve I’d like to have. Maybe because Laramy’s working tonight so I can’t kiss my man and that reminds me of a Valentine’s day alone. Or maybe just because it would be intensely awesome. I can’t unravel the psychology of it all right now. I just want to see drag, dance with chicks, and ideally drink brightly colored, deceptively intoxicating sugar water.

Eloise has moved away, though, and I’m too tired to dance. Boo. Maybe I’ll have a night home alone dressed in drag. That would definitely be zero units of pathetic, right?

Oh yeah and HAPPY NEW YEAR everyone!

(image source)

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ConTuesday may have some gratuitous italics today. I’m just feeling a little enthusiastic, I suppose.

I am so proud of the sex mirrors in my new bedroom! That is why people put mirrors on double sliding closet doors, isn’t it?

Sometimes I’m going about my business in daily life and I think “Hey, QP, you realize some people will only have sex with the lights off? That’s a terrible commentary on how society makes us feel like shit about our bodies.” And then I’m all like, “Whoa, self. I guess I didn’t think about that. I normally think of people as having sex with other human beings, but maybe you’re right. Maybe some of them do have sex with “the lights off”, whatever that means. Thanks for pointing that out.” Then, I refuse to talk to myself for the rest of the day for some weird reason. I am touchy.

But to answer your question, yes, sex is the reason for all mirrors! It also helps you figure out if you’re fucking a vampire, which can be helpful.

Have scads of lights-on fun, will you?

I’ve been thinking a lot lately about wanting to get involved with other couples.. threesomes where I learn to suck cock, for the right motivation, feature prominently. But my wife, she’s not so into the other women thing.. at least, not yet.

Hooray for group sex fantasies!

That “yet” in the last sentence worries me just a little, though, so I’m just going to play devil’s advocate here. Some women are straight. Not bi. Not at all. No matter how many bisexual/pansexual/omnisexual/queer women you know, no matter what Alfred Kinsey said, some women are irrevocably and permanently not so into the other women thing. Period.

Of course, it’s very possible your wife has expressed bi-curiosity, is shy, and you maintain a reasonable level of hope that someday she’ll choose act on it. In that case, the paragraph above wasn’t for you. It is for anyone reading this who thinks they might be able to coerce someone into experimenting against their orientation. I feel inclined to point out, though, that even if your wife is straight she may well have no problem with the idea of an MFM threesome.

Hi! Thank you for publishing my confession– I nearly spit out my tea when I saw it, which would probably have alarmed my brother and father (they’re watching TV in the same room…we’re not that close as a family!). Thank you so much for your comments too, they were really kind and nice! And I wanted to let you know that since then, I’ve had a one night stand where the guy came around 4 times, and I’m now going out with another guy, and he’s, well, definitely happy! So thank you!

I think you’re referring to the third confession last week, and if so I am so happy for you! And I know these things are relative, but it sounds like you might be seriously awesome in bed, so you get a giant internet high five from me!

Dear QP–I just have to confess that I love to give my man a blow job in the morning. If it leads to something for me, I’m for that too, but sucking on him and bringing him to orgasm just starts the day out right.

This probably doesn’t have to be a secret, but I’m damn glad it’s a ConTuesday confession because I get to administer another internet high five! At quizzicalpussy.com, we adore generous lovers.

The pic you used for the ”Rubbing one out” post…girls like that are totally responsible for me identifying as ”heteroflexible”.

She really is delicious, isn’t she?

I like reading about group sex, one girl servicing several guys, but it’s not something I would ever want to try.

Here’s what we do: I will service several guys, write about it here, and then you can read about it! Everyone wins.

Okay, probably not, but I’m tempted.

At this very moment, my husband is asleep beside me with his arm around me, holding onto my boob. Every few minutes, he giggles in his sleep and starts to play with it. He sounds so adorable, it’s making me laugh and want to jump him at the same time.

This makes me want to hug one of those chow chows painted to look like a panda because that’s how cute it is!

I’d like to have raunchy phone sex with the guy who voices the character of Brock Samson from the Venture Brothers. In character, of course.

HOLY SHIT YES. I feel like it would be more shocking if you didn’t want to have phone sex with Patrick Warburton. I mean, do you realize you could have a threesome with Brock Samson and The (live action) Tick? You could even get some Rip Riley action in there. Heaven! brb fapping.

And while I’m busy with that, why don’t you send me a sex confession, dear reader?

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I want a unicorn horn dildo. Oh, yes, I truly do.

I realize we’ve been through this before. I realize that I want a terrible lot of novelty dildos, some of which even exist. But I swear, this time it’s serious.

I want a unicorn horn dildo. I want to strap it on and have a majestic unicorn horn cock. I want to strut around with it, admiring myself, horned creature. I want to fuck a woman with it and give her the most obscene orgasms: orgasms that are truly, offensively beautiful.

I want to lock our fingers together as I plunge my majestic cock into her and tell her with my eyes that this thing we’re doing, which has the impossible nestled right there in the middle of it all, is absolutely true. There is nothing truer or more honest than the moment when I make her come.

We are an improbable creature together, more beautiful than sense.

Or, failing that, I want to own a unicorn horn dildo because fuck you, I have a unicorn horn dildo. And it can double as a narwhal tusk. Holy shit why am I not ordering this right now?

Oh, cause I’m broke? Okay, I guess that’s valid.

(image source)

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ConTuesday is alliterative today! Watch out for cats, calliopes, and cauliflower! (Caution: May contain communism.)

I feel guilty about calling myself a bisexual because I prefer one gender over the other; sex with either is great, but kissing, and cuddling? Ah, they are only fun with one of them.

Sexual orientation can be pretty complicated, and what you describe sounds like a perfectly valid permutation of bisexual to me.

We want to have sex with the people we want to have sex with. We want to make out with the people we want to make out with. We want to have relationships with the people we want to have relationships with. Sometimes these groups overlap, sometimes not. If we’re lucky, we can find words to describe it, roughly.

At the cabin by the lake, we used the hose to rinse off the lake water from a swim in the lake. With a steel partition to block the view of prying eyes, we just doffed our clothes and washed off in the open sun. It was great being naked with the sun on us, and as I roughly scrubbed her body with my hands, I got an uncharacteristically huge erection, and pushed it against her belly as I kissed her mouth. I reached down and pressed my finger into her pussy, and found it getting wetter. ”Someone might see,” she protested, but she didn’t push away. She didn’t say know. She began to suck my cock.

Why did I think of a friend, at that moment? Why did I think of this other woman, not my wife, deep-throating my cock? I turned her around, and bent her over, and pushed into her from the rear, while I thought of our friend’s ass, wet from the hose water, which I pulled into me as I came, hard.

She hadn’t finished.

”You can owe me one,” she smiled.

That night, as she got ready for bed, I asked if I could give her oral pleasure. She said we could fuck instead, but I was adamant– I wanted to be there for her only. I put my all into it. I drew that clit out and sucked it while tonguing it, while finger-fucking her until the G-spot grew a hard knot, and her bishop was standing well outside of the pulpit. I pulled on the lips and ran my teeth along the precipuce, and used every oral trick that years of marriage to her has taught me to use. I know what her body wants. I drew it out, milking her almost to climax and then intentionally stopping short, and repeating this until she was begging me to put my cock into her, and I refused. This was soley for her.

When she came, it was loud. I felt her pussy rhythmically pulse at that amazing 0.8 second rate, forever. Seriously, it didn’t stop for a solid minute, while I left two fingers in her vagina, and slowly kissed the lips, mons, and clit (not too much!). She moaned that it was the best orgasm that she had had in about two years.

I was so glad. I felt like I owed her that, and more, having been thinking of our friend before. While giving her oral, I was thinking of no one but my wife. I do love her so.

You get a signature QP internet high five (I do a little flourish thing– totally trademarky) for confessing about great sex with a mega honesty bonus!

Despite several (ok, two and a half) drunken encounters, I’ve never made a guy come. Even through sex. I want to blame it on the booze, and say that they were just too drunk to come, but there’s still a part of me saying that it’s entirely because I’m just that ugly and inadequate. Especially since I’ve never once had someone express interest in me while either of us were sober.

They were too drunk to come. I’m about as positive as I can be without actually being all of those guys.

And please consider the possibility that you’re more approachable and flirty when you’ve had a few drinks. That is a lot more likely than the possibility that you are only attractive to drunk people, which is just… no. That is frat bro logic fucking with you.

Last night I had steamy hot car sex with my crush. I was staying at a friend’s place, but he had too many beers and passed out. My crush came over and we made out on the couch for a while. I didn’t want to get caught, so we went out to his truck and drove around the neighbourhood until we found an unlit street. We climbed in the back seat and got naked. The best part was when he had me bent over the back seat, was pulling my hair, spanking my ass, and riding me hard. We had to let the fans run for nearly 5 minutes afterwards to clear the windows enough to see to drive back. I don’t quite know how it happened, but I have a seatbelt shaped bruise on my thigh today :)

I just love car sex. I love car making out. I want a seatbelt bruise. I think I have confession envy.

I have a high sex drive…I mean, at least it seems higher than most people’s. Also, I just moved in with my boyfriend who is more ”normal.” We haven’t had sex much since moving in together, which is fine because everything has been so busy (living in a new city, he commutes an hour to work, I just started grad school). But lately, when I go to kiss him, he says he doesn’t feel like it. I think it’s because he thinks it will lead to sex, which he doesn’t want to have. But all I want to do is kiss. I miss feeling close to someone.

Now, I lay no claim to being nicknamed The Great Communicator any time soon, but you report that you think he thinks kissing will lead to sex. So you don’t know. So either you haven’t asked him or he is not answering. If you haven’t asked him, try to do so (preferably not right after you’ve just been rejected and emotions are high). If your partnership started out with physical contact, you have a right to know why it has come off the table just like he has a right not to want sex and kissing right now.

And good luck. This can be a very heartbreaking situation, and I hope you guys can work it out so both of you are happy.

Confess, my cronies!

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ConTuesday is happening right now! Check it:

Last night was a singularly amazing night! After a couple semi-successful previous attempts, my amazing wife finally was able to be fisted, a feat I would not have thought possible given my hand size! I’ll make her a size queen yet…. mwahahahahaha

This is awesome. On a personal note, fisting still scares the shit out of me, but I would like to personally high five everyone who has accomplished it. Maybe there would be hand washing first.

Having never been given much freedom in the bedroom I’ve found that I literally lose my mind when the new guy I’m seeing growls “Tell me exactly what you want me to do” it isn’t submissive exactly but it’s so sexy that he wants to know what I want that every time I almost come on the spot and while it doesn’t sound like much but, well, really…it is.

Sometimes it’s the little things that get you. People growling things is sexy. People passionate about giving pleasure are sexy. Other things that are sexy include (but are by no means limited to) girls with pixie cuts, hula hooping, and devil-may-care archeologists in fedoras.

I’ve got this awesome friend who sometimes posts confessions here, like me. We don’t post every week, nor even every month, I don’t think. But there’s enough activity that we try to guess if the other has a Confession up, each week. If it gets to be past noon and we haven’t heard from each other on Tuesday, often a hint will get sent by one of us to the other. It is one of my favorite games.

I love this game! Can we make it a drinking game?

I don’t even drink.

I want to fuck my ex wife in law!!! I don’t know why but the last week she has been on my mind and in my dreams. She does things to me that drive me insane, to the point I wake up wet and feeling like I just came all over the place.

Not only is this so out of the norm for me but I have been thinking about not only fucking her but my ex also. Though he would die if I and his ex wife were playing with each other.

If scary P.S.A.s have taught me anything, it’s that you’ve already slept with all your partner’s previous sexual partners, so this is moot. And I sincerely hope you enjoyed yourself because P.S.A.s have also taught me that now that you’re sexually active you’ve completely destroyed your life.

And remember, kids, don’t do drugs! Also, confess things to me!

Just kidding. I want to fuck her too. But really, seriously confess things.

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One unpleasant side-effect of a campaign to start remembering your dreams is that when you dream about someone who’s died you wake up with their face burned into the back of your eyelids. They’ll gently pad beside you your entire day, drifting through your thoughts and darting into your peripheral vision when you least expect it. Thanks to your lucid dream experiments, you’re now being haunted.

I miss her.

We were roommates for one year in college. I always wished we’d stayed in touch, even though things were a little strained by the end of that year living together. She would get angry at me, she said, because I didn’t put as much work into my academics and writing as I did my part-time jobs and maintaining my long-distance relationship with Reginald. Even then I had to admit she was right, but I also felt like my priorities were my business. I also suspected she resented how effortlessly my good grades came to me. She was gifted, but also a very hard worker. Reginald also moved back in-state at the end of that school year, and he didn’t much like me having friends separate from him. Also, sometimes I’m just shitty when it comes to keeping my friendships together. There were lots of factors, I guess, but one way or another she and I talked a few times over the summer and then passively let our friendship lapse. When we met each other on campus during Junior and Senior year we smiled and were cordial, but we weren’t even a shadow of what we’d been.

What we had been was pretty awesome. She was the only real friend I made in college, considering Reginald’s gentle suggestions that I never talk to anyone but him. She and I, we challenged each other and bickered and then made up and had serious discussions and laugh-until-you-very-nearly-pee discussions. We shared almost everything. We danced together to Leonard Cohen. We competed and supported and comforted by turns. And no matter what, every night we’d read to each other before bed. Both of us being technical virgins, of course we usually read books about sex. Our favorite was (if memory serves) the hilarious¹ Reclaiming Goddess Sexuality, which followed a fictional young woman through what was probably a very historically inaccurate sexual initiation in an ancient matriarchal culture that I have never found any indication existed. It suggested that for first-time intercourse we be positioned side-by-side with our partners². Man-on-top sex is not very empowering, apparently. We sternly reminded each other when our attitudes weren’t goddess-like enough.

At times it was almost like we were having a romantic relationship, except the entire physical/sexual facet was trapped in books and we read it aloud instead of acting on it. Also, we both had boyfriends. But still, I sometimes wondered what it would be like to leave mine and have a girlfriend instead. A girlfriend with perfect lips and big eyes and a mop of short, wavy hair like hers.

And then, a couple years ago, she died.

I don’t know what happened. I was searching for her online one day, thinking I’d email her to see how she was doing, and I found her obituary. She was an award-winning poet. She’d been living twenty minutes from me. She was deeply loved and dearly missed. She was gone. I dreamed about her last night and I woke up and she’s still gone. And I miss her. That’s all I can really say about it. That’s the entire story.

She’d have written it better.

1. Just to be clear before I go into details: we knew it was hilarious. We were naive, maybe, but not stupid. [↩]
2. I’m guessing this meant spooning, but I will likely never know for sure [↩]

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Today something is going to make me smile. This isn’t just a matter of faith, but also an act of stubborn determination.

I have not been smiling much lately, you see. There are reasons and back stories, but this is ConTuesday, not MopeTuesday, which is not even a real thing. Anyway, just thinking about going another day with my rib cage aching and my throat burning makes me half die from boredom. How dreary.

So at some point today a rock band will probably come find me and beg me to be their frontman. Or I’ll finally get that pony. Or something awesome that I’m not even inventive enough to expect will happen. Or brilliant orgasms.

But failing that, I’m going to read some anonymous confessions that are happy. And they will fucking well make me smile today.

I snooped.

My boyfriend loaned me a hard drive so I could get some videos from it, and I looked at the personal files that were on it. Old emails, school essays, and notes he’d written to himself.

I found two things that shocked me.

The first was that he was exactly the man I’d thought he was. Even in his little notes he’d never meant anyone to read, he was kindhearted and openminded, sincerely religious and never judgmental, and truly, deeply seemed to care about being a good person. Sure there was porn and stuff, but as a human being, he had no dirty little secrets at all.

The second was photographs of the bruises after he had been assaulted. It’s hard to describe the sorrow and anger I felt seeing those.

I’m so sorry your boyfriend was assaulted. That’s not the part that made me smile. And I do not condone snooping, certainly not, but for some reason reading about you discovering secrets that make the person you love even more beautiful to you? That just fucking kills me. In a good way.

My boyfriend is great in bed, and at times, when we really get rolling, he’s absolutely amazing. The other night, he started off fingering me, which we don’t usually do for too long, but that night, for whatever reason, it just had me coming and coming and coming. Almost continuous rolling orgasms, and they didn’t stop when he stopped fingering me and started fucking me. Fifty minutes later I was so hyper sensitive that the fan blowing on my legs was nearly making me come, with no other stimuli.

I guess all I’m trying to confess here is that my boyfriend is awesome because he recognizes what’s really getting me off in bed and works it well, and that I had truly amazing sex the other night. So it’s not a confession, it’s a brag… those are allowed right?

Hell. Yes.

Last night I was masturbating with a g-spot vibrator and got off so hard that I ended up in an infinite orgasm loop–every time my vagina contracted, it pressed against the still-vibrating toy and set off another orgasm. I feel like I found a glitch in the matrix.

If you had the choice between the sex matrix and eating that goopy stuff and going to underground raves with smelly hippies you’d so pick the sex matrix, right?

Or is it just me?

Sometimes we’ll just be sitting on the couch watching TV and she’ll brush her hair back with her hand and I’ll think, “I am the luckiest guy in the world. Why is the most amazing woman on the planet watching Castle reruns with me? Is this some kind of mistake?” But I know better than to tempt fate by asking out loud. I just tell her I love her instead.

In all fairness, Castle’s a pretty okay show. Also, awwwww.

I’ve always been a cock-loving lass, but there’s this girl at my coffeeshop… when she smiles all I can think about is how the inside of her thighs would feel against my lips.

Thank you thank you thank you for this.

My boyfriend has never been able to orgasm from oral sex–ever–and we’re both fine with that. But this weekend, we had a houseguest and were trying to have very furtive, quiet sex. I sucked him off to orgasm! My swallows were my victory laps.

The best part: He called the experience a ”revelation”.

Internet high. Fucking. Five.

QPeeps, you always find a way to make me happy when skies are gray.

Confess your sex secrets here.

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Yesterday was National Coming Out Day, which means that no, of course I’m not done talking about bisexuals!

But first, to everyone who came out yesterday (or ever), to anyone: you are amazing. Really and sincerely, I cannot say this enough: you’re my heroes. Also, probably hot.

Anyway, it all started, as most stories do, when I bought a new bag on clearance last week for $15. The straps were rainbows, but not regular spectral rainbows so much as those retro 1970s palette rainbows. You know how in the ’70s everything looked kind of like that Sesame Street pinball animation?¹ I think it might have something to do with macrame, or Quaaludes… or both. But I’m really not sure. All I know is my bag is working off that color scheme, and has a monkey on it.

After a couple minutes of owning this bag, my mind returned quite naturally to the subject of sex, and I came to a realization: “If the regular rainbow stands for gay pride, the retro rainbow should stand for bisexual pride! Because macrame! And Quaaludes! Exclamation point!”

Now, here you’re probably going to stop me to remind me that there already is a bisexual pride flag.

But watch now while I rebut the hell out of you with the following two simple points: a) I like mine better, and b) I’m not already carrying around a pink, purple, and blue bag around every day, now am I?

So that’s my modest bisexual proposal. The immodest ones are even better, but I’m trying to focus on this one for now. Bisexual pride, yo!

1. I’m assuming. I wasn’t born yet, but all primary sources insist that the Victorian era was sepia and the 1970s were Sesame Street pinball. I’m just relating the facts here. [↩]

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