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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

This could be an erotic story prompt, I suppose…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Confess things to me!

1. Yep, totally rereading Harry Potter.

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I think that the unexpected color may have already gotten more compliments than any other color my hair has been in the history of hair. Some guy actually asked me if he could rip it off my head and wear it in a weird Buffalo Bill-type scenario.

…I said no.

I have never been more like Socrates. I am really beginning to understand that I know nothing.

My wife started reading your blog a while back, and I followed suit not long after. It’s been a big part of improving communication in our marriage, especially about sex. We’d been okay before, but things are amazing now. Thanks!

If quizzicalpussy.com had a mission statement, which it does not because this is the first time that possibility has ever occurred to me, it would involve roughly 50% making people’s love and sex lives better, 40% navel-gazing, and 10% jokes about genitals. This kind of confession? Makes me smile even more than free sex toys.

Hey QP! An update on my feelings re: slutshaming lout. I told him about them, he rejected me, and I felt…waves of indescribable relief. My life IS better without him! Without him, there is queer bike porn and naked dance parties and super mega hotties who don’t think being poly means you don’t have feelings. Good stuff, QP!

Your life isn’t just better. From what I’m reading, your life is awesome.

I just spent the evening hanging out naked with my girlfriend and our gay flatmate (well my girlfriend was too insecure to strip). We spent the evening giggling, making penis snails and sails while fending off wandering hands. When me and my girlfriend went to bed she finally lost her cloths while I made the bed, and teased me till I learned that being achingly hard isn’t just a porn cliche. I threw her on the half made bed and we fucked each other till we came together, in one of the best orgasms of my life. Now I wish that she liked to cuddle after sex, but she just don’t like cuddling that much. (Except with her dog :) )

OMG I wonder what happened with that?

…

…

(subtlety)

I confessed a couple days ago that my (gay) flatmate, girlfriend and I (I’ll call them Alice and Bob) hung out naked. It evidently introduced some sexual tension, because tonight we had a threesome. Bob and I both enjoyed watching each other fuck Alice. Unfortunately I’m much straighter than I thought: the hornier I got the less interested I was in playing with Bob. Alice put a condom on her vibrator and put it in Bob’s ass, which they enjoyed (anal smells funny). All in all it was kind of fun, Alice and Bob both enjoyed it more than me. Still many orgasms and cuddles were had, and none of us feel weird about it, so all in all I’d call the night a success.

I’ll call you Cameron. Exploration, cuddles, and orgasms sound like a pretty successful threesome to me, Cameron. Glad you had kind of fun!

Last week, in the midst of some very explicit, very dirty texts, I told my Much Younger Lover (who is back in town) about your blog. He’s now read all of my confessions. I’m feeling a little exposed, but also really turned on by how hot he thinks it is. I’m sure I’ll know as soon as he reads this one.

I’m pretty sure more people use ConTuesday to flirt than I know. Of course, I know nothing, so obviously.

To the gentleman who said that he catalogues his sexual activity. I’ve been using the site nOOkist. Easy to use and it has a great cataloguing system with different positions etc.

Sadly I haven’t had the chance to use it since June because of a terrible dry spell, but that doesn’t mean I can’t share a good site for people who actually are sexually active.

I wonder if they have a smartphone app so you can literally update in real time. You know, and never get laid again because that is the rudest fucking thing I can imagine.

As a FAAB¹ Queer submissive, I am wholly attracted to how Nice Guy (Jan. 3) presented himself. Limits? yes. Safeword? necessary. Both in kink and in life, I often want to scream at the top of my lungs: ”COMMUNICATION IS EVERYTHING. FUCKING TALK!”

Point being, if Nice Guy wants to play with a sub who gets it (and wants it), and you don’t mind playing matchmaker, I’m available.

P.S. I write smut: fuckmedapperqueer[dot]tumblr[dot]com

I hope Nice Guy is reading this and that you two don’t live continents away and stuff.

I’m also, on a personal note, hoping that people who insist on responsible BDSM play aren’t as rare as all that, but that this confessor mostly just really likes Nice Guy’s writing style.

Confess!

1. Editor’s note: I am reasonably sure this indicates “Female assigned at birth” here, as it usually does.

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Like saying “I write about sex” is some kind of strange airplane code for “I want to have sex with you”.

It’s interesting that the one thing I remember about this sex writer is not what she wrote about sex, but what she wrote some guy’s assumptions about being a sex writer. It’s also interesting and frankly insulting that no one ever asks me to fuck in public toilets after learning I have a sex blog.

Actually, no, I’m okay with it.

Question: Isn’t it common knowledge that after the end of a relationship, you are supposed to destroy/delete/completely get rid of any and all nude photos you have of your ex?

Maybe it is, but if it is I’m in violation. Viola Sharqtipus took naked pics of my ex Laramy Fuquerton and me last year, and as far as I know he and I both have a complete set of them. I’m not really stressed that he’s going to release them to one of those awful “REVENGE: My ex girlfriend naked!” sites. I personally keep them on my hard drive because they’re beautiful art, and because it’s a fun memory.

I think it’s common knowledge that if an ex requests you jettison nude pics of them, complete compliance is the only decent response. I think it is also common knowledge that any and all nude photos we have of our exes (also of current partners, friends, etc.) are for personal use only, and never to be shared without permission.

The last time my boyfriend was fucking me, it really wasn’t doing anything for me. Then I started imagining what it would be like to be the creamy center of a QP/Laramy sandwich, and I came and came. Yum. I suppose it really IS the thoought that counts!

Since we’re on the subject anyway, I am glad we could help. QP/Laramy sandwiches are a thing of the past, but the legend lives on…

Last weekend, my boyfriend managed to give me three of what were most likely the most intense orgasms of my life. I came so hard I had issues walking. I would try to stand and my legs would shake and shake like I had just run a marathon… it took a couple hours for the shaking to totally subside, but stairs were uncomfortable for quite a while after that.

It was hella impressive.

Sometimes sex is like this thing. Provided that thing is actually a thing that works in any way.

You know how sometimes when you orgasm, you get strange patterns and images floating through your mind/vision?
Yesterday I had an orgasm so intense that for a few seconds when it was over, I was beset (and absolutely convinced) by the notion that I had seven toes on one foot. I had to look closely at and physically feel my toes to check I only had five, and even then I didn’t quite believe myself. Then once the afterglow subsided, so did the… imaginary… toes. Yeah, has that happened to anyone else?!

Sometimes sex is like this too, apparently.

I’m so glad to have somewhere anonymous to boast! My husband is a research engineer, and, ahem, is brilliant at analyzing complex systems. As a squirting enthusiast, that son of a gun has figured out how to make me ejaculate at will. If I’m almost out of clean laundry, he can help me NOT ejaculate by touching me differently. *sigh* I love that kinky bastard.

Also, I just have to add that we’re a middle-aged married couple with grown children, and we look like Santa and Mrs. Claus. Heh.

Santa Claus, you are an evil genius and I love you. And I want a pony, dammit.

Okay – confession hog. I just read back over previous confessions where a woman wrote that she fantasizes about having sex like a man and where you both talk about the idea of having a cock. Sometimes when I’m on top of my boyfriend and the orgasm is being a little recalcitrant I find myself moving as if I have the cock and he has the vagina and I’m pretty sure he can tell what I’m doing and I have to say it gets both of us pretty fucking hot and bothered.

This ConTuesday, I think, no? To me, that’s very much what inverted missionary can feel like. With all the thrusting and stuff. Yum.

Just had my first threesome with my girlfriend and a mutual female friend of ours who was visiting us at college. I was kind of tentative going in, and we must have been the Most Awkward Threesome partners in the history of multi-partner sex (our friend fell off the bed at one point) but we had a COMPLETE FUCKING BLAST! Everyone got off, nobody had any emotional complications, and we all enjoyed ourselves immensely.

I am, in part, confessing this because reading ConTuesday submissions about threesomes helped motivate me to broach the subject with my girlfriend. Thanks everyone, and especially you QP!

Yes, QPsters! You too can make yummy, delightful sandwiches. This is the message I would like to spread to people on airplanes everywhere.

Tell me a secret, you.

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They bleed onto the wooden floor of my closet. They flit around, nipping off shreds of my 2012 Baby Animals wall calendar. February’s infant orangutan? Almost unrecognizable.

I almost always eventually find them camped out under the bed. I think the masturbation sounds help them sleep.

I think I’ve got an insemination fetish.

My wife and I want kids in a few years. She’s infertile, so I’d be carrying, and we’ll probably be using frozen anonymous donor sperm, or asking a friend to be a known donor. Not a lover or ex-lover or potential lover. Most of the guys on the short list to ask are gay or monogamous or both. We’ll be conceiving our kids with careful deliberation, genetic tests and charts tracking my fertility and speculums and needle-less syringes. It makes sense. Bringing kids into the world is a big thing, and we want to do it carefully, thoughtfully, deliberately.

My pussy disagrees.

Ever since we started seriously talking about this, since it became a question of when and how not if, I’ve been having these fantasies. I want to feel a man come inside me, feel his semen in my cunt. (Can you actually feel that? I have literally used a condom every time a man’s penis has been in my vagina. I will probably never find out first hand. Roads untaken and all that.) Lately, when I’m alone and jilling off, nothing gets me so wet as thinking about hot little sperm making their way past my cervix.

I’m not pining for the heterosexual marriage I didn’t wind up in. It’s nothing like that. I don’t want to conceive while making love to hypothetical husband I’ll never have.

No, what I want is for a stranger to press me against the wall, shove aside my panties and enter me bare. I want my womb to take that man’s come and make life out of it. I want to be bent over a table, as one man after another, men I can’t even see the faces of, let alone know the names of, fuck me one after another, semen dripping out of my pussy. Every time another man adds his genes to the lottery I come again, cunt spasming around his cock, drawing his semen in. He withdraws, stands aside to watch the next man fuck me hard, his cock sliding sloppily through what the five-ten-fifty men before him left, panting and thrusting and trying to just enjoy the feel of cock in cunt while hoping against hope that he’ll be the lucky one.

Stop. Scene changes, I’m alone with just one man again. ”It doesn’t matter,” he says, all self-assurance and possessiveness, as he holds me close, one hand around my neck, as he thrusts into me slowly. ”It doesn’t matter how many other men you fuck, because you are mine, and you will carry my heir.” He could be many people, those men I keep in the deep of my subconscious, nothing like any of the men I might have married but didn’t, nobody I’d want to share my life with out in the real world. He’s dangerous, he’s powerful, he owns me. Sometimes he’s a medieval king, or a cliched evil overlord*, or a demon, sometimes generic and sometimes from a book or movie or game or something, but usually his identity slips and slides until he’s just an archetype, a platonic Master holding me, fucking me down, taking me, marking me as his, and I want nothing more but to conceive his child, and when he finally comes I feel it happening, feel his sperm invading me, and I orgasm so hard my vision goes black.

Sometimes I wonder what the hell this means, whether I’m sublimating my feelings about donor insemination and pregnancy in general and blah blah blah. Not today, though. Today I’m just going to appreciate the mind-blowing orgasms.

Even the ones that happen while I’m fantasizing about getting knocked up by Bowser from the Super Mario games.

Oh yes. Yes, you can feel it. Absolutely. It feels, I imagine, not unlike Sushie’s “squirt” move from Paper Mario.

i like to take sexy photos of myself. It makes me feel pretty and seductive and ok, maybe a little bad (in a good way). Sometimes I send these photos to a friend a few states away. Hey, he likes porn, I like validation, everyone’s happy. Until my exboyfriend hacked my email and forwarded the photos to himself. Bummer! I’m worried what he’ll do with them, but mostly I’m just angry because they’re MY BOOBIES and I’ll show them to who I want, when I want. So there.

You have every right to be angry. I would characterize this as going beyond “bummer” and going straight to “massively creepy stalker behavior” with a side of “egregious privacy violation”, for what it’s worth.

This past year, I got fed up of trying to be sexually satisfied with my workaholic partner alone, and decided to devote some time to pleasing myself. I joined a porn site, I started writing smut, and I have taken my self-pleasuring to a new level.

It has been fantastic. I feel those same feelings you get when you are newly in love- the constant drive, can’t-take-my-hands-off-you, stay up all night making-out sort of feelings, except by myself. As a result, my sex life with my partner has increased dramatically. Even though he is often still too tired to have sex as much as I want, I am perfectly happy if he lets me go down on him and then I can make myself come.

Not having my sexual satisfaction depend on anyone else has changed my life.

I feel inspired by this, to always use my computer for smut and never for hacking.

Also to develop a giggly, gropy crush on myself. Both good ideas, really.

I think that fucking someone in front of a bunch of other people would be really hot. Man or woman, but I’d want the people watching to be older men in suits, sexy sexy suits. Maybe they’d all take turns using me. Pretty basic fantasy I guess, but damn does it get me wet.

Also, the only person I’ve really had sexual relations with was this nice Jewish boy last semester. I’d suck his dick, he’d go down on me, call me names, hit me with various kitchen implements, all those nice things that nice Jewish boys are good at. But we never had penis-vagina sex, which makes me feel like other people think I should still call myself a virgin. But after having a binder clip stuck to my nipple, been spanked with a spatula, been fingered up the ass, etc and so forth, I just feel a lot less virginal. No idea why.

Also…I really really really really want to see what he’s up to this year. Damn you, sexy Jewish boy. Damn you. My own hand can only do so much.

I’d like to teach the world that virginity is a weird, made-up concept. It’s not even spatula-solid, really.

I do not understand why someone would be monogamous when there’s a chance of orgies on the table.

…Particularly when they then proceed to steal your sex toys.

Dear monogamous person/s,

Why would you steal my sex toys? What is wrong with you?

P.S. That would put all my sex toys into multiple-partner status.

P.P.S. Orgies!

Last summer, I visited the Southwest; there was no privacy, so I couldn’t get off at all, but my hormones were raging. Thus, a state of constant horniness ensued. Then one day, as the week-long heat was at its peak, I escaped to a pool which was deserted because of an oncoming storm. It was blistering, but strong winds had started to blow, and as I dropped my frustrated, overheated body into the pool, I had a sense that the moment was special, set aside from the rest – the moment before the break. I quickly discovered the water jet, planted my arms on the side of the pool so it looked like I was casually relaxing, shifted by pelvis against the jet, and came like fireworks as the rain began to fall. Then pushed off and floated, weightless, listening to the oncoming storm.

Whoever says masturbation can’t be meaningful and significant is wrong.

Never underestimate the transformative power of orgasms or weather patterns or water pressure.

Or secrets.

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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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It’s not exactly foreign to some of you guys, either.

…I shouldn’t be pointing it out like that, should I? I’m such a douche.

Had a hot, sweaty, sexy, awesome summer threesome with two lovely ladies once. Everyone was into it, everyone was into each other, and a half-dozen condoms later we fell asleep in each others arms. It was the perfect threesome.

All of us were poly, kinky, sex-positive, and dating others at the time. All three of us agreed to keep it to ourselves (and my housemate, who couldn’t help but notice). Despite this being one of the hottest things I’d ever done, I still feel a little guilty that we didn’t tell our respective other lovers. I felt even more guilty knowing that I’d have done it again.

With all the poly and sex-positivity in play, I’m curious as to why you kept it a secret. But no matter. I’m not here to judge. Say fifteen “Oh, God”s while masturbating to the memory, and thou shalt be shriven.

I don’t really get along with most of my co-workers, and I spend most of my time there yearning to be elsewhere.

However.

My supervisor is eleven years my senior, is tall and bulky, has piercings and a deliciously deep voice, and is an obnoxious, puffed-up braggart. I’m not normally attracted to men, and I can’t stand him, but I keep having these horribly vivid fantasies about him. Fantasies like locking up the training room, slapping him in the face, shoving him to the ground and forcing him to suck whichever cock I was packing that day, and then doing awful, degrading things to him until he cries. And then bending him over the desk and spanking him while I fuck him, and making him cry some more while I use him to get off.

I feel kind of guilty for thinking like that about someone I work in such close proximity with (apparently, I have a thing for humiliating and objectifying people who are much bigger and stronger than I am, physically speaking), but it certainly makes the work day go by more quickly…

Okay, I’m worried about saying this because then everyone I know will have to wonder whether I’m perving over them, but you have a right to have sexual and/or kinky fantasies about pretty much anyone and everyone you know. Very often, acting on it or even telling them about it would be crossing the line, but thought crime does not exist.

Unless it does. In which case I’m a monster and so are 98% of the people reading this, minimum.

I’m young, broke (but come from money), sexually rapacious and forced to live with a mother I can’t stand (we came within an ace of killing each other when I was 14), a father who could care less and a little brother I’ll miss when I finally leave this hell-hole. Now, onto the actual confession.

About a month or so ago, I was out with a few friends, ducking my mother’s return from a business trip in Boston, when I noticed that I was getting the once-over from a guy across the dance floor. I looked him over right back, he grinned and made a beeline for me. In a little under a half hour, I had danced with him, made out with him in one of the bathrooms, and gotten him nice and buzzed. Then I let him tag along with me and my girls (who also had a few guys of there own by the end of the night, so I wasn’t the only one).

We all crashed at my homegirl’s place, where the party continued … downstairs. Upstairs, in one of the spare bedrooms, my new friend and I were having our own party. I fucked his brains out until he fell into a deep sleep.

So deep he didn’t notice when I got curious and started rifling through his wallet. He had a lot of cash (mostly in 20 and 50 dollar bills.) I took three twenties and got the hell of there before my conscience could get the best of me.

Since then, I’ve been doing the same thing off and on: Pick up random dude, fuck him senseless, then go through his shit while he’s out cold (and I always leave ’em good and tired). If I find money, sweet. If I don’t, well … at the least the sex was good.

I’ve tried to feel guilty about this, but I need only to hear my mother’s ”you-have-shamed-me-merely-by-existing” tone to remind me why I feel the need to pick a lover’s pocket, why I can’t afford something as basic as underwear, and why I’ll never ask that sadist for a fucking dime.

I think this is generally referred to as a “sin tax”.

On a more serious note, I keep getting reminded lately that I should really and seriously never have a one-night stand. And why I should deposit the Christmas money that’s still sitting in my wallet.

Sometimes I kind of hate my boyfriend’s face. At proper angles/when he makes cute facial expressions/when his beard is trimmed, he can be the cutest fucking boy in the world, and once in awhile I do think he is just straight-up for realsies hot. But a lot of times I look at him and recognize that, objectively, he’s pretty fucking weird looking. Maybe even a little gross.

I would never tell him this, and sometimes it even works to his advantage – if we’re doing a rape scene, or if he’s just generally in Creepy Dom Mode, it really fucking turns me on to look up at his face and think, you know, ”oh, this ugly, weird-looking guy can do whatever he wants with me, and I’m completely helpless even if it disgusts me.” But sometimes, when we’re cuddling, I look at him and I feel like a fucking monster for thinking these things about such an amazing, sweet, perfect guy. I know I’m not perfect either, and I know it’s really shallow. But none of that stops me from thinking it.

Feel not guilty, my child. You should just hear the shit he thinks about you!

Totally kidding. I am such a dick.

Confess your sins and wins here!

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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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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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Many, many butts are perfect. And every perfect ever known to this world has had a but. Enjoy a few of each.

I started the SexLog as a whine to myself. She wasn’t having much sex with me, so every time she did, I would send myself an email about it, and put that email into a folder in my email. Every time I enjoined her to have a tryst with me, I logged it. At first, it was just a sad bitter little series of notes on the rare occasions that we had sex. But when the sex was great, I had to detail it, in fairness. When it was hot, I would detail the situation, how it started, and what positions we got into. I might mention what we said during sex.

Reading back over the last year, I see that we’re only averaging once a week. I wish it were more. But reading those times that we do have sex? Some of ’em are pretty damned erotic.

Once again whining is foiled by awesome sex! This happens a lot, I’m certain.

He makes me laugh until all the muscles in my torso feel sprung. He can make me laugh about anything — the crash and burn of my last relationship, the weather, my simultaneous lust for and terror of taking his clothes off, how mind-numbingly stupid bureaucracies are, what he wants to do to me with handcuffs and an order of Chinese take-out (extra sweet-and-sour sauce).

He’s outrageously, gratuitously beautiful to me, like sunrise in the Sangre de Cristos. The fact that other people seem to consider him either strange-looking or utterly gorgeous, no middle ground, only escalates that. It’s like being part of a secret club of people with good taste.

Every day I find something new to admire about him: His good humor about others’ assumptions, his damn-near epic determination, his delighted embrace of any kind of silliness that makes life a happier place to be, the core of stunningly improbable sweetness that underlies his nature, his playful and seemingly infinite patience with me.

It boils down to this: It’s harder for him to be just my friend than it would be for me to be his lover. But he’s making the effort anyway, because I am so goddamn scared to have sex with him, I damn near hyperventilate when he gets close to me.

It isn’t that he doesn’t want friendship; he’s been a good friend, including when I’ve deeply needed one. It’s that he wants to be more. When he says something or touches me in a way that leaves no doubt he wants me naked and writhing under him, it’s not news to him at all, but the bulletins are just starting to come in at my station.

It isn’t that I don’t want the sex, either. He makes my brain ache for it, never mind the standard achy naughty-bits. He makes me want to lick, bite, suck, pull hair, snuggle, see what his o-face is like, hear the sounds he makes (quiet? grunty? down-and-out nasty talk?). He knows all this, too; I’m pretty sure everyone who gets within 100 yards of us knows it. Might as well be tattooed on my forehead.

So what’s the problem? The past. Naturally. This is the sudden and unexpected beginning of the thing for me — and the end of a long process for him. He waited through my ill-advised relationship with his friend, and through my own blindered foolishness about the kind of man he is. Now he’s waiting through my absolute certainty that sex is going to ruin us, like it ruins everything else it touches in my life. It’s a good thing he’s patient; the more he’s my friend, the more we become something I don’t want to see ruined…and the longer his wait is going to be.

I hate that I feel that way; it’s not fair to him, and I’m religiously certain I’m missing out on an amazing lover, so it’s not fair to me, either. But I know that the moment the orgasms ended, I’d start counting down the days until I lost him — friend, lover, everything — just like every other time. And that thought is unbearable to me.

I hope you’ve worked through your past enough to look back on this confession and shake your head and smile, and maybe twitch a little from some muscle soreness from the mindblowing, love-affirming sex you had last night. Sex doesn’t ruin things; people do, and from how you describe it you are two people who are amazing together.

My friend and his wife really want to mess around with my wife and me.

I want to mess around with them.

My wife’s not sure. She hasn’t said ”No,” but she’s shy.

I don’t want to put pressure. The guy who puts pressure is That Guy. And we all know that That Guy sucks.

But any good partner should let his or her partner know what he or she wants.

So, it’s out there.

And I’m waiting. Tick. Tock.

Don’t be That Guy, no. But I guess you could always send her a link to this ConTuesday and tell her you thought she’d enjoy all the pics of nice asses, and oh, by the way, some guy wrote in about a foursome, so that’s interesting…

Send me a confession, won’t you please?

(image sources: 1, 2, 3, 4)

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We came to a consensus that however fun it is to give and receive them, they’re particularly good as a warmup for intercourse. This is how Laramy and I do them about two-thirds of the time, probably. But not always. I also love those times when I get to make him come.

Penis-in-vagina/ass intercourse is unique for me because it feels like we’re making us come¹, giving each other simultaneous and reciprocal pleasure. Sure, I normally get to have more orgasms, so maybe my partner feels differently, but I round up to Team Us. Most of the many fantastic and varied other kinds of sex tend to have less of that particular “simultaneous and reciprocal” element for me. They can still be awesome, of course.

I can get off just from giving a blowjob, but that’s a completely different feeling than climaxing through intercourse. The stimulation is less direct, largely mental. When I come that way it feels more like I’m really bringing myself there, although I’m getting some of my favorite sort of help with that.

Laramy, on the other hand, once told me he generally doesn’t get off from blowjobs at all. Liked them, he insisted, certainly wasn’t planning on turning any eligible offers down, but he just didn’t come from oral sex. He said this after the first time I made him come in my mouth, though. Surely he was rearranging his belief system by then. Because I’ve never known him to lie to me, I see no reason to think that it was just a line to make me feel like a god damn sexual Tyrannasaurus, although it did. Oh, it did.

Anyway, back to Viola’s bed. There are limits, she are I both agreed, on just how long we’re willing to suck cock. At a certain point you wonder what you’re doing wrong, and why your jaw needs to be punished for it. Perhaps we were making my boyfriend nervous. While Laramy can and does come from blowjobs, he admittedly tends to take a while to get there sometimes. This is part of why it can be preferable² to just transition to fucking. “It’s not like I take that long,” he reminded me.

“No,” I agreed. “Sometimes it can be a challenge, though. It’s not like I can get you off in, say, four minutes or something.”

That’s when Laramy started to remove his pants. Enthusiastically. “Let’s see!”

“I mean, I’ll suck your cock for four minutes, sure. Happy to. But I doubt you’ll get off.”

“You’re on,” he grinned. The pants were off, the penis rampant, the challenge accepted. One doesn’t say “I’ll suck your cock for four minutes” to this man and expect him to laugh it off. Viola offered to time us. Laramy reclined on her bed, pants abandoned, head in her lap.

“All right then!” I probably didn’t say out loud, “I came here to suck cock and chew bubblegum, and luckily for your cock, I’m all out of bubblegum. Because otherwise, ouch.” My eye was of the tiger. Four minutes wasn’t long, but I was going to do my damnedest to make sure it was long enough.

I’d never strategized a blowjob before. Would a little preliminary teasing help or harm the cause? Should I mostly suck and bob, or concentrate more on doing that thing with my tongue? I did my best. Laramy might have been playing with some Viola boob.

“It’s interesting to watch from this perspective. This is what I’d see if QP were giving me a blowjob,” I heard her say³. He was getting close at this point.

When Laramy came in my mouth, I got that little jolt of triumph I always get, even when we’re not going for the four-minute blowjob title. Giver of Orgasms and Swallower of Seed am I, and mighty shall be my reign! Rawr, bitches.

“How was that for time?” I asked Viola in an all-business tone as soon as the cock was out of my mouth. Laramy, still blissed out from his orgasm, found this hilarious.

“Just about four and a half minutes. I was going to stop you, but I knew he was getting close.” High fives happened all around. We hadn’t quite made blowjob history, but it was hard to call it anything but a win, considering.

Between you and me, though? I probably would’ve gone longer, if need be. You know, for the team.

(image source)

1. I’ve heard rumors that you can have sex without having or even trying to have an orgasm, and that it can be splendid. I honestly wouldn’t know anything about that. Sex without any orgasms seems like a frustrating endeavor to me.
2. For my jaw and inside upper lip.
3. Note to self: remind her that I willingly service strap-on cocks as well.

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