quizzical pussy

Tuesday is, etymologically speaking, sacred to Mars (who was equated with Tīw, the Norse god of combat). Tuesday is also the day sacred to sex secrets. Fact.

The interesting thing here is that Venus was cheating on her husband with Mars, but that wasn’t really a secret at all. I think pretty much everyone knew. Oh, those wacky gods! Here, have a ConTuesday.

I can’t orgasm during intercourse unless I use a vibrator, so I usually introduce the new guy to assisted sex fairly early. So far everyone has been more than accommodating, some have even grown quite fond of ”Bob”, despite the noise. Sometimes I worry I am creating an army of guys who are secretly turned on by the sound of electric toothbrushes and kitchen appliances.

I don’t see a problem here. Toothbrushes can be sexy.

I’m pregnant. Lately, every time we have sex, pre-milk comes out of my nipples. I’m not sure if this is really a confession, since I think this happens to a lot of pregnant/nursing women, but JESUS CHRIST IT IS SO FUCKING WEIRD.

Hey now, pre-milk can be sexy.

I’ve had a confession about being deprived of sex by my partner posted here before and this is an open/anonymous confession I really hope (but sadly doubt) my partner will read and recognize. I love you. You are the love of my motherfucking life, but your stingy withholding of sex is driving me around the bend. It’s not rational. You need therapy if you can’t be open and honest and real with me in the most sexual sense. I’d go furry for you. I’d wear any outfit you could name. I WOULD DO ANYTHING YOU WANTED– debase myself in any way you could name– if only I could feel like we were sharing something deep and intimate. I have no shame and I’d live to give you pleasure every moment, but your chilly selfishness is killing my desire for you. You should have been honest with me about your sexuality (or lack thereof) when we embarked on this relationship and I could have made an informed decision based on reality instead of hoping that one day you’d realize that this is the one life we get with these wonderfully functioning bodies, and that it’s very important not to waste this. You are officially/unofficially on notice. I’m not asking for a 3-day fuckfest– just a teeny little stab in an erotic direction. Timid, I could understand. Shy– eminently forgiveable. After how open and giving I’ve been with you, for you to be sexually closed-off from me is unconscionable. We are doomed, unless you grow the fuck up.
P.S.– I might have an easier time believing you were ”non-sexual” as you claim if I didn’t find lesbian domination porn on my browser when I came back from out of town last weekend. The worst part of this is not the sex– it’s how stupid you believe I am.

Okay, I kind of see a problem here. You sound miserable, in fact. I hope things are better now than when you sent this. I know what it’s like to be in a relationship where I’m not getting sex no matter how hard I try, but I don’t know what it’s like to stay in that situation for too long. Because both times, I honestly couldn’t deal with it.

I don’t like the way the guy I’m dating kisses. I don’t care enough to tell him, though. I think that second part is the most tragic part, too.

I think I might agree.

Do you also not care enough to break up with him? Or is the kissing part of the relationship just not that important to you?

Confess your sex secrets here!

Viola Sharqtipus and I sat side by side at a table in a dive bar. It was a peaceful interlude between the sex we’d had earlier that evening and the sex we were going to have later that night.

A man, some friend of a friend, sat at our table. Never caught his name. He looked from Viola to me, from me to Viola, back and forth. After a think, he asked us, “Are you two sisters?”

No, we both agreed. We were not sisters. Not in the least.

“Because you look a lot alike. A lot alike,” he insisted as we shook our heads. He obviously hadn’t seen us kissing mere moments ago.

…Or had he? If I knew the answer to that one, I would know worlds about this man without ever having to learn his name.

(image source)

I love kissing. Fucking love it. Human mouths may well be little cesspools, but I floss my cesspool every day. So, um, wanna make out?

(image source)

My sexual stomach is tolerably strong. There’s a lot I want to try, and there’s even more I’m willing to try. And even if it’s not my kink, I try to be accepting. You like to make your partner bleed? If your partner likes to bleed, that’s beautiful, my friend. Want to have sex with your sibling? If you’re both over the age of consent and into it, I’m certainly not going to try to stop you. If you’re into the whole scat thing I really don’t want to know about it, but I wish you joy. From way over here at the other end of the internet, I wish you joy. And I know I’ve made it clear that I’ve had severe aesthetic issues with anthropomorphizing animals, but I’m even working on my furry acceptance. I hugged a high school mascot last week and only had to take one panicked shower afterward.

I believe I’m within limping distance of sex positivity, inching slowly from “I’m scared to put a penis in my mouth” ten years ago toward the Platonic ideal of open, loving acceptance of all safe, sane, and consensual human pleasure.

But for some reason kissing grosses me out.

It’s everywhere: people gently brushing lips, tongues crawling into one another’s mouths like great, glutted worms. It’s disgusting to look at. I know they’re having fun, and it’s just about the most socially acceptable form of romantic/sexual interaction. Still, my entire body revolts just seeing it.

Try finding a movie where they show tits but skip that moment of body horror. It simply doesn’t exist. Every sex scene has a nauseous distraction. To me, PDA at the mall is more obscene than porn. Clearly I missed my calling as an old-school, by-the-rules prostitute. Well, by one of the rules, anyway: No kissing, lots of coming.

The human mouth is a cesspool. Simple fact. We all know this, right? Is it unreasonable to not want to cross-pollinate my filth with yours, no matter how fond of you I might be?

I’ll put my mouth lots of places. Oral sex is fine (it’s amazing how much cleaner genitals are than pie holes), as is mutual kissing from the neck down. Maybe even the cheek if I really, really trust you. But mouth-to-mouth? Save it for when you have to resuscitate me, and then hand me a bottle of hydrogen peroxide.

As you might imagine, this quirk isn’t an easy sell for most people. I realize that kissing doesn’t squick most people out; quite the opposite. It’s a lot to ask, wanting someone to forgo their primary avenue for expressing affection in favor of, what? Hugs? Nuzzles? Conversation hearts?

Still. I just can’t. I can be sex positive, but kissing positive? That just isn’t me.

(image source)

I really like that my boyfriend Laramy and I still do the whole “One more kiss. Okay, one more. Just one more. After this…” thing whenever we part ways. It’s fun, and I get lots of kisses out of the deal, and it makes me feel all special and loved and junk. Makes the whole going away part easier too.

Sure, maybe it’s just a phase that’s sure to evanesce. But dammit, it’s a good one.

A couple winters ago I was on a notdate (you know, that social expedition that no one has defined as a date, but it’s pretty clear that at least one of you wouldn’t mind it going in that general direction) with a guy whom, I was certain by the end, I definitely wanted to not date. He wasn’t good-looking (in a general consensus sense), but, though I wasn’t blind to that, it also didn’t particularly bother me. He also seemed to have a lot of mental health issues. It happens. The real problem was, the more we hung out together, the more a striking resemblance developed in his features and expressions to a chick I often, to this day, have trouble standing. There’s no harm in her, and I’m disposed to be civil toward her because she’s married to a friend, but hers isn’t the face I want to see poised on the prow of a guy who wants to do me. It surprised me how deeply and utterly this resemblance bothered me.

Our conversation quality was fair; I usually have no trouble talking at length to anyone who can even pretend to comprehend English, and I think that put him at ease. I felt that we could easily be friends as long as a) he didn’t mind that idea and b) things didn’t get tragically awkward. The face thing that would murder my peace in a paramour I could easily deal with in a platonic way.

After a movie and some wandering while talking, we ended up in my car in the mall parking lot. I was going to drive him to his car since I have V.I.P. cripple parking. Snow drifts rose up where swaths of parking spaces should’ve been, and it was snowing gently, and he kissed me.

And it was awful.

I try to be accommodating, so I went with it, although at the beginning my involvement was no better than half-hearted (and actually a good deal less). There was absolutely no firmness or pressure in his lips or tongue, no apparent rhyme or reason to what those parts were doing, and his breath lingered on the unfortunate side of middling. Every second of horrible making out that ensued made me more and more miserable, and less and less sure of how to stop it without hurting his feelings. Just then, Untrust Us by Crystal Castles started playing, and it struck me all of a sudden what a terrible waste all this was. The veil of falling snow, the dark sky against the white hills, the warmth of my car’s heater in that ocean of cold, and that lovely, delicate song all conspired to create such an amazing atmosphere for those first fragile touches that, when they’re good, are so very, very good. It could’ve been so sweet, so… not awful, such a pretty memory. As it was, not so much. Maybe someday my mind will erase annoying-friend-faced-bad-kisser guy and slot someone more eligible into that recollection.

I still like that song anyway, though.

(image source)

ConTuesday! Anonymous secrets! Intrigue! Titillation!

On an unrelated note, this week’s title has nothing to do with any of the confessions I got. Laramy recently decided it’s insanely fun to make this “came in my pants ever so gently” breathing sound. I call this sound Creepyleaf, due to a late night discussion involving rakes and the fact that it does, in fact, sound creepy. Feel free to imagine him doing this after each confession, because that’s what I’m doing today!

Back when I was in my early 20s, I was a nanny for a couple and their young son. The couple’s 18-year-old nephew came to stay with them, and I started sleeping with him after about 6 months. I look back on him very fondly; he was sweet and respectful and ready to go again every 10 minutes. I also slept with the husband (the couple had a permissive relationship), who was in his mid-50s. That wasn’t so nice. But to this day, they were the youngest and oldest men I’ve ever slept with, and they happened to be related, and they definitely didn’t know about each other.

I just love ConTuesday.

Had a two-night stand with this guy… hot as hell, great accent, beautiful cock… but the sex sucked. I thought it was a fluke the first time so I tried again, and it turned out he just sucks in bed, at least as far as my likes are concerned. Now I’m flirting with a guy who definitely won’t be a one night stand or fuck buddy… not as hot but still very cute, and one kiss with him turned me on more than sex with the other guy. I can hardly wait to find out if the sex is gonna be as good as the kiss.

There’s enough lag between when I get these and when I post them that I bet it wouldn’t be unreasonable to ask for an update. How about it?

I’ve been reading your blog for a while now, since a mutually perverted friend directed me here… and when you talk about never getting enough, until your pussy puts up a white flag… I have to be honest and say that I’m the same lol. My ahem, longest time for fucking has been four hours solid, sleep for five, wake up for another four hours of fuuuuun! *giggle*

Three things: 1) Insatiable sex gluttons for the win! 2) Were you, by any chance, having sex with easy listening pop sensation Sting? 3) How sore were you after? Regardless, that’s sexy.

I used to be really good at giving blowjobs. Intact and cut guys, very large and average guys – they’ve all been very, very happy with my techniques. Hell, once I made a man have four orgasms in a row without even using my hands for extra help. …but I still haven’t managed to get my current partner off any way other than PIV. He needs me to move way faster than my head is capable of going and he really didn’t like the time I tried having him mouth-fuck me. I don’t think I’ve forgotten my old techniques, I just think they’re not compatible with his penis. He’s a great guy and the rest of the sex is wonderful, but I kind of resent that I can’t get him off that way. I miss having that sexy power.

I have a Feeldoe! Just saying. Sorry, that was probably inappropriate, and Laramy is likely making the creepiest sound right now.

Have a secret? I want it!

This ConTuesday has several sorts of anonymous confessions to sample: transgressive, triumphant, murky, and really kind of gut-wrenching.

While I was married to my first wife, I had an affair with her sister, that lasted about a year. In all honesty, I should have stayed with the sister, life would have been much better. One night, I butt-fucked my SIL, and then went upstairs, and woke up my wife, and had her give me a blow job. What made it even more weird was that my SIL stood in the hallway and masturbated while she watched us.

I recently discovered that if I apply really strong pressure to my clitoris as I’m orgasming, the climax keeps going for an extra thirty seconds or so. I wish it was socially acceptable to share these sorts of little personal triumphs with the world at large, but it’s not, so I’ll share it with you.

You know how something will randomly pop into your head and you’ll think “I have to remember to look this up on the internet later”, but you don’t have a smart phone and you every time– without fail– forget to look it up when you’re actually on a computer? Well, in a similar vein, I keep meaning to try this!

Boy, you are very cute and you have a tophat, which is always a plus. However, you violate the xkcd rule, so despite your flirting I doubt we shall ever have a relationship. …Maybe making out. But that is definitely the limit here.

If I wear top hat will you make out with me? I’m just curious here.

I confessed here before my boyfriend barely touches me. He’s doing such a great job convincing me he doesn’t find me attractive, that I’m starting to find him less attractive… I go to get my nethers waxed and think sadly how I’ll keep paying for this because at least twice a month, I know someone will touch me below the waist.

If I wear a top hat will you let me give you a big hug? Because this confession really makes me want to.

Send in your anonymous confessions using this convenient form! Make haste!

ConTuesday is here, and it’s all about creative problem solving. Here are some innovative anonymous confessions from mysterious denizens of the internet:

As quite an overtly sexual, somewhat kinky type, I’m often attracting shocked/disdainful/disapproving looks from passers by, when sneaking betwixt clubs and hotels and whatnot.

When I receive such a look, I really enjoy (despite almost never finding the person attractive) vividly imagining the giver of the look and myself engaged in the filthiest sexual practice I can come up with at the time, then making eye contact and imagining how they’d feel if they knew what I was thinking.

I’m increasingly unsure if this is hilarious or genuinely sinister.

I’m a rather closeted bisexual-sex-fiend and there are no sex toy stores near me, thus explaining my lack of dildos. I use mascara tubes after they’re done. My fravourite is Lash Max by Maybelline ;D

Now I’m wondering if those vibrating mascaras would be any good.

I cheated on my boyfriend. Three times so far (all with the same guy). The first two times I just gave him head, but the third time we had sex. I really don’t like the guy I’m cheating with, but his cock is really fabulous so I keep wanting to do it even though I know I shouldn’t and really don’t want to except for the awesome sex. I wish my boyfriend gave me as awesome sex, then I wouldn’t still be waiting the other guy.

My husband and I have an “open marriage”. My husband fucks like a porn star but he kisses me like I’m his 90 year old Aunt. Kissing is just about my favorite thing to do, so much so that I’d rather make-out with someone than get oral. If he’d kiss me half as passionately as he fucks, I’d have no need for other men.

If only partners were modular and you could upgrade just one thing. Of course, people have been saying that since time began. Great sex and kissing are pretty great, though. I will have one of each, size large.

Have something to share? Give it to me.

I knew you guys had more crazy confessions! Want proof? Here are some I’ve received in the last week (with one of my own slipped in). I once again have some in reserve, so if yours didn’t post today you’ll definitely see it in the coming weeks.

When my (now husband) and I started dating the idea that he was my first “real boyfriend” made him really uncomfortable- he always figured that I couldn’t know if I really liked him if I didn’t have anything to compare him to. To console him I told him that I had always been so busy I just had a bunch of fuck buddies instead of boyfriends- except that I only had one lover before him (who was 20 years my senior). Amazingly, this made him feel much better. But now, I have to remember that damn made up number, cause every so often he’ll ask a question about my “past”.

A guy who had a crush on me once told me he wanted to fuck me sweetly with my own cane (which I use for, like, walking), and I thought that was kind of a darling and intriguing concept. Too bad I wasn’t attracted to him in the least and his kisses felt roughly like a blobfish looks.

On a scale of one to obvious, one being obvious and obvious being really fucking obvious, how obvious is it that I wrote this one?

I’m newly married. And the sex with my husband is incredibly boring. And I’m terrified that I will never have awesome sex.

I bought an eroscillator – one of the deluxe packages with the powerful motor and all – and it just doesn’t do anything for me. I kind of feel like I’m blaspheming the ultimate Dr. Ruth endorsed toy of wonders every time I use my three year old magic wand instead.

Just so you know, internet anonymity may be the only thing saving you from getting clubbed like a baby seal and having your eroscillator wrested from your toy chest. Not because of any blasphemy or anything, just because I really want one and now I know you’re not using yours.

…

Got a sex secret or three? Let them fly away into the internet and be free! No one will know it was you… unless of course you’re me, apparently. But I’m confident you’re not, so have at it!