quizzical pussy

I’m posting ConTuesday rather late today because of sleeping rather earlier last night and later this morning than I originally planned. In fact, I might still be recovering from last Friday’s play party, which I will be telling you all about in the next few days. But here are the confessions of the week, better late than never!

I may take a nap later, actually.

Dear QP, how’ve you been? I’ve been looking at your sex confessional for so long now and it’s been looking back at me. Eyeing me. Tempting me with it’s portal to… your inbox, I assume.

So there’s this guy. I’ve known him for so long I’m not sure whether I’m in love with him or if I just love him the way friends are supposed to.

My main problem is that about ten years ago, we had a kind of relationship. You know how some people have fuck buddies? Well, we didn’t. We were more like make-out buddies.

I always think make-out buddies sounds a bit pathetic, but it was intense. I think partly because we didn’t do anything even close to having sex, even though I’m pretty sure we both wanted to.

So anyway, fast forward to today and I just can’t tell if I wanna nail him to find out what it would be like (ie, confirm my suspicions) or because I really, genuinely am in love with him.

But this isn’t my real confession, it’s just background details. My REAL confession is that everyone I know is getting engaged. My sister just got engaged recently. His brother got engaged earlier this year. He’s been in a relationship for five years. What if he decides to hop on the bandwagon?!

And it’s not even that I’m jealous of his girlfriend. I want her boyfriend, but I don’t hate her for having him and not me. But I can’t exactly confess my undying love to someone who’s in a happy relationship, can I?

UCK I feel sick.

The sex confessional does indeed want to hear your worries. I only wish I had some good or even marginally helpful advice for you. Can you confess your undying love to someone in a happy relationship? Absolutely. But it might suck for everyone involved. Maybe honesty is the best way to go anyway, but, it seems like you’re not even sure if you have romantic feelings for this guy.

The only thing I can say with certainty is that makeout buddies doesn’t sound pathetic at all. And I feel for you. This sucks.

I just had surgery and I haven’t orgasmed for over two weeks and if I start my period before I can finally get myself off I’m gonna pissed. This seemed like the only place for such a frustration to be vented.

I hope you’ve had a clutch if not a clamor of orgasms since you sent this in.

I bought the pill today (Lutera). I haven’t been on the pill in years. The last time I was on the pill, I didn’t feel like myself. I bled all the time, was nauseated, depressed, gained weight, had horrible cramps and no sex drive. My grades plummeted, I lost some friends (due to being so withdrawn and emotional). I was only on it for three months, but it was hell. That time, I wasn’t in a relationship (or even having sex at the time). I only took it to help with my endometriosis, but it didn’t work.

Now, I’m about to start a different pill. I’m in a happy relationship, and I’m scared that the pill will change me so much that it will ruin my life again. I talked about this with my doctor, but she said there was ”nothing to worry about.” I’m so nervous though.

I have been in a sort of not entirely dissimilar situation, and I was shocked at how okay I was on the new pill. Now that I’m not on any hormones anymore since my boyfriend’s vasectomy, I think I actually feel a little less balanced at certain points in my cycle, if anything.

So I hope you’re having a good experience with your new pill.

Last night I attended a party, among the guests were 5 men that I have slept with, all of whom work at the same bar and are friends. A couple of them are still total secrets as they have girlfriends or are my good friends exes.
Usually I feel proud of my sexual conquests and I don’t have shame in expressing that, but seeing them all together just left me feeling cheap…

You know what I think? Fuck slut shaming whether its origins are internal or external. I mean, who are we kidding, the demiurge of slut shaming is pretty much always other people’s bullshit hangups.

Vent, rejoice, confess here.

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Hey, there! It being Tuesday and all, what do you say we take a look at some internet confessions? That seems like it could be pretty sweet.

There’s this guy. We work together. He’s a nice guy but because I’m very shy and socially awkward, we never talk. A couple of weeks ago I noticed his body. I have known him for several months and yet it was one of those moments I never believed in. When you look at someone and suddenly realise… ”sweet!”.
He’s not my type. He’s the opposite of every guy I’ve ever (wanted to) shag(ged). And I don’t notice him the same way. I don’t want to jump him. It’s not the same feeling.
Instead, I want to kiss. I want to lie somewhere and kiss. Him. And talk. Nothing else. The thought of having sex with him doesn’t do it for me. And believe me, I’ve tried, just to make it a little less weird.
Just thinking these things, of how I want to kiss him, of how I definitely want there to be strawberries and cream involved (random, huh?), it feels dirty. Far more dirty than thinking about shagging that really hot guy who works a couple of desks down. And more intense. I want to kiss this guy more than I want to shag that really hot guy. Even if there are no orgasm involved.
Strange.

I have a theory that sexual orientation is much, much more complicated and gloriously varied than most people have the time or inclination to think about. This would be an example.

I hope you get a chance to make out. I hear that office holiday parties are good for hook-ups, so if that’s not just TV and movies making shit up like they do, you have a little time to screw your courage to the snogging place.

I like to play with myself after good p in v sex. Because really, what’s better than orgasms than more orgasms? There’s something awesome about getting another while he’s in the kitchen pouring our next drink, and I’m in the living room continuing the fun.

I can find absolutely no flaw in your logic here.

My wife asked me to fuck her.
In our pool.
In the backyard.
Outdoors.
At 4 p.m.
In full view of the neighbors.
Neither of us came, but it was enthralling nonetheless. She did, however, follow it up with jerking me off in the shower. Then later that night she jerked me off while massaging my asshole. The next morning I made her scream like a pot star while licking her clit. It was a GREAT weekend.

This sounds hot. I’m clean distracted, though, trying to decide whether I should assumptively correct “pot star” to “porn star”, or if it’s possible that the former is a real thing and I should get with the times. Best to just leave it.

I have a drama I want to figure out on my sex blog, only I can’t, because the guy involved reads it. AIIIIIEEEEEE!

I never realized how dependent I was on the blog for my processing until I suddenly couldn’t have it.

Sometimes I wish I could just write exactly what’s going on with my love/sex life, and be completely honest, and more vulnerable, and a hell of a lot dirtier on my sex blog. But at this point way too many people I know read it, and there’s just no way. So I really feel you on this.

ConTuesday to the rescue? I hope?

I’m the girl who’s having an affair with the guy who’s 8 years younger. I guess I should say ’had’ since I haven’t seen him in 3 months. I’ve still had more sex this year with him than with my husband. Is it bad that I’m counting?

You know, there was a time when women weren’t allowed to learn math at all! So no, it’s never bad to count. But I hope that either you and your husband have caught up by now or that you don’t mind the disparity. I hate to see people feeling stuck in sexually frustrating relationships, and I hope that’s not you right now.

Now go here, everyone, and spill your sexy secrets!

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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!

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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)

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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)

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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)

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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.

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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)

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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!

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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!

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