quizzical pussy

Sometimes I wonder how you like really know you’re in love.

You know you’re in love when there’s a moment during naked-snuggle-time where it’s appropriate to yell “Get back here so I can gum your nipple like a horny tortoise!”

I… does this mean I’ve never been in love?

I’m excited to go to the doctors tomorrow!

Er, wut? Well, I’m young, single, sociable and a total sex-clued, hedonistic, pleasure-seeking kink-friendly nympho… when I’m not medicated to the eyeballs. Unfortunately, due to general health issues (not all that dissimilar from yours, from what I can gather, QP!) it’s been totally necessary to medicate me to the eyeballs and beyond for quite a while now, and antidepressants in particular have taken a cane to my sex drive, and not in a good way. I’ve gone from losing my libido to inability to orgasm right through to not even finding anyone attractive anymore, because what’s the point. Ugh. So far, my attempts to raise this with my doctors have been met with everything from “meh, it doesn’t really matter, enjoying sex isn’t medically essential (Heavily implied: “…for women”)” to “I’m uncomfortable with this conversation… did you say you were getting headaches? Let’s give you something for the headaches!” oh and the ultimate classic “I’ve never heard of that as a side effect… (reading the patient leaflet I have just presented her which clearly states it as one, plus doesn’t like, EVERYONE know SSRIs inhibit sex?!) Hmm, no, I’ve not heard of this before, nobody has reported it. Perhaps you’re just not comfortable having sex because you’re not married. I’m sure you’ll be fine when the time is right!” Just… fuck the lot of them. Tomorrow I go to my new doctor, explain that I am unhappy with the extent to which this has affected me, and suggest swapping to Wellbutrin, and he IS going to listen to me, and I AM going to remember what it feels like not to cringe to the depths of my soul when somebody touches me. Wish me luck.

Holy dildoballs. I can’t even process how idiotic your previous doctors have been. I am wishing all the luck that your new doctor is competent and understands that sexual activity is a quality of life issue for many of us rather than some weird species of alien slime that one should never look at directly lest it infect one’s retinas.

The more comfortable I get in kinksville, the less comfortable I am in vanillatown. I almost don’t feel like I can be myself around my vanilla friends anymore. I find this unexpectedly stressful, and I’m not sure how to fix it. I can’t give up kink, and I don’t want to alienate my oldest friends. :(

If you’re not insisting on bringing floggers to their tea parties or making every conversation about your latest adventures in bite marks, I guess I’m just wondering why they can’t be happy for you. Of course, sometimes we grow in divergent paths from our long-term friends, and there’s really no one to blame for that.

About a year ago a whole bunch of my friends and I spent a few days on holidays together. We were all sleeping on the floor of the rumpus room and spent a lot of time chatting instead of sleeping. This made me pretty tired, so one afternoon I decided to take a nap.

Only I couldn’t fall asleep so I decided to get off instead. I was touching myself under the covers when my friend came in to get something from her bag, so I froze and pretended to be asleep. She left, I started up again, then another friend came in. It became a game, touching myself when no-one was there and stopping myself when they were, a self-administered orgasm denial scheme that stretched on and on until I was left alone long enough to come like a freight train. It was the best wank of my life.

This year, we were back up at the house and I had another afternoon wank in honour of that time. I think I could make this a tradition :)

P.S. Also, for some reason at the time I was fantasising about a Dom tormenting me by spraying me with ice cold water. I’ve never had that fantasy before or since. Libidos are weird.

And then again, it occurs to me that sometimes kink and vanilla friendship coexist just fine without actually interacting in any way. I’m only assuming these friends are vanilla because most of my kinky friends would likely pick up on this game and offer to enhance it in numerous creative ways.

My partner once told me of an… appreciation for lasses wearing animal ears. I looked everywhere when Halloween came, but nothing could be found that wasn’t ridiculously expensive.

So today I was out buying some random stuff, and what should I happen upon but a set of leopard ears (in the bachelorette party section, right). On the one hand, I reeeeeally want to see the look on his face.

But I can’t think of any combination of things I could buy with it that would make it less than completely obvious what I plan to use them for…

PS. I’m totally overthinking this, right? Fuck it, I’m getting ’em!

I want to tell you something, and I hope it’s reassuring. Cashiers don’t give a shit. They don’t. If they do because they’re still teenagers or because they’re extremely bored, you just made a life more exciting. You are a great person!

Hope you and your partner gleefully wear those ears out.

My confession? I love reading other people’s confessions. I look for new ideas, and evidence that other people are having awesome sex. It makes me feel good. Having my (previous) confession posted was also awesome, but I love everyone else’s confessions. And crazy hot sweaty monkey sex with my boyfriend and periodic guest stars. :)

I pretty much entirely agree with this except my sex with my boyfriend tends more toward the sweaty hot lemur sex, but live and let live.

Straight male, married almost 7 years, together for over 10.

Had amazing FF(Me!) threesome with wife and wife’s friend last night. Wife and I have been pure vanilla up until a few months ago, and she has only recently confessed to have some tendencies (and I don’t know how strong they are) towards bisexuality. Luckily we have an awesome like-minded friend to play with.

Getting fucked with a strap-on while fucking my wife was quite an experience and the shes and I can’t wait for more.

I totally understand that threesomes are not for everyone, but still, I get a happy, glowing feeling when I know that more of them are happening in the world.

Because threesomes are motherfucking magic. Now you know.

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I don’t often wax nostalgic about my sex life. So far in my life, sex builds on itself, getting better and better as I understand my body more and hate my body less and explore more facets of that ephemeral thing people call chemistry.

But there were moments. Numinous, they were. It cannot be denied that there were those moments. Little fairy lights that lace the past with unbearable sweetness: that’s how I want to remember my exes. My current, my future exes. May we all learn from the bad but remember the good.

I gave up my Much Younger Lover today. It’s mostly my own fault, I helped set him up with a great girl. They’re crazy for each other and it’s so cute to see. I’m happy for them, I really am, but my heart is tender and bruised. The sex was getting incredible. I mean crazy, mind blowing, screaming, gasping-for-breath incredible. Earlier this week when I fell asleep in his arms, I knew it was going to be so hard to give him up. I get to keep him as a friend though. If I had to give that up, I don’t know how I would manage. I can only hope he knows how much I’ve enjoyed our affair, how grateful I am for his discretion, how he gave me back parts of my self I thought were irretrievably lost, and how I will never forget him.

I think this is the classiest, most mature shit I have ever read about any illicit affair. I have never said this, but I think you may have actually done cheating right.

Not that I’m endorsing cheating. Just selfless love, mostly.

I broke up with my boyfriend. I have cried more than him. The thing is, I know that it kills right now but five years from now he’s still going to be the same person essentially and I will be leaps and bounds ahead.

I wish that he used our breakup as a turning point to realize his life is taking some bad turns.

He’ll figure out what he needs to figure out when he’s ready, and not a minute sooner. You can always count on people for that. In the meantime, go be awesome!

I feel silly saying this because there’s many more important things that I lost as a result of my recent breakup, but here goes in a secret place: I am worried I will not find someone as sexually compatible as he was with me. There were some issues towards the end re: mismatched libidos, but otherwise, we were excellent together in bed and I was totally comfortable with asking for everything I wanted and giving him everything he wanted. I liked his openness.

This is particularly related to his being a bisexual boy who wanted me to fuck his ass. Not sure where I’ll find that anytime soon, in high school.

If all else fails, college holds the rich promise of bisexual boys, boys who like to be fucked in the ass, and a capella groups with names that are also puns.

Is there another reason people go to college?

This happened years ago but one weekend of too much party time I had sex with four guys starting Saturday morning until Sunday afternoon. It was the most embarrassing and demeaning thing I have ever done, but I was in a perpetual state of arousement. As much as I was humiliated by what transpired I constantly orgasmed. Once I was naked I stayed that way and was constantly used and abused by these four boys. I gave oral sex to all of them several times and subjected to anal sex often as well as intercouse. I was sexually satisfied while as many as three of them violated me at the same time. There were possitions I was put in I had never thought possible and was constantly displayed to them in the most degrading ways. It only happened that one time and it happened ten years ago. When it took place and for many months afterwards I was totally mortified every time I saw any of those boys. Years later when I thought about the things they did to me it all the sudden had an arousing afftect I still today masturbate thinking about it. I think now that it was the most satisfying sexual experience in my life. The number of orgasms I experienced that weekend is astounding.

I may be mistaken, but it seems like this was a completely consensual experience, right? The word choices are confusing me, but that’s what I’m getting from it.

When I’m especially sad, my fantasies always turn subby. It’s not a bad coping mechanism, and actually it’s a pretty good way of tracking my depression. For the last couple of months, most of my fantasies were about kind but stern random people fucking me and beating me up. Wanking helped me relax and kept my thoughts away from the mess that is my life, but it didn’t make me happier.

Yesterday, when I was alone in the house, I locked myself in the bathroom with some vague background music, and had an epic, four-hours-long (later I transferred to the bedroom), extremely detailed fantasy about an ex-bf, my roommate, several fictional characters (including Kaylee Fry and Dr Tachyon) and the guy I currently like. I was kind but stern and I fucked them and beat them up. They worshipped me and we discussed ethics and at some points I was some sort of deity.

It was amazing. I came several times and I’m still feeling the aftershocks of euphoria. And best of all – my depression’s dissipating again! Hah!

Tonight I think I’ll be a pillaging pirate. (And tomorrow? I’m taking the guy I like to the movies.)

Imagination is the best way to engage sexually with exes. And vikings. And Dr. Tachyon. Whoever that is.

I am afraid that the combination of my inability to maintain strong boundaries and the partners I’ve had who have taken every inch they could get is destroying my ability to be sexual and enjoy my own fantasies.

There are people out there who aren’t douchebags. I just want you to know that. Maybe focus on regaining your trust in yourself for now? Past partners have no claim on your sexuality or your fantasies unless you invite them.

I lost my virginity on the floor of my bedroom the week before my 18th birthday. It was by girlfriend at the time’s birthday present to me. We started on the couch and made it all the way upstairs, but not quite into bed. I (not so) secretly wish that I could have sex that was literally all over the house again.

There are some moment from our sexual histories we really can’t revisit. This one? Seems more or less doable. Get thee to a couch, why don’t you?

Sex Confessional

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ConTuesday! It is beyond, and by that I mean below, freezing where I live. I’m sick of winter. I decided to drain my battery yesterday using my amazing powers of stupidity and vacancy. You know what’ll cheer me up? Reading your dirty secrets. Yes.

This summer I met a guy at a music festival. The first night he danced near me and I could tell he was watching me, but didn’t have the guts to come up to me. Just as I was getting ready to leave, he walked over and introduced himself. I told him my name and walked away. The whole next day, I kept running into him and teasing him. By the evening, he had worked up the courage to dance with me. After the music ended, we went for a walk that ended in fucking under a tree by the local soccer field. He had the biggest dick I have ever had the pleasure of fucking. We moved from the tree to the picnic table, to the grass, to the chain link fence. It was the best public sex I have ever had. I couldn’t help but laugh the next day when I saw people eating lunch on the picnic table! When I went home to my husband the next day, my pussy was still sore from that night.

Note to self: attend more music festivals.

My significant other, to whom I am committed, simply does not come close to meeting my sexual needs. Of course I masturbate. But it’s not enough.

I consider making overtures to a friend, who has the same situation.

My S.O. has said, when speaking in generalities: ”If you have sex with someone else, I don’t ever want to find out about it.” Tacit approval?

My friend’s S.O. has basically said, when speaking in generalities: ”No.”

Half of my reason for not approaching my friend is my fear of rejection. The other half is my old-fashioned concerns about ”cheating.” (I never have.)

You just reminded of that three-part series on sex starvation in relationships that I was planning to write, and damned if I didn’t write only two. I’ll be addressing that soon.

Quite a few Thanksgivings ago, my wife and I watched an episode of HBO’s Real Sex that included a segment about women anally penetrating their men. My wife asked me if I’d like to try it, I tried to brush it off with a ”maybe” but the seed was planted in my perverted mind. Now all I want her to do is to take control and fuck me with a strap-on, but she wants me to lead the way on our endeavor. I’ve told her that I want it. I’ve purchased latex gloves and a sex toy for anal play. She will play with my asshole while I lick her pussy. But I’m frustrated that I have to make all the moves when I want her to dominate me. I want her to make me her slut. I understand that starting anal play involves communication, but I want to feel like her toy. I’m so frustrated.

Communication and feeling like a toy aren’t mutually exclusive. If you ease her into pegging you by initiating and walking her through it, she’ll have a chance to get comfortable with it on her own terms. Then you can start vividly describing how she’d take charge in your fantasies and take baby steps toward that. She might find a dominant top deep within somewhere along the way, or might at least learn to fake it once in a while as a special treat.

In my mind, this plan is going to work flawlessly. Good luck!

You know how they say an icicle is the best murder weapon, because the evidence melts away? Its also the best dildo when your mother is not only super conservative, but isn’t shy about searching your room. I found the pleasure of female ejaculation with a hunk of ice and an electric toothbrush.

Laramy, who looked over my shoulder a bit as I compiled this week’s ConTuesdy, says he can’t get the image of licking a frozen metal pole out of his mind. I really hope using an icicle as a dildo is nothing like that. Absolutely nothing.

Affordable electric toothbrushes seem like a godsend to young women who don’t have easy, discreet access to sextoys. Glad you’re having fun.

Send your sex secrets here. It’s anonymous and it’s highly gratifying.

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Countless times I’ve heard and read about how a woman is inescapably and biologically submissive: the penetrated, the supine, the taken. The image of being overcome and driven into is the source of apocryphal radical feminist notions that all penetration is at best a violent act, at worst automatic rape.

But to me, having something plunge inside an orifice that’s all-too-happy to accommodate it doesn’t feel all that passive. Nor does gripping that something in the crush of my mighty orgasm. Of course I’ve felt myself in the submissive position in sex before– in ways both lovely and horrible, but being penetrated wasn’t the factor that made it so.

One of the most alarming and saddening articles I’ve ever read on the subject of sex was Virginia Vitzthum’s 1999 Strap-on Epiphany. In it, Virginia recounts her experience of pegging (before it was called that) her boyfriend, Adam.

The article starts innocently enough. Sure, it flirts with the idea that a woman allowing someone to enter her body is empowering in its vulnerability or something, but it really doesn’t disturb me until she actually starts fucking Adam. Once she penetrates him, shit gets weird. (I refuse to resist pointing out that the link to the second page of this article says “Defiling Adam”. This is indicative of exactly the attitude you’re about to see.) Observe:

As “my” huge appendage disappeared inside him, his eyes showed shame, trust, fear and a sort of helpless adoration. In a way I’d never understood those words before, he was mine. The knowledge I could really hurt this person by being less than careful made me feel responsible, protective. The vulnerability appalled me at the same time; it was vaguely disgusting that he would let someone do this to him. Mixed in with the disgust was possessiveness. The thought of anyone else penetrating him seemed revolting. These observations clicked into place in quick succession; I felt like a projector being loaded with slides of maleness, of male seeing.

…I was conquering, silent, responsible, the taker. With his legs spread, Adam was agreeable, inviting, ashamed, taken.

When I first read this I was shaken. I’d never used a strap-on, and I wasn’t a man, so I felt completely unequipped to answer the question of IS THIS TRUE? Does penetrating someone really give you contempt for them? Is the act of being penetrated disgusting and weak somehow? This Virginia bitch had really upset me by suggesting that the sexual interactions I was having may be entirely different (in troubling, corrupt ways) to the people I was sharing them with.

I asked a few male friends, my boyfriend at the time. Some said, “Yeah, that sounds about right,” and some said “She’s overthinking it.”

In truth, I think that some people might equate penetrating with power, but it’s not an inevitable conclusion. Virginia’s views here weren’t objective, and they tell us more about her than they necessarily do about “men”. They tell us nothing about the native symbolism of a sex act.

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

I’ve had moments when I had a cock inside me and I was conquering, silent, responsible, the taker. Well, not silent, but close enough. And I refuse to be surrendering, tractable, helpless, and (wtf?) ashamed just because it feels good to fill my holes anymore than I would presume to project those words onto a guy I was pegging. It’s fucking piffle, is what it is.

…So 1999, anything else you want to tell me about sex? I’m all ears.

(image source)

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