quizzical pussy

There was a day this week during which every moment I wasn’t directly focused on other people I was fantasizing about killing myself or having my head bashed in with a cudgel. The good news is that the day is not today.

It was rather frightening, though. And so unaccountably weird.

Why am I even mentioning this? It’s the simple reality of the situation, but that doesn’t mean that it’s appropriate or useful to share. I don’t think I’m writing about these increasing mental health issues because I want people to pity me or make much of me. It’s okay to need attention when you’re in crisis, but I’m not asking for any. The thought of alarming anyone with this upsets me. Even worse is the thought of eliciting an awkward “Ummm why are you telling me this?” response. Honestly, I have been dealing with this almost entirely on my own so far, and successfully¹. But now that it seems to be getting so much worse, I’m forcing myself to write about it rather than keeping my head down and making jokes about dildos. Reasons:

1. This is as much of a diary as I have. While I realize other people read it, and I do try to limit myself in certain ways because of that, if I think about that too much I won’t write anything here. This is where I tend to go to be honest about my feelings. Even and especially the unpleasant ones.
2. When I get too secretive about my inner life– good, bad, or neutral– I always, always withdraw from the people in my life and feel isolated, which is not a productive way to manage self-destructive thoughts. I don’t expect anyone specific to read my blog, nor for anyone to react in any specific way. But at least I’m being honest at all, anywhere.
3. What’s going on is very weird for me. I don’t understand it, or why it’s suddenly gotten so bad. I am almost certain it’s related to a bombardier-beetle-like combination of chronic illness and hormonal weirdness. It’s also gotten worse as the days have gotten shorter in my part of the world, which could a coincidence or not. Anyway, I don’t hear much about people having out-of-the-blue suicidal ideations for a huge chunk out of the month because their lady hormones are acting up. People don’t walk around saying “Hey, so I’m on my period and I suddenly want to kill myself. You know how that goes!” And that makes me feel like this is a fairly singular experience, but maybe it isn’t. Maybe someone will google “PMS suicide” or similar and find this and feel a little less alone.

I don’t have any use for problems I can’t fix, so I’ve been tackling this issue as a project. I found two months’ worth of birth control pills left over from before Laramy got his vasectomy, and they are miraculously not expired. This is not a long-term solution for moderating my hormonal issues, but it could potentially buy me some time. I also bought a sunlamp just in case winter SAD is a factor. Today is the second day I’ve used it.

I am going to make sure next month is not this bad or die trying. Er… bad choice of words. But yeah.

1. Because look at how I’m all still alive and stuff! [↩]

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ConTuesday, whom I think of not as anything I do myself so much as a willful little monkey creature, decided to take a holiday sabbatical. Of course, besides Groundhog Day, Twelfth Night is the only wintry holiday ConTuesday actually celebrates, but willful little monkey creature see, willful little monkey creature do. Should be back in full force next week.

So I guess in the meantime I’ll just write about myself.

I’m not much of a holiday person because although I’m loyal to my family and will cut you if you hurt any of them, I don’t actually enjoy spending a lot of time with most of them. But this was one hell of a holiday season for chosen family.

Christmas Eve was one of my best in memory. I spent the evening with Oren Regardie and his treasure of a wife, Poppy. She made a completely delicious holiday dinner that I could actually eat with all my dietary restrictions (a gesture that no one else in my life has ever even attempted), we exchanged gifts we were fairly vibrating with excitement to give one another, then crafted and watched hilarious things on a screen while our toy dogs placidly ignored amongst themselves.

New Year’s Eve with them and a few of our newly shared friends was also amazing. We have some kickass eves, we three. I don’t throw around the phrase “living the poly dream” lightly, but there it is right there in the first clause of this sentence.

In other news, I’ve recently figured out how gravely I need to get back on hormonal birth control. This has nothing to do with any distaste for condoms and everything to do with how much time I’m spending per month in abject misery. The ten pounds of water weight I carry before and during each period is annoying but whatever. The intense uterine pain is a little more untenable, and seems to be getting worse every month. The thing that’s really getting to me, though, is the fact that for about half the time I irrationally believe (or part of me does) that everyone hates me and I secretly wish I could set myself on fire for no clear reason. I spend so much time and energy reasoning with myself and talking myself down from acting on stupid, baseless impulses that I’m pretty sure no one else even notices what’s going on, but it is exhausting. And the last thing I want to do is feed into the “irrational hormonal female” stereotype, but despite my excellent willpower and self control, that is the actual problem and it’s getting kind of scary.

So I’m starting to think that hormonal intervention is a literal necessity for me right now; just need to figure out how I can afford it. I wish Santa had brought me robust health insurance coverage, but my period starts in a few days so I’m pretty sure he hates me and hopes I die anyway.

(image source)

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When Viola and I hang out, I usually try to remember to bring the Feeldoe. And I’ve gotten better about this recently; lately, it’s usually at the ready in my bag with my cute little tin of condoms, just in case its moment comes.

Thing is, it never seems to. Because we always get distracted by flesh and mouths and occasionally slipping between the filaments of the cosmos or something. And we both forget that lovely chunk of purple silicone while we feast on each other.

There’s always next time. Maybe if we shortened our typical “next time” intervals we’d break the toys out more often. Maybe. It would be good to experiment with that. You know, for Science.

And if this pattern holds, somehow I think I’ll rally.

(image source)

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So apparently last week’s confessions were on the depressing side. I guess that makes some degree of sense, considering they were mostly about what happens when people fail to communicate. Which is usually, um, not triumphant.

So I’m thinking, what if I throw some joyous ones up here this time? I’ll even sweeten the pot with several blowjobs. No, not real blowjobs that I’m giving to you. Probably not. Well, maybe. You know who you are.

I love wearing my boyfriend’s wedding band while he and his wife are fucking my brains out.

How cute are you!?

I’ve been talking to someone on Fetlife for a little while now and, as luck would have it, our lives are putting us in close proximity to each other this weekend and we’ve decided to meet. We’ll be in a mostly public setting (private enough for serious flirting yet not private enough for one of us to end up stuffed in a duffle bag) and our time will be short so no time to play. But, I’m so excited to meet him that I’ve actually giggled, out loud, a few times when thinking about it.

I am so excited for you, and an update is absolutely imperative.

I got a new, beautiful, leather strap-on harness in the mail two days ago. Just wearing it, with and with a cock in it feels so right and so arousing. And then I fucked my boyfriend with a couple of different dildos, and he sucked my cock. (One particular dildo is my cock, the rest are just toys.) Despite the almost complete lack of physical stimulation for me, afterwards I rubbed my clit for a few moments and came really, really hard.

It was amazing.

I love everything about this sexual adventure. To get a little self-involved for a moment, not enough guys have offered to suck my cock. I have a guys-sucking-my-cock shaped hole in my life.

But I also have a beautiful, strap-on leather harness!

Talk about cognitive dissonance…

I just got back from a quick trip down the hall to the restroom after a middle-of-the-night marathon session of catching up with ConTuesday posts. As I stepped past the mirror I grinned as I caught sight of the half-dozen or so beautiful deep-red-and-purple hickeys across my neck and chest, made earlier this evening by a good friend of mine after I had already gone down on her a couple times.

She made the comment to me that in the last several years, she’d only come that way two or three times, counting the orgasm I’d just given her.

This is the second time we’ve had a chance to fuck, and I’d had a crush on her for ages and never really attempted to pursue anything, because she’d mentioned on more than one occasion that ”95% of the time or more I’m just totally into guys,” and me being trans just throws more frustration into the mix. (The Cotton Ceiling. It really is a thing. Really. QP, thank you for covering the topic so that my first exposure to the term itself — certainly not the experience, but the term — wasn’t the horrifically offensive words right from the horses’ radfems’ mouths.)

Oh, and the first time we fucked (within the last couple weeks even!) she was the one to initiate. And she bent me over and screwed me six ways to Sunday — it had been about a year and a half since I’d had that pleasure. She knew how much it meant to me, which is why she offered even though it wasn’t at the top of list of things that gave her pleasure.

And… and… also! There are no less than four other women who have expressed significant interest in sex with me, and the only thing really hindering that with any of them has been scheduling and logistics.

But somehow I keep finding myself bitching and moaning about how “it would sure be nice if I could make the sexytimes happen with anybody… maybe one of these days it will finally happen…” ~mope, pout, harrumph, etc.~

I guess I could just let myself accept the fact that I’m actually getting some of the things I’ve wanted for a very long time; that even though my libido is such that in an ideal situation I’d be having sex every day and maybe more than once… that I’ve come a long way from masturbating alone to the Gay Sex Lullaby to where I am today. I’m working on it. It’s a tough process, but I’m working on it.

Sometimes it takes a minute to adjust mentally from “I am in the middle of a sex famine and my nethers are threatening to atrophy” to “Hey, I’m getting laid sometimes! Like, it just happened, and may do again!” But I hope you get a whole fucking lot of the things you’ve wanted for a very long time to come, and your brain will get all the chances it needs to adjust to the Sex Feast that your life has become.

Sex Feast!

I love giving head. I’ve given to 4 guys and 3 of them said I was by far the best. I love to give. I don’t get off on it and I’ve never read any books or anything. I’ve never had any instruction at all. I just imagine what may feel good if I had a penis and I do it and watch a guys reaction or ask him about it later. Unresponsive guys or the ones that just stare down at you suck because, you can never tell if you’re doing something they enjoy. I also recently discovered how to deepthroat. I thought that was just when it hit the back of your throat but, my boyfriend told my to take it all and he’s a bit on the long side so I changed angles over and over again (spinning around with his dick in my mouth somehow brought him to calling me adorable) until he kind of popped down my throat and I got him all in. I haven’t discovered how to keep from choking but, I do enjoy this new technique immensely. Any tips out their for getting rid of the gag reflex?

I’ve recently been working on this gag reflex thing myself. I do not have it licked yet, but I’m getting better. I’m officially soliciting tips from my esteemed readership, because the only one I know of is practice.

I absolutely love giving head. It’s the freaking bees knees. But if I’m dehydrated on the job (haha) and just can’t get his dick lubed enough, do you have a quick solution besides some gross lotion that winds up getting swallowed?

Coconut oil makes a decent lube, though it’s not condom-safe and stays solid at colder temperatures, so it may take a bit of chafing to get liquid. Or, you know, if you’re female-bodied and make your own lube, that’s pretty hot…

Other suggestions?

So there’s a guy I’ve known, through work, for a few years… he no longer works there, but we have gotten back in touch and seem to be hitting it off. He is a combination of nerdy and… punk/goth, maybe? Rocks a long, spiky mohawk, tattoos, lots of black clothes… also ridiculously intelligent and hilarious. When his finals are over next week, I plan to confess the crush I have on him, though the idea scares the crap out of me. I refuse, however, to let this become another opportunity missed because I didn’t have the guts to say anything. So this is my practice confession… wish me luck!

I have a good feeling about this. I am precogging joy so hard right now.

Send me your confessions. You know it’ll brighten both our days.

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About ten years ago I read a book by some sex writer of some sort. I don’t remember who it was, and I don’t remember most of the book, but I vividly remember the part of it where the author was sitting on a airplane, having the kind of conversation you have on a plane with the man seated next to her. He asked her what she did for a living, she answered some variation of “I write about sex for a living, and you?” and the guy responded with basically “So do you have a connecting flight you have to make after this or can we go to my hotel room or possibly a public toilet and bone?”

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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Have you ever been in a relationship that just sort of works? Great sex, minimal drama, chemistry on multiple levels, all with a person you like. Sometimes the plan just comes together. And I love that.

List of firsts for my Much Younger Lover
- having sex on a regular basis
- oral sex, giving or receiving
- giving a girl an orgasm
- showering with a girl
- having sex in the shower
- tying a girl up
- probably some things he didn’t tell me were firsts!

List of firsts for me with my Much Younger Lover
- orgasm so good all I could do was quiver and giggle for several minutes afterwards
- playing the older, knowledgeable teacher role
- enjoying sucking a guy off
- being tied up
- first time in a long time, feeling sexy and desired for who I am

This is awesome. I think most good relationships probably have a couple happy firsts like this, sexual or otherwise.

I’m graduating in a few weeks (Mid-May) and having a really hard time focusing for the final stretch, so my dominant partner made some rules: No orgasms if I haven’t met my homework goals for the day and no RPGs until I hand in my last assignment. It is the nerdiest use of his power to command me but makes me feel super loved – and also super productive.

I bet you killed it! Because orgasms are the best incentive.

I got my first vibrator, the lelo Siri and loved it.My boyfriend wholeheartedly loves it as well.Sadly we are currently in a long distance relationship and have been for about a year and 4 months. Needless to say, lots and lots of webcam sexing occurs. As time goes on, I find myself needing a more uh, ’filling’ playtime so I started looking into vibrators. The jack rabbit seemed perfect, but the batteries, and the rotational pearl things dying, oy vey.

So i’m getting a feeldoe stout. And the boyfriend is more excited than I am about it after he had a bit of time to let the thought settle. Many a fun webcam session shall be had with our new feeldoe. And many a fun session will be had when we’re alone for the first time as well.

Also Quizzikins, I have the same fascination with penises too. Your blog about your feeldoe kind of sealed the deal for me. xD

Do you just love your new feeldoe? I bet you love it. My relationship with my feedoe? Just sort of works.

I’ve been okay (not great) with past partners.

My current girlfriend, however, states in no uncertain terms I’m the best she’s ever had. I have managed to give her nine (possibly as many as twelve, we both lost count) orgasms in a single run, which seems good, and I rarely give her fewer than three. But I don’t feel particularly skilled, I’m not particularly large, and I don’t use any advanced techniques (and wouldn’t know what an advanced technique would even look like; rotating my hips counterclockwise and thrusting every quarter rotation?); the significant thing seems to be that the curve of my penis positions me to hit her g-spot perfectly.

I do one thing consistently, however, which is to start sex off with oral (getting her close but not finishing her, as that leaves her too sensitive to continue). This gets both of us quite ready and primes her for the first – subsequent orgasms are much easier for her to achieve. This shifts the ”usual” numbers from 1-4 orgasms to 3-7.

I can say that starting with oral has a similar effect on a lot of women, often myself included. Of course, the one sex tip that pretty much always works is asking your partner what they’re into and experimenting together.

My girlfriend tells me that she and her friends occasionally compare sex lives on the odd girl’s night out. I’m probably way too proud of the fact that she always has the best sex life at the table!

It depends who her friends are. If she’s going out with me on girls’ night, be proud. Trust me, be very proud.

Go out, have awesome sexual adventures, and then tell me about them, okay?

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Beware them! They’ll kill your tyrants dead.

On a totally related note, I’ve arranged some sexy secrets for your reading enjoyment.

I’m having an affair. He’s 8 years younger and I’m only the second girl he’s ever been with. He’s so excited to be with me. He’s willing to try anything and really loves turning me on. I’ve had sex with him more times this year than I have with my husband.

Evidence I’m currently living in a little nonmonogamy cocoon: My first reaction to this was “If you tell your husband about that, maybe he’d step up the frequency a little. A bit of friendly competition!” Someone remind me how affairs work?

I love that, when I click ”send” after I type a confession, that the ”Ohhh, that’s a good one” message pops up. I always think ”I know, right?”.

It’s so nice when someone appreciates the little things.

I harshly judge everyone that has sex. I’m a virgin, by choice, and I think it’s disgusting for everyone else to have sex but me. If you have a threesome, you’re a sleezer, if you are a lesbian, you’re a skeezer, if you cheat on your partner, you’re a dog, if you have an ’open relationship’, you’re just keeping a good person from finding someone better than YOU. If you’ve ever had an STD, please die. If you’re a gay man, you’re great. I don’t judge you at all. I absolutely judge everyone. And the sad part is that I DON’T feel bad at all. I think that everyone is disgusting, and that I’m the only person left in the world with morals. :D.

I’m losing my virginity tonight to my boyfriend of six years. [:.

Um. I just… what… I just don’t even know… Okay, if you’re not trolling, I advise you to work out these severe issues you have about sex, but part of me still wants to tell you I hope you had a good time. Because I’m a skeezer, and that’s what I do.

Early this morning, I squirted more than I’ve ever squirted in my entire life. It felt like there was a river pouring out from between my legs. Some of it was even in a majestic spray-type deal like how ladies in porn always seem to get off.

Once I was satiated, I then realized that half of my bed was soaked. Through the bedding, through the sheets, THROUGH THE MATTRESS INTO THE FRAME. I ended up having to take the driest of the bedding and sleeping on it because I was so tired. The moral of this story is to get a towel or three before going like Ol’ Faithful.

There have been times when I’ve really wished my bed was equipped with rubber sheets. But damn, it’s been a while…

I am a woman, and I like being a woman, and I like fucking men.
But my biggest fantasy is to have sex like a man once. Not that sex with my body is unpleasant, but just to imagine the feeling when I enter someone else with my dick… drives me crazy.
I plan to find out if strap-ons come anywhere near it soon :-)

I relate to this so hard! To the point where just reading that revs me up a bit. I’m pretty okay being female-bodied, but I fantasize a lot about having a cock. And, you know, wielding it. And, you know, sheathing it. But not only once. Ever so much more than once.

Mmmmmmm. Confess amongst yourselves.

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(Actual text transcript)

QP: If we ever get a place together can I install a stripper pole?

Laramy: YES!

———

We’d have pretty much the best parties ever.

(image source)

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I have to confess I haven’t been doing very well lately. My health has taken a turn for the worse, much to the chagrin of my sex life (and life in general). It’s getting to where I’m just too exhausted to see my boyfriend regularly, let alone pursue madcap sexual adventures. I’m hoping this is very temporary, but in the meantime I thought I’d infuse a little positivity by posting some of the most joyous– perhaps verging on gloating– anonymous confessions to ever appear in my inbox. Read and enjoy, because these people certainly are! I’m into it.

My long distance girlfriend came to visit last week. A good time was had by all, including some fun with chocolate sauce and a basting brush. By the end of the week she was around, she was referring to me as “The Energizer Bunny” and “A God in Bed”. Even managed to make her legs give out at one point. I just had to brag a bit.

(Re: June 29th confessions) Being bi is totally awesome for avoiding jealousy. My partner and I check out women or men together and we share porn all the time. (Gloat brag gloat)

I got the hood of my clit pierced a few years ago because guys had too hard of a time finding it – my clit’s too small. That’s not a problem anymore!

Last week I bound my breasts for the first time. I love being female and I love my boobs, but I wanted to know what it would feel like to have a flat(ter) chest. And it was awesome! I was bound all afternoon at work, put my (Share XL) cock on before I went to see my partner, and greeted him with a big, packaged hug.

Sometimes I get the feeling I’m easy to fall in love with. This isn’t the type of thing you can just tell people.

Got something to brag about? Or bitch about? Or just confess anonymously? Bring it all here.

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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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