quizzical pussy

They do say Britain and America are two countries separated by the Atlantic ocean, and it’s true. – Eddie Izzard

They say other things too, and sometimes those things are also true. Or at least, if you believe that there is no real truth or some other loophole thing, feel correct. For instance, they say that doing something is making a choice, but doing nothing is also making a choice.

I’ve never been to the Atlantic ocean, but I fell in love once with the Pacific. Have you ever been to the ocean? Have you felt the electric ozone air spin around you and seen the stuttering waves beckon you? Staying where you stand is a choice, and so is plunging in. I mean, I know you might not have your bathing suit on and the water might be cold or hide sharks in the depths or display garbage on the shore, and all that might inform your choice. But you’re making one.

Is it the choice you’ll want to have made in twenty years?

Christ. I work in a law firm. I had drafted up a confessional about telling my partner that as much as I love the sex we have and as close as I feel to him I ‘hide’ some of my pervier fantasies and desires out of fear it will change things between us, and how after that we had the most spectacular sex because he was not shocked, but turned on, and because we knew we could really play because we’d discussed boundaries first. Anyway – it was this LONG confession about how we ended up playing with submissiveness and how great it was to be on all fours in front of him with my hands bound and licking and sucking his cock while he held it out for me with one hand while stimulating me with the other, and how we had such incredible sex that later I skulled about a litre of water because my mouth and throat were so dry from all the heaving and panting and groaning, and how just the feel of his face on my skin afterwards when I’m all post-orgasm electrifie d was amazing. Then I remembered I was at work and needed to make some amendments to a document and send it out a.s.a.p. Tried to shift a legal paragraph up in the document, and suddenly there’s my sex confessional in the middle of a letter to Council requesting a transfer of a strip of land. Glad I caught that in time. Just wanted to say I am so going to enjoy exploring previously unspoken desires with my partner, and stumbling across your blog was a big part of me saying ‘No. He knows so much of me, if I don’t show him this I don’t get to enjoy someone knowing all of me’. And joy of joys he was not shocked and appalled but entranced and excited. Safe, supportive, wonderful, sexy play. I’m so happy right now! :)

Every part of this confession makes me happy, perhaps especially the part where you don’t send your sexual fantasies as an Easter egg in legal documents.

I’m a 20-something bisexual girl. I have a wonderful fiance, and I love, love, love women. But it’s not something I share with many people–just those close to me. I’m not ashamed of being queer. But lately I’ve been wondering if I should come out to my family. I don’t feel like it is any of their business, and I know my mom who is a judgmental Christian will react poorly (she has every time I’ve stood up to her). The only reason why I would want to do this is because I think it may give my younger brother the courage to come out as well. I want him to be happy with who he is.

Sometimes coming out is purely an act of courage and love and not at all of necessity. I feel like this would be one of those times, and I want to give you props for considering it, whether you end up coming out to your family or not.

I wish my wife would have an affair.

And that I could catch her doing it.

It would make all the time I’ve been fighting for her, loving her, giving up so much for her, only to realize now that it can’t work and she’ll never change because she doesn’t really want to (no matter how much she’s sworn otherwise) so much easier to swallow. Because the break could be quick and simple. And easy to explain. No one questions when you end a relationship because one was unfaithful. And I’m so tired, I just don’t want to deal with questions. I just want it to be done. It would hurt, but it would be done. I find myself fantasizing about it. The relief I’ll feel when the divorce is final (because, affair or not, there will be one) is sometimes all that gets me through the times I’m with her. It was beautiful and I was optimistic once, but now I’m broken. And if she could just go out and fuck the shit out of someone, it would be so easy.

But if I’ve learned nothing else from this roller coaster, it’s that nothing about it will ever be easy. I look desperately forward to the day the decision is made, and even more forward to the day it’s over. The awkward conversations, the anxiety of just being in the same room, the mess of divorce, of one (or both) of us moving out. Things will be hard for a while; any change is an adjustment, but I can almost taste the relief. And no matter what’s difficult (emotional reminders, loneliness, losing friendships/family, money), my life will be so much better. I can be happy again. I need to stop this cycle; I’ve given it my all and more. And that’s all there is.

But the next few months will be difficult and complicated and, hard as I try to avoid it, full of blame and angry words and fighting. But at the end, I can start the rest of my life.

But man, it feels like if she’d just go cheat, I could skip a lot if it.

I wish you an amazing new life, whether you get to end your current one as “the good guy” per public perception or not. But really? Fuck public perception. You deserve to be happy today, and so does she.

Since I got a copper IUD fitted, my periods are twice as heavy as they used to be. Fortunately, my boyfriend isn’t squeamish about it – he’s perfectly happy to fuck me at my goriest. What I haven’t told him is that I actually like the blood. The intimacy of it, and I find the sight of red blood on pale skin weirdly beautiful.

“Fuck me at my goriest” may be the best phrase that’s ever appeared on this site, and I’m not ashamed to admit it.

So for the longest time I’ve had this crush on a super hot sex blogger (I know this because I know her secret identity. The only reason I visit Google+ is to see her profile picture. It’s just her face, but daaaaamn. Anyway).

But she’s *just* broken up with her boyfriend! I have no idea how to proceed! Do I start getting more involved in the blog comments? Do I jump right to emailing her penis pictures? Buy her a sex toy? Is it too soon to tell her, or do I risk waiting and some other admirer beats me to it?

HELP!

Okay, I’ve got to be honest here: Based on when I received this confession, I almost suspected that it could possibly be about me. But then I realized how easy it would be to anonymously ask “Hey, how does one successfully hit on QP?” so I will assume it’s about another, even hotter sex blogger who broke up with her boyfriend at about the same time. And I would say that maybe you should talk to her on Google+ because at least there you’ll have some privacy.

Zing!

P.S. Do not send her a picture of your penis. This almost never works.

You probably hear confessions like this all the time…
I’m a married female who hates giving head. I can count on both hands the number of times I have gone down on my husband, and I have never been down there long enough to get him off.
Lately I’ve been fantasizing about surprising him with an anonymous woman (an escort? a random woman from the bar?) whose sole purpose would be just to give him head while I concentrate on the rest of his body. I think it would be very intimate and very hot, as long as she was not involved in any other way except getting him off and leaving. Selfish? Unrealistic? I don’t know. But I can’t stop thinking about it.

I can’t help thinking how much better so many people’s sex lives would be if prostitution were safe, legal, unburdened by its current crushing social stigma. What would be so wrong with bringing in a pro once in a while?

Hey, so confess things!

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When I think of things I’ve wanted my entire life, the word “adventure” seems to come up a lot. I think deep down I’ve always wanted to captain a pirate ship in a sea populated by mermaids and monsters.

I used to define the perfect partner as someone who wanted to have adventures with me, and who made them better just being a part of them.

Now, generally, having a small fraction of the energy a healthy person has, it’s hard for me to get too ambitious and exotic. I have to carefully ration energy for everything I do. But trying something new is pretty much always, always worth the drain.

It does not hurt if there are orgasms involved.

I spent last night making out with and tickle-fighting my gay best friend and a mutual female friend (who, like me, IDs as straight). It was my first threeway play and my first time kissing another woman, and it was awesome! Not horny or romantic, just all friendsy and fun and biting and tickling and kissing. His housemates had to have heard us shrieking.

This is exactly how I imagine mermaids behaving. Yar.

My boyfriend loves my ass. I’ve never delved much into anal play before him, but I’m enjoying it… or maybe it’s the multiple orgasms he gives me before the anal play, which certainly eliminate any chance of tensing up.

Sometimes, while he’s got me bent over, he’ll reach into the Fun Drawer for some lube and start playing while he’s fucking me.

Last night, after a session of that, he turned to me and said ”It was just there, and it looked so good….”

I of course responded with ”So, you’re saying that my ass is like Everest?”

I think I love you. Because you’re awesome.

So I am a 21-year-old, relatively good-looking, frighteningly-intelligent, incredibly boring male, to the extent that I’ve never managed to keep a girlfriend interested for more than 3 months. Nor have I managed to get laid with a girlfriend, girl at a party, etc.

(It’s not that I can’t converse for hours on end about almost any subject. I’m just quite apathetic about almost everything.)

Instead, my entire sexual history consists of 2 visits to a bordello in Berlin.

The first time was… okay. While the prostitute was really nice (and gorgeous), I had no clue what I was doing. In addition, being significantly larger than the average male, the normal-size condom was cutting off my circulation something fierce, and I just couldn’t stay hard. All in all, I exhausted myself pounding away for an hour and a half.

Yesterday, I visited again. Much better. I specifically asked for a magnum condom right off the bat–she waffled around a bit, the whole ”you’ll be fine with a normal,” at which point I mentioned that I’m 8.5”. She got one.

Also, she was REALLY horny. As in, soaking when she stripped her panties off. We started off with mutual oral, and she stopped several times because I was somehow actually getting her off! She kindly thanked me for my consideration.

We did the typical missionary, doggy, and her-on-top missionary, and during the lattermost I managed to bring her off twice more (NOTHING feels better than a woman cumming around your penis), and ended up with a lake on my stomach from her enthusiasm! Sadly, my staying power–who’s heard of a noob who doesn’t shoot off at the drop of a hat?–meant that I didn’t cum before the hour and a half was up. I played it off as ”yeah, I usually go for hours on end. No worries!”

I found that interesting. Maybe if you choose to date in future you could lead with that? On second thought, that might be more of a third date conversation…

She spontaneously put her finger in my ass, and I liked it some, despite my faint inate phobias. But it rubbed it raw. To do this again, I’m going to have to ask her to use lube or even a device or gloves. And that’s just planning out anal exploration a bit more than I think that I can openly do, and still be a straight man.

Yes, I’m completely aware of how stupid this sounds.

You don’t sound stupid. You sound scared. And with the tons of shame piled on guys if they don’t adhere to demoralizingly rigid standards, it’s not surprising.

But pretty near every man alive has a prostate. So don’t think for a second that you’re alone.

Have adventures to brag about? You know I want them.

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I had a dream that I started working at a brothel. Not as a janitor. I think there might have been a murder mystery somewhere in the plot, but brothel. That’s the part that stuck with me.

It was a rather low-rent, dismal establishment: one of those seedy brothels rather than, you know, the mind-blowingly classy ones you generally picture. In my dream, I wasn’t anxious about embarking on a life of harlotry, but rather the fact that this wasn’t one of the nicer cathouses in town. “If I start out here is that going to hurt my chances of getting into a better house?” I remember asking one of the girls turning me out. She assured me I could move on to bigger and better operations once I’d learned the game. I like to think we both knew she was lying, but I’ll never know for sure.

Strangely, this was all fairly realistic. The sketchiness of the brothel really is what I’d worry about, to the exclusion of loftier moral issues. If I’m getting paid to fuck, I damn well want to be a hetaera, not a pornai.

(image source)

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Have you ever played “I’ve Never…”? If not, you have to take a drink now because that’s how the game works.

And oh, here are some anonymous internet confessions that may be related…

I’m a 25-year-old male virgin, and I’ve seriously considered hiring a prostitute to change that. The strange thing is that I know that it would not be particularly difficult for me to put myself out there and get laid the way everyone else does, but hiring a professional is oddly appealing to me. Perhaps because there is much less risk of rejection? I think it’s more complicated than that, but I may be rationalizing. The decision has been a source of some anxiety for me lately.

I’ve never received oral sex. I’ve been in one relationship and my gf just was never into the idea of it enough to give it a try. She’s my ex now and after we split, I started testosterone to make a gender transition. I love what testosterone has done for my genitals. They feel and act like my brain says they’re supposed to. It makes me want oral more than ever. But I don’t know how to explain my anatomy and I worry that I’ll never get someone to go down on me b/c what I’ve got is unusual. I think it’s quite sexy myself, but I’m aware there’s a lot of myth and prejudice floating around about trans bodies, and orientation and kinkiness (or lack thereof) don’t seem to make a difference in the level of transphobic BS. Worse than that, I’m afraid that getting a blowjob is somehow going to make me dissatisfied with my cock, either because my size will compromise the experience or because my partner says or does something interpetable as dislike or pity. I don’t want pity. I want someone who’s as into my cock as I am. I don’t know how to find that and I sorta think that admitting how good I feel about myself will come off as crass because it’s cliche that men are all about their dicks, right? And no one wants to hear about that. But I really, really, really want a blowjob!

Sounds like you’re proud of your body without being a narcissist, which is sexy. And chicks like me abound, and we love giving blowjobs to sexy guys. Thus, I find it hard to believe this story isn’t going to have a happy ending. Please let me know how your first blowjob goes!

I haven’t had sex in five years and I’ve never dated. I’m almost thirty and I have no idea what I’m doing! I thought this was only supposed to happen to religious fundamentalists.

I frequently lie about my sexual experience (pointedly the lack there of). To myself I count the times I had sex as one, but he didn’t get his dick all the way in before he came so I’m even lying to me about it kind of. The real confession is that I read sex blogs and pretend I have the bloggers sex lives when I’m talking to my friends.

Calling all firsts, lasts, fantasies, lusts, fables, and laments: send me your secrets here.

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I have a confession to make. I totally watch the British ITV2 show Secret Diary of a Call Girl. I consider it kind of a guilty pleasure. It’s the type of TV critics seem to like to call a frothy confection: a half-hour drama following a high-class (“upscale”) London call girl (played by Billie Piper) as she juggles her secret career as prostitute Belle De Jour and her personal life as Hannah Baxter. Yeah, I watch it and like it. Now what?

I appreciate shows and movies that portray sex workers as real people who aren’t predators, victims, or addicts. I do understand and acknowledge anyone who feels compunction about glamorizing something that can go so terribly wrong, especially when that glamor might threaten to blot out the stories that need to get told. The tragic injustices exist: hell, they abound. Prostitutes can and do encounter violence and exploitation, and please let’s not forget the nauseous abundance of women, children, and men forced into sexual slavery to fulfill the global demand for sex workers. There are major problems with the sex-based sector of the economy, some of which of arise partly because so much of it has to operate underground, accountable to very little, and even less that’s ever concerned with the health, independence, and well-being of the participants. Misplaced moral outrage and criminalization chase sex work into the shadows, and we know all too well what happens in a darkness like that: that’s how Sméagols become Gollums.

I believe it’s time to make a clear distinction between sex crime and sex business. These horrible infringements on human rights shouldn’t find it so easy to ape a harmless transaction between consenting adults any longer.

But how about people who are drawn to prostitution and other sex work because it’s fun, because they enjoy both money and sex? Why the hell that should present a problem to anyone is beyond me. The self-created happy hooker who makes a deliberate career choice and executes it with responsibility deserves more play. That’s the kind of sex worker we should encourage. Secret Diary portrays a call girl’s vocation as difficult and complicated, but also rewarding and sexy. Plus, there are times I feel sure I could compose a panegyric to Billie Piper’s ass.

The show is loosely based on the real experiences chronicled by the real owner of the really fake pseudonym Belle De Jour, who maintains a blog and wrote bestselling books, remaining completely anonymous until early this week. Turns out (via sexoteric), she’s 34-year-old scientist Dr. Brooke Magnanti, a respected specialist in developmental neurotoxicology and cancer epidemiology. These days she’s spending her time researching children’s cancer. Yep, she’s a science geek who’s trying to keep kids healthy: your move, naysayers. She spent 14 months selling sex to support herself while she worked on finishing her thesis, and she doesn’t regret it at all. In fact, she enjoyed it.

Good on you, doctor, for coming out and proving that a whip-smart woman (who is not, as it turns out, some man’s wishful invention or a writer’s fantastical thought experiment) can choose to participate in prostitution, have a great time, and walk away when she’s good and ready.

Now, to wait for season 3 to start…

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