quizzical pussy

So here’s something interesting: the Top 100 Sex Bloggers of 2010 list has posted, and Quizzical Pussy is number fucking four. No, it seriously is. Needless to say, my mind was blown. Yeah, I don’t really get it either, especially considering all the amazing bloggers who appear on the list. But I’m wicked excited about it.

Quizzical Pussy is still a very young blog; my first entry appeared a year ago next month. But it’s become the one place on the internet where I can be honest about sex and my past experiences. It’s made me remember how much I love to write. It’s become a huge part of my life, to the point where it’s often frustrating that I’ve chosen to keep it such a secret in the real world. What I’m saying is that this blog is important to me, and I’m honored that you’re reading it. I appreciate every comment, and don’t think I don’t notice how supportive and kind they always are whether the author agrees with me or not. I get excited every time someone sends in an anonymous confession. In short, I’d still be writing Quizzical Pussy if no one was reading it, but you all make it so much better. So thanks.

A huge thank you to the people who took the time to go over to Between My Sheets to nominate me. And to the judges and Rori, who read, tallied, and ranked over 200 nominees, which was no doubt a ton of work.

I also want to specifically thank Laramy Fuquerton, who encouraged me to start this website, brainstormed names with me, hosts it for me, gives me content (often in the form of rodgerings), and is a generally awesome, supportive person. Also Crispin Hijanx, who vectorized the curious kitten logo I drew and made it look much smoother. And no, I am not intentionally making this into an award show speech.

There was a lot of controversy surrounding the list this year concerning one or two* of the bloggers who appeared on it (one of whom got the top spot). This might invalidate the list for some people. I hope it doesn’t because it’s an awesome resource for finding new blogs to read, and I happen to think that many of the spots on the list are very well deserved. Naturally, I think my personal favorites should be higher up, but every ranking is bound to be like that. The fact remains that if you want to find some new top-notch sex blogs to follow, this is a great resource.

Go see the full list here!

*I’m aware of the issue with “Alexa” of The Real Princess Diaries, which is more or less resolved, but if there’s someone else objectionable, could someone comment or email me to let me know? I’d like to be able to warn my readers if someone else on this list is indeed shady.

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Let’s be frank for a moment: Boobs are awesome.

They’re a tactile dream: soft, round, delicious with a distracting embellishment at the tip. They are the anatomical equivalent of the peanut butter cyclops cookie. They’re also capable of providing complete sustenance for a growing human being (this part being less like cookies), which is quite a parlor trick.

One of the most intriguing things about boobs is the variety they come in. If tits had their own nation someone would eventually refer to it as a melting pot. You can see their outline, their size, maybe even catch a tantalizing glimpse of cleavage (and all those vary widely from person to person), but you have to do some real exploring to find out what the nipples are really like. They can be big, small, corks, nubs, dark, pale, perfectly delineated circles, gradients, smooth, bumpy, crinkly, and/or run through with metal, among many other possibilities. Sometimes it’s maddening trying to guess. Sometimes when you finally get to play with them you realized you had it entirely wrong, and that’s kind of amazing. I love being wrong. I love discovering.

Playboy has this Evolution of the Boob article on their website. It’s about what style of breasts were in vogue which decade (starting with the ’50s, when Playboy started). It’s possible that Playboy is really primarily talking about the preferences of its own editors over time, but to a point you can’t argue with the fact that tit fashions change. That being said, I’m not sure I’ve ever looked at a topless woman and thought, “those are so last season”.

Perhaps even more than decades, people have preferences. I like all the boobs, but there’s something about those ’60s torpedo boobs that I find very compelling.

But I don’t believe I’ve met many people who have admitted to preferring augmented breasts. I’m not sure if they’re actually unpopular or if that’s just the crowd I tend to run with (I mean, obviously they’re not presenting a huge handicap if women keep getting them). But somehow or other I’ve gotten this impression that a boob job would indeed limit my sexual options, or at least be a liability.

I don’t see a problem with fake tits; I’m fine with most body modification. And I don’t see why they would deter me from having sex with someone. But I can say this: bare augmented breasts often somehow look less naked than natural ones. It just feels like the woman still has something on, even when she’s totally stripped. Maybe that’s why the people who don’t like them really don’t like them. Implants do make for amazing cleavage, though.

(image source)

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Do you ever look at your arsenal of sex toys and think, “I feel like none of these dildos are, you know, steampunk enough to grace my privy parts.” Honey, we’ve all been there. It’s embarrassing when there’s nary a gear nor a speck of bronze spray paint on one of the things that you own!

Enter Lady Clankington and her Cabinet of Carnal Curiosities, home of the Little Death Ray and soon-to-be home of the Butt Rogers Uranium Pistol.

I’d have to get my hands on one of these puppies to really weigh in on whether they’re spectacular sex toys. My guess is that they’re really going more for the novelty angle. Basically, we have a standard-issue slimline vibrator, or a slightly more interesting contoured (glass? pyrex?) butt plug seated in a cute gun-like handle. I’m not sure if the handles are porous, toxic, made of licorice, perfectly safe and easy to disinfect, or what. It would, however, be kind of fun to see one of these as a prop at a steampunk or Sci Fi convention. Is it sexual harassment if I keep it holstered?

The website is young, so more information should appear soon. I really can’t wait to see what the Dueling Academy section is all about. The game is afoot!

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One of yesterday’s confessions referred to a certain pornographic video clip. The confessor remarked that she was sad she’d lost the clip; she also mentioned that it featured anal golf ball shenanigans and sports puns. Would you believe that a reader took pity on her plight and found the clip?

…Okay, if I told you it was Laramy, then would you believe it? I’m pretty sure it’s the same one. It fits the description (oh yes, I’m going to) to a tee.

If you’re reading, confessor, this is for you. It’s also for the rest of us, because I suspect we all wanted to see this clip. I know I did!

The following link is a VERY NSFW clip of an anal golf ball threesome (it took me a minute to decide what order to put those words in) with all sorts of elements that might offend you. If you think it might be objectionable, don’t click it. NSFW Here it is! NSFW

(image source)

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My friend Crispin Hijanx selected three women to stand up with him at his wedding. He also selected a woman to marry, cause that’s just what our state is like these days! His best friendships really are with women, and he tends to loathe rigid gender boundaries, so it makes perfect sense for him to have groomschicks. Of course, in terms of the bachelor party I’m not sure if his selection was unfortunate or ingenious.

We groomschicks are determined to throw one hell of a party, but we’re a little handicapped by the fact that none of us has ever been invited to a bachelor party before, so while we know the movie-style ideas of what bachelor parties are “supposed” to be, we don’t have vast libraries of experience to draw from. And Crispin isn’t even interested in “hired strippers”, he says, so we have to get creative from scratch: no strip clubs, no boozing, nothing stereotypical. Did I mention that Crispin hates being stereotypical?

So I’ve been running around like an energy-impaired chicken with its head cut off lately trying to help plan this shindig. It threatens to be pretty fun, too. We’ve had lots of good ideas that reek of Crispin, but there’s one that makes me especially nervous. See, not too long ago, one of Crispin’s friends was getting married and he, along with a few other male friends, agreed to strip for her bachelorette party. I don’t think it’s mere happenstance that Crispin has mentioned this factoid about three thousand and six times since his engagement.

When you get to the point where you realize that one of your oldest close friends is asking you to take your clothes off in honor of his impending nuptials, what do you do, punk? In light of the fact that I’m terribly naked shy, my solution is to start with many clothes and end up with significantly fewer, but still some.

In stripping, is it still the thought that counts?

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It’s ConTuesday! On Wednesday. Remember, please, that a day late is not always a dollar short. Which basically just means that I think we have a good batch this week.

I think Lemon Party is kind of cute. I’m not attracted to the men in question, I’m just happy to see those old dudes having fun and getting it on in their declining years. It gives me hope for the future. I honestly don’t get why people are so horrified by it.

When I was a teenager, I used to stick my tongue up my boyfriend’s nostrils and sometimes I’d pull his nose hairs out with my teeth. I thought it meant we were very intimate.

(When I was a teenager I thought my boyfriend leaving a surprise  context-free dog collar on my car for me to find the morning after a sleepover with my girlfriends was weird until he explained that it was romantic. Not why it was, just that it was. Ah, to be young again.)

My friends host porn parties sometimes where we have a potluck and mock the porn story lines and techniques. I mock the porn, too… but secretly some of it turns me on.

(Porn turns me on too, buddy. We should start a support group.)

One of my best friends in the whole world has been in love once in her life. She’s over 30 now. She was dating a guy who was a bit dickish. I was friends with him too, but he was a dick. He talked behind her back about how she wasn’t right for him and he felt trapped. He started off using her for sex but it got out of hand and he didn’t think he could ever have feelings for her.

One night him and I were hanging out while she was out of town and he tried to kiss me. I dodged it and told him he was out of line. I never told her about the kiss that almost happened. He dumped her about a month after that. I told her she was better off, but I’ve never brought myself to tell her that he tried to cheat on her with me. I think it would destroy her.

I still masturbate to nekkid pics of 2 of my exes. They think I’m destroyed the digital images, but those are really hot women were talking about. Deleting them is worse than smashing a priceless painting. It’s a mite shady, but I’m being the gentleman considering I could have them all up on the internet right now.

I laugh louder than anybody at homo/fag/gay jokes…unless my gay friend who’s dick I regularly suck is listening. My girlfriend thinks I’m being sensitive, but really I don’t want him to be offended and stop our secret ‘movie nights’.

I tweeze the stray hairs around my nipples religiously. When I move in with my boyfriend I’m going to have to be very sneaky about my tweezing, because he always talks about how his ex had nipple hair and how grossed out it made him. I always carry tweezers in my purse in case we get trapped on a deserted island.

I had a girlfriend for a while who was both kinky and had self-esteem problems. And was religious. I could hit all her buttons and make her forget all of that and do whatever I wanted, whatever she wanted… and then she’d come off the endorphin high and wallow in regret, and come back to me so I could make her feel better again. I don’t know if it was rape. She said yes after she said no, does that make it okay? After her brain chemistry changed because of things I was saying or doing, and she was willing to do things she explicitly told me not to do, is that rape? She didn’t think so, my friends didn’t think so, my psychologist didn’t think so, but something inside me keeps saying it was. But if it was, why don’t I feel bad about having done it…

My college boyfriend didn’t want to have sex before marriage, but I convinced him that oral sex wasn’t sex (something I don’t really believe) and, after he said no more oral, that it didn’t count if I gave him a handjob and he only finished in my mouth. I feel kind of bad about it, but mostly I’m just annoyed that he didn’t want to have sex with me.

…These last two confessions are particularly interesting in juxtaposition to each other. Without clarifying details, they could easily be describing very similar situations, but one confessor’s partner was female and the other was male. Was one of these more disturbing to read than the other? I’m really curious what everyone thinks.

Anything you’d like to confess? Anything with which to shock and amaze this corner of the internet? Lay it on me.

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I love confession day! And I love portmanteaux as long as they don’t involve famous couples. Thus, ConTuesday was born! It kind of sounds like a magical day of severe bruising, no? Anyway, I have some good ones for you this week:

First off I would like to say this……..I’m one of those “curvy” women that another poster talked about and I would like to just throw this out there. Not all people are “curvy” because they eat all the time or bad food. I personally don’t eat junk food,drink a gallong of water daily, walk almost 10 miles a day, and I still have my curves. So ease off the assumptions.

I was in a relationship for seven years with my exhusband and during that time he kept telling me that he wanted me to be with another woman. I’m so confused I don’t know if it is because he brow beat me about being with one, or if I’m curious? But I could never be with another woman because of all the protesting I did with him……..

I try to catch up with girls I knew back in elementary school because I wanted to fuck them then and it still sounds like a good idea.

An old boyfriend used to go down on me during my period, not at my request. The more dark blood, and clotted tissue he swallowed the more he seemed to enjoy it. I thought it was super nasty when he said I was “feeding him”, but who’s gonna turn down oral sex. After we broke it off I don’t expect boys to do that for me. It would be super gross to ask and I didn’t even like it that much. I also know this was all part of some gross fetish he has. Even so, I can’t come up with many other things a boy could do that would make my vagina feel SO ACCEPTED.

I secretly long for the day that robots become advanced enough that I can forgo having to interact with human women and can instead buy myself a robotic girlfriend. It isn’t that I don’t like human women, I like to imagine I could download updates that would allow for free will and what not for my robotic girlfriend, but I like the idea of something (effectively) immortal ‘loving’ me with the sort of single minded devotion (I fantasise) only a robot to have. Compared to this human women seem to erratic and short-lived. My only regret would be that a robotic lover could never bear a child.

(This may or may not be comparable to my regret that I’ll never be able to bear puppies or kittens. They’re so much cuter than human babies, and the whole time they’re growing up you never have a teenager on your hands.)

I want my housemate’ girlfriend. He fucked my girlfriend whilst we were all living together. I was the bigger man about it all for a long time, but I can’t resist it any longer. I fantasise about her, and even cuddled with her in front of him one evening whilst we were all out and tripping. When next the opportunity presents itself I will seduce her and feel no remorse, she wants it, I want it. And I will feel good about it because he fucked my ex while we were together and still believes I don’t know about it. The icing on the cake is that my ex was his girlfriend’ best friend, it shattered the friendship, my relationship with her and went on to ruin a good social circle. Fuck him.

My mate and I have an Agreement we live by that is very similar to the infamous “Contract of Wifely Expectations” that feminists and vanilla people on the interwebs had conniptions over a few years back. In fact, we were inspired by reading it. We have never been happier. We don’t tell anyone about it for obvious reasons.

(The original Contract of Wifely Expectations.)

I love my fiance. I’m absolutely ecstatic that I escaped a borderline abusive relationship at the right time to luck into finding my fiance. We’re very sexually compatible – similar sex drives and kinks. I do have one regret, though. I never slept with a woman before we had sex. I’m bisexual and he’s supportive. He wants me to be able to sleep with a woman if that’s what I want, but I can’t… he has herpes. I don’t have it (yet – fingers crossed) but the woman I want to sleep with won’t sleep with me because I was honest about his herpes.

I love my boyfriend. I’m very attracted to him. Our sex life is great. I think he’s probably the only guy I could be this happy with. But he left town for a week recently, and I picked up a guy in a bar and took him home with me. I’m in my 40s, and I wanted to see if I still had it (I do, apparently). I wanted a night of anonymous sex with a new body (and it was pretty good). I wanted to prove to myself that if my boyfriend and I split up, I’ll be able to move on (the guy I picked up would have been happy to see me again, although I refused). I’m also quite convinced that my boyfriend cheated on me while he was away, and for the same reasons. I find the idea kind of hot, even though I don’t really like to think about him with another woman.

(This is some O. Henry shit right here.)

I’ve wanted to have sex with a girl with small boobs for so long that when I date a girl with a teenaged little sister I catch myself wondering what she’d look like topless. This is the case with the girl I’m currently dating, and I’ll prolly marry her. This doesn’t mean I’m going to stop hoping to see her sis’ rack.

I spent every penny my Concentration Camp Survivor grandfather left me in his will on prostitutes and pornography. Thanks, Zadie.

…There it is. Your weekly dirt. To keep ConTuesdays going, I need your secrets! Send me your anonymous confession now, and experience the glorious catharsis.

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It’s no secret that I’m a fan of male sex toys. I think they’re every bit as good an idea as their female counterparts, and those are canon in Quizzical Pussyland. I even want a Fleshlight of my own so I can fuck it with my Feeldoe. Is that meta or what?

I say I specifically want a Fleshlight because I’m a little wary of some of the other toys out there. Like with any partner, I have some standards for my sex toys. I’m not saying that my masturbation aids have to be charming, witty, and have pretty eyes. I’m saying that they need to not creep me right the fuck out.

Fleshlights are cute, with a range of neat little orifices and inner textures (lotus, twista, ultra tight, vortex…), many of which seem appealing. The coin-slot “stealth” orifice is the closest these things come to being creepy (I can’t help but think it’d be like fucking a Barbie piggy bank, if there were such a thing), unless you find the hilarious “Succu Dry” vampire-toothed mouth off-putting.

Another  masturbator that seems pretty cool is the Tenga Flip, which looks like a hyperbaric chamber for your cock, or possibly something out of 2001: A Space Odyssey. It might seem a little sexless and sterile for some people, but since I have a well-known robot fetish I’d have no trouble putting my equipment in this docking station. Hopefully the tech wouldn’t revolt and the ending wouldn’t be totally inscrutable.

There are other sleeves and masturbators that seem pretty great. But there are many, many toys for guys out there that seem like catastrophically bad ideas. They’re designed oddly, marketed awkwardly, rendered patently unattractive, or just seem weird somehow. I realize that a vulva or a mouth is more aesthetically complex than, say, a penis, and that might account for some of the problems I’ve seen. But let’s face it, it doesn’t explain away all of them. Let’s examine some of these issues a little more closely:

Terrible Marketing Copy

The Super Head Honcho Masturbator has the following quote in its description: “It’s as good as a blow-job. Women will be dancing in the streets.” You know what guys like to think about while they’re masturbating? How much chicks hate giving them blowjobs! If my boyfriend had one of these and we were about to have sex, I’d definitely just hand him his Super Head Honcho Masturbator and a bottle of lube and tell him, “Enjoy your foreplay! Let me know when you want to fuck. I’ll be on the couch playing Pokemon.”

…Except how I like putting cocks in my mouth and the Head Honcho doesn’t have anything to do with that. That quote is just reinforcing the “Hey, consumer, you can’t get a woman to blow you, so you’d better buy this!” stereotype that I already mentioned I hate. This also seems like a rather dim marketing strategy.

Hilarious Details

Some guys are turned on by a full bush. I’ve had zero real guys complain that I shave mine, but I had a phone sex client who would always treat me to a diatribe about how I was hurting my “poor little peach” and crippling my sexiness whenever I forgot his preference and told him my character was smooth. So there’s a market for pubic hair.

The Full Bush Vibrating Cyberskin Pussy isn’t just a clever name: it was clearly meant to cater to the bush-loving demographic. But I can’t help but think that something went wrong in the execution. Something about it seems a little… off. I don’t think that pubic hair grows the way they think it grows. I vote we rename this “The Swedish Cleft”.

…which brings us to…

Dealbreakingly Embarrassing Name

The design could be absolute genius, the orgasmic promise superb. Still, I just don’t see myself buying a Flip A Sister Over or an ATM (not referring to banking) masturbator. Where I come from we try to keep our masturbation devices classy, thank you very much.

Resembles Something Deeply Troubling

I may never learn why anyone would choose to give the Kinky Virgin Masturbator a scalloped detail around its gaping suggestion of a vulva, but I hope they realize that it gives the toy an eerie vagina dentata/hookworm flavor to it.

However, I don’t have time to worry about The Kinky Virgin. I’m too busy praying to Paul Verhoeven Almighty that the My Cocoa Stroker isn’t hiding under my bed. I can confidently state that this is NOT what pussies are supposed to look like. Why why why would anyone put a body part inside something that looks like the brain bug from Starship Troopers? I loathe the people who brought this abomination into the world and I hate everything they stand for.

WHAT?

The reviews for the UR3 Pocket Ass are really good, and maybe I’m missing something, but does the disembodied finger tugging open its “life-sized” anus add something positive to this toy, or is it just really, really funny?

Real Dolls are arguably kind of creepy, but their anime-inspired Boy Toy line is far creepier. “Hey, Dawg. I heard you like the uncanny valley, so I put your sex doll in the uncanny valley so you can be unsettled while you fuck fake women.”

And don’t even get me started on ROXXXY. Robots are keen, but I’m with Holly on this particular one. I wouldn’t touch this “companion” with a ten-foot arc welder.

In closing, dear god what IS this thing?

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My voice gets deeper, huskier when I’m really aroused. Yeah, when I’m in the middle of a screaming orgasm it can get a little shrill, but in general I’m much less “excited chipmunk” than “scary sex tiger ready to fuck you up”.

Which is why I was surprised when I started training to be a phone sex operator. To me, the vocal Viagra archetype has always been along the lines of Kathleen Turner, Scarlet Johansen, Dr. Girlfriend (…too far?): deep, throaty, seductive. When I got hired on part-time at a phone sex company, I was ready to exercise my contralto range. Turns out, what I would consider a “sexy voice” wasn’t my work horse. At all.

Millicent, my boss, was a seasoned PSO who oriented me over the phone. I was sitting in my apartment and clutching the landline phone that I’d bought especially for my new career, leafing through the training booklet she’d sent me in the mail. I was a little nervous to get started; I’d had phone sex with boyfriends before, but who was I to know what complete strangers liked?

“You have a naturally sexy voice,” she assured me, after teaching me how to simulate the sound of fingering myself by using my hands and a little spit. “but you’ll find that guys tend to react better when your voice plays into their fantasies.”

“Like a Jessica Rabbit-type thing?” I offered. I was pretty sure I already knew the answer. Who doesn’t want to play patty cake with Jessica Rabbit?

“Not really,” Millicent dashed my fragile dreams. “Actually, they usually like it when you make your voice higher and giggle a lot.” She demonstrated for me; it was like she was the most vapid demon-possessed helium junky on Earth.

Really? Huh. I followed her lead. I immediately wanted to punch myself in the face. “Perfect,” she said.

I was skeptical, so I decided to split the difference. Millicent suggested I create two stock characters based on the pictures I’d be assigned on the website. (No, fellas: those pics are not actually the broads you’re talking to. Cry for me. Mmmm, your tears are so yummy and sweet!) Faun had light brown hair and a gymnast’s body, and she was a perfect candidate for the squeaky, maniacal rodent voice. Thumper had dark hair and blowjob lips, so I gave her what I considered a sex bomb voice, a little lower and smokier than my regular timbre. We would just see who the men liked better.

Would we ever!

Faun and Thumper had about the same number of calls, but Faun’s shrill laughter and adolescent wonder at everything the masculine mind could think to utter consistently kept the call times longer and the callers happier. Once, a guy actually gave a lame excuse to get Thumper off the phone, called the company back for a new girl, and then talked to Faun for hours.

I’m willing to accept the possibility that my Jessica Rabbit impression is crap, but it’s also possible that there’s something more sinister at work. It’s troubling to think that a me with an ice cube thrown down the back of my shirt may be more aurally enticing to the average man than a gagging-for-cock me.

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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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