quizzical pussy

I’m loath to write about spirituality here. Partially because it is so deeply personal that I anticipate the majority of people judging me no matter what I say about it, and being judged is so not my kink¹. Also because I’m very newly discovering mine, and with my long and bumpy history of attempting stone skepticism, anything beyond Secular Humanism still breaks my head a little. Or shames me, I don’t know. But mostly I don’t want to get too esoteric because this blog is technically supposed to be about boning, and I want to honor that.

But I still wanted to write about the Sacred Sexuality workshop I attended over the weekend. The more I thought about it, the more I realized that it has almost nothing to do with spirituality unless you want it to.

In truth, sexuality has always been sacred to me. No matter how much of a good, skeptical-of-everything atheist I was trying to be, sex always carried with it the potential for transcendence. Reginald Sleeth once asked me if he could be my god², and I replied that I already had one. Beauty was my god: a day in the park could feed me like communion, art could deliver a homily, and the spark of skin on skin, at its best, was transfiguration. The beauty I found in people was scintillating, variable, overpowering. What I got from touch sometimes seemed to verge on mysticism.

No matter what you believe, it’s hard to deny that human connection is possibly the most powerful and transformative force in human experience. Love between people can help us feel pure joy, can inspire us to greatness, can lead us gladly into profound sacrifice. Fear between people can unravel lives.

So really, Sacred Sexuality is all about accepting and intensifying whatever magic we personally find in the positive aspects of human connection. It’s being fully present with the person you’re with, and truly seeing them, feeling them, tasting them. It is to sex what savoring is to food. It is using attention as a sex toy.

It’s really not that weird, actually.

When I’m touching you, kissing you, fucking you, I am grateful for you. I can be grateful to God or the Universe or the process of evolution that put you on this planet: all of these, none of these. I can just be grateful that you’ve chosen to share yourself with me for this little time. Gratitude is never careless– it takes nothing for granted. It doesn’t even have to be slow and sensual; even if I’m urgent, devouring, I’m completely present. I am with you. I am being with you. That’s how you allow touch to be a sacrament.

You know, from the couple of hours’ experience I had over the weekend hearing about it, at least.

(image source)

1. It is probably weird that I have no such fear of judgment writing about the madcap ways I like to have orgasms, but there are clearly different kinds of exposure and vulnerability. [↩]
2. No red flag there, right? [↩]

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In short, life is roughly as awesome as this.

Things about my life right now:

1. I have no longer not had sex in 2012. It was the kind of sex that you think back on whilst furiously masturbating later on, too.
2. I’ve been busy doing the whole “working on myself” thing lately, as mentioned here. This doesn’t really make for sexy prose, but it’s kind of changing everything. Or at least how I see everything. Profound personal journey stuff. Let’s move on…
3. It took a lot of angst and at least seven of the five stages of grief, but I honestly believe I’ve made my peace with the recent breakup. I absolutely would have preferred that the details had gone down differently, but they didn’t, and that’s okay.
4. I’ve made a shocking amount of peace with some other things too. Actually quite a lot of things. Forgiveness really is for the forgiver, not the forgiven. Go figure!
5. Life is blithe and fancy and filled with interesting, exciting doings. For instance, did you know that I’m going to learn about sacred sexuality tomorrow? Am I even entirely sure what that means?

I hope your list of the moment kicks at least this much ass.

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ConTuesday confessions are go!

I would love to read one of your ”sex journal” type entries on here involving you, Viola, and your Feeldoe.

Viola and I were just hanging out the other day, and she mentioned she wished I’d brought my Feeldoe with me. And believe me, so did I. I think I should probably start carrying it in my trunk at all times, just in case. More importantly, I think we can make this happen.

I’ve never even dated a girl with tattoos, but I find them incredibly sexy. I like to look at pictures of women that have large and elaborate tattoos. I don’t know that I would want my wife to be all tattooed up, but maybe we should go to a tattoo convention sometime. I think it would be a huge turn-on.

My personal opinion on ink: it can be beautiful and sexy and add to a person’s attractiveness, or it can be meh. This all depends on design and placement. I wonder if people more tend to fetishize the type of person who gets tattoos, which might have once been “rebellious” or “alternative” or “adventurous”, but at this point seems to just be “a random sampling of everyone with skin”.

Not trying to talk you out of your tattoo fetish, friend. Just riffing.

I’m afraid to have sex.

My first sexual experience has a lot of awfulness and misery attached to it. And I had this weird sort of assault-y experience at a party. Since then, I haven’t had sexual contact with anyone. Besides making out. But it’s gotten to the point where just the idea of making out alone (even though I used to love it!) has gotten too scary because it might lead to other things that feel even scarier. And it’s starting to inhibit my romantic life too. I don’t know what to do.

Please, please do not take this as snarky or rude in any way, but my advice is to get counseling. You can often even find it free or very low cost, and though you may not find the perfect fit for what you want that way, it will be better than nothing.

I say this as someone who went through about two years of free therapy through a local university with various counselors who changed every semester. Even in that non-ideal situation, I still made a lot of progress working on my issues with past abuse and sexual assault. Shit used to be horrible, and now it’s getting better every day.

Another thing that helped me was starting this blog. I have written so much about being abused and being raped, and doing so helped me process a lot of things I had previously chosen not to examine, not to confront. You don’t have to do it publicly– although the supportive and amazing comments I’ve gotten have helped me too– but maybe journaling will also help.

I hope this helps. Please keep in mind that you’re not messed up; what happened to you was messed up.

I’m a top and I’m REALLY kinky, but humiliation is a hard limit for me. I’ve tried poking around dominant groups on Fetlife, but almost all the ones I see for female tops are anathemaic to me. I see a lot of people talking about how what the bottom wants isn’t really important, and how men are too cowardly to play with them, or some really awful verbal abuse that makes my skin crawl. Whenever I read it I feel out of place because I’m not masquerading as a sociopath. I actually CARE about my bottoms and whether or not they’re having a good experience!

Am I really so strange for thinking the people I top are people and wanting them to have as much fun as I am?

People who say they don’t care what their bottoms want are either posturing or just straight up dangerous. Those are the only two options, and even the posturing is dangerous in that it sets a terrible example even if the top is privately doing everything right.

That being said, some bottoms are actively into humiliation. It’s not for everyone, and clearly not your thing, but some people want it. If it’s consensual and negotiated, the person doing the humiliating is performing a service. As you probably know very well, sometimes kink isn’t what it looks like from the outside. So I understand your concern, but I feel like you’re at least partially conflating humiliation as a fetish and actual disrespect.

So, just discovered just how amazing my vagina con be. Masturbated for maybe ten minutes, soaked my panties, my nice skirt and the bedsheets, without even noticing until I was completely finished. The only downside is I can’t figure out how to explain to my mum that I need new sheets without a really awkward conversation…

Dear parents of the world: Please never ask why your post-pubescent kids are washing their own sheets. You probably don’t need to know.

P.S. Yay squirting!

i am 26 years old. i know how to do sex but i have a secrete whenever i do sex in that situation i want to put my penis gentaly to my girlfrends nose i want she just wipe her nose on my penis but she dont like this .but i never force her to do so. but my sexual attraction is her nose.i do normal sex also .but this is my sex secret..am i mentally sik ?…please send me some solutions

People with nasal fetishes usually learn, through using it early and often, the correct spelling of “secret”, but I’m not going to get hung up on whether you’re trolling me or not. I’m going to answer your question.

You’re not mentally sick, but you’re with someone who doesn’t share your fetish or want to indulge it. You may some day get someone to wipe her nose on your cock, but it’s probably not going to be her. Oh, and if you stay in this relationship and do nose stuff with someone else, I’m pretty sure your girlfriend would consider it cheating, but you would have to ask her. If you don’t ask and just do, that’s definitely cheating.

I think your solution is ultimately the internet. You can find people into anything on the internet. But use spell check.

Confess things here!

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Do you ever masturbate to something and when you’re finished think “I cannot believe that I was able to find that erotic a moment ago”. This has happened to me, but I have trouble feeling guilty about it. I normally say “Jeepers, but I’m complicated” and move on to the next orgasm.

Of course, maybe this means I don’t even know from sick and twisted, which I would also be okay with. Anyway, know thyself and accept thy darkness, even if thy darkness keeps a night light on.

I never, ever, being single, fantasize about women. But when ever I date a guy I start wanting to suck and plump lucious lady nipples.

In the 1950s and ’60s, the United States government ran experiments on human mind control on uninformed, non-consenting subjects. Using psychedelic drugs, electroconvulsive shock treatments, hypnosis, and other methods to manipulate mental states and actions. “MK-Ultra”, as it was code-named, was dissolved in the late ’60s and brought to light and openly condemned in the ’70s. However, conspiracy theorists insist that the government hasn’t given up on mind control, and the research continues in secret under a new code name: Monarch.

I am not saying they’re right. I’m not saying that you’re being controlled in any way. All I’m really suggesting is that it might be time to stop dating C.I.A. agents who want threesomes.

I had sex for the first time a couple of nights ago. I thought I’d really enjoy it, but when I look back at it, all I feel is this powerful sense of regret.

I kind of wish I could talk to someone about this. Hopefully an anonymous confession to a total stranger’ll be cathartic.

If you’re regretting it because it wasn’t very good or because this person wasn’t “the one”, I hope it helps to know that first-time sex that’s mind-blowing and with the person you’re destined to be with until death do you part may exist in real life. I have yet to meet anyone who has had that experience, though; I think it’s mostly propaganda.

If you’re regretting the sex because you weren’t ready for it emotionally or in some other way, that sucks. I hope your next experience with sex– whenever it happens– is better in every way.

My boyfriend’s sex drive just disappeared. He hasn’t felt sexual in months. We used to have a good sex life but he doesn’t even masturbate anymore!

He’s a changeling.

Or he’s on medication. Or he’s depressed. Or he’s got a medical issue. Or he’s a changeling. I don’t know, I think it’s pretty common for a person’s sex drive to wax and wane all throughout their life. This can make it pretty ridiculously frustrating to be a person’s partner, though, so my heart goes out to you.

I spent the weekend with my boyfriend’s family, and met his older brother for the first time. His older brother is 22 years older than I am — getting into early-old-age territory — and I found him so attractive that I had to distance myself a little from him in order to not give it away. I could tell that he found me attractive, too. I wanted to have both my boyfriend and his brother in bed with me for the entire weekend. The thought was so hot, but I know that if a boyfriend of mine seriously fantasized about me and my sister, and there was a mutual attraction between them, I’d feel more than a little insecure.

Yeah, I think the rule for  incestuous threesomes is that any non-related person involved should not be the one to bring it up.

I can’t believe I think there are rules for incestuous threesomes.

While visiting a friend a few weeks ago, I realized that she was my archetype of femme hotness. She’s what I’m looking for in a woman. It was…highly confusing, as a crush on her is what brought me out in the first place, and I had a threesome with her a few years ago that was really boring. And we’ve been growing apart over the last couple years, to the point where I’m not sure she even likes me all that much, more going along with our friendship out of habit.

She’s using a love potion on you. Run!

I think I love you. Because I know I can be whoever and whatever the fuck I want and there’s nothing wrong with me.

This is a good bottom line to end on. We can be whoever and whatever the fuck we want and there’s nothing wrong with us. I like that.

Confess!

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Have you ever had one of those moments where you’re sleepy and horny and cold all at the same time? You want an orgasm, possibly even more than you want to not move anything and just sleep, but getting out from under the covers to reach for a toy, or phone, or body, is another matter entirely.

Just then, your stomach growls. Motherfucker.

Also, internet confessions.

There’s a woman who… I kind of feel… Well, I, um, produce vaginal mucous whenever I think about her. Which is almost constantly. And I produce mucous in such copious amounts that it seeps through my clothes and I get really anxious about other people being able to smell it. So, I started wearing pantiliners, but it was spilling out the sides, so I started wearing sanitary napkins with wings every day of the month, and now my sexual frustration is compounded with more general frustration. JUST QUIT IT, VAGINA. SHE’LL NEVER TOUCH YOU. I ALREADY ASKED AND SHE SAID NO. AND WHY WOULD SHE SAY OTHERWISE? YOU’RE GROSS YOU EMBARRASS EVERYBODY WHO COMES NEAR YOU.

Hey, I hope you don’t take this the wrong way, but why are you being so hostile to yourself and your vagina?

I wonder how messed up it is that I zone out on some clients and just start doing Kegels and fantasizing about their skills (or lack of them) in bed?

Sounds to me pretty much like it’s zero units of messed up. You know what’s truly messed up? Neglecting your kegels.

This is my most secret of secrets: I am terrified of passing gas during sex. I know that nothing bad would happen if I did, my lovers would laugh it off, but I’m still so scared of ruining something special.

So I clench. Which somehow tightens EVERYTHING in the process. Which makes the sex even hotter. Win/win?

Maybe I should just let go…what do you think?

If clenching makes you happier with your sexual experience, more power to you. But “happier” implies a comparison, so I have to ask: have you tried not clenching? Because I find that sex is an amazing interplay of relaxation and tension, and having a full range of both ends of the spectrum is where intensity really comes from.

Also, sex is not a neat activity. Fluid gets on things, air comes out of places, and all manner of sounds emerge from the beast with two backs. If your partner freaks out because you fart during sex on occasion, this would be a pretty strong indicator that said partner is not very experienced or realistic vis-a-vis fucking.

I’m not trying to tell you where your priorities should lie, but I feel like you’ll be missing out on a lot if this thing that really isn’t a big deal is your main focus every time you have sex.

I think I may have accidentally taken a 29-year-old’s virginity. I was lonely and horny, he was there, you know how these things go. It was awkward and absolutely terrible and went on forever (strange, right?). If I’d known, I could’ve at least bolstered his ego, done a bit of training, and not kicked him out of bed at the end of the romp. Ugh. Now I feel like a terrible person and I still didn’t get a decent lay.

Your guilt seems unnecessary. If a virgin wants The Virgin Intercourse Package, said virgin must declare virginity. That is really just sense. Unless you introduced yourself as a virgin-sniffing psychic or something, in which case shame on you. You’re better than that.

I hope you have been able to procure a decent lay.

I have a raging crush on a guy I sort-of work with. He has some of the most gorgeous, intense blue eyes I have ever seen, and long-fingered, sexy hands that I always find myself staring at because they’re safer to stare at than his eyes. And he’s a mechanic, and I always have a thing for blue-eyed, dark-haired guys who are good with their hands…

I have fantasies in which he is a sort of earnest, almost sweetly-dominant top, murmuring praise in my ear while I’m helpless under those strong hands… And I also have fantasies in which he kneels in front of me, smiling at me with those incredible eyes, and tells me that he wants ME to be the top– these were a surprise to submissive little me, yet I enjoy them just as much as the others ;-)

Unfortunately nothing will come of it… I’m in a very committed relationship already; and it would get both of us in trouble at work. Plus, I am the sort of socially awkward person who would die of embarrassment before I managed to finish communicating my interest to him. Or fail utterly to get my point across. Or just be mortified when he turned me down.

But I guess the real confession is that I wish I had him instead of my boyfriend of the past nine years. I feel like it might be time to move on. Not many girls have stuck with the same guy since they were 18, and this latest crush is making me wonder (again) what else I’m missing…

Fantasizing about other people aside, if you feel like it might be time to move on, it seems like in generally is. Relationships are hard enough even when you’re all in, you know?

Or I’m too idealistic. That also seems legit.

My roommate is showering with his girlfriend and making sex noises. I’m happy for him. But mostly I wish he’d finish up because I really need to pee.

The true horror intrinsic in this confession is the fact that it was submitted last October. You guys, what if this person is still waiting to pee? Besides the fact that nobody has a) that much stamina or b) that much hot water.

Confess things! To me! Do it!

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I get a lot of sex secrets. Sometimes if I’m not ready to use them yet I stick them in my laundry basket, hoping they’ll stay put, that they won’t wiggle away through the holes. But never, never have I met a fully domesticated secret.

They bleed onto the wooden floor of my closet. They flit around, nipping off shreds of my 2012 Baby Animals wall calendar. February’s infant orangutan? Almost unrecognizable.

I almost always eventually find them camped out under the bed. I think the masturbation sounds help them sleep.

I think I’ve got an insemination fetish.

My wife and I want kids in a few years. She’s infertile, so I’d be carrying, and we’ll probably be using frozen anonymous donor sperm, or asking a friend to be a known donor. Not a lover or ex-lover or potential lover. Most of the guys on the short list to ask are gay or monogamous or both. We’ll be conceiving our kids with careful deliberation, genetic tests and charts tracking my fertility and speculums and needle-less syringes. It makes sense. Bringing kids into the world is a big thing, and we want to do it carefully, thoughtfully, deliberately.

My pussy disagrees.

Ever since we started seriously talking about this, since it became a question of when and how not if, I’ve been having these fantasies. I want to feel a man come inside me, feel his semen in my cunt. (Can you actually feel that? I have literally used a condom every time a man’s penis has been in my vagina. I will probably never find out first hand. Roads untaken and all that.) Lately, when I’m alone and jilling off, nothing gets me so wet as thinking about hot little sperm making their way past my cervix.

I’m not pining for the heterosexual marriage I didn’t wind up in. It’s nothing like that. I don’t want to conceive while making love to hypothetical husband I’ll never have.

No, what I want is for a stranger to press me against the wall, shove aside my panties and enter me bare. I want my womb to take that man’s come and make life out of it. I want to be bent over a table, as one man after another, men I can’t even see the faces of, let alone know the names of, fuck me one after another, semen dripping out of my pussy. Every time another man adds his genes to the lottery I come again, cunt spasming around his cock, drawing his semen in. He withdraws, stands aside to watch the next man fuck me hard, his cock sliding sloppily through what the five-ten-fifty men before him left, panting and thrusting and trying to just enjoy the feel of cock in cunt while hoping against hope that he’ll be the lucky one.

Stop. Scene changes, I’m alone with just one man again. ”It doesn’t matter,” he says, all self-assurance and possessiveness, as he holds me close, one hand around my neck, as he thrusts into me slowly. ”It doesn’t matter how many other men you fuck, because you are mine, and you will carry my heir.” He could be many people, those men I keep in the deep of my subconscious, nothing like any of the men I might have married but didn’t, nobody I’d want to share my life with out in the real world. He’s dangerous, he’s powerful, he owns me. Sometimes he’s a medieval king, or a cliched evil overlord*, or a demon, sometimes generic and sometimes from a book or movie or game or something, but usually his identity slips and slides until he’s just an archetype, a platonic Master holding me, fucking me down, taking me, marking me as his, and I want nothing more but to conceive his child, and when he finally comes I feel it happening, feel his sperm invading me, and I orgasm so hard my vision goes black.

Sometimes I wonder what the hell this means, whether I’m sublimating my feelings about donor insemination and pregnancy in general and blah blah blah. Not today, though. Today I’m just going to appreciate the mind-blowing orgasms.

Even the ones that happen while I’m fantasizing about getting knocked up by Bowser from the Super Mario games.

Oh yes. Yes, you can feel it. Absolutely. It feels, I imagine, not unlike Sushie’s “squirt” move from Paper Mario.

i like to take sexy photos of myself. It makes me feel pretty and seductive and ok, maybe a little bad (in a good way). Sometimes I send these photos to a friend a few states away. Hey, he likes porn, I like validation, everyone’s happy. Until my exboyfriend hacked my email and forwarded the photos to himself. Bummer! I’m worried what he’ll do with them, but mostly I’m just angry because they’re MY BOOBIES and I’ll show them to who I want, when I want. So there.

You have every right to be angry. I would characterize this as going beyond “bummer” and going straight to “massively creepy stalker behavior” with a side of “egregious privacy violation”, for what it’s worth.

This past year, I got fed up of trying to be sexually satisfied with my workaholic partner alone, and decided to devote some time to pleasing myself. I joined a porn site, I started writing smut, and I have taken my self-pleasuring to a new level.

It has been fantastic. I feel those same feelings you get when you are newly in love- the constant drive, can’t-take-my-hands-off-you, stay up all night making-out sort of feelings, except by myself. As a result, my sex life with my partner has increased dramatically. Even though he is often still too tired to have sex as much as I want, I am perfectly happy if he lets me go down on him and then I can make myself come.

Not having my sexual satisfaction depend on anyone else has changed my life.

I feel inspired by this, to always use my computer for smut and never for hacking.

Also to develop a giggly, gropy crush on myself. Both good ideas, really.

I think that fucking someone in front of a bunch of other people would be really hot. Man or woman, but I’d want the people watching to be older men in suits, sexy sexy suits. Maybe they’d all take turns using me. Pretty basic fantasy I guess, but damn does it get me wet.

Also, the only person I’ve really had sexual relations with was this nice Jewish boy last semester. I’d suck his dick, he’d go down on me, call me names, hit me with various kitchen implements, all those nice things that nice Jewish boys are good at. But we never had penis-vagina sex, which makes me feel like other people think I should still call myself a virgin. But after having a binder clip stuck to my nipple, been spanked with a spatula, been fingered up the ass, etc and so forth, I just feel a lot less virginal. No idea why.

Also…I really really really really want to see what he’s up to this year. Damn you, sexy Jewish boy. Damn you. My own hand can only do so much.

I’d like to teach the world that virginity is a weird, made-up concept. It’s not even spatula-solid, really.

I do not understand why someone would be monogamous when there’s a chance of orgies on the table.

…Particularly when they then proceed to steal your sex toys.

Dear monogamous person/s,

Why would you steal my sex toys? What is wrong with you?

P.S. That would put all my sex toys into multiple-partner status.

P.P.S. Orgies!

Last summer, I visited the Southwest; there was no privacy, so I couldn’t get off at all, but my hormones were raging. Thus, a state of constant horniness ensued. Then one day, as the week-long heat was at its peak, I escaped to a pool which was deserted because of an oncoming storm. It was blistering, but strong winds had started to blow, and as I dropped my frustrated, overheated body into the pool, I had a sense that the moment was special, set aside from the rest – the moment before the break. I quickly discovered the water jet, planted my arms on the side of the pool so it looked like I was casually relaxing, shifted by pelvis against the jet, and came like fireworks as the rain began to fall. Then pushed off and floated, weightless, listening to the oncoming storm.

Whoever says masturbation can’t be meaningful and significant is wrong.

Never underestimate the transformative power of orgasms or weather patterns or water pressure.

Or secrets.

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I bet you think I’m going to be all bitter about Valentine’s Day right now: partly because I’m generally snarky and churlish about it, but also because of the “my heart being recently hulksmashed” thing. You’re so wrong, though. You’re so very wrong.

Know why? Because the bottom line is I love love. I believe in it. And I want everyone to have it in one way or another. If romantic love isn’t your thing, then I want you to have the greatest platonic friends money can’t buy. If it is, I want you to feel like you’re floating three inches off the ground, minimum. Today and every day.

Love is the shit. Happy V-day.

My gorgeous girlfriend is an electrician by profession and I think watching her wire equipment is about the sexiest thing in the world. She’s in the middle of a project now, and when she’s done I fully intent to jump her.

If you live in a porn flick, it’s the most adorable one.

My boyfriend moved in with me a week ago. Yesterday we finally had to give in and take a day off from sexy fun times because we were both too sore. Today we didn’t get out of bed until 7:30 pm. So much for recovering, neither of us can walk straight again.

Too much sex to walk right seems like the perfect Valentine’s Day gift. Surprise someone special!

I normally take ages to orgasm, and because of that sometimes it doesn’t happen at all because I plateau and then get stressed out about whether my partner minds how long it’s taking, or if it will happen, etc etc. As such I am quite uncomfortable with being on the receiving ed of oral, it doesn’t usually work.

I feel the need to tell you my fantastically awesome (in all other ways too) boyfriend gave me the most unexpectedly perfect oral the other day and I came in five minutes flat, maybe less. High fives all round?

Exactly fuck yes high fives all around! Good guessing there.

I’m poly, and my girlfriend is married to a man.

I harbor a secret hope that they’ll decide to have children because as hot as my girlfriend is, I think my head might explode from how incredibly sexy she’d look if she were pregnant.

This is really sweet and all, but I also can’t help thinking how depressed I’d be if a partner never found me sexier than the six or so months leading up to a traumatic shredding of my vulva.

But happy Valentine’s Day!

hey

well ive never actually really read any blogs regularly but i gotta say i love the combo of sex / intellect / humour and complete randomness! anyway this is from a couple of weeks ago. i hadnt long started a new job and only get 36 (yep, 36!) minutes a day for my lunch. i have enough time to drive home eat lunch made my hubby (hes not working just now) and scarper off back to work…until one day. he gave me a cheeky smile, dragged me through to the room….and made me come just as the alarm in my phone was going off for my time to leave for work! i might have been hungry at work but had a massive smile on my face for the rest of the afternoon! :) just had to share!

Okay, people. Basic human rights shit here: A lunch hour should allow enough time for a proper lunch and a quickie. 36 minutes!

I am moving in with my boyfriend on Monday. This is awesome. I had what was probably the best sex of my life last Saturday. (Er, with said boyfriend.) This is also awesome.

I am not going to see my boyfriend again until Saturday. I have already packed all of my porn.

This is less than awesome. (Time to read sex blogs!)

There’s an awful lot of smut on the internet. And hopefully a lot of one-upping the best sex of your life in your bed on a regular basis.

Since breaking up with my ex boyfriend I can’t stop fucking my friends. And it’s FANTASTIC.

Maye fucking one’s friends is the happiest, healthiest kind of relationship of all.

…Okay, maybe I’m just the tiniest bit bitter.

Sex Confessional

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I’m stupid horny. I long for touch and desire and orgasms. My mind burrows again and again into a thousand dark places where lust, where friction breeds. I’m distracted, maybe even a little fixated. I want sex and sex and sex. Now, please.

So I should really be looking for rebound sex right now. Shallow, animal rebound sex with no strings attached and even fewer inhibitions.

But right now I just can’t even imagine how to start to do that.

Sure, I love sex. Sure, I have no interest in only ever fucking my One True Love (and trust me, that ship has sailed), or even only having sex with people with whom I’m planning a future of furniture shopping and timeshare family holidays. And yeah, I have a sex blog where I write about boning. I’m fairly frank about what a freak I am.

That doesn’t mean sex comes easily for me. Because I increasingly have to trust you first, and that has never come easily for me. I can love you and not trust you. I can try to trust you, my newborn trust just trying to get its legs underneath it, and something that may seem trivial– a memory from my past or a reason to doubt your honesty– can crash down on it and snap its neck. I have a graveyard full of these dead beasts.

When Laramy and I started dating, it took me a couple months to be ready to have sex. Our personalities clicked almost instantly, and his patience and willingness to go at my pace helped me relax and let myself fall for him. Eventually, I felt so safe with Laramy that it somehow extended to other sexual relationships. I could trust new people more quickly and readily since I felt like I had the foundation of a solid relationship underneath it all. I believed someone had my back no matter what.

Now I don’t really know where I am. I don’t know what my present pattern is when it comes to trust and sex. The idea of truly casual sex makes me feel even more lonely. Still, I find it hard to imagine trusting someone new in the abstract. The pain is too fresh yet, and the thought of having something solid and comfortable with someone again feels unrealistic, even though I don’t subscribe to any One True Love philosophies. Will it still seem so hard once I’m actually in the middle of discovery and sexual tension and playful banter with someone awesome? Well, probably not. It will probably be as natural as breathing.

Although I’m not a champion breather, come to think of it.

I got massively, catastrophically hurt. It has happened before, and it may happen again. But I also now know for the first time that a relationship can be, for the most part, good. It can be a positive force in my life. And I want that again. Someday, if I can get there.

But why can’t I just get laid first and not worry about any of that? Why does it all have to be so fucking wrought? I don’t feel like I’m on the rebound; I just feel deflated.

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ConTuesday is a certain cure for a clean mind. Don’t even take my word for it…

I finally anted up and got a Feeldoe!

I love having a cock now!

And so does my boyfriend!

Yay! And I cannot stress this enough: it never gets old.

Both my roommates were out, so I decided to engage in some old-fashioned hedonism.

What resulted was a forty-minute long INTENSE fuck session with literally all my toys. At one point I was rolling around on the bed with four sperate vibrators going at once, combining and alternating them all like some sort of Mad Dildo Hatter.

It was awesome.

Okay, so obviously I’m picturing this in my mind’s eye. There’s no way that’s not happening. But there’s also no way I can picture it without you cackling maniacally. I just thought I’d let you know.

I have this aunt who has low-level but persistent biphobia of the “they don’t really exist” kind. She also happens to be a lesbian. When it comes up (which, in fairness, isn’t THAT often), I feel like I should maybe talk to her, but as a straight (cis, white, etc) male I feel weird about confronting someone who is actually gay (not to mention 20 years older) about social justice and sexuality.

I understand your reluctance here, since you’re coming from a place of privilege, as they say. But speaking as a sexual orientation minority, I wouldn’t mind you saying “My bisexual friends think they exist,” or something like that.

It should also be noted that I’m not exactly Yo, Is This Racist, so I don’t know, I’m not an expert on confronting people sight unseen on their xenophobia. But no matter how many times I’m wrong about shit, bisexuals will still exist.

I had what I’ve been calling an “incident” two years ago. I told friends about it, but they never characterized it as rape, so I didn’t either at the time. I’ve been uneasy about it ever since. What happened was, I sought out and had casual sex with a guy one night. A few days later he came to my place, presumably to talk to me, and began pressuring me to have sex with him. Typical fore-play activity ensued, but I kept insisting I did not want to have sex with him, and he kept asking for it. I eventually gave in and let him have sex with me, and the thought process was, “If I have sex with him, he will leave me alone.” So I guess I said yes, but it was a complete internal NO which I feel a more intuitive person would have picked up on. He had my verbal consent, so I’m sure there’s no way he would ever feel as if he raped me. But I don’t know what to call it, or how to feel about. I just don’t talk about it.

What your friends said about the situation doesn’t define it. What I say about it doesn’t define it. What he thinks about it sure as hell doesn’t define it. Only you can know if this man pestered and harried you into manufactured false consent, and if you slept with him just to get him off your back. I can tell you that coercive rape is absolutely a real thing, and what you describe sounds like it could very easily be a textbook case.

If you didn’t give your consent willingly, the sex should never have happened. Period. I’m sad that you went through this.

My boyfriend is a chemistry major, and I would really like to fuck him in his lab coat.

Really badly.

Okay, so obviously I’m picturing this in my mind’s eye. There’s no way that’s not happening. But there’s also no way I can picture you guys fucking like this without Thomas Dolby’s “Blinded Me With Science” playing in the background. I just thought I’d let you know.

It saddens me that every time i watch a tentacle hentai it is always rape, because if it were me I would love it. Just the idea of having something large, muscular and that have COMPLETE MANEUVERABILITY just sets something off in me. Also the idea of it holding me down (or up) gets me wet.
I am a straight female. I like boobs I do, but anything below the belt…not so much. i feel like its weird and cant discuss it with any of my female friends.

You might want to check this out when it’s finally published. Also, check these out:

octoboobs!

Hey, so tell me about stuff.

(image source)

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Thank you for trusting me with your confessions. Especially the really bizarre ones. But also the sweet ones, the wistful ones, the confessions from crisis and the lurid missives of lust. All of them, really.

I have no idea who you are, but your minds are delicious.

My boyfriend and I are doing some anal play, with an eventual goal of anal sex. Unfortunately he’s a rather girthy guy and the pretty little butt plug I bought simply doesn’t come close to approximating him. Yesterday we went to the toy shop and did some looking for an intermediate step, or something slightly larger than he is, to keep working toward our goal.

All I could think was how intimidating the buttplugs look! The ones with gradual girth increases are all slim enough to not be useful and the rest either get fat really fast or incorporate some shape that frankly looks scary as hell.

We wound up getting a silicone dong that starts about where the plug leaves off and has a very gentle girth increase until it qualifies me for his lovely cock, and then some.

Plus, it was way cheaper than the ” anal trainer ” toys.

Am I the only woman out there who doesn’t really care about the toys (although I thoroughly enjoy myself when we use them) except as a means to an end? I don’t want it to vibrate or oscillate or be beaded or engraved or whatever else those things were. I just want it to be what I need, a way to allow my body to adjust to the point where I can give my love something he really likes.

This is the most romantic thing I’ve ever read that incorporates the word “dong”. I hope your system is paying off in anal orgasms and a sex life that gets better by the day.

I’ve found myself in a crisis situation. I have to have strong vibrations to get off, and my vibrator just broke. I go to school in a tiny, rural town without a sex-toy shop. My credit card is still under my parent’s account, so I can’t use it to order a new one off the internet. And I won’t be in a big city again until Christmas break.

Hopefully you already found a replacement, but if this happens again, remember that Amazon has sex toys. Who would question an innocent bookstore charge on a credit card statement? All you ordered was a package of AA batteries to go with your, uh, kitten calendar. Yeah.

I have fancied a guy for a while now and when we see each other we tend to flirt a bit / a lot depending on the occasion. Last night I revved myself up for a good night out with him present and hoped I could take things a little further. Unfortunately, he couldn’t stay long and I ended up flirting with another guy I barely knew before.

Now I can’t decide what I want.

Well, I actually do know what I want. I want to keep flirting and kissing and snogging and possibly more both of them. At least for a little while. Because in the end, I still think I’m monogamous. But a girl’s gotta have some fun. With a little luck, they’ll both be up for some non-exclusive fun.

I have never been able to wrap my mind around people who expect exclusivity while casually dating, before making an explicit agreement to be exclusive.

Whenever I read confessions from married/attached people about having very infequent sex I think ”I can sympathize. I know exactly where you’re coming from” and then, invariably, they complain because they’re only having sex like once a week. OH the HORROR. You poor thing. What I wouldn’t give to have sex once a week. In the last 7 weeks I can count, on one hand, how many times we’ve had sex. In fact, I can count the number of times on one hand, that had a freak farming accident, and had 4 fingers amputated. So, quit bitching about your once a week sex life and consider yourself lucky. (but I’m not bitter).

I feel your pain. Intensely. In another week I’ll be able to count the sex I’ve had in the last seven weeks on zero hands. Which is good, I guess, because those hands are occupied with furiously fapping and flipping off my life.

Of course, if I ever get married or have a live-in partner again, I do hope it will be with someone who wants to bone more than once a week. I really and truly do.

I have developed a huge crush on a co-worker. She’s pretty much amazing, as far as I’m concerned. I sat in my meeting today imagining all things I want to do to her and all the hot girl sex we could be having. Her style is super edgy and I don’t know if I’m judging her personal sense of style (which is incredibly ”non-normative”) and applying that to other aspects of her personality or if I might be pegging her as possibly queer because I want her to be queer as a consequence of my super big crush. A part of me feels like a judgmental jerk. The other part is still super turned on. I’ve decided not to press the issue and actually find out her orientation. I think the fantasy would be ruined should I discover she’s super super straight.

Wait, let me get this straight: you feel like a judgmental jerk for having had your gaydar tripped?

You know what is a good remedy for guilt? Hot girl sex.

Hey, guys! Visit the Sex Confessional!

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