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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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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I am so proud of the sex mirrors in my new bedroom! That is why people put mirrors on double sliding closet doors, isn’t it?

Sometimes I’m going about my business in daily life and I think “Hey, QP, you realize some people will only have sex with the lights off? That’s a terrible commentary on how society makes us feel like shit about our bodies.” And then I’m all like, “Whoa, self. I guess I didn’t think about that. I normally think of people as having sex with other human beings, but maybe you’re right. Maybe some of them do have sex with “the lights off”, whatever that means. Thanks for pointing that out.” Then, I refuse to talk to myself for the rest of the day for some weird reason. I am touchy.

But to answer your question, yes, sex is the reason for all mirrors! It also helps you figure out if you’re fucking a vampire, which can be helpful.

Have scads of lights-on fun, will you?

I’ve been thinking a lot lately about wanting to get involved with other couples.. threesomes where I learn to suck cock, for the right motivation, feature prominently. But my wife, she’s not so into the other women thing.. at least, not yet.

Hooray for group sex fantasies!

That “yet” in the last sentence worries me just a little, though, so I’m just going to play devil’s advocate here. Some women are straight. Not bi. Not at all. No matter how many bisexual/pansexual/omnisexual/queer women you know, no matter what Alfred Kinsey said, some women are irrevocably and permanently not so into the other women thing. Period.

Of course, it’s very possible your wife has expressed bi-curiosity, is shy, and you maintain a reasonable level of hope that someday she’ll choose act on it. In that case, the paragraph above wasn’t for you. It is for anyone reading this who thinks they might be able to coerce someone into experimenting against their orientation. I feel inclined to point out, though, that even if your wife is straight she may well have no problem with the idea of an MFM threesome.

Hi! Thank you for publishing my confession– I nearly spit out my tea when I saw it, which would probably have alarmed my brother and father (they’re watching TV in the same room…we’re not that close as a family!). Thank you so much for your comments too, they were really kind and nice! And I wanted to let you know that since then, I’ve had a one night stand where the guy came around 4 times, and I’m now going out with another guy, and he’s, well, definitely happy! So thank you!

I think you’re referring to the third confession last week, and if so I am so happy for you! And I know these things are relative, but it sounds like you might be seriously awesome in bed, so you get a giant internet high five from me!

Dear QP–I just have to confess that I love to give my man a blow job in the morning. If it leads to something for me, I’m for that too, but sucking on him and bringing him to orgasm just starts the day out right.

This probably doesn’t have to be a secret, but I’m damn glad it’s a ConTuesday confession because I get to administer another internet high five! At quizzicalpussy.com, we adore generous lovers.

The pic you used for the ”Rubbing one out” post…girls like that are totally responsible for me identifying as ”heteroflexible”.

She really is delicious, isn’t she?

I like reading about group sex, one girl servicing several guys, but it’s not something I would ever want to try.

Here’s what we do: I will service several guys, write about it here, and then you can read about it! Everyone wins.

Okay, probably not, but I’m tempted.

At this very moment, my husband is asleep beside me with his arm around me, holding onto my boob. Every few minutes, he giggles in his sleep and starts to play with it. He sounds so adorable, it’s making me laugh and want to jump him at the same time.

This makes me want to hug one of those chow chows painted to look like a panda because that’s how cute it is!

I’d like to have raunchy phone sex with the guy who voices the character of Brock Samson from the Venture Brothers. In character, of course.

HOLY SHIT YES. I feel like it would be more shocking if you didn’t want to have phone sex with Patrick Warburton. I mean, do you realize you could have a threesome with Brock Samson and The (live action) Tick? You could even get some Rip Riley action in there. Heaven! brb fapping.

And while I’m busy with that, why don’t you send me a sex confession, dear reader?

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My very first dildo is supposed to get here today. I’m so excited!

Years ago I met a young mother with a daughter named Dylan. I’m not sure if she realized how odd it sounded when she called her little girl “Dyldo” (sounded exactly like you fear/hope it did), but I have to wonder how she could not. I am not making this up.

Anyway, hope you had fun!

School was sooo boring today that I spent the whole class fantasising about the guy next to me. First I wondered if it was ok just to turn to him and ask if he wanted to leave the lecture to fuck. Then I thought about not leaving the class to fuck. I thought about asking if could suck him off under the desk. Then I got lost in the multitude of dirty naked things I’d like to to with him. Next thing I knew, lecture was over, I hadn’t written a word, and he was turning to me to ask about the assignment! I somehow managed to reply that it was due friday, rather than telling him I wanted to tie him up and ride his face. I’ll have to make the effort to work on that assignment with him to see where it goes…

This sort of thing has definitely happened to me before, but I think I always recover well.

How many people out there think that it’s wrong to have sexual fantasies about unsuspecting acquaintances and friends? I don’t, obviously. I don’t really believe in thought crimes in general, but I’ve known plenty of people who will not do it.

I have comically large balls, but less than one quarter of the normal testosterone level. While folks may not be sure there’s a god, it’s hard to argue that whatever’s out there, it has a fucked up sense of humor.

There has to be a God. The world is too fucked up to be an accident.

I’m in a cynical mood today (see: sick and tired).

I have no sensation in my areolas. Never had any form of surgery or injury on my breasts, they just have always been completely numb. I’ve never told anyone about it. For some reason it makes me feel ashamed that I can’t get any form of pleasure from that part of my body.

I’ve noticed that roughly half the guys I’m played with (admittedly not an impressive sample size) get no particular pleasure from nipple stimulation. I’m sure many women don’t get much out of people touching their areolas (though my personal experience indicates they’re probably fewer). Please don’t be ashamed that you might not respond to the touches partners might first expect to give you. Part of the fun of having sex with you is learning and doing what turns you on.

Please send me an interesting sex secret in this, my time of need.

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How do you not suddenly become Penn Jillette?

“You’ll notice that my boobs are, in a hyphenate, mind-boggling in their glory. But in a moment…” And this is where you turn your back to the audience and begin to unhook your bra closure. Your hands cross over the cups. You wait for the subtle forward lean. It means you’ve hooked ‘em. “In a mere moment, lady or gentleman, you’ll realize that things…” Dramatic pause and a hand goes into the bra cup, liberating the rubbery stowaway and releasing it to the floor with a flourish. “…are not always…” The other hand goes in for the second cutlet, which is dispatched to the floor to join its twin. “…what they seem!” And your bra drops to the floor as your arms raise in triumph. Your breasts were normal-sized all along.

Holy shit you are amazing! Applause happens.

This is exactly how I imagine this would go; in my case, at least. And honestly? Showmanship is better than huge tits.

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And I’ll wonder to myself, Is this it? Is today the day I’m finally going to wear fake boobies in my bra? So far, it never is.

Sometimes I would like to have bigger tits. If the reason were any simpler I’d have to grunt it. Women with big boobs get a lot of sexual attention when they show them off, leading me to imagine it’s pretty easy for them to get sex any time they like. This is a lifestyle that appeals to me.

To be fair, at other times I wish I had smaller boobs and 12% body fat. Basically I want to be Princess Mombi, but with modular bodies in addition to all the heads. I don’t think that’s asking too much.

Anyway I was blessed with boobs I’d call just about average-sized. (Though, in a Serling-esque twist, I think my tits have grown a little since I went off birth control pills, despite my actual weight staying stable. If anyone can figure that one out, let me know. ***Spoiler: Also no, I’m not knocked up***) They’re not tiny, but they’re not formidable either. So at one point I bought those weird silicone inserts in a fit of “why the fuck not?”.

But I haven’t ever worn them, and the reason is not an ethical issue with deception, nor the fear that someone will get a disappointing handful of plastic if a spontaneous hookup should happen. And sadly, perhaps, it’s not because I looked inside myself and found that I like me just the way I am. The major reason is that I don’t really understand how to use them.

They didn’t come with instructions. Do they go at the bottom of the bra, to boost the flesh boobs up higher? Do they go on the sides to push the cleavage together? Somewhere else altogether? I don’t know. Wherever I put them they look weird. It always just looks like I stuck a big brick of plastic down my shirt. Which I guess I sort of did.

Really, it’s just too damn much trouble to play titty tetris every time I want to look hot.

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I knew I was supposed to be finding myself (it’s what all the cool kids seemed to be doing in college), but I wasn’t. I was just going to class and working and trying to keep my relationship together. There was nothing revelatory about my life. But it seemed like maybe feminists could tell me where I was.

They couldn’t, of course. No one can. But for my final project in that class I wrote and illustrated an educational pamphlet on female genital anatomy. It was created to give young women a sense of normalcy regarding masturbation and a clear idea of what’s where in the vulvular region. And I don’t know why, but I’m still rather proud of it. Probably because it makes me laugh even now.

In retrospect, I really don’t think it’s possible to find yourself where and when you’re “supposed” to. Unlike the average clitoris.

Today’s confessions are about anatomy, more or less.

I’m an adult who wets the bed, and I’m terribly afraid every time I stay over after sex that I’m going to piss on him.

Some guys would be into that. Just saying.

My partner begs me to pee on him. CONSTANTLY. This does nothing for me, to the point where I find it disgusting. I did pee on his face for the first time in our many years together, and he loved it. I wanted to puke. Ah, love.

See, first confessor? It’s probably not exactly kismet that these two confessions actually came in the same day, but it’s something. Synchronicity, maybe.

Oh, and this commenter? You are good, giving, and game without a doubt.

My roommates are in the main lounge studying, but I feel a lot more productive–while masturbating, I finally succeeded in orgasming from nipple play alone. (of course the one nipplegasm didn’t stop me from subsequently going for the clit and coming again…)

Ooh I just had a nipple orgasm myself! Isn’t it cool how all the kinds of orgasms are different? You can have a five-course meal just of different kinds of coming.

I broke up with my boyfriend about a month ago, I don’t really miss him but what I do miss is his penis which was huge. I was going to have sex with someone else the other day but actually couldn’t do it because they just had nothing compared to him. I’m scared I’ll never be as satisfied with another penis as I was with his!

Not being a real size queen myself, I find it hard to relate to this, exactly, but I can sympathize. I’m imagining being condemned to skinny, three-inch cocks and a one-finger-at-a-time limit for the rest of my life, and I’m suddenly unsatisfied.

I’m scared I will never love another penis the way I loved my ex boyfriend’s penis. It was a beauty and now every single one I see is a true disappointment. I wish I’d taken a picture when I had the chance.

Wouldn’t it be nice if you and the previous confessor could just switch exes? I wonder if your “big”s are comparable. Unless you’re the same person, and your ex is mutant, unequaled in size the world over. In which case, balls.

But I remain firm in my belief that mammoth penii are out there, more than enough for both of you, just waiting to blow your minds.

Now, kind readers, blow my mind? Tell me something good.

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For my age, I would say, most people believe I already had at least one relationship. It is, somehow, accepted by society that I should. Fact is, though, that I haven’t. I never went further than a french kiss. More that is not much of a confession. The thing is, if I were to buy a sex toy, I would have no idea what to do with it. I never even touched myself, let one felt the urge to.

Most people do seem to expect everyone to share a desire to date and fuck and masturbate. But they’re ignoring and marginalizing a ton of people when they do. I think it’s important for even sex maniacs to remember this.

My boyfriend is amazing for me in bed, and amazing as a person in general, to the extent that I’m pretty sure he’s the person I want to spend the rest of my life with – but I can never quite let myself go completely with him when we’re sexin’. Not because I’m repressed, or afraid he’ll mock me, but because I don’t want to hurt his feelings. He’s a bigger guy and one of the reasons I’m so attracted to him physically is that I’m almost exclusively turned on by lads and lasses one would describe as overweight; he’s aware of this, but I’m always kind of nervous that I’ll accidentally slip up and tell him that his big stomach or soft chest is so hot when I’m distracted by lust. He’s really sensitive about his weight, and it’s such a fine line to tread, trying to tell someone you find them gorgeous partly because of a trait they despise about themselves. I wish he could see himself the way I see him; maybe it would stop him from thinking I’m prettier than him, stop him from feeling ugly whenever he has to get shirtless in front of anyone else… and stop him from wanting to get thin.

Weight is such a sensitive subject, but at the same time how can we possibly expand the idea of which body types are widely considered sexy if we don’t talk about it, if we don’t in fact revel in it? This may seem like advice, but it’s not. I’m just agreeing that you’re in a frustrating position loving an aspect of your boyfriend’s looks and self that he isn’t comfortable with.

There’s a small stain on the carpet of my old room in my parents’ house. My mom knows it’s from when I threw up during a visit a year or so ago. What she doesn’t know is that the vomit was about 50% chocolate pudding and 50% semen. I’ve since learned to be a little more cautious when deep-throating a guy, and to put down a towel first.

That was either like one spoonful of pudding or a fuck ton of semen, according to my calculations. Towels are really such a good idea for a variety of sexual acts. Also hitchhiking.

I just realized that I’m pretty much willing to show my boobs to anyone who asks, at least in theory. I think it’s because I respect them for being straight up and asking for what they want. As long as they don’t try to touch, it seems like a totally reasonable request.

Also, because boobs are awesome.

Boobs are awesome. I don’t really consider it a reasonable request when people I’m not close to/interested in ask to see my boobs, but I’m probably not as generous a person as you are. You also probably have better boobs, I’m guessing. Anyway, thank you for your contribution to society!

Now, dear reader, show me your secrets and tell me your tales.

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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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Oh god, no.

This…

…is going to get a whole lot worse before it gets better.

I’m so sorry, guys. I cannot take her anywhere.

This feeling informs very little of my behavior during actual sex (I have convinced myself, and dearly hope is true), but it dramatically influences–nay, dominates–the way I flirt, or even interact with my friends and the people I fuck. A great example of this is the fact that I do not, will not, can not send anyone sexy/risque/flirty/myspace profile/whatever pictures.

No part of me projects these self-judgments onto other people who take, send, and share sexy pics of themselves. Oh, not by any means. Please feel free to test me on this.

Over the weekend I went to a party at the local goth club. Objectively speaking, I can get pretty tarted up as long as I’m convincing myself that this is “just for fun” and not anything remotely close to trying to be sexy. I do tend to give myself the benefit of a doubt when it comes to dressing. It’s similar to my completely sense-making habit of enjoying wearing cute underwear but being terribly embarrassed whenever I’m found out. This particular night I put on a short skirt, high (as I can manage with my walking issues) heels, a t-shirt I assaulted with a pair of scissors, and these adorable striped thigh highs. And a good time was had by all.

Laramy wasn’t able to come out, having had kind of a shitty day. So as I got home and started to strip off my sweaty clothes, he was on my mind and I had a dramatically uncharacteristic thought process:

1. These thigh highs are kind of cute…
2. Laramy’s mentioned a couple times that he likes my legs…
3. He’s had a super bad day…
4. I never send him pics of me…
5. Ergo… maybe it would cheer him up if I emailed him a picture of my legs in aforementioned thigh highs!
6. I’d better hurry up and do it before I think this through any further.

And I wasn’t even drunk or anything! I’m not going to say that what I produced in the following moments using a camera phone, specialty hosiery, and an inexplicable lapse of inhibition was a “sexy pic”. It really wasn’t. The whole thing was supposed to be a silly “thinking of you” gesture, I guess. But after I sent it, I realized that it was hazardously close to a “sexy pic” attempt. The more I thought about it the more I started neurotically wondering if it was going to come across as entirely pathetic or just mostly pathetic, and by the time I got up the next morning I was grimly expecting the worst.

To his great credit as a gentleman, Laramy’s reaction via instant message was a lot more “I like the thigh highs” than “You preposterous creature, what’s with the flailing abortion of a jpg in my inbox?” But it was a bit of a struggle to resist asking, “So like, that picture is pretty much an embarrassment to everyone involved, right?” I felt kind as if I was watching myself in horror as I proudly brought roadkill pie to the cool kids’ sushi and sake party. My stoicism through all this was an inspiration to both of me.

Mere minutes later, I kid you not, a friend sent me a genuinely super-sexy pic of her amazing bare breasts, asking me to forward it on to Laramy. Which I did, gladly, content that I had actually found a way to at least help brighten up his morning in a much more productive way than my previous attempt.

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