quizzical pussy

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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I want a unicorn horn dildo. Oh, yes, I truly do.

I realize we’ve been through this before. I realize that I want a terrible lot of novelty dildos, some of which even exist. But I swear, this time it’s serious.

I want a unicorn horn dildo. I want to strap it on and have a majestic unicorn horn cock. I want to strut around with it, admiring myself, horned creature. I want to fuck a woman with it and give her the most obscene orgasms: orgasms that are truly, offensively beautiful.

I want to lock our fingers together as I plunge my majestic cock into her and tell her with my eyes that this thing we’re doing, which has the impossible nestled right there in the middle of it all, is absolutely true. There is nothing truer or more honest than the moment when I make her come.

We are an improbable creature together, more beautiful than sense.

Or, failing that, I want to own a unicorn horn dildo because fuck you, I have a unicorn horn dildo. And it can double as a narwhal tusk. Holy shit why am I not ordering this right now?

Oh, cause I’m broke? Okay, I guess that’s valid.

(image source)

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I don’t understand people who brag about female ejaculation.

Okay, wait. Yes I do. It’s because of how often many of us have been ridiculed and shamed and accused of lying/deluding ourselves about squirting. Sometimes that sort of thing makes you want to scream “FUCK YOU DO YOU REALIZE THIS MAKES ME AWESOME!?!?” It’s a defense mechanism, and it makes perfect sense. But I hate how it creates a culture where someone might feel like they’re falling short if they happen to not be an ejaculator.

Really, we’re just talking about an orgasm with some extra liquid added. It doesn’t make you automatically awesome. It doesn’t make you sexier¹ or healthier or smarter or more financially solvent. You will probably not even get a sticker.²

It might, however, be an especially intense orgasm, and it is an interesting thing to experience. For many people, that alone makes it worth looking in to. That’s why I’m offering some squirting tips for those who want to squirt and those who want to assist others in their quest to do so. If you succeed at this, try not to brag too much. I will see what I can do about stickers.

You don’t need to know the basics of the physiology of female ejaculation to squirt, but they can help. I am equipped to give you only the very basics.

The g-spot exists. It’s actually the underside of the urethral sponge, which swells with fluid when arousal happens. It’s usually found a couple inches above the vaginal opening on the clitular facing side of the vaginal wall. Its texture is usually different from the surrounding tissue, making it fairly easy to find. Sometimes there will be gasps or squeals or other sound effects that help further clarify its location. Keep in mind, though, that every body is different.

Sometimes the urethral sponge releases this fluid through the urethra during orgasm. The orgasms that bring this about often come from g-spot stimulation, but not always. Clitoral stimulation alone can do it for some people. The release can be like a spray, a gush, or a trickle: they all qualify as squirting. The fluid isn’t pee, it’s most often clear, and it is harmless.

Whether squirting orgasms actually feel better than any other kind very much depends on the person. And in fact, from here on out I’m really just going to talk about personal experiences and observations.

1. The first rule of squirting is: squirting is really, honestly no big deal. If you do it, it’s nothing to be self-conscious or worried about. If you don’t do it, you’re in the majority, and this in no way constitutes failure. My point here is that stressing out never helped anyone’s sex life.³ And it especially never helped anyone ejaculate. Relaxing is going to help you here with one tiny exception that we’ll cover later.
2. The actual first rule of squirting probably should have been put down a towel. If not several. Do not forget the towels. You can skip this step if and only if you have rubber sheets or are doing this on a hard surface like a bathtub or an inspiring marble fountain.
3. Start doing kegels now. Right now. Really. I’ll wait. Mighty PC muscles are only going to help your cause here. Apparently, when they’re toned your g-spot is more accessible, and has more sensitivity because of better blood flow. All I know is that I’ve been doing kegels since I was ten and I am a squirter, so that’s n=1. Science!⁴
4. Get an njoy pure wand. If there is one toy in all the world that is responsible for more female ejaculation than all the others combined, it’s probably this one. Or, at very least, I cannot use it without squirting. I can practically not look at it without squirting. Both ends feel incredible: the knob (I usually prefer the smaller side, but both work) lands right on my g-spot perfectly, whether I’m thrusting with it or rocking the toy back and forth from its center. This is quite literally the best sex toy investment I’ve made. And, did I mention? Splashy.
5. If you’re not ready to embrace the feat of engineering that is the pure wand, your best bet is a toy with a curved end that will easily reach your g-spot.
6. When playing with a partner, I’ve found that simultaneous focused clit and g-spot stimulation tend to make me squirt. For instance, sucking on my clit while fingering me with those come-hither crooked fingers for a bit works like a charm. It also puts me in a pretty chipper mood.
7. Sometimes a lot of orgasms have to happen before the squirting starts. Be patient and persevere. Could there really be a less tedious thing to practice?
8. If you have enough muscle control that you’re able to tense just the area around your urethral sponge/g-spot during stimulation, that can be a helpful way to put yourself over the top.

Experiment. A lot. Alone, with a partner, with several different partners. If it doesn’t happen right away try doing kegels regularly for a month and then trying again. Try a new toy. If it’s important to you, keep at it. Keep calm and carry on.

But seriously? The pure wand. I’m telling you.

1. Unless the beholder in question is someone with a thing for squirters, I suppose. [↩]
2. Note: I really should make stickers. [↩]
3. Unless, of course, we consider the case of Hippolyta Craig of Lubbock, Texas, but that is another story entirely. [↩]
4. Disclaimer: This is not science. [↩]

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Here we have a wild ConTuesday in its natural habitat, with a resplendent display of sex confessions from anonymous donors. I have literally never been on a safari with this many dildos, have you?

I love my partner massively (oh dear, does any confession that starts that way end well?), but I’ve gotten into a vicious cycle with him that I don’t know how to fix. We went through a rough patch in terms of his sex drive, so that on the rare occasions he did want it, he’d want it at the most comfortable situation for him (late at night, when we’re both about half asleep) which is the total opposite of most comfortable for me (i am a morning person who really, really likes to talk before/during/after sex). Now, when our sex life is normal, this is no problem–we’ll have that sleepy sex sometimes, and wild, crazy early sex some other times, no problem. But when the former was all I was getting, I found I wasn’t really able to come very much (highly unusual for me), which dwindled to ”not at all” and then to ”it feels tickly and uncomfortable when you touch me sexually.” which I guess is some sort of half-burie d resentment about our sex life no longer being even a little bit about me. And so, to make matters worse, when I try to initiate sex and he goes for it, I only feel turned on for a minute or two before feeling all resentful and…tickly again. I can masturbate no problem, and we’re nonmonogamous, and I don’t have these feelings with other partners, so it’s definitely psychological rather than physical. I’m usually so good at talking out my feelings, but this one has gotten so tangled up (and has gone on so long–months!) that I don’t even know where to begin that might have some small chance of not being incredibly hurtful and unproductive. Any ideas, O Sex Guru of the Anonymous Internet?

Someone mature and experienced in positive relationship communication is going to come along and read this any minute now, I just know it, and they’re going to give some really killer advice.

Until then, I will take a stab. First, if you’ve neglected to tell your boyfriend any of what you described above, you should get cracking on that. He might think the status is quo, when for you it is, in fact, not. More specifically, you need some fully-awake energetic sex that is sometimes about you to be okay with your sex life; this cannot remain ambiguous. Those needs are healthy and okay, I swear.

Secondly, once he knows this you could benefit from a sex reset. Since I just now made up that term, I should probably explain: a weekend or even a day where you guys can make it a point to have a metric ton of amazing sex. Maybe there can be romantic shit too. Just rediscover each other and specifically try to stop taking sex for granted, and see if that helps you feel less resentful and maybe helps him take you less for granted.

Thirdly, you sent this in months ago and I just now got to it and I’m truly sincerely hoping things are better now and all this advice is completely redundant.

Last night I finally got to fuck the guy I’ve been crushing on for the last 8 months. He was hotter with his clothes off than I had imagined. It wasn’t quite up to what I had been fantasising, but man did he give good head.

Internet high five for you!

i keep a glass bottle on my desk. my boyfriend thinks it’s meant to be a bud vase, but i use it as a dildo nigh every night. even though i love with the man, i still need my ”me” time regularly.

See what I mean about dildos?

I have no basis for saying this whatsoever and am in fact just making shit up here, but what are the odds your boyfriend hasn’t looked at that bottle and had absolutely valid and realistic thoughts about what you’re doing with it? The coolest part is if he thought he was being impossibly lewd.

Again, no basis. None.

I’m the person who confessed about the husband and brother in law fantasy, and you’re dead right: my husband would be shattered if I ever told him. He and his brother are *very* competitive, and their relationship, like most siblings (I guess! I don’t have any) is pretty complicated. However, there are a lot of fantasies that are better left in your head, so it’s no biggie to have this lurking around back in my id, where I can safely let it out for a trot now and then, and then safely shut it back up. :)

You are a wise one.

The other day Laramy and I were talking about the “call me daddy” phenomenon (which has never been my thing, but I’m not knocking it) and he suggested I call him my father’s actual full name during sex, just to be really authentic. And while he was almost certainly kidding (I fervently hope, and need to believe), I can’t help but think that little gem would have been better off left in his head.

I recently purchased my first dildo. I’ve always had plenty of toys, I just never thought a dildo would be worthwhile because they seem so single-function… boy was I wrong! Me and Chakotay (as I have affectionately named it) are having a grand ol’ time.

Let me get this straight: you named your dildo after a Star Trek character? That is like a magical sex unicorn playing Holy Diver on an enchanted electric guitar made out of dildos and true love! Or, in layman’s terms, it’s awesome. And it brings us back to dildos.

Want to share a secret? Become the creature.

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People send me anonymous confessions, I post them here, and you all read them. But what happens then? Do you get inspired to lewd, unspeakable acts that you can’t share with anyone so you send them to me as anonymous confessions?

Dear God I hope so. Let the cycle begin!

I was goofing off with my boyfriend and generally having a tickle fight, when I somehow convinced him to let me stick a vibrator in his belly button (his prime tickle spot).

I highly recommend doing this. You (probably) won’t get off, but it is hilarious nonetheless.

File this under ”Weird-Assed Things to Do With Sex Toys”. =P

It’s Monday night as I compile this ConTuesday, and I just had a huge dinner of homemade beef shawarma and hummus.  So I guess what I’m saying is that there is no way in hell I’m sticking a vibrator in my belly button right now. But I will have to remember to try this because now I’m curious and it sounds hilarious.

If anyone else wants to send suggestions for weird-assed things to do with sex toys, maybe I will try them when my stomach doesn’t hurt! Maybe.

When I was a wee lass of 18, I had my artist younger brother/bff draw me something pretty so I could get a tattoo. It was a flower, and after careful consideration of where I was and was not likely to gain/lose a lot of weight, I chose to have it done on the small of my back. Several years later this turned into a trend and became known as the tramp stamp. At first I thought ”fuck you guys, I love being a tramp and this is a very reasonable place for a lady to get tattooed.” But, over time, the idea of the tramp stamp has worn on me, to the point where I now feel ashamed to have this thing that I once thought of as a beautiful expression of affection for my brother. On top of that, I feel ashamed for feeling ashamed because I know it’s a sexist and ridiculous way of characterizing a piece of body art. Nonetheless, it makes me feel anxious about revealing my body to new sex partners. Ugh.

I bet it’s beautiful.

My boyfriend doesn’t want to marry me and it makes me so sad.

In other words, I have the most stereotypical girly-girl problem ever. If he found out how much it means to me he’d feel bad but he’ll never change his mind, so what good’s telling him? I don’t have anyone I can confide in. Which of my badass feminist friends, some of whom can’t even legally marry their partners, am I supposed to bitch to about this one?

Straight people and gay people and even badass feminist people are allowed to want to get married to the people they love. It might never happen with your current partner if he really isn’t interested in marriage, and that will either have to be okay or a deal-breaker eventually, but your desire is valid and there is nothing wrong with it. Also, I think good friends have the ability to care about your problems in the context of your life, without needing to necessarily compare situations. They want you to be happy, right? And this is making you sad, so I suspect they’d be there for you on this one.

A while ago I had a crush on this guy who was really into X-men. Wolverine was his favorite. It never went anywhere, but I did have this reoccurring fantasy about blowing him while he was watching X-Men Origins: Wolverine (the movie made to make Hugh Jackman take his shirt off) since that was the closest I would I ever be able to get to a threesome with him and Wolverine. Sadly, I don’t think he would have appreciated my line of reasoning.

I bet a lot of guys would secretly appreciate your line of reasoning. If you want Wolverine in addition to someone rather than instead of them, doesn’t that mean they can, in one sense at least, hold their own against Wolverine? And isn’t that pretty boss? Or is that just my twisted nerdy sex logic?

Tell the world something about your sex life. Who knows what (or who) will come of it?

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Because my vagina is now so snobby and fancy and very used to getting expensive things shoved up it, it has informed me that we simply do not do tampons anymore.

A tampon costs about $.20 or so, making it the crappy $10 jelly dildo of menstrual devices. According to my vagina, I can go fuck myself if I think that’s going to cut it anymore. After all, my vagina is used to Feeldoes and Pure Wands and a boyfriend with the most beautiful penis I’ve ever seen. So to a point, I understand how a wad of bleached cotton with a dangly string is just insulting at this point.

The Diva Cup, a medical grade silicone menstrual cup, is mathematically just a better thing to put in one’s vagina, according to mine. At over a hundred times more expensive than a single tampon, it’s more appropriate for a fancy vagina, is the argument. I think. Now, I’m not sure how fair it would be to say that I honor my genitals’ wishes whenever they get ideas about things, but I was out of tampons and when I actually did the math¹ I realized that this scheme would actually save me money in the long run. So I ordered one and then promptly got my period, which ended shortly before my Diva Cup arrived.

…Which was a little annoying, but the thing about periods is there’s always another one coming along eventually. Until there’s not, at which point you throw yourself the best party ever.

So on that last period I used up my remaining Instead Softcups, which I hate. They feel roughly like sticking a garbage bag duct taped to a hula hoop up your hoohah, and yet somehow manage to leak anyway. Considering that these war crimes were my first experience with menstrual cups, the leap of faith I took ordering the Diva Cup only makes sense when you realize I’m often entirely ruled by whimsy.

I waited about a month and a half, I think, before I started my very first Diva period yesterday. I have to admit I was a little excited beyond that normal “Jubilation! Not pregnant!² Not in total thyroid shutdown!” rush. I like new toys, okay?

I’ve been using this thing for less than 24 hours, so I’m not actually writing a comprehensive review, just sharing some first impressions:

1. Size-wise, the Diva Cup is much (much much) more manageable than the Instead, which always seemed to end up askew inside me and half pushed out because my body had no idea where it was meant to go. The Diva doesn’t feel nearly as obtrusive.
2. There’s going to be a bit of a learning curve. You fold up the Diva Cup to insert it, and then you’re supposed to turn it 360° while still gripping the base (not the stem) in order to get it unfolded and correctly placed. Now, I said the Diva Cup was smaller than a hula hoop-sized apparatus. Notice that I did not say it’s small enough to perform finger acrobatics with inside my nethers.
3. Overall, I’m encouraged. It seems to be working without much leaking despite the fact that I’m almost certainly not doing the turny thing right. And a good thing too, because I’m already financially committed to using it exclusively for uterine lining management for the next couple years.
4. And! It just occurred to me that I’m doing something wonderful for the environment as well! I should really treat myself and chop down a few baby Mediterranean monk seals. I’ve earned it.

Moral of the story: My vagina makes sense. We should all listen to it more often.

(image source)

1. Math being a thing that I, being a person and not a vagina, can actually make use of. [↩]
2. Yes, even though my primary partner has a vasectomy and I haven’t played with another guy in months, and always use condoms with anyone who isn’t Laramy. I am that paranoid. [↩]

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I don’t know if it’s sheer laziness or a priceless secret I must have known at one point but forgot, but lately my favorite way to masturbate is through my underwear, strumming my clit with the very tip of one finger. Back and forth: the soft smooth flesh and then my short, rounded nail, and back again through cotton. Delicious.

It is profoundly stupid how quickly this gets me off.

I spin through no sexy scenarios in my head, I tweak not my nipples, I employ none of the tricks that sometimes seem necessary when I’m all alone and not particularly turned on. Sometimes it’s a little harder to get off when your motivation is a vague urge that’s frankly first-cousins with boredom. But through my underwear like that, gently but not too gently, nothing else is needed.

It’s easy and comforting and uncomplicated and lets me ride orgasm after orgasm floating between them like a wish, which is exactly the opposite of how I feel about my broken body right now.

And what about my toys? My poor fancy toys, my pretty toys! My buzzy, soft, my steel toys. I love them so, but they’ll get neglected with a vengeance at times. Sometimes I’m just too smitten with my finger to bother with them at all.

It’s strange: sometimes the highest setting on my favorite vibrator just frustrates me, but a gentle strumming through cloth unlocks my entire body.  I can never decide whether my clitoris is too sensitive or not sensitive enough. And compared to what?

(image source)

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It seems to me that virginity is one of those things that you pretty much get to define for yourself, like cheating or happiness. Other people, institutions, even laws may have their opinions, but when you break it down enough any definition of virginity seems arbitrary at best. Virginity is so confusing that some people don’t seem to know whether they’re talking about it or not.

I’m about to don my pedantry hat for a minute. Also my seldom seen, but very jaunty, theology hat. You’ve been warned. Immaculate Conception doesn’t mean what most people think it means. In common use, it’s become confused with virgin birth and used synonymously, but it’s never meant “conceiving a child while one is a virgin”. Immaculate Conception is an explanation by the Catholic Church going back to the year Way Long Ago A.D. as to why Mary (the mother of Jesus Christ) was good enough to carry and bear God’s son¹. They decided that Mary, unlike regular non-god-bearing people, had been conceived without original sin (a legacy from Adam and Eve) and was thus pure, immaculate. Later Mary conceived a baby while she was a virgin² and gave birth, but her Immaculate Conception was only a distant prelude to that virgin birth, and has very little to do with virginity whatsoever.

My personal theory is that people use the wrong term because it sounds fancier. People are suckers for fancy. Hold on for a second. Removing hats.

There. That’s better. Where was I? Oh, virginity. I don’t know what the fuck a virgin is. I don’t really know when I was one. My hymen broke twice, but neither of those were the first time I had an orgasm from someone penetrating me. And then it was still two years before I had a dick inside me. Except my mouth. Are we counting my mouth? Suffice to say I lost my virginity, if it was even a thing, but at this point I don’t really know or care when.

But when Laramy commented the other day that he’s never fucked a virgin, I’m almost positive he meant someone who’s never had penis-in-vagina intercourse. That seems to be the most common definition, although I can only imagine how gold star lesbians feel about that. Anyway, he’s mentioned it before.

“Is that one of your goals?” I asked him, curious, but smelling trouble from where I sat. Now, at our age virgins are getting a bit thin on the ground, so it wouldn’t be terribly easy to find one without actively hunting. And a casual, drama-free deflowering with one older, experienced partner who already has a girlfriend and one partner who doesn’t remember that pogs were once a thing can happen, of course. But it feels like it would be asking a lot of the universe.

“It’s not something I’m actively looking for, but it might be interesting.” One interesting thing about Laramy is that he says this about virtually all forms of heterosexual sex he’s not having at that precise moment.

“If you’re that interested, I’ll just get one of those fake hymens³,” I shrugged.

“That’s a thing!?”

Of course it’s a thing! Because sadly, some people still buy into one of the weirdest definitions of virginity: the intact hymen. And there are still places in the world where a woman’s future might depend on her ability to fake that, whether she’s a virgin by any other definition or not.

But I guess it could be a sex toy too. If you’re not too cautious with your mucous membranes.

(image source)

1. The later Protestant explanation is that she quite simply wasn’t, just like no one on Earth was good enough for a god to die for. This is probably why it took a Protestant to write “Amazing Grace”. [↩]
2. Or as a young, unmarried woman, depending on how you like to translate ancient texts. [↩]
3. Just for the record, I was in no way serious. I have no idea what’s in those things, but I can guess it’s not all medical grade silicone and hypoallergenic red lube. [↩]

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I’ll bet you came here today looking for a ConTuesday. Am I right? It must be destiny because that’s exactly what I have for you.

She suggested out of the blue that we swap with them. Was I that easy to read? Of COURSE I want to swap with them. I’m all in. I’m somewhat sure that our lady friend would be, too.

But our man friend? Not a chance. Even to ask would be to lose that friend.

Dammit. Three out of four is a super-majority!

It’s a truth that can be devastating, or it can appear bright and pulsing with hope and redemption: sexual adventures are really only as good as the most reluctant participant.

Still, yeah. That’s a frustrating predicament.

I’m not the most overpaid person in the world, so when I was going to buy a vibrator this weekend, I sort of set a ceiling of $50. I came away for the shop having dropped $100 and change for a wiggly pink thing. Tried it out with my Significant Other last night and I was practically levitating every time I was racked with orgasms. I’ve come _a lot_, but never like that. What a fine investment! SO was grinning like a jackal every time he pushed me over the edge again. Yummy.

If you don’t mind, is there any way you can provide a link to this wiggly pink thing? Or even a name? This isn’t for me, mind. It’s for science.

Yesterday I discovered that if you make a girl cum for 7-8 times and don’t cum yourself…well….they’re not happy.

One thing that restores my faith in humanity when things are looking dire is the fact that we pretty much all want to give pleasure. We want to make other people laugh and smile and clap and come. I think that’s fucking beautiful.

It’s not your fault if you can’t come, of course. But this is probably the reason behind your discovery.

I’ve recently started really enjoying role playing daddy/girl scenes…the only problem is I can’t enjoy this with my Master because he already has a girl he enjoys this particular kink with, and I would feel like I was trying to take away something that was special and hers. But I don’t want to do this with just anyone. *sighs*

Have you talked to this other girl about it? Because, though it might not be the case here, I could imagine some little girls wanting a sister. Either way, good luck finding someone to explore with.

By the time this posts, it won’t have much meaning considering I’ll know one way or the other. But getting it out there before I know I think is important.

My boyfriend and I fuck like bunnies. We don’t use condoms but I am on the pill. He is very fertile (and has the babies to prove it) and convinced that I am pregnant right now. I’m one day late with my period, but that is just one day. I don’t think I am pregnant, but secretly maybe kinda sorta wish I was. It would be an awful time to get pregnant, but when is it ever a good time?

I’m hoping for an update on this one, and that you’re happy with whichever outcome you got.

Secrets go here!

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One of the first survival skills you learn when you have a chronic illness is how to flake out on people. If you go to every social event or honor every commitment, you are sure to run yourself straight into bed for an uninterrupted month. Hope you enjoy bedpans.

Last night I was supposed to go to a friend’s house to help her watch Heathers, which she’d never seen. Now, there is no valid reason I’m aware of to want to miss a showing of Heathers. But I knew if I went I’d pay for it with more pain and exhaustion than I was willing to handle. So survival skill #1 deployed and I flaked.

My friend and the rest of the viewing party decided I was bailing in order to get laid. Not true. I was bailing in order to lie in bed alone, exhausted and pathetic. But there may have been some masturbating.

Indeed, often there’s masturbating. Observe…

I am female and right-hand dominant, but I can only make myself come with my left hand. Isn’t that strange???

My head once fit through a human cervix (admittedly when it was smaller, but still). Nothing should ever really be strange after that.

Sometimes, when I’m having trouble getting motivated to write a paper or clean the house, I’ll just pop in my little dildo, which gets me hot and bothered, and won’t let myself masturbate until I’ve finished my task. I have, however, been interrupted in the process and only realize I forgot to take it out when I sat down on my grandmother’s sofa.

I stand in awe of your ability to focus on writing papers while there’s a dildo inside you. Seriously.

When ever the house is empty, I grab my secret, specially bought electric toothbrush and loudly masturbate until I’m too dizzy to stand.

Sometimes I think electric toothbrushes were created by kind sex sprites in order to make sure no genitalia is left behind in the orgasm wars.

Tonight I felt decadent and I was home alone… I read your blog and got a bit stirred up. I went into the bedroom, put in my vibrator and that felt really nice. But I’ve always craved DP. Then I thought about the dildo in the drawer, and how neglected it has been since I got this crazy-making vibrator. I lubed up the dildo and slid it in my ass and came like nobody’s business. Now I’m sitting, bare-assed back at the computer and drinking a bottle of champagne. I love you, QP. You and your commenters make me so damned horny.

It’s wonderful knowing that I, along with a far-off vibrator and dildo, have made someone’s day a little brighter. Thank you!

There’s something amusing about the fact that lately, sometimes when I orgasm alone my sacrum realigns. I feel powerful when it happens.

If this ever happens to me I’m going to start telling people I have skeletal orgasms.

Understandably, I think, I really hope it happens.

Now, reader, why don’t you tell me something?

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