quizzical pussy

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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Tuesday is, etymologically speaking, sacred to Mars (who was equated with Tīw, the Norse god of combat). Tuesday is also the day sacred to sex secrets. Fact.

The interesting thing here is that Venus was cheating on her husband with Mars, but that wasn’t really a secret at all. I think pretty much everyone knew. Oh, those wacky gods! Here, have a ConTuesday.

I can’t orgasm during intercourse unless I use a vibrator, so I usually introduce the new guy to assisted sex fairly early. So far everyone has been more than accommodating, some have even grown quite fond of ”Bob”, despite the noise. Sometimes I worry I am creating an army of guys who are secretly turned on by the sound of electric toothbrushes and kitchen appliances.

I don’t see a problem here. Toothbrushes can be sexy.

I’m pregnant. Lately, every time we have sex, pre-milk comes out of my nipples. I’m not sure if this is really a confession, since I think this happens to a lot of pregnant/nursing women, but JESUS CHRIST IT IS SO FUCKING WEIRD.

Hey now, pre-milk can be sexy.

I’ve had a confession about being deprived of sex by my partner posted here before and this is an open/anonymous confession I really hope (but sadly doubt) my partner will read and recognize. I love you. You are the love of my motherfucking life, but your stingy withholding of sex is driving me around the bend. It’s not rational. You need therapy if you can’t be open and honest and real with me in the most sexual sense. I’d go furry for you. I’d wear any outfit you could name. I WOULD DO ANYTHING YOU WANTED– debase myself in any way you could name– if only I could feel like we were sharing something deep and intimate. I have no shame and I’d live to give you pleasure every moment, but your chilly selfishness is killing my desire for you. You should have been honest with me about your sexuality (or lack thereof) when we embarked on this relationship and I could have made an informed decision based on reality instead of hoping that one day you’d realize that this is the one life we get with these wonderfully functioning bodies, and that it’s very important not to waste this. You are officially/unofficially on notice. I’m not asking for a 3-day fuckfest– just a teeny little stab in an erotic direction. Timid, I could understand. Shy– eminently forgiveable. After how open and giving I’ve been with you, for you to be sexually closed-off from me is unconscionable. We are doomed, unless you grow the fuck up.
P.S.– I might have an easier time believing you were ”non-sexual” as you claim if I didn’t find lesbian domination porn on my browser when I came back from out of town last weekend. The worst part of this is not the sex– it’s how stupid you believe I am.

Okay, I kind of see a problem here. You sound miserable, in fact. I hope things are better now than when you sent this. I know what it’s like to be in a relationship where I’m not getting sex no matter how hard I try, but I don’t know what it’s like to stay in that situation for too long. Because both times, I honestly couldn’t deal with it.

I don’t like the way the guy I’m dating kisses. I don’t care enough to tell him, though. I think that second part is the most tragic part, too.

I think I might agree.

Do you also not care enough to break up with him? Or is the kissing part of the relationship just not that important to you?

Confess your sex secrets here!

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Serving suggestion.

Turns out they’re not nearly as scary as I thought they’d be. But they do make me awfully giggly…

(image source)

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ConTuesday has arrived! Prepare yourself to read some confessions because they’re coming at you in 3…2…1…

My darkest fantasy: My girlfriend dumps me for another guy, or I walk in on her having sex with another guy (or really any other variant on that theme)

Then through some twist of circumstances, I am at her mercy, and she forces me to give him oral sex or clean up after he finishes on her after making me watch (or really any other variant on that theme)

I have never really felt betrayed, and I wonder whether I fantasize that way because it’s such a reversal of the way my life actually goes, or whether I’ve never felt betrayed in my life because it couldn’t possibly live up to my wildest expectations of betrayal.

This kind of cuckold fantasy is pretty common. I tend to think the human mind and human sexuality are too complex to necessarily be able to explain the things that turn us on, but when has that ever stopped anyone? And seriously, why should it?

I just engaged in a solo session out of literally nowhere in which I suddenly discovered that vaginal walls are really sensitive if you press them from the outside kinda through the outer labia, damn near fisted myself somehow, and finished by jacking off with a Nexus and imagining it was my own dick.It was so awesome I have to tell someone. I am bursting with weird excitement, here. But my girlfriend’s at work and nobody else I know wants to hear about that. So I’m just telling EVERYONE indiscriminately through the power of ConTuesday.(I kinda needed it too…as-yet undiagnosed chronic pain conditions and holidays and periods and back spasms really don’t mix. But damn, if I don’t feel fucking amazing for just right now.)

Indiscriminate relation of mindblowing fapping sessions: one of the many purposes gladly, giddily served by ConTuesday.

I hope your health issues are better now, or at least diagnosed and getting treatment.

Also, I’m trying that pressure-through-the-labia thing, so help me.

When I masturbate I pretty much always swallow my own semen. Sometimes the whole lot, sometimes just a little. I equate it with biting my nails…

This totally reminds me of something that should probably be a confession itself because it’s sort of weird and I don’t want everyone to judge me. But whatever.

I once (years ago) formulated a plan to induce lactation on myself and see how long I could just live off my own breastmilk. I probably would’ve tried to go through with it, too, if it weren’t for the fact that I’d have had to wake myself up in the middle of the night to pump in order to get the milk flowing, if it even worked at all. I must’ve been so super bored back then.

This has next to nothing to do with the semen eating thing, which strikes me as a much nicer habit than nail-biting, really.

There’s a woman I really like. She has an amazing heart. And she’s the best kisser I’ve ever kissed. But she also has saggy folds of flesh that I’ve never encountered in a date before. Not fatter than I’ve seen, but droopier. And it bothers me. I can sort of see past it, but looking at her doesn’t have the effect on me that either of us would prefer.

There’s another woman I’m dating. She has a great body. In my heart it seems like she’s much too pretty to be interested in me. Objectively, I can tell that’s not true, I’m a handsome man and she’s not the prettiest woman to have hit on me by a long way. But I’m so insecure that deep down I can’t accept her interest at face value, and I have trouble getting close to her.

BTW, both girlfriends know that there are other women but not anything about them

I guarantee you that there are people out there who will be attracted to Woman #1′s body just as it is, as well as her heart, all while appreciating her amazing kissing prowess. Offhand I’d say she probably deserves exactly that. I think everyone deserves someone who’s genuinely attracted to them rather than someone who’s just overlooking their appearance. Maybe that’s naive. I also don’t care.

The thing that strikes me most about this confession, however, is that I have no idea if Woman #2 has a damn thing to offer besides a hot body. I think everyone deserves someone who’s genuinely attracted to them rather than someone who’s just interested in their conventionally hot appearance.

Hopefully you’re one of the good someones for one (or both, if you’re poly) of them. If not, don’t beat yourself up. You don’t owe anyone your attraction. In that case, I hope you move on and find the right person/s for you.

Have a sexy confession? Submit to me!

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There is an art to giving a handjob. You will notice here that I don’t claim to have mastered this art, simply that it exists. I’ll admit that this is one of my weaker points when it comes to sexual skills. To me, a handjob is usually an entirely pragmatic maneuver: I’m trying to get or keep a penis hard until I can put it somewhere more exciting than between my hands. Handjobs, however artistic they have the potential to be, usually end up being transitional for me. I enjoy the penis touching, of course, but I can’t help thinking about what parts of me it could be touching forthwith.

And I have to admit, that sort of bugs me about myself.

I’m not a big fan of downtime. I would prefer that every moment with me be mindblowing for my lovers. In a perfect world my lips would vibrate, my cervix would have a tongue, and my hands stroking a penis would be as Aphrodite’s hands. In a perfect world. As it is, they are regular hands, and I sometimes worry that my handjobs are boring. There. I said it.

This is not why I gave my boyfriend Laramy the Tenga Egg Babeland sent me. But it’s part of why I offered to help him try it out. Also, though, sex toys are a hobby of mine, and you’re supposed to share your hobbies with your partner, right? It’s what couples do. Astoundingly, Laramy seemed much more eager to explore this than my equally avid interests in yoga and belly dancing.

The Tenga Egg is a cute, clever disposable masturbation sleeve. You can wash and reuse it if you’re careful, but it’s not the most robust sex toy ever made. It’s made of soft, flexible silicone elastomer, and available in six different textures. The cute, clever part is really in the packaging: these sleeves come in little plastic eggs with colorful labels. You can buy a fairly adorable single egg for $8.50, or you can save money and get a set of six in a crazy adorable egg carton! I haven’t seen a men’s sex toy presented this whimsically since some wag made it suddenly seem possible to fuck Yoda Yaddle.

You know you wish you'd thought of it first.

I was excited to see how Laramy liked the Tenga Egg, and maybe even get to feel like a handjob goddess. Why should my mouth get all the accolades? I mean, seriously!

The "Stepper"

The different textures include: what seem to be twisty vertical ribs, wavy horizontal ribs, a spider web (clearly the most erotic pattern known to man), knobby polka dots, thin spun thread patterns, and, the one Laramy ended up with, the “Stepper”, which looks– just to put this in the sexiest terms possible– like semicircular flaps arranged like scales. Or something. It seemed promising… stimulating.

We tore open the little packet of lube that comes with the Egg, applied it to both toy and tool, and took turns stroking. The sleeve is kind of like a looser, thicker, stretchier condom. Laramy said it felt good and the material was pleasant, but he didn’t seem to feel transported, as you might be if you were getting a handjob from, say, a goddess. Gradually, two problems became  apparent:

1. The lube provided was more sticky than it was at all lube-like.
2. The textured part of the Egg was concentrated around the sides, instead of the tip. All that exciting, scaly sensation was focused on the less sensitive parts of his penis. When fully stretched, the sleeve was completely untextured around the head of his cock.

The first problem is easy: inferior lube tends to get sticky. I would generally recommend someone use a lube they know they like when playing with a new toy anyway. But the second issue? Made no sense to either of us. Why would anyone design a toy with an emphasis on interesting textures and make sure those textures only touched shaft?

“Maybe it’s having to stretch too far because your cock is too big,” I suggested. Laramy did not hate that postulation. I think that might actually be what it was, though. Laramy does have a formidable dick, and otherwise we’re looking at just a glaring design flaw. Whatever the issue, the Tenga Egg didn’t work for him, although he thought it was promising in concept. He actually asked me if it was okay if he threw it away.

We ended the session with Laramy washing that horrendous lube off his cock and fucking me, which is usually exactly what I’m hoping to get out of a handjob.

Thanks, Babeland!

(image source)

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