quizzical pussy

… And why Constance McMillen shouldn’t have to miss hers.

I started dating Reginald Sleeth my senior year, second semester. He’d already graduated from our high school a couple years prior.

I remember the chick he took to prom that year. I was a 10th grader in the seventh circle of my awkward phase who was secretly pining after him although we were only friends. She was a rich, skinny blonde from the rival school who had bought a strapless dress in his favorite color and wore long opera length satin gloves. They looked so good together their picture showed up in the local newspaper. Shortly after his prom, he moved in with that girl and disappeared from my life for a couple years.

I wasn’t jealous, mind. I didn’t have the self-esteem to feel robbed because a guy I had a crush on was with someone else. I just saw that full-color pic on the cheap newsprint and knew that it would never be me. I was neither rich nor skinny nor blonde. Prom wasn’t made for people like me.

I went to Homecoming dances a couple times during my high school career, but I never had a date. All my friends usually had multiple options, but no one ever seemed interested in going with me. And I would’ve sooner died than ask someone! Junior year Homecoming, a female friend’s “just going as friends” date asked me for one dance, and she made a point to come up to me and tell me how nice it was of him. I had to agree, of course, but those things sting.

I’m not sure why Reginald decided to come back into my life. He’d already dated many of my friends and acquaintances, he’d cultivated a mythos at school as an accidental rake. It always seemed like women pursued him and he was powerless against it. It wasn’t that way with me. He hunted me. He got my aim screenname from a mutual friend and messaged me one night out of the blue. He begged for my friendship back. Then slowly, methodically, he insinuated himself into my life and seeped into that “boyfriend” slot I’d never had filled before, never thought would be filled by anyone.

I had what I’d longed for both those years ago. Reginald Sleeth, former high school Lothario, claimed to be head-over-heels for me. Before long there were signs of the manipulative, abusive hell our relationship would become, but they were subtle. He tried to isolate me from my friends (most of whom thought he was sketchy or whom he’d already dated and dumped with glorious apathy), he freaked out when I was too friendly to his male friends. He cried a lot whenever he wasn’t getting his way, and threw things. As a result, I was in a relationship with someone I’d had a crush on for years, but I wasn’t really enjoying it.

I made the tough decision not to go to my Senior prom. Reginald, who would of course be my date if I went, had so much negative history with my classmates and friends, that I didn’t want to deal with the guaranteed drama. It just wasn’t worth the few bright patches it might possibly provide between all the bickering and moping.

Reginald was livid, petulant. He accused me of being ashamed of him (which was partly true, I suppose), and of not taking our relationship seriously (because no partnership means anything until there’s been at least one awkward updo and a corsage has changed hands, naturally). One day, as we approached the fatal night, he even wept, “I wanted to cover you in orchids and show you off to everyone! Now I can never have that!” But in this I remained strong. He could push me around in a thousand little ways, but I wasn’t going to budge on this. We weren’t going.

Instead, if I remember correctly, we hung out at his place and he gave me my first rimjob. Romance.

With my prom, I took what felt like the path of least resistance. Sure, Reginald was pushing me in one direction, but even worse was the thought of dealing with so much upheaval (probably most of which would’ve ultimately been coming from him, the drama queen) just because I’d brought a polarizing character to my prom.

But what if the only polarizing thing about my prom date had been her gender? What if I hadn’t wanted to bring my asshat boyfriend? What if I’d wanted to take my girlfriend, and cover her in orchids (…is that creepy or is it just that Reginald was creepy and he happened to say that? I honestly can’t discern one from the other sometimes…), and run my fingers gingerly through her updo?

If that’s a problem in and of itself, I call bullshit. Bringing a perfectly sane girl shouldn’t put someone in the same position that I was in having a shitty person as a potential date. But in reality bringing a girl is sometimes much worse. Sometimes a young woman who wants to take her girlfriend to prom doesn’t get to decide whether to go or not. Someone else decides it for her by, oh, say canceling prom.

So let me get this straight… I could have easily taken my evil boyfriend to my prom if I’d so desired, but brave Constance McMillen, who is young, gay, and out in Mississippi, not only can’t take her girlfriend to her prom, but school officials at Itawamba Agricultural High School have decided to encourage her fellow students to hate her by canceling the event altogether! “Sorry, kids, no prom this year. The lesbians killed it.” sort of thing.

That’s not just unfair, it’s downright cruel. Even if you don’t agree with Constance’s dating decisions, you likely wouldn’t have liked mine either if you’d known the details. But you wouldn’t have had anything to say when I tried to purchase prom tickets, would you, Itawamba? Hetero privilege is so stupid and arbitrary.

Constance and her girlfriend should have been able to go to their prom this Friday. Instead, they’ll go to a formal dance being put on by supportive local parents. A federal judge has ruled that her constitutional rights were violated, but has not ordered Itawamba to restore the prom.

Help spread the word about Itawamba’s unconstitutional and punitive actions, and you might win a $100 Eden Fantasys gift card! Constance’s courage has inspired tonic.com and talk show host Ellen Degeneres to offer her educational scholarships. Congratulations, Constance! Hopefully yours will be the last generation to have to deal with this sort of prejudiced nonsense.

On a more hopeful note, see adorable lesbian prom pictures here! Some schools aren’t run by jerks, apparently.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

(The original Contract of Wifely Expectations.)

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

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

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

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

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

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

Most of my dating life has involved a more or less irritating amount of geographical distance (and often, failing that, an irritating person. ZING!). The last relationship I had that required me to drive fewer than 30 minutes to get sex was in 2005. Is it just me, or is that balls?

But really, when you’re in the best relationship you’ve ever had, it isn’t quite fair to bitch about minor details.

And on the bright side, I have toys!

Tight pussy, wet cunt, sore kitty, sloppy twat. Lady business.

I make enthusiastic use of both vulgar and euphemistic slang when it comes to my girl parts, for reasons manifold. First of all, there’s no good catch-all official term that includes all female genitalia. You know the whole “boys have a penis, girls have a vagina” thing? It’s tragically incomplete. Girls each have a vagina, yes, but that word only comprehends the internal canal, and that really doesn’t cut it when we’re talking about sex organs– even just the fun ones. The external genitalia is called a vulva. So when someone says “she has a cute vagina” that someone is probably either wielding an autopsy saw, or just plain confused.

You can argue that the term “penis” doesn’t describe a man’s complete genital package, considering that testicles are left out. However, vulvas and vaginas and penises are all usually considered central to sexual response and interaction. Balls are more a fun embellishment, like nipple stimulation or perineal play. (Anyway, stop trying to derail my pedantic flow with your pedantry.) The vulva/vagina combo is fundamental. The way I see it, it’s more like the head of the penis and the shaft than the penis and balls. It’s one well-oiled, multi-faceted, stupendous orgasm-making machine. But what do you call a vulva/vagina combo? I dunno. A pussy, right?

Or one of the countless other colloquial solutions. I mean, no one ever insists “No no no! My cunt doesn’t include my labia majora. Why on earth would you say that?” Slang is so deliciously vague. And we need that forgiving linguistic mist, or more people will walk around calling vulvas vaginas and I will just scream. I don’t want to live in that world.

There are other reasons for the slang, though. To some people, hearing “I want you touch my vulva like this…” doesn’t exactly provoke feverish lust. It’s too clinical. “Slap my little cunt harder” or similar might get a more enthusiastic response.

Also, some of these terms are terribly fun to say. We’ll come back to that.

When it comes to advertising, there’s a special problem, because apparently even when we’re talking about a body part in the most practical, least sexual sense, networks don’t want to hear the word, as Kotex recently discovered when they tried to air a pert little tampon commercial that mocks tampon advertising tropes and featured the word “vagina”, which is incidentally where you put tampons. The networks didn’t even want to hear a euphemism like “down there”, which Kotex used in their second cut after “vagina” was rejected. I’m supposing they sure as hell don’t want to hear “cunt”.

Which is one of the reasons I think Moon Cup’s new website loveyourvagina.com is clever. (For those of you who don’t know, a Moon Cup is a soft silicone cup that you put in your [actual] vagina to catch your menstrual discharge instead of using a tampon or pad. I suspect the motive for all this has to do with ecology, feminism, or possibly both. I’m half tempted to try a moon cup and review it because I think it could potentially end up being my comic masterpiece. Please comment on this entry to let me know if this is a great idea or too horrifying.) I can’t say that their hours-of-fun list of publicly generated and ranked terms for female genitalia has anything to do with Kotex’s recent debacle, but it’s definitely an internet fuck-you to network sensibilities, which is what viral marketing is all about, I guess. And! “Cunt” is coming in third!

I refuse to comment on LYV’s use of the word “vagina” beyond saying that it’s clear that their product is meant for vaginae (the real plural form of vagina, I swear!) while it’s also clear that they’re asking for terms describing the vulva/vagina combo. Sometimes I feel like I need Jeff Goldblum to put drops of water on my hand and explain incomprehensible things to me.

So I decided to review a few of my favorites from my own daily vocabulary as well as some I pulled off loveyourvagina.com. I can guarantee that very few people will agree with me across the board here, so I’m not speaking for all women or all disabled bisexuals who like dinosaurs or all anythings.

1. Pussy! (#5 according to LYV) To me, pussy is the best all-purpose term. Clever you probably guessed this when you read my site’s name. I don’t feeling dumb saying this during sex or in casual conversation. It seems playful, fun, and a little dirty to me.
2. Cunt! (#3 on LYV) I once saw a documentary TV show where an old gray-haired lady joyfully explained that the Middle English terms “cock” and “cunt” went together, and her enthusiasm softened my feelings about the c-word considerably. By sound alone, cunt is an abrupt, rude word, which isn’t always a bad thing. It is kind of annoying when people use cunt as an insult* because it sounds so violent but it just means “vulva/vagina combo”. The playfulness seems to seep out of the whole enterprise and we’re just left with a slap of a word that seems to be directed toward female anatomy. But a little levity softens it enough to make it hilarious. To describe anatomy, cunt is sometimes very erotic but it’s funny conversationally. “My cunt is hungry for manflesh” is automatically funnier than it would be with almost any other word.
3. Twat! (no rank on LYV) Old sassy ladies can use this to describe their genitals. The rest of us need to use it primarily as an insult.* In that respect, it may be unmatched.
4. Cunny! (#530 on LYV) Cunny is supremely fun to say. Try it now. I’ll wait. I can’t see myself using it in an intimate context, but it is great for daywear. If you’ve watched the B.B.C./H.B.O. series Rome, you may suspect why I particularly love this term, and you’re right! I also frequently use the phrase “wet as October” to jokingly indicate arousal for the same reason. Plus, October is a wet month where I come from.
5. Lady Business! (#176 on LYV) This one makes me laugh every time I hear it. It’s so delicate that it goes back around into filthy. Or maybe just funny.
6. Pudendum! (#278 on LYV) Derived from Latin for “to be ashamed”, pudenda is not a sex-positive term. I cannot say it without a fake accent. Can you?
7. Vajajay! (#14 on LYV) I can’t stand this one, mostly because grown women tend to use this toddler-learning-to-talk term without a hint of irony. They are what’s wrong with society. I’m only half kidding here.
8. The Downtown Dining and Entertainment District! (#2 on LYV) Although this is another overly-euphemistic, “I don’t want to say a word that might make my mouth dirty” kind of term, it’s also too cute, so I don’t mind it. I would only use it if I were talking to someone I knew would be alarmed by a more aggressive term, but also wasn’t horrified by the inherent sexual implications therein. In my world, that leaves about two people.
9. Vagoo! (#59 on LYV) This is another one I can’t imagine saying while actually using the body parts in question: “Ooooh, pound my vagoo harder! Yes!” Um, no. I know several grown men who use this one, though, and it is a glorious thing to witness.
10. Moot? (#1 on LYV) So “moot” is winning as I write this. It’s the most popular term, and absolutely new to me. A very quick google hunt tells me that it probably originates in Australia, and is supposed to rhyme with “foot”. It’s awkward to say and not even accidentally sexy, but the people have spoken! Maybe it’s a cultural thing and I don’t just “get” it. I’ll try it in a sentence, maybe: “The Australian put the boomerang in her moot.” This just isn’t working for me. I tried!

Honorable mentions go to Panty Hamster (n/a), Snatch (#21), Coochie Snorcher (n/a), Axe Wound (n/a),  Pootie Tang (#343), Cowhead (n/a), Yoni (#42), The Fiefdom (#689), and the ever-enigmatic Giraffe’s Ear (#842). Couldn’t have done it without you guys.

*Using terms for female (or male) genitals as an insult is a whole other issue that I’ll probably want to delve into another time. Sometimes it bugs me, sometimes it doesn’t.

You could say I’m nerdy. I liberally salt all my conversations with random obscure factoids. I have a kick-ass comic book collection. I mourned Carl Sagan and Douglas Adams much more than Kurt Cobain or Michael Jackson. I’ll juxtapose all these “new” horror remakes against the classic horror or Asian originals they’re scamming off of without you even having to ask me to. I still play Magic: The Gathering once in a while.

If we ever shower together, I’ll inevitably spit a mouthful of water in a majestic arc onto your naked chest or shoulders. I always do this when I’m showering with someone. I can’t help it. It’s just so fun. But I promise to try to avoid your face.

I’m nerdy, dorky, geeky, whatever you want to call it. That’s who I am. If you date me, you’re dating a nerdy chick. And for me to have anything but a passing attraction to you, you’d better have a nerdy streak wide and vast, like huge… tracts of land. At least, that’s been the trend in my romantic life so far. Several times I’ve decided to end flirtations and flings because the nerd chemistry just wasn’t there for me. I’m dead serious when I say it’s as important to me as physical attraction.

So when I read an article that’s all  “Start! Dating! Nerds!!!”, I agree with the premise. Dating nerds is the correct answer. But almost everything after that is a direct affront to my tribe.

First, let’s define “nerd”. For our purposes, John DeVore’s simple definition in this article is quite good: “A nerd is someone who is very passionate about very specific things.” However, it’s useful to keep in mind that those very specific things are usually seated in the academic, intellectual, or technological realms. Also, nerds display an infectious, often childlike enthusiasm about their pet pursuits that permeates and characterizes nerd culture.

Many people will say that there’s a dramatic difference between a “nerd” and a “geek”, but very few of these people ever seem to agree on the precise difference. So I use the terms interchangeably and the emphatic, vague proponents of some stark division can rage and bellow as they wish.

Being a nerd doesn’t mean you grew up unpopular and tormented, that you have a high-paying job, that you like Star Trek, that you’re socially awkward, that you never exercise, that you run Linux on your computer, that you’re highly educated, that you have low self esteem, or that you have trouble getting dates. These things might all be true for some nerds, but there’s no basis for assuming any of them are going to be true for the average nerd.

Remember, nerds are defined by interest and enthusiasm, so they come in many wondrous physical and social permutations. You can find nerds who are total asshats and nerds who are polite. My favorite nerds, like my favorite people in general, are intelligent, but it doesn’t do to assume that nerds are more intelligent than their non-nerd counterparts. I’ve met brilliant people who aren’t very nerdy and disappointingly dim nerds. You can find nerds who have all the dates they can handle and others who are scared they might die virgins. Oh, and perhaps most shocking of all… there are male nerds and female nerds, queer nerds, transgendered nerds, kinky and asexual nerds.

But when Start! Dating! Nerds!!! articles crop up they’re nearly always targeting women and explaining how a relationship with someone who sports a lot of stereotypical characteristics can benefit those women. The reasons, the articles say, for giving lowly nerds a chance are as follows: nerds can be useful (in an “I’m using him” sense) in a variety of ways, nerds have different methods of relating to people than “real men” do so they might treat you better, and nerds are all desperate so they’re easy to manipulate with sex and won’t dare cross you.

It all started with an old essay that appeared on the internet over a decade ago called A Girl’s Guide to Geek Guys, which promised that geeks all make excellent mates. It had many dehumanizing tips on their care and feeding, and promised “They are generally available.” and “Other women will tend not to steal them.” It’s such rubbish that it’s quite a laugh, really, and it’s fun to read anything that describes Myst as a cutting-edge computer game.

But it seems that newer “Start! Dating! Nerds!!!” media is coming down the pike. Cosmo’s 7 Reasons to Date a “Moodle” is every bit as vapid as you’d expect, considering it’s, like, from Cosmo. “Moodle” appears to be a term from that She’s Out of My League movie. “In it, the sweet but totally average and dorky Kirk, is ridiculed by his friends for being a “Moodle,” the type of guy girls want to hang out and cuddle with, but don’t date or have sex with. (Kinda like a poodle.)” (I’m conspicuously not making a bestiality porn joke here, by the way. I want you to remember this the next time I’m not so strong.) But really, I can’t take this article seriously enough to even be offended by the suggestion that “…he may secretly want to get it on with his super hot neighbor, but knowing that you’re the hottest girl he’s ever been with will probably keep him from cheating.” because they’re so obviously getting all their information about nerds from movies. Of course Cosmo staff couldn’t be arsed to track down actual nerds to find out what they’re like! This is COSMO, for Christ’s sake.

But Violet Blue’s rebuttal Seven Real Reasons to Date a Geek Boy is actually problematic too, although I applaud her for trying. For example, Violet criticizes Cosmo thus (Cosmo excerpt in pink, Violet’s response in purple):

5. Since he’s supersmart and probably already making a ton of money, he won’t think being a roadie for Vampire Weekend is a great “career opportunity.”

[Violet Blue translation: All geek dudes are smart and rich, you little gold digger.]

…but she later asserts that…

He’ll also have tech tricks for remembering everything, and are most likely to make a list of your lingerie sizes on their smartphone, for when he wants to get you a little treat.

Thoughtful gifts from loved ones are awesome, it’s true, but they’re not really what I’d call a valid reason to start or stay in a relationship. And how is saying that “He’ll buy you lingerie, so date him!” that much different than saying “he’s rich and can fix your computer for free, so date him!” It all seems kind of mercenary and shallow to me.

Violet goes on to hint that nerdy guys are better in bed because they all read about sex online before they do it. Kind of a reach, since most literate virgins (and people in general) like to read about sex. I’d love to jump on the “geeks all fuck like rockstars” wagon, but it’s silly. Sex is too personal to realistically say that one group does it better than any other.

She also makes arguments like, “Geek boys love strong, independent women, and dig girls who have ideas, obsessions and passions.” and “Nerd boys have spent a lot of time observing everyone, including other guys…” These things are absolutely true about some geeky/nerdy guys, but I’ve also run into those who feel threatened when I can beat them at Street Fighter, or prefer to have a captive audience to listen to their personal interests rather than attempt to relate to anyone else’s. And though it’s not necessarily the majority, lots of nerds are oblivious to the people around them and stuck in their own heads. They haven’t all been amateur anthropologists all their lives who are now above petty social concerns because of transcendent human understanding. Nerds can be arrogant, self-centered, and insensitive, just like everyone else. Negative or positive, a stereotype is still a stereotype.

And the thing is, I wouldn’t recommend that every woman date a nerd. Love shouldn’t be a game of  finding the best “deal”, or about which perks you can finagle. It should be about compatibility, and genuine affection, and what feels right. It’s about how you treat each other, not just how he treats you.

I like dating nerdy guys because I get along better with nerdy guys. Obviously, I’m working from some generalizations of my own here: assumptions about the interests nerds have, and the influence that nerd culture might have on them. In my experience, those are the types of things we can predict (with a margin of error, of course).

A nerd and I are more likely to have similar interests, so we can relax and be dorky together. Nerdy guys can tend to be more curious about a wider variety of subjects than non-nerds, so they’re more interesting to talk to (for me). My random trivia is less likely to bore them, and because nerd culture doesn’t look down on childlike exuberance they’re not as easily embarrassed by my antics. Fellow nerds often enjoy starting preposterous projects with me and getting mired in wikiwanders together.

I find these qualities endearing, but some women may not. For similar reasons, many nerdy guys (who are actually allowed to have standards) prefer to date other nerds, to stay within the tribe. Those who don’t sometimes regret having a partner who really never feels like a friend. Maybe Cosmo et al. should consider the possibility that nerds don’t require or want any dating outreach programs. After all, all nerds, without exception, are good at chemistry… everyone knows that!

Secret time! This set hasn’t even emptied my inbox of juicy secrets yet, but I’m trying to share them in posts of easily digestible length. Enjoy! There are more to come soon…

As a teenager, I couldn’t get a proper dildo so I masturbated with stuff I found around the house. The weirdest object I used was a rubber toy alligator. It was actually pretty good.

(Tail first or teeth first?)

I’ve had fantasies about most of my friends at some point, but it the asking and aftermath would just be too weird to try anything. But, I’m mostly afraid that the ones I don’t wanna fuck will be jealous or insulted!

I fooled around with a man in his thirties when I was 15 and 16. It actually turned out really well, and we’re still good friends (6 years later).

I’m a cis female who identifies as bi, and I’ve definitely fallen in love with/had super intense chemistry with a woman before, but the women I have ended up having sex with I wasn’t attracted to.

I am highly intolerant of foreplay–it bores me and dries me out. (I’m a chick!)

I’ve told very, very few people about that night when a guy I was set up with by a friend sexually assaulted me. I’ve had a hard time convincing myself that it wasn’t my fault and that it actually was assault. Because I am the rape apologist’s wet dream – I was drinking, I’m a known slut, we were on a date, we’d been kissing, for fuck’s sake, we’d even played a strip drinking game with all our mutual friends – before they went off to have sex and left us alone.

I know it doesn’t matter. I said no. Maybe I was a tease. But I still said no. I didn’t even hedge! I put on my clothes, said I just wanted to sleep, said no no no. Over and over again. But I was drunk. My head was fuzzy. When he pulled me down and tried to make me in the mood by giving me oral through my panties (which I held onto when he’d tried to pull them down as he pulled me down) I thought to myself, ‘I like oral, shouldn’t I like this?’ And I didn’t push him away at first. At first being the first thirty seconds. Then I pushed him off, because no, I didn’t like it, because no, I didn’t want it.

That last part I leave out of the story I told to the few people who know. It confuses even me. How can what happened to me be called assault when for a few seconds I tried to get into it? All of my hardened feminism wouldn’t doubt another woman for a minute, though. Another woman telling me this, I would say over and over again that she had a right to say no -whenever- she wanted it to stop, and if it didn’t it -would be- assault or rape. I had said no before his attempt at oral – that was assault. I said no after when he made me reciprocate – that was assault. I said no as he rubbed his erection on my back, pulling on my clothes and begging me to just let him in, just for a second, it would be fast, just the tip, for around an hour because our hosts had left us to spend the night in the living room – that was assault.

But there’s a part of me that still thinks it was just a bad date. A bad night with an asshole. He didn’t rape me, after all. If you don’t count forcing a penis into someone’s mouth as rape, anyway. And that was for only half a minute at most! I didn’t even leave! Sure, the buses had stopped running, and I would have had to get a cab home, but if I was willing to spend the night in the same room as my would-be rapist (as long as I could convince him to stop trying), how could that be assault? And I only had the one nightmare about it. Not a big deal. I mean, I was fine! I hated him after that, but it didn’t make me feel like my body wasn’t mine, it didn’t put me off sex, I don’t get flashbacks. I’m fine. And if I’m not traumatized, how could it have been assault? Or rape?

All these things I know aren’t true, but I can’t help thinking them. Obviously, I never called the cops. They wouldn’t have done anything, and I would have needed more confidence that something needed to be done to make anything happen to him. I only told the friends who set us up the bare minimum. He wouldn’t leave me alone, he kept grabbing at me, I said. They apologized, said we’d never hang out with him together again.

But I know – intellectually, no matter what other victim blaming shit goes on in there, that I was assaulted. That it was only my force of will that kept him from completing his rape of me. A girl just a little less assertive would have walked out of that apartment raped. And if it happened to me, it has probably happened to other girls, and will continue to happen to other girls, and I really had an obligation to go to the cops, if not for my sake, then for theirs. But I didn’t. And that makes me feel so full of guilt.

(I think a lot of women who are raped feel conflicted and unsure about many of these things. But that asshole raped you, and you have nothing to feel guilty about, not even in regards to your silence. Thank you for sharing this.)

While we do have a lot of sex with dominance and submission, my boyfriend is really into the sappy romantic stuff. He likes to go slowly and gently, staring into my eyes. That doesn’t do it for me, but it is an important part of his sexual needs, so to make it more interesting for me, I’ve come up with a fantasy. In this fantasy, the slow and gentle isn’t about romance – it’s about dominance. I don’t want him inside me, and he’s going to make sure it lasts and lasts, and I feel every inch of him taking me, over and over. The eye contact is another way of establishing exactly who is in control. Using this fantasy, he gets the sappy romantic sex he needs, and I get the dominant sex I need, and we routinely have simultaneous orgasms. It’s fantastic!

All those stories about lesbians in olden times who dressed and lived as men and married young women who didn’t know any better because they didn’t even know what a penis looked like turn me on very much.

I sometimes wish I could do that and have a pretty, innocent little wife who saw me as a real man. I could do it if I infiltrated a sheltered religious community. Yes I’ve put that much thought into it. I’m a straight woman by the way. WTF

Do you have a secret to share anonymously? I want it!

James Randi is an awesome guy. He first made his mark as a stage magician, but his greatest fame comes from his role as a front-line skeptic and rationalist. He and his James Randi Educational Foundation (JREF) investigate claims of pseudoscience, paranormal, and the occult, offering a $1,000,000 prize as a challenge “to anyone who can show, under proper observing conditions, evidence of any paranormal, supernatural, or occult power or event.” Obviously, the money remains unclaimed.

He’s like the cuddly curmudgeon papa of the skeptic community.

Oh, and he likes men. Yesterday, he came out in an interview on JREF’s podcast For Good Reason, and then posted about it on his Swift Blog: “Well, here goes. I really resent the term but I use it because it’s recognized and accepted.

“I’m gay.”

At 81, his close friends and family have known all along, but he thought it was finally time to come out publicly in the interest of full disclosure. He wishes he could marry his long-time partner, but there’s no reason to since his union wouldn’t be valid in Florida, where he lives, and so they wouldn’t be able to take advantage of the later-in-life privileges that spouses automatically get.

In the interview, Randi and D.J. Grothe, who is the current president of JREF and also a gay man, talked about how pseudoscience has been used to back up bogus perceptions that gay people make bad parents or that homosexuality is aberrant and unnatural. They’re also quick to point out that JREF is not and has no plans to become a “gay organization”, they just both happen to be gay (they also both appear to be white, for whatever that’s worth, for anyone working on conspiracy theories).

The most compelling thing about the interview is the fact that although Randi’s generation has always seemed so intolerant and unaccepting, he’s never pretended to be anything he’s not to escape judgment. He says that it was unthinkable to be gay when he was growing up, but he didn’t have the luxury to not think about it. It was just who he was. He never denied being gay or positioned himself to seem straight; it just never came up. He had promised himself and others that if anyone in the media asked him directly, he’d reply: “Yes, so what?” But no one ever did. So he finally thought he should just volunteer the information, even though he insists that no one will care except his crazy detractors and enemies, and that no one should.

But actually, I kind of care. James Randi is someone I’ve looked up to for a while, and I’m not alone. Every time an amazing person comes out to the world, there’s a new opportunity for people to stop looking at LGBTQ people as “other” and start seeing them as part of “us”. Randi’s a major leader in the skeptical community, so this revelation could have a real positive impact there.

His blog entry, entitled “How To Say It?”, closes:

“I should apologize for having used Swift as the venue to publish this note, an item that is hardly the focus of what we promote and publish here, but I chose the single most public asset I have to make this statement. It’s from here that I have attacked irrationality, stupidity, and irresponsibility, and it is my broadest platform. Here is where I have chosen to stand and fight.

“And I think that I have already won this battle by simply publishing this statement.”

I think so too, Mr. Randi. You rock.

I’m about to set the record straight for good and all, people. The record on penis size.

The official record on penis size is, understandably, a source of contention and much gnashing of teeth. The blue whale’s mighty member can measure up to 8 feet long, but that’s not very impressive in proportion to his massive body. It’d be like an average-sized man having a 10 cm penis– which happens, of course, but it’s not getting into any record books.

Barnacles have the biggest penes proportionally (about 40 times the length of their bodies or something insane like that), and since most species of barnacles are hermaphrodites, they mostly all get them. Of course, if each of us had been born with a forty-million-dollar trust fund, none of us would feel all that rich, now would we?

If you care only about vertebrates, look no further than the Argentine Blue-bill duck, who curls all 17 inches of his pendulous prick up inside his cloaca until it’s business time. And most birds don’t even have pricks, so in birdland, this one-eyed snake is king.

If you are so terribly anthropocentric that you care only about human vertebrates, then the largest verified penis measured in at 13.5 inches in length and 6.25 inches around (I’m assuming that’s erect), documented in the early 1900s. This guy matches that length, and is 9 inches flaccid.

This entire italic section is a huge digression, by the way.

Here’s the interesting thing about what women like when it comes to penis size, and what I’m about to share is absolutely true…

• Some women like a lot of length.
• Some women prefer more girth.
• Some women want exceptional length and girth.
• Some women prefer average or smaller measurements in length and/or girth.
• Some women don’t really care, they just like cock.
• Some women are revolted by cock and would like you to put yours away now.
• I’m going out on a limb to say that men fall into similar categories regarding penises that aren’t theirs.

Did I miss anything? My point, of course, is that I can’t say that penis size is or isn’t a big deal. It all depends on whom we’re asking. Some size queens are going to be disappointed with certain guys that are still statistically above average, and some women who aren’t into deep-dicking don’t understand what all the fuss is about.

Then, there are those guys who don’t seem to trust what their partners think and feel inadequate no matter what. Penile dysmorphic disorder must be a sober road to travel, and I can relate to it in a sense. Clearly there’s some societal pressure in play: guys feel like they need to measure up to be virile and alpha and all that, and it must be hard. Kind of like, say, having photoshopped fashion models with B.M.I.s of 16 shoved in your face all the time and being told they’re the non-negotiable physical ideal. Or something.

It becomes obvious why this penis extension sleeve and other such products start to seem like a logical option.

Personally, I’ve never had sex with a cock that felt “too small”, but maybe I’ve just been lucky. It’s hard to really compare them to the average cock (roughly 6 inches long, 4.75 inches in circumference erect, if you’re curious) without my trusty tape measure. And of course every guy I’ve been with claimed to be above average. I can say, however, that the first one I experienced was also the smallest, and going back to that size might be a trifle disappointing. Just being honest.

If a penis works and is attached to someone I’m partial to, size isn’t a primary consideration. And there’s such a thing as uncomfortably big for me, especially since I hate getting my cervix pummeled and I tend not to use lube for vaginal sex. But again, this is just me.

So far I’ve been reveling in the subjectivity of it all (which is what I often do, because I think pretty near everything is subjective, being the godless harlot that I am), but do you think human beings with our tinkering monkey minds have really been content to leave it at that? Of course you don’t. Deep down you knew that people like Ed were working hard on the problem.

Most guys have used rulers and tape measures and eased their cocks into empty toilet paper rolls to figure out length and circumference. They likely even compared numbers and roll snugness with their friends or strangers on the internet. But Ed has taken it to a whole different level. Ed wrote an ebook! And, of course, Ed made a graph.

Based on Ed’s extensive non-medical research, which I’m not sure but I think probably involves the super-empirical “asking women on the internet how they feel about their partners’ self-reported sizes” method, the perfect penis is… it kind of looks like anywhere between 7.125 and 8.375 long and between 6.125 and 6.375 inches in circumference. Anyway, the red blob. If your penis is longer, shorter, girthier, or skinnier than that, it’s relegated to “very satisfying but not ideal”, “satisfying”, or “enjoyable”. Or, heaven forbid, “not satisfying” and “freaky”.

Ed’s pretty fucking harsh. There. I said it. Also, am I the only one who thinks these circumference measurements are just a smidge unrealistic? My huge mitt is 8″ around at the widest point when in a silent duck posture, so you’d better believe that 7″ is firmly in fisting territory when we’re talking smallish female hands. For me, that amount of pain wouldn’t be very “satisfying”.

It’s too bad penises aren’t jointed or prehensile or something, because I’ve had all sorts of orgasms with just one finger in my pussy. Or with nothing at all in there, for that matter! Has anyone told Ed about my clitoris yet?

So of course all this left me wondering about my cock. A reported 7″ insertable and 5.5″ around (although my measurements place it at closer to 5″), my Feeldoe is solidly above average. It can fit partway into a toilet paper roll but then it gets stuck. Ed’s chart asserts that it would need another good inch of circumference to be “ideal”, and as it is it’s only “satisfying”.

I have fucked myself with that cock, and yes, it is satisfying. It’s “satisfying” like there’s “a bit of a problem between Shias and Sunnis”. Accurate, sure, but not exactly astute. Can you imagine coming up for air after fucking someone, searching her eyes dreamily, hoping she found it as glorious as you did, and then she remarks blandly, “Well, that was enjoyable.”

Bish please! Maybe you forgot that it vibrates.

If anything ever happened to my Real Doll, I realize I’d never be the same again. It would be like losing the only woman I’ve ever loved.

My boyfriend cheats on me w three sluts i know about. More i’m sure. i still have unprotected sex w him and pray that he gets HIV and gives it to me and feels so awful he can’t leave me ever.

Tentacle rape turns me on like NO OTHER and I have absolutely no idea why. My boyfriend would be so creeped out if he knew.

I’m a housewife. I’ve slept with four women in my stroller strides workout group. I’ve developed feelings for two of them, and might be falling in love with one. A part of me wishes I could leave my husband and be with a woman out in the open but he’s supporting me and my kids so I’ll most likely stay with him forever. My goal is to never sleep with my husband or any other man again even though I tell all these women that he refuses to touch me anymore so they can relate to my lies of loneliness and frustration and I can seduce them easier. He hasn’t done anything wrong. He’s a sweet and loyal husband but I don’t like men anymore in that way. I forget to mention that none of these women I am sleeping with know I’m in a sexual relationship with the others. If he or they find out it’s going to be bad.

I truly think I was Natalie Barney in a past life although I thought the idea of reincarnation was stupid until I read about her life.

A long time ago I was at a rave and traded sex for a a hit of E then had sex with a different person for a bottle of apple juice while I was rolling. This is tame compared to what some of my friends did back then. This was in the mid 90′s. It’s a relief to tell someone all this and I hope it doesn’t come back to bite me in the ass somehow.

When my friends come to me to get advice about their sex lives, I’m always amazed at how boring their experiences sound. Really guys, doggie-style is not “kinky.”

I’m scared to get tested for herpes because if I have it I have to tell people and it would interfere with my sex life. Pretty sure I have it, though.

A long time ago my (then) best friend accused me of having sex with her boyfriend. I wasn’t/hadn’t. She went so overboard with accusing me that I got tired of it so I did fuck her boyfriend, and every one she had after that. The real kicker…she ended up meeting, and marrying, a guy I made out with one night in a bar.

I’ve become very efficient at chipping away girls’ self esteem so I can fuck and control them. If I can spend enough time around you for you to say “we’re friends” it’s only a matter of time before I have total power and can get you to do whatever I want. I have convinced many hot girls their nasty and worthless. I made one girl who used to blow me away by her debating skills start second-guessing everything she said and thought.

For a girl I deem worth dating, my methods assure she won’t dump me. She tells me she is so lucky to have me allthe time. Whatever happens I’m the good guy. She puts herself below me and asks what I’m doing with someone like her. She’ll do any sexual thing I tell her. Sometimes I tell her to do something disgusting things just to see if she will. I got one girl to agree to fuck a dog but I never made her go through with it. When I’m done with her she’s destroyed and whoever she dates next will be a total downgrade. It never fails. I’m smarter, more successful, better looking, and ten times more interesting then him. He’s always some loser who exists only as proof of how much I’ve broken her down. This is all purely for my own amusement. This is like a sport for me and I don’t feel bad about it, but I do feel a little bad that I don’t feel bad.

I love watching porn with people having sex in front of a lot of other people, but the idea of doing it myself scares the hell out of me.

I’m not sure if I like spanking during sex, but I tell my partner I do since I would feel boring otherwise

I was Girlfriend #5 in a seriously twisted relationship with a man. I’m the most recent addition and all the other girls know about eachother and me. My friend set me up with him and said that he’ll never settle but he’ll treat you well. We had a really expensive dinner the first night we went out. He was a fantastic date and we slept together later. I didn’t like his masochistic-domination sex and never returned his calls.

2 weeks ago, I came down with Herpes. I’m too ashamed to confront him. I shouldn’t have slept with such a manwhore. I cry every night knowing the other girls might not know their diagnosis. Admitting this has giving me the strength to confront him!

Sometimes, when my girlfriend is asleep, I fart on her.

I say I’ve had sex with women of all sizes so they won’t think I’m shallow or tell me don’t knock it till I try it, but it’s a lie. I only like petite women size 5 and under. “Curvy” women are disgusting and need to stop eating so much. My best female friend is secretly in love with me and is a size 10. I keep hoping she’ll lose weight because I do care about her and she has a pretty face. But thinking of fooling around with her fat body makes me upchuck in my mouth a little.

I want rougher sex than my boyfriend will ever be able to give me. :(

…I’ve done a tiny bit of formatting in the form of paragraph breaks where I thought it would be helpful, but otherwise these are pure anonymous confessions, unedited and uncensored. And they are totally mesmerizing. I’m horrified by some of them, relate to others, and most of all I just respectfully request that no one fart on me while I’m sleeping.

If you sent in a confession and I didn’t post it here, please try again. The email server might’ve eaten a few of them sporadically, since a couple of my test submissions disappeared. I’m really sorry if yours got lost. I adjusted some settings to improve the emails the form is generating and everything should go smoothly now.

Thank you to everyone who sent in a secret. I’d love to keep this going and post these anonymous confessions regularly. I have no idea who’s sending what and I’m absolutely intrigued by what you guys have to say. If you have anything (or anything else) you want to get off your chest, tell tell tell!

His hand darts between my legs, toying with my pussy through my jeans as I rock my hips back and forth. I feel my eyes glazing over with lust; it never takes much.

Then Laramy Fuquerton’s fingers make a violent flicking motion toward my nethers that doesn’t quite find purchase and whispers “Yeah. Flick that clit!” huskily.

“No!” I snap my legs shut to protect my precious, minuscule pearl.

“Yes! You like that.”

I sigh dramatically, wearily. “Laramy,” I put on my best lecturing voice, “we need to have a frank and open conversation about sexuality at this time.” He nods excitedly. “There’s a very sensitive part of a woman’s anatomy called a clitoris. It looks kind of like a little man in a boat. Now, when you flick this little man his boat capsizes and a big shark comes out of the ocean and eats him. Do you understand what I’m saying here?”

“Yes!” Laramy exclaims. “The shark’s a metaphor for an orgasm!” And here we just about die laughing. I’m not sure where it started but there’s this huge joke between us where Laramy pretends to think that girls like it when you flick their clitorises and I pretend to be horrified. We’re frightfully mature, you know.

“No no no,” I rally, trying to regain my serious face. “You can’t flick it. That’s a terrible idea. There are more nerve endings in my clit than there are in your entire penis!”

He looks impressed. “Is that true?”

“I dunno. It’s in the Vagina Monologues.” I shrug. We make out more. For the truly dorky, inside jokes are foreplay.