quizzical pussy

ConTuesday may be coming late today, but it has not forsaken us. I was just really tired from an exciting, dehydrated day at an amusement park and I scheduled it wrong. Oops! Here are the anonymous internet confessions you may have been expecting, and certainly deserve.

P.S. I’m chatty again in this one.

When he was young, my boyfriend was bi-curious, and he experimented a bit. His experiments showed him that he was definitely straight, but he said that the one thing he did enjoy was sucking cock – he just wished it hadn’t been attached to a guy. Ever since he told me, it’s haunted my fantasies. Sometimes, when my boyfriend is going down on me, I imagine that I’ve got a cock that he’s sucking, and that he’s being pounded up the ass by my guy best friend. I know they’d both be freaked out and upset if they knew about my fantasies, but it gets me off every time.

I can’t help thinking that the average hetero guy who learns that his female partner has/had bi tendencies has a very similar reaction, and no one ever seems all that shocked. Double standards!

While studying abroad, I fell hard for a boy on my program. He even goes to my college back home. But he doesn’t want to be in a polyamorous relationship, and I already have a girlfriend, so that’s just non-negotiable for me. We had sex for perhaps the last time last night, what with me going home in four days, and the ache in my pussy and jaw (we do last-time sex right, dammit!) is serving as a constant, depressing reminder. So I’m self-medicating with ice cream and Mad Men.

Ouch, that sucks. Hope you’re feeling better by now. Christina Hendricks always cheers me up.

Sometimes I feel like I know too much about sex toys. I just found out via Facebook that somebody from my high school is hosting Temptation parties (those Tupperware-but-for-toys parties), so I went to her blog and checked out her product list. It’s all jelly toys, which I feel obligated to warn people about anyway, but to make it worse, her blog also announced that she’s pregnant. I feel guilty about not warning her about the birth defects linked to jelly toys, but I just don’t know her well enough to say anything!

I’m not sure if there’s such a thing as knowing too much about sex toys, unless of course the mystery somehow dies and they no longer inspire passion. That might be close to too much. But yeah, jelly toys are varying degrees of a bad idea for most of us, folks.

I’ve always felt filthy and ashamed of myself for having any kind of sexual desire for as long as I can remember. I’ve always thought of myself as ugly and unloveable. I’m never in my own fantasies. A friend suggested I read some of the sex blogs, and I started to, for once, feel like maybe I wasn’t so bad after all.

Then I read far enough back to find that none of the acceptance applies to us furries.

One of the things that I challenge myself with in writing this blog is trying to portray myself honestly, insofar as an anonymous blog allows for that. I’m insecure and flawed. I make terrible decisions sometimes. Odd thoughts blindside me and I run with them. Oh, and I have an irrational fear of most anthropomorphic animals. And then I’m a jerk about people that like them. I’m working on accepting furries more. And, you know, I really am glad if that’s what makes you happy, or gets you off, or makes you comfortable. It’s just something I as an entirely imperfect person have issues with. I also can’t watch Yogi Bear cartoons. Please don’t let me being an asshole about the stuff you’re into make you feel worse about yourself. You can go ahead and be pissed about it, of course, if that was more the subtext.

Confess everything here!

The Royal Kumari of Kathmandu always strikes me as a tragedy. Not a walking tragedy, mind, because of course she is not strictly allowed to walk.

The Royal Kumari is a little girl in Nepal who has passed a long list of physical, behavioral, and astrological criteria, and a series of complicated tests, to be declared the physical manifestation of the badass goddess Durga. She has among her attributes (according to Wikipedia):

• a neck like a conch shell
• a body like a banyan tree
• eyelashes like a cow
• thighs like a deer
• chest like a lion
• voice soft and clear as a duck’s

…whatever that means!

After she’s been selected, the Royal Kumari leaves her old life behind. She moves to a palace and becomes a living deity. Each movement and expression is analyzed; she’s treated with awe and deference; her feet can never touch the ground. She also wears a really complexion-killing amount of makeup on her forehead every day.

Then, one day she gets her first period, and it all stops. She’s no longer a goddess. She’s just some kid the goddess used to inhabit but doesn’t anymore and never will again. They start looking for a new, untainted Kumari immediately, and she’d better have a neck like a conch shell, dammit.

The scorned, newly adolescent, erstwhile Kumari will get a pension from the government for the rest of her life, probably move on, get married (despite a tradition that it’s unlucky to marry a former Kumari), do whatever it is you do with your life in Nepal. It’s not a bad gig, really.

But how jarring, how devastating is it to be a goddess one day and a mortal girl the next? How cast-off must she feel? How embarrassed and enraged that her body betrayed her by succumbing to menarche?

I wonder if it feels like the first time you realize someone is falling out of love with you, but in her case that someone is a deity, a religion, and an entire country.

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ConTuesday! A magical land where you get to read a bunch of (probably) strangers’ secrets!

I completely get off on clinical sex terms, especially when mixed with normal dirty words. If a girl ever said “Ooh, I want to feel you ejaculating in my cunt” I would probably in fact come instantly. This has always just felt too goofy to tell any of my partners. It does make reading awkwardly-written internet porn stories strangely hot, though.

I don’t write fanfic otherwise, but I love anonymous kink memes on Livejournal. When I fill someone’s prompt, I feel like the Porn Fairy, spreading hotness throughout the fangirl world.

I know someone who might appreciate some Porn Fairy magic! (see above)

I recently managed to step into a fuckbuddy relationship. I have no emotional attachment or engagement towards her and it’s purely physical on my side (she has a smokin’ body). The problem lies on her side. We’ve known each other for about 3 years and all that time I know that she’s had a crush on me and now I feel like I’m just using her. I’m terrified of the moment when she’ll start talking about our “relationship” but until then I’m going to be banging away, because somehow the whole situation turns me on even more in bed. It’s like… well, I really can’t explain it. Also, hope you feel better soon.

Thanks! I’m starting to!

Sometimes, when I’m having sex with my fiance, I’ll look up at him and get this gut feeling of “ugh, why the fuck am I fucking this guy? His body is revolting.” I’m not sure what happened, because I used to think he was hot. I still love him, but now I sometimes want to leave the lights off when we have sex. (Because he’s still a god in the sack. I just don’t want to look at him.)

Got any secrets to share? Put them in here!

If Receiving Cunnilingus were my girlfriend, our Facebook relationship status would be “it’s complicated”. While some women don’t care for it at all, and some literally can’t get off outside of a tongue placed just so, I’m somewhere roughly completely outside those extremes. Oral sex gets me off fast, and well, and feels amazing. I love it, really. But on the other hand, I always try to dissuade my partner from giving it to me.

At this point it’s probably occurring to you, and rightly so, that I’m not the altogether most healthy, normal person you’ve ever come across.

What is it about oral sex that turns me even more neurotic than usual? I think it’s the focus. While one of the things I love about giving oral sex is being able to focus on someone else, I feel guilty once the tables are turned. I feel like it’s really unfair for me to accept that level of attention.

I’m aware that this isn’t exactly rational.

Early on with a new person, it’s usually much easier for me. There’s a lot of lust flying around, and everyone wants to put their mouths everywhere. But after a while things tend to settle down a bit, and I start feeling like it’s getting to be a chore, going down on me. Like my naked vulva is sitting there expectantly and prompting an aggrieved “Gawd, this again”.

Not that there’s anything preternaturally trying about giving me oral sex, that I’m aware of. I come within seconds, I give enthusiastic and appreciative feedback, I reciprocate, and I don’t think I taste weird. Sometimes I squirt, but definitely not always! My problem is really conceptual more than practical.

The thing is, I’m not hard to satisfy in bed. My orgasms come fast and boisterous, and although it takes some effort and skill to blow my mind, it can usually be done without a lot of fuss. In no way do I need oral stimulation. So it seems almost too greedy in my case to ask a partner to pay attention to me in any way that’s so one-sided. That’s where the guilt comes in.

Sure, sometimes I want it. Sometimes I even crave it. It feels really good, and the exact orgasms I get from it don’t occur elsewhere. But in my experience, once you start seeming reluctant to receive oral sex, you kind of get fewer and fewer offers for it. And that situation is both comfortable and depressing. Because in my weird, twisted little world that somehow makes perfect sense, asking for oral sex would be even more unforgivable than actually getting it!

I’m absolutely insane.

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I have a friend who has an interesting hobby: sending his male coworkers the most sexually harassingest text messages ever, ending each with “no homo”.

Example:

I wanna give u the 3rd best rimjob you’ve ever had in ur life, man. No homo.

And no, he hasn’t been fired. Yet.

When he told me about this I’d actually never heard the phrase no homo before, and thought he’d made it up. Turns out, not quite.

But now we have these, come to restore the balance of power, and I’m pretty sure I need one:

I quite like giving oral sex. Putting the main focus on someone else’s pleasure has some amazing perks, like getting a chance to really notice how much they’re enjoying themselves, which sometimes gets obscured in the torrent of one’s own orgasms, where one is me.

Of course, sometimes I get off just sucking cock, but it’s not the fast and furious coming that happens when I’m getting penetrated. It gives me more leisure to enjoy the process, to survey the shivering, shuddering, gasping fruits of my labors.

This might be odd, but in a way I never feel as sexually powerful as when I’m giving, not accepting, an orgasm. Not dominant, not submissive, just powerful somehow. Or no, powerful is probably the wrong word. I guess it’s more that I feel most sexually useful when I’m concentrating on giving pleasure. And maybe that’s almost like something vaguely approaching feeling sexy. For me, at least.

Perhaps this is why it’s so important to me to believe that I’m good at giving head. Maybe that’s why I was so scared to have sex with women before I tried it. It was terrifying, imagining that I’d have nothing to offer a sex partner. I’d had enough positive feedback from men that I could reasonably believe I had a moderate level of proficiency at blowjobs, but I’d be starting from square one with a chick. And if that was the case, why should she even bother?

Luckily, eating pussy didn’t turn out to be the obscenely treacherous puzzle box that popular culture would have me believe (at least not the pussies I’ve eaten so far). I imagine that possessing female anatomy barely hurts the learning curve either. I’m not saying I’m a rockstar at it yet, but I’m not inept either!

Of course, there can be drawbacks to giving oral sex. Some people just don’t taste all that great (in my experience, these people most often have shitty diets, but my sample size isn’t large). Pubic hair isn’t designed for easy swallowing. Jaws get tired, tongues get sore. There are STDs to worry about (as with most any sexual contact, but it seems a lot harder to convince someone to use barriers with oral sex), and there’s the frustration that can come when you realize that you’ve just sated a partner beyond any hope of further fun.

Often these issues are greatly mitigated or simply absent, depending on whom you’ve chosen to interface with. Some people taste good, have been tested recently, are always eager to reciprocate.

But there’s one thing I can never get away from that makes giving oral sex (specifically blowjobs) kind of less awesome than perhaps they should be. Wrapping my lips tightly over my teeth to eliminate any untoward scraping, I somehow always end up cutting the inside of my upper lip with my two top incisors. If I give another blowjob before that’s healed, the cut gets worse, and so on. I think I might need a mouthguard. Or maybe some tips from my clever readers.

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This ConTuesday has several sorts of anonymous confessions to sample: transgressive, triumphant, murky, and really kind of gut-wrenching.

While I was married to my first wife, I had an affair with her sister, that lasted about a year. In all honesty, I should have stayed with the sister, life would have been much better. One night, I butt-fucked my SIL, and then went upstairs, and woke up my wife, and had her give me a blow job. What made it even more weird was that my SIL stood in the hallway and masturbated while she watched us.

I recently discovered that if I apply really strong pressure to my clitoris as I’m orgasming, the climax keeps going for an extra thirty seconds or so. I wish it was socially acceptable to share these sorts of little personal triumphs with the world at large, but it’s not, so I’ll share it with you.

You know how something will randomly pop into your head and you’ll think “I have to remember to look this up on the internet later”, but you don’t have a smart phone and you every time– without fail– forget to look it up when you’re actually on a computer? Well, in a similar vein, I keep meaning to try this!

Boy, you are very cute and you have a tophat, which is always a plus. However, you violate the xkcd rule, so despite your flirting I doubt we shall ever have a relationship. …Maybe making out. But that is definitely the limit here.

If I wear top hat will you make out with me? I’m just curious here.

I confessed here before my boyfriend barely touches me. He’s doing such a great job convincing me he doesn’t find me attractive, that I’m starting to find him less attractive… I go to get my nethers waxed and think sadly how I’ll keep paying for this because at least twice a month, I know someone will touch me below the waist.

If I wear a top hat will you let me give you a big hug? Because this confession really makes me want to.

Send in your anonymous confessions using this convenient form! Make haste!

Once in a while you run across a person (in my experience, always a male, though I have no idea if this is pattern or statistical aberration) who opines that rape is a more horrific crime than murder.

O RLY?

I’m not interested in playing the “more horrific” game, nor being an armchair criminal philosophy expert. I’m really not. But there’s something disturbing about their reasoning.

Are you suggesting, person who has (every time so far) admittedly never been raped, that a rape victim would be better off dead? The response is usually something like “a murder victim’s suffering is over, while a rape victim has a whole lifetime to deal with what happened.” So that’s pretty much a “yes”. Rock.

I can’t speak for everyone, but I would prefer murder to pretty much nothing, and I think plenty of people who’ve survived rape, torture, and other atrocities may feel the same way. Some probably wouldn’t. But the bottom line here is that I don’t think a bystander is the right person to decide which of these people would be better off dead.

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ConTuesday is here, and with it comes more anonymous confessions! It’s pretty safe to say that none of these are about you, but we really can’t rule it entirely out, now can we?

My boyfriend misses his ex. I can just tell. He gets sad eyes when he talks about her. He says little throw away things, that reveal that he’s thinking of her. It happens a lot. I know he cares for me. She has moved on, and has a kid with another man. But, if he had a chance to get her back I believe he would leave me, in an instant. The weirdest part is, I’m not mad, I feel sad for me, and sad for him. I wish I could make him as happy as she used to…..

I (a guy, not that it really matters) once carried on a purely sexual relationship with a guy; I let him know it would only be a sexual relationship, although I wasn’t entirely honest about the reasons why (I just wasn’t that into him). I then dropped the relationship when I realized that -he- wasn’t interested in anything else; even though I didn’t want anything more, I guess I wanted to believe that he did, as the discovery eliminated all interest for me.

The guy I’m kind of seeing lives four hours away so we don’t get to see each other, or play with each other, very often. He was here last weekend for a visit and instead of immediately getting a hotel room like I knew he wanted to, I acted oblivious and we did other things all afternoon…. I knew he was horny and wanted to get me alone, and I kind of enjoyed making him wait. I’m not sure if that’s mean or not but since I fully intended to get naked with him (and did) I think I’m going to go with not mean, just playful.

I like my boyfriend best when he’s been smoking crack. He gets all sweet and slow. He’s more sexual and touches me more. It’s made me realize that I need to find a boyfriend who I like when he’s not on drugs.

Now, tell me something. It’s completely anonymous, possibly therapeutic, and undoubtedly interesting.

On ConTuesday last week I posted an anonymous internet confession about a person whose boyfriend’s sex drive has begun to lag behind hers*. I didn’t have enough energy to address this confession on Tuesday, when it appeared (at that point my energy was firmly at cut, paste, and collapse levels), but now I’m feeling slightly perkier and I can write what I wanted to at the time. It’s not advice, really. I guess it’s more akin to relating.

I’m afraid sometimes that I’m literally insatiable. If I’m attracted to you, I pretty much never don’t want to fuck you. I can have half my body caught in a giant bear trap, and if I can still part my legs it’s on like Donkey Kong. And hey, I finally found a use for this stuff!

But I’m aware that most people don’t work like that. Someone can be attracted to me and like fucking me and not want to fuck me right this second. My awareness of this phenomenon is mostly academic, though, because I still haven’t gotten past the part where I feel like it means something whenever someone doesn’t want to have sex with me (e.g. I’m a troll and not worth touching). I know that’s (usually) not it; it usually has nothing to do with me. I hope. But it’s hard not to take rejection personally.

Now that I’m thinking about it, I don’t think I’ve ever had a relationship with someone who quite matched my ridiculous sex drive. It comes close, sure. There was even a period there while I was seeing Edwin where I had no sex drive at all due to a health condition, but before and after that my sex drive outstripped his, though probably not by much. But sometimes it’s a huge problem, a deal-breaking problem. Not because I want to dump you if you can’t service me seventeen times a day, but because I genuinely start thinking you want to dump me if we’re not having regular sex.

Sometimes sex drives seem hopelessly unbalanced, though. Sometimes you just never seem to have any sex. I’ve been in this situation a time or two, and I can’t deal with it. I cannot be in an exclusive relationship that provides no orgasms. It’s not even a conscious weighing of pros and cons; it’s a bare and grimy fact. I can’t sustain it. I feel completely uninteresting and unloved. And if  I’m not getting sex from the person I’m with, I’d damn well better be welcome to pursue it further afield.

Guys seem excited, intrigued, when they begin to discover my sex drive. There’s so much promise there:  never having to feel like a supplicant to get laid, being able to count rather than gamble on having sex, not worrying if she’s into it or not, trying new things because the basic needs are finally there, satisfied. It can be a bright, shiny lure, a woman’s nymphomania. But I wonder if it doesn’t become tiresome for them after a while. Even if I never say a word, does it seem like just sitting there, my body, a pleasure-greedy monster, is somehow demanding things? It might get to be a source of stress after a while, and that’s not exactly the sex amusement park I’m pitching in the beginning. It’s more like, well, working at an amusement park.

*I’m assuming this person is a woman because of the “other women” reference in the confession, but I apologize if I’m incorrect.

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