quizzical pussy

Here are some anonymous confessions for you to read. They are very mysterious!

I sat and read your blog and masturbated and read and read and masturbated until I was raw. I finally came as I thought that there are others who do the same thing, and I realized that I would tell you this, here, which just pushed me right over the top.

No, seriously, I recognize your lack of social skills and romantic experience and find it endearing. But how on earth you could miss that someone stroking your hair while talking about how pretty you are, while on a bed, IS HITTING ON YOU I will never know.

Sometimes I think that everything I do is motivated by sex. It’s really not stereotypical behaviour for a woman. But events I go to, supposedly political groups I join, everything seems to be motivated by the idea of finding someone new. It’s not just the sex, I’ve got a bit of a growing obsession with having a baby. I use contraception but I really wish that I didn’t.

My fantasies are fairly horrific. They are about the reduction of people (of all ages) to objects to be abused in all the worst ways imaginable. I don’t appear in my own fantasies at all; they are just small horror films which I watch. The characters don’t have names or faces. In real life, I get upset and triggered by accounts of suffering and abuse less than what I fantasise about elsewhere. My mini-world is a rape culture world, a feminist’s nightmare, a man’s nightmare too. Sometimes women are the abusers, often it is a misogynistic society run by men. I find it strange because it’s not something I’d want to do in real life at all. I have mostly stopped feeling guilty about it, because my fantasies have been like this from the start, but I can’t tell much of the truth when partners ask for my fantasies. They get the sanitised version – and even then are usually a little shocked.

Now you tell me a secret.

“Having it grow inside you… feeling it move in there, and then having to push it out through a hole that’s–let’s face it–much too small: it’s so… alien. Like an alien parasite”

I hear this a lot in terms of the miracles of pregnancy and giving birth. While I can certainly concede that this a valid feeling about the whole process, it’s not a feeling I share. Conception, pregnancy, birth all seem normal and natural and mundane to me. Female bodies are adapted to do this, although historically we don’t have an incredible amount of luck coming out of it alive. But it’s just that an egg (that’s supposed to be there in the first place) gets fertilized (in a very reasonable and expected way), and then a bunch of things happen to allow it to grow. It’s perfectly healthy, perfectly unsurprising. It honestly doesn’t squick me out at all.

But I still have absolutely no interest in doing it.

My problem has never been the process. I’ve often thought that in an extreme case I wouldn’t entirely mind being a surrogate (like if there was a disgustingly wealthy and completely desperate party that couldn’t adopt and would surely be a parenting tour de force and other highly realistic cases involving actual alien races that were dying out and wanted to give me a magical space unicorn).  It might be an interesting experience to have, though certainly not for its own sake.

The big problem is that I don’t want kids. At all. Never have. And I especially don’t want babies. This might make some dismiss me as selfish, but I don’t care. I also don’t agree because I don’t see having children as a selfless act. Of course, you have to adopt some selfless behaviors to be a good parent, but if you want to have a baby, is having it really selfless? And if you seriously don’t want one, would having one be selfless, or wouldn’t it just as likely be cruel and pointless for everyone involved? Even accidental parents have to get to a point where they want the children they have, or they end up shitty parents, unless I’m missing something.

I’ve often been told that I’ll change my mind, or that if I had a baby I’d bond to it and become a grateful and loving mother. That (edit: the latter) is highly possible, but there’s nothing in me that feels any urge to test it out. I have no biological clock; I have no reproductive motivation. I want to fuck all day and come out of it completely physically unaltered but for some sexily mussed hair.

But if you like babies, and you want babies, that’s cool. I might be a little bummed if we’re friends and your life suddenly revolves around something I can’t relate to at all, but that’s life. I’ll get over it. It isn’t personal. I’m not trying to convert anyone to my barren lifestyle. Although I understand where the Voluntary Human Extinction Movement is coming from (“May we life long and die out” kind of thing), I don’t subscribe to their newsletter. I’m not that ready to give up on the human race just yet. Give me a few years and I’ll let you know.

The only thing that I’m saying here is that I don’t really want kids and it’s hard for me to relate to that impulse. A friend of mine who recently had a baby was visiting the other day. Cute kid. Seems to inspire complete devotion in her mother, which I think is a good adaptation. The new mom was describing to me their process of feeding the baby every four hours, putting the baby down to sleep if it’s been awake for 90 minutes, no matter what. She explained that the baby can’t be in the same room as a powered-on television because it would stunt her brain development. She explained how big a production it was to go anywhere.

“Wow. Yeah, I… that sounds exhausting,” I said (although I will note here that getting the mail also sounds exhausting to me most days).

“Sure, but you go through all this stuff and run around like a chicken with its head cut off and then when you feel like you need to collapse she smiles at you, and it’s all worth it.”

“Hmmm,” thought I. Thought but never said, “She just smiled at me for free.”

This attitude isn’t just why I’m not going to have children, it’s also reason #478 why I shouldn’t have children.

(image source)

I don’t think it’s a coincidence that the sicker I get, the less sexy I feel. I’m pretty sure these phenomena are related.

If you’ve read my blog at all, you may have gotten the impression by now that I generally don’t consider myself sexy.  It’s true; I don’t. I can’t even imagine what it would be like to wake up one day and think “I am a reasonably sexy person. People might want to have sex with me, and I can’t find a damn reason to blame them!” In my head that story ends with mocking laughter and villagers with torches.

But upon further examination I have to concede that I absolutely must have some degree of self esteem and a modicum of self-conceived sexiness, because I have been losing it steadily for months now.

I don’t think that people with chronic illnesses and disabilities can’t be sexy. That is not the message I’m trying to send and it isn’t what I believe. I would like to subvert the “sexless cripple” trope better than I currently do (although I am having better sex now than I ever had when I was healthy and able bodied, so I could also be challenging it less). I wish I had the talent and moxie to be a living embodiment of disabled sex bomb, both because I’d feel like I was breaking down barriers and because I’d take so much marvelous advantage of it. Wouldn’t I just!

The sad reality, though, is that I’m not disabled in a static way; I’m also sick. That means when I’m least abled I’m also feeling the most pain, and I’m the most bedridden (and not in any possible convoluted sexy meaning of that term). When I have energy and less severe headaches, my disability gets less and less visible. That makes me a pretty terrible poster child for working around limitations. I’m more of an example of being hit by limitation buses and staying in traction for weeks on end. And so, I paradoxically feel less and less sexy the more time I spend in bed.

But you know what? Horsefeathers! Of course I’m sexy, now more than ever! Sure, I walk like Torgo from Manos: The Hands of Fate, but did you know that his character was supposed to be a satyr? And those guys were all about sex! And tragically ill heroines are pretty popular: Satine, Mimì, Mandy Moore, and yes, perhaps even Inara (although, to be fair, all those chicks are dying, so there isn’t a clear correlation between long-term, debilitating, but not-imminently-fatal illness and being erotically enticing. But let’s ignore that for the moment). Clearly, I should be at my absolute peak of power when I’m at my sickest.

But even if I am, today, at this very moment, the sexiest I will ever be, I do not have the fucking energy to enjoy it.

ConTuesday! Today I’m not feeling chatty at all, so you’ll get (mostly) pure, unadulterated sex secrets from strangers without much commentary from the pussy gallery. Of course, feel free to add your own!

I’m really pretty conventional. Like most men, I would love a three-way with two chicks, and like most men, I’ll never get that. I’m very devoted to my wife, and I wouldn’t ever do anything to hurt her, and whatever she may say, I think that emotionally she would become very self-conscious if I were to sex another woman, even if she were in the room with us. But I know that she is turned on by certain men, and I’m fine with that. As a matter of fact, it turns me ON that she is turned on by other men. I want so much to watch her have sex with one of these men, but then come back to me. Does that make me cocky, that I know she will come back to me? Self-demeaning, that I want my significant other to be pleasured by another? Specious, that I probably just subconsciously want my own free fling? (We’re monogamous, and have always been so.) I don’t really think so. I pretty much ALWAYS need my wife to be completely turned on before I can perform. I just want to see her delighted, from outside. I want to see her come, HARD, and then return to me. I suppose there’s the danger that she’ll love his cock more than mine. But to be honest, the thing that keeps me from approaching certain men with suggestions right now is just the terror of the Worst Case Scenario occurring: Her getting pregnant or catching a bug that can’t be un-caught. But really, the guys she likes would probably be pretty safe for the latter, and the former would be addressable (redundant BC, for starters).

I’m a poly heteroflexible white male, mostly out, and I want to write publicly about sex and poly. However, I don’t want to do so with my name (or any known internet handle) attached, because I think it’s tacky (and possibly harmful) to write openly and possibly identify my partners, but also because I’m anxious about what my friends and family will think. But I have some really hot sex, and I find poly so fascinating and wonderful – I’m just not sure where and how to share my thoughts about it.

Why not start an anonymous blog? It’s fun and easy and in some contexts, even free!

Every time I take a especially large toy or a hand or anything else larger than usual, I spend the next day doing tons of kegels or wearing my smartballs around, because I’m afraid my vagina will get stretched out. Even thought I KNOW that’s not how vaginas work.

I have a raging libido (mid 30s, woman, i guess that whole sexual peak thing is true) and all I can think about is sex. I read porn online, fantasize about sex, masturbate all the time- and tell my husband that my chronic illness has left me with no desire at all. Ever since he got sick, I’ve been taking care of everything and I’ve come to view him as a child I have to care for. And I’m not a pedophile.

Got something to share and nowhere to share it? Send it to me.

So, you’re tooling around Wal-mart one day and suddenly you get wicked horny. Don’t ask me why. It occurs to you that the most reasonable thing to do at this point is pick up a magazine that features cleavage from the magazine rack, head over to the toy department, and whack off.

This is where your brilliant plan unravels a bit. Most of your seed has spilled on the tile floor, yes, but where are you going to wipe off the semen you accidentally got on your hand? You can’t use the Sports Illustrated you’re borrowing, because if you defile it you’ve bought it. Just then, you see a toy lightsaber. Lightsaber is Latin for jismrag, right? You’re a genius.

You know who you kind of remind me of? This winner.

via ruero

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Looking for sexy posts other than reviews?

e[lust] #19

Editor

Scarlet Lotus St. Syr

Editor’s Pick

• LELO Siri and my clitoris: A love story by Quizzical Pussy

• I’d been wanting to try a LELO toy for some time. They have a reputation for being elegant, clever, and oh-so luxurious. Actually, though, I kind of also think of LELO as the IKEA of the sex toy world: the caps lock, the funny sparse-but-exotic product names (pop quiz: tell me which of these are sex toys and which are furniture: Odda, Noga, Ina, Nea, Agne, Mona, Malma) the simple lines and bright colors.

On to the reviews…

Read more…

It’s Tuesday again, which means you’re probably here to read the secrets of the anonymous denizens of the internet. And I’m here to give them to you!

My wife, as we’re watching porn says ‘That’d be fun. I’d let another woman help me suck your c*ck’. Naturally, I’m interested in this possibility. I doubt she’ll make any effort to pursue it, short of my regular prodding. Yet, I don’t want to be annoying about it. We seldom go ‘out’ and when we do, it’s never anywhere we could people-watch and attempt to pick up a 3rd party. Besides, I highly doubt either of us would have the cajones to strike up a convo with that as the goal. After all, that really doesn’t seem to be the best option – to have an ulterior motive like that when engaging in bar conversation. I’d wager the success rate of that is nil. Aside from say, Craigslist or online dating sites, I wonder if there are any other ways I can expedite this sort of thing. Any suggestions?

Ah, the elusive unicorn. Finding a hot, bisexual woman willing to play with a couple isn’t necessarily the easiest thing to do (okay, maybe she doesn’t have to be bisexual per se, but she clearly needs to be open to the possibility of brushing lips with your wife across your very happy cock). People all over the world are on the same quest. Wouldn’t mind snagging one myself. Actually, though, don’t think about it that way or you’ll psych yourself out.

I’d say that if you’re really not interested in using the internet, make some new friends. To be more specific, join a group of friends that are bonded through a common geeky interest, preferably one that you share. In my personal experience, geeky groups are often comparatively open about sexuality, and are more likely to be polyamorous (this will eliminate your need to necessarily find a single woman to play with). Hang out with these people because they’re awesome, talk about sex with them because it’s interesting, and hope like hell that one of the women in that group is attracted to you guys (and vice versa).

Or, find a swingers’ club or party in your area. That will be faster and have a better chance of success, and you’ll likely still get new friends out of it.

I’ve been seeing this guy for over a year now and though he can go for HOURS, I’m not satisfied. He is smaller than most of the men I have been with and of recent I have found myself fantisizing about my ex after I leave him. I love the sex but it isn’t getting the job done and I don’t know what to do about it. We have used toys, changed the scheme of things, but nothing seems to be working. I’ve thought about maybe having a three some with the two of them, but then it would mean letting the ex know that I’ve been in a year + relationship with one of his best friends. Yes we have kept it quiet because it was supposed to be just sex, neither of us wanted to hurt him, but now I’m over hurting him and just wanting to use him. I told the ex today that he needed to come visit because I haven’t found a man that can do it like him. But I can’t let the guy I’m with now know that or he’d be hurt. What’s a girl to do??

The final question might be rhetorical, but I’ll try to answer it anyway. What is a girl to do? I’d experiment more with your current guy (it’s obvious that you already have, but more more more) and start dropping hints about a threesome to see if it’s a possibility. Since you’ll be in experimentation mode already it’ll be a relatively easy thing to bring up, although he still might not be interested.

I would also stop telling the ex that he’s the best you’ve ever had, though, because while that’s very flattering he might let it drop in the shock of realizing that you’ve been dating one of his friends. Then you’ve got trouble and feelings are hurt, and if nothing else you probably won’t be getting that threesome. Good luck!

If any readers have suggestions for either confession please leave a comment, because I am not the mayor of third party seduction.

Confess your sex secrets here! You can even take your sex life in your hands and ask me for advice, of all preposterous ideas.

I’ve been abused by a partner before, and I’ve had to deal with rape. You know what I think is really, really funny? Usually not jokes about domestic abuse and sexual assault. Go figure.

There was a time when these issues dominated my life much more completely than they do today. I couldn’t bring myself to say the word “rape” in relation to what happened to me for a very long time, despite the fact that a man put his penis inside me as I begged him not to, having told him multiple times before that moment that I had no intention of having intercourse with him. I still couldn’t say the word. It’s still hard. And the physical abuse’s effects were even broader. I still cringe a little from any hint of anger in a man I’m close to. I have slid face first into flashbacks complete with dissociation because someone touched my neck the wrong way. I’ve felt like I was back in the thick of terror and pain just because of a sharp gesture in my direction. Now, jokes about rape and abuse don’t hurt me like they used to, but I will never think those subjects are intrinsically funny.

But clearly they are to some people. And that’s okay, to a point. Let it never be said that I’m the enemy to all offensive humor. But honestly, there’s a point at which it gets to be a little much.

I’ve spent a lot of time in the comedy community, with stand-up and improv performers, and I know that what is funny is deeply rooted in making unexpected choices. Sometimes the simplest way to be unexpected is to say something shocking. Even if it gets to the point where your audience is waiting for you to say something offensive, part of them will still be astounded if you go far enough.

That’s where gems like “What do you tell a woman with two black eyes? …Nothing. You already told her twice,” and “What do 9 out of 10 people enjoy? …Gang rape,” come in. Have you heard those? Have you laughed at them? Was it because you were uncomfortable or because you really think they’re funny?

If you actually like those kinds of jokes, that doesn’t make you an asshole. They’re well-constructed classic one-liners. The set-up questions each suggest a particular range of appropriate responses, and the punchline completely demolishes those anticipations in a shocking way. The first time you hear these they’re unexpected. And that’s comedy. And one truth in comedy is that sometimes what’s funny to you might be deeply hurtful to someone else.

A few days ago, Not An Odalisque, a blogger from the U.K., tweeted links to these two articles on The Guardian: The Rise of Rape Talk and The Rise of the Rape Joke. Basically, both deal with the idea that people are talking about rape more and more, just not in any serious way. Instead, people seem to use “rape” as a metaphor or a comedic device. A few examples:

• Heavyweight boxer David Haye tells an opponent that their upcoming match will be as “one-sided as a gang rape”, and then basically laughs it off when people are offended.
• Over a million people “like” “Thanks wind, you have totally raped my hair” on Facebook.
• Popular stand-up comedian Jimmy Carr’s new show is called “Rapier Wit”. Get it? Because of all the hilarious rape!

I agree with Not An Odalisque’s critique about the articles lacking nuance. In particular, the second one says: “Even the women are at it [making jokes about rape]: Geordie comic Sarah Millican has a skit about fetishistic rape roleplays with her boyfriend.” Rape fantasies and rape roleplay are not rape. They’re consensual. Therefore, Sarah Millican, whoever that is, doesn’t appear to be making rape jokes from the information they’re giving us. Although it’s possible that hearing about someone else’s rape fantasies could be a trigger for a rape victim, I can’t imagine it would be as hurtful for most as some guy joking about how he raped a girl who wouldn’t have sex with him.

I don’t know that this is necesarily a new thing. If we’re talking “last five years” new, maybe as an isolated stand-up fad (I haven’t researched that on my own), but otherwise not so much. If we’re talking “last twenty years”, it’s very likely that it’s more acceptable to say those things in public than it was back then, but odds are very good that behind closed doors rape jokes have been made for a very long time. Often it seems like society is losing its innocence when it’s really only losing its politeness. I don’t think people have ever been innocent; I just think that mass media used to a) not exist, and b) when it started to exist, took dramatic steps to hide human nature. There was probably no simpler time for society at large, just simpler gadgets. And of course most of us remember a time when everything was comparatively tame: it was called childhood. What I picked up on in the ’80s and ’90s doesn’t even come close to what was getting thrown around.

Maybe people are making light of rape now more than ever, though. If that’s the case, what can one do (assuming one thinks that’s a problem)? In the U.S. (and many other places), we’re lucky that there’s no way to stop them. I don’t want to stop them. I like free speech and I like it for tools, patriots, zealots, artists, meanies, boxers, and boring people as much as I like it for myself. But the right to free speech provides its own feedback system. If you think a comment or joke is in poor taste, you can speak up; you can make it a point not to laugh, even if part of you finds it funny. We as individuals have very little control over what other people (or even we) find funny. And if people will laugh at it, other people are always going to be willing to say it.

I think that The Guardian is absolutely right about one thing: we’d probably hear the term “rape” bandied about less in this manner if more people realized that rape is more common than they think. It seems like so much misunderstanding comes from the fact that people (rightly, to a point) consider stranger rape to be fairly uncommon, but they also think on some level that that’s what rape is. Period. It’s almost like they forget about acquaintance rape, which happens so much more often.

If people who told these jokes to a bunch of friends or an audience thought “Wow, the chances are pretty high that one of these people was the victim of the exact devastating thing I’m joking about,” it might change things. Of course, maybe for some of them that would make it a lot more funny, but those are the kind of people I don’t much want to listen to no matter what they’re saying.

(image source)

A couple winters ago I was on a notdate (you know, that social expedition that no one has defined as a date, but it’s pretty clear that at least one of you wouldn’t mind it going in that general direction) with a guy whom, I was certain by the end, I definitely wanted to not date. He wasn’t good-looking (in a general consensus sense), but, though I wasn’t blind to that, it also didn’t particularly bother me. He also seemed to have a lot of mental health issues. It happens. The real problem was, the more we hung out together, the more a striking resemblance developed in his features and expressions to a chick I often, to this day, have trouble standing. There’s no harm in her, and I’m disposed to be civil toward her because she’s married to a friend, but hers isn’t the face I want to see poised on the prow of a guy who wants to do me. It surprised me how deeply and utterly this resemblance bothered me.

Our conversation quality was fair; I usually have no trouble talking at length to anyone who can even pretend to comprehend English, and I think that put him at ease. I felt that we could easily be friends as long as a) he didn’t mind that idea and b) things didn’t get tragically awkward. The face thing that would murder my peace in a paramour I could easily deal with in a platonic way.

After a movie and some wandering while talking, we ended up in my car in the mall parking lot. I was going to drive him to his car since I have V.I.P. cripple parking. Snow drifts rose up where swaths of parking spaces should’ve been, and it was snowing gently, and he kissed me.

And it was awful.

I try to be accommodating, so I went with it, although at the beginning my involvement was no better than half-hearted (and actually a good deal less). There was absolutely no firmness or pressure in his lips or tongue, no apparent rhyme or reason to what those parts were doing, and his breath lingered on the unfortunate side of middling. Every second of horrible making out that ensued made me more and more miserable, and less and less sure of how to stop it without hurting his feelings. Just then, Untrust Us by Crystal Castles started playing, and it struck me all of a sudden what a terrible waste all this was. The veil of falling snow, the dark sky against the white hills, the warmth of my car’s heater in that ocean of cold, and that lovely, delicate song all conspired to create such an amazing atmosphere for those first fragile touches that, when they’re good, are so very, very good. It could’ve been so sweet, so… not awful, such a pretty memory. As it was, not so much. Maybe someday my mind will erase annoying-friend-faced-bad-kisser guy and slot someone more eligible into that recollection.

I still like that song anyway, though.

(image source)

ConTuesday! Anonymous secrets! Intrigue! Titillation!

On an unrelated note, this week’s title has nothing to do with any of the confessions I got. Laramy recently decided it’s insanely fun to make this “came in my pants ever so gently” breathing sound. I call this sound Creepyleaf, due to a late night discussion involving rakes and the fact that it does, in fact, sound creepy. Feel free to imagine him doing this after each confession, because that’s what I’m doing today!

Back when I was in my early 20s, I was a nanny for a couple and their young son. The couple’s 18-year-old nephew came to stay with them, and I started sleeping with him after about 6 months. I look back on him very fondly; he was sweet and respectful and ready to go again every 10 minutes. I also slept with the husband (the couple had a permissive relationship), who was in his mid-50s. That wasn’t so nice. But to this day, they were the youngest and oldest men I’ve ever slept with, and they happened to be related, and they definitely didn’t know about each other.

I just love ConTuesday.

Had a two-night stand with this guy… hot as hell, great accent, beautiful cock… but the sex sucked. I thought it was a fluke the first time so I tried again, and it turned out he just sucks in bed, at least as far as my likes are concerned. Now I’m flirting with a guy who definitely won’t be a one night stand or fuck buddy… not as hot but still very cute, and one kiss with him turned me on more than sex with the other guy. I can hardly wait to find out if the sex is gonna be as good as the kiss.

There’s enough lag between when I get these and when I post them that I bet it wouldn’t be unreasonable to ask for an update. How about it?

I’ve been reading your blog for a while now, since a mutually perverted friend directed me here… and when you talk about never getting enough, until your pussy puts up a white flag… I have to be honest and say that I’m the same lol. My ahem, longest time for fucking has been four hours solid, sleep for five, wake up for another four hours of fuuuuun! *giggle*

Three things: 1) Insatiable sex gluttons for the win! 2) Were you, by any chance, having sex with easy listening pop sensation Sting? 3) How sore were you after? Regardless, that’s sexy.

I used to be really good at giving blowjobs. Intact and cut guys, very large and average guys – they’ve all been very, very happy with my techniques. Hell, once I made a man have four orgasms in a row without even using my hands for extra help. …but I still haven’t managed to get my current partner off any way other than PIV. He needs me to move way faster than my head is capable of going and he really didn’t like the time I tried having him mouth-fuck me. I don’t think I’ve forgotten my old techniques, I just think they’re not compatible with his penis. He’s a great guy and the rest of the sex is wonderful, but I kind of resent that I can’t get him off that way. I miss having that sexy power.

I have a Feeldoe! Just saying. Sorry, that was probably inappropriate, and Laramy is likely making the creepiest sound right now.

Have a secret? I want it!