quizzical pussy

Lately I’m really feeling the theme ConTuesdays. I don’t strictly get enough confessions to do a cohesive theme every week, but I can cobble something matchy matchy together every so often.

Cobbling something matchy matchy together? Say, that makes me think of RuPaul’s Drag Race. Which brings us to…

Our theme. Not drag, sadly. Just LGBTness.

It’s weird to think that I’ve only been admitting that I’m 50% lesbionic for a couple years. I mean, I’ve basically always known. Way more than half my crushes in memory have been on chicks, and I’ve asked every man I’ve ever dated if he’d be okay with me fucking women.

But, you know, I was straight.

Ah, the secrets of the human mind. As secrets go, though, there are better: other secrets that feature the gays and pansexuals and queers, oh my! But just like they say on that homotastic Reading Rainbow, don’t take my word for it…

Coincidence that you should mention guy on guy the other day… yeah, I have a big thing about it. My boyfriend confessed to me the other day that he’d been with a man, and wasn’t too keen on the actual sex but had quite enjoyed giving a blowjob.

Even though we’re normally quite open/kinky and do sometimes have guests in the bedroom, it seems pretty clear that he’s not comfortable even talking about this, let alone repeating it. But I cannot get the image of him sucking cock out of my head. *subtly humps desk*

I mentioned on twitter a while back that I’m partial to gay porn, especially when twinks are involved. I stand by that.

As for you, do you think he’d be interested in blowing you while you wore a strap-on? This suggestion has nothing to do with my long-standing fantasy to have a man suck my pretty, purple dick whatsoever. I’m just trying to be helpful.

I’ve recently become involved with a couple for the first time, and I’m liking it and them a lot. I was concerned about maintaining some level of equality between the three of us but we’re managing to keep the balance just fine… except for the sex.

Sex with him is silly and flirty and relaxing (and HOT), with lots of laughing and fun and even when I don’t get off, I don’t mind, because I’ve enjoyed myself.

Sex with her is serious and dramatic and usually starts out intense but eventually ends up just tense. At least one of us (often her) usually ends up uncomfortable and unsatisfied. Worst of all, she won’t talk about it (at least not with me), so I’m completely at a loss as to how to get us both to relax and let go a bit. Threesomes don’t help; I think they make her even more uncomfortable.

Don’t you hate it when there’s a problem with the sex and it seems like you’re not allowed to talk about it? Maybe you can anonymously send her a message (because I’m all for anonymity). It could go like, “Hi there. This is one of your sexual partners. No sneaky guessing which one, now. I’ve noticed that when we have sex it gets awkward and it seems like you’re not having much fun. If you would be open to talking about this issue, please blink occasionally for ‘yes’ and never for ‘no’. I will recognize this signal, and we can have a calm, adult conversation about our sex life.”

Otherwise? I’m really not a fan, but this rather sounds like a job for pot.

I’m a pansexual poly femme queer woman, laughably oversexed and loving every second. Men are always my primary relationships and I don’t like admitting why. I refuse to have a woman for my primary partner because the one time I tried it we succumbed to lesbian bed death. I didn’t have sex with my girlfriend for six months straight even though I was getting it elsewhere. One day I’ll be too old to attract new partners as easily as I do now so I cannot have my first commitment be to someone who will ultimately lose interest in filling my needs.

I’m a woman myself, FFS. Shouldn’t I know all women aren’t going to turn frigid?

It’s okay to primarily date men. Nothing wrong with it, even if you identify as romantically and/or sexually attracted to all gender variations. You can still identify as a PPFQW, and no one is going take away your pussy-eating merit badges. If your assumptions about women are at all valid, though, I feel sorry for straight men everywhere.

I realized about a year ago that I feel very safe, secure, peaceful and ”at home” when I hear the sounds of people fucking in whatever place I live.

I credit the gay guys I rented a room from back then for helping me discover this beautiful tidbit — I never would have figured it out back when I lived with my Mormon parents.

Some folks might complain about apartments with thin walls and the neighbors who rattle them every night. I’d love to thank them for the best lullaby a girl could ever want!

Yes, the Gay Sex Lullaby, enjoyed by my neighboring hotel patrons on many a magical evening.

You’re so welcome. The pleasure was all mine.

Do you have a sex confession to share? I’m dying to read it.

Today we have a sexy, sexy car (truck) review from the sexy, sexy Model T! Like a rock, baby (okay, I’m mixing my make metaphors here, but whatever). -Q.P.

Ford F350 King Ranch: The obvious solution to the problem of cramped quarters for car-sex is to find a bigger car. The obvious solution to needing a bigger car is to find a truck. And if you need a big truck, the Ford F350 is a good place to start. Ford didn’t just deliver us a one-ton pickup truck; we got a one-ton, four-wheel drive crew cab with luxurious King Ranch leather trim and dual rear wheels. With a payload of over four thousand pounds, a towing capacity on the far side of twelve thousand, and a thirty-inch step up just to get inside, the F350 was not fucking around when it came to being a piece of heavy-duty equipment.
What had our interest, however wasn’t the massive cargo bed, but the extremely spacious cab. The F350 crew cab is endowed with a cabin the size of a small apartment, only with high-grade leather seats and a DVD entertainment system. There’s almost enough leg room to lie on the floor, and enough headroom for five-footers to just about stand upright inside.

It’s probably no surprise that A. and I had a marvelous time in the back of the F350. It was easily large enough to accommodate pretty much everything we wanted to do–and with deeply tinted windows and a stiff enough suspension that it didn’t rock, we went undisturbed for a good long while as well. With vehicles like this, who needs bedrooms? To be honest, we could have probably had a foursome back there, but there weren’t any volunteers. Maybe next time.

Summary:

• Arousal: 3/5–The F350 has a rugged, working-class appeal. If straightforwardness turns you on, this truck is willing to get in there and do the job.
• Discretion: 3/5–On the one hand, it’s pretty hard to be discreet in an eighteen-foot long luxury pickup truck. On the other hand, the high cabin, dark-tinted windows, and a suspension that is unlikely to rock in the throes of passion mean that even if folks are looking at it, they’re not going to have a clue what’s going on inside!
• Comfort: 5/5–The F350′s about the closest thing to an apartment on wheels that you’re going to find this side of a full-size van or a motorhome. Generous leg- and headroom plus a very wide body mean that you can get into as many positions as you like. And if things are really secluded, you can always throw a queen-size air mattress in the cargo bed and do it under the sky.
• Best person to hump in this car: Anyone you want…and their cute best friend, too.

I would seriously, shamelessly trade sex for guitar lessons. Or Photoshop/Illustrator lessons. Or a few other skills I want to pick up. I realize that friends and lovers kind of naturally teach each other about their passions and such, but I’m talking about a formal arrangement: sex for skill.

It’s a fantasy I go back to occasionally, realizing that it’s a) harmless and b) may be in violation of certain feminist principals. Sex isn’t a commodity (although in reality sometimes it is), and female sexuality isn’t some mysterious thing you have to offer tribute to engage (although I’m a big supporter of sex work, and the simple fact is that there is a demand). In practice, the arrangement would be nothing approaching fair, as I would be enjoying it just as much as anyone I willingly made this type of agreement with. We’re basically talking the most one-sided barter ever, like someone telling me, “I’ll give you this Milky Way if you pet my adorable kitten.”

Um, yeah. Where do I sign?

I find skill arousing. I like the idea of actively living the student role with a sex partner, and the trade part puts it over the top for some reason. I can’t put my finger on it; maybe I want to pretend that sex with me is so totally awesome someone would resort to bribery to procure it. It would be super, extra cool to know a shy music or design geek ended up thinking, “Holy shit. My random skill just came in more useful than I ever hoped to imagine.”

I don’t think this counts as prostitution per se, but if you want to call it that, you honestly just made it even hotter.

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So I’m basically always sick; it is, after all, what my life has become. Woe, woe and thunderation. But today I’m extra special acutely ill with a fever and stuff. In honor of my awesome shiny new suffering, and in lieu of using my braised brain for thinking about sex, life, society, and/or my place in them, it’s linky time!

Evey, the ultra-endearing blogger at Voyeur on Display, has a shiny new site! I give you Eveybird.com.

My favorite Married Freaks went to a nudist dinner party. I never knew it until now, but I won’t be entirely satisfied with my life until someone invites me to a nudist dinner party.

Yesterday was Holly’s last day at her job! And this is an extremely good thing. Now she’s freed up to pursue a career that hopefully kicks almost as much ass as she does. I suggest TV exec.

If anyone has any fun or interesting links to share or shamelessly self-promote, leave them in comments! I’m certainly in the market for distractions today.

I’m going to make this really, really clear, just for the record: There’s nothing clever about violating a sex worker’s anonymity. Ever. This isn’t something that’s done for great justice; it’s not a public service, and it doesn’t accomplish anything productive.

Very simply, if I try to fuck with any sex worker’s real life, family, and/or identity, it’s my pathological attempt to punish that person, usually for the crime of representing sex or a related transgression (to me). That, or it’s a childish vendetta against someone who pissed me off in a more concrete way.

In short, there are no non-personal reasons for this phenomenon. I’ll go so far as to say that all anti-sex “crusades” are deeply personal. They’re never really for the social fabric, or for the children. They’re for one (or more) waylaid pervert’s thwarted kink and guilt-soaked lust.

One of the reasons it sucks doing sex work is because you get negative respect. You know why you can’t tell people when you get a job as in orgasm assistance? Because it will very often irrevocably damage the way they see and interact with you. It will jeopardize your future career in other industries. It will inevitably break your poor mother’s heart (because if there’s one thing your mom should care about more than the gory details of your sex life, it’s what the neighbors would think about the method you’ve chosen of not being homeless). Even when you’ve got a shitty, thankless job as a fast food worker or in retail, you’re still liable to hear platitudes like “Well at least it’s honest work”. I’m pretty sure honest work is code for “not sex work” in a lot of cases.

So– because I’m clearly missing something here– why isn’t sex work honest? What’s dishonest about it? It isn’t always legal, and I’ll be the first to admit that the illegal forms of sex work especially abound with coercion, abuse, and outright slavery. But the legal, consensual kind? Even the illegal, consensual kind? The I’ll-provide-a-sexual-service-and-you-pay-me-and-we’ll-all-go-home-happy kind? Seems honest to me.

It seemed honest to me when I witnessed it working in the porn industry, it felt honest to me when I was a phone sex operator, and it seems extra super honest to me when I’m watching the obviously unfiltered, unsanitized look at legalized prostitution: HBO’s Cathouse. God, I can’t help loving that show.

Society (the one I’m entrenched in, but also pretty much all of them from where I’m sitting) has serious issues with sex. In fact, if Society were a person I would advise it to seek immediate, five-times-a-week counseling. But we don’t have to buy into all that baggage to the point where it makes us thwarted, guilty waylaid perverts, do we? Especially when there are so many wonderful, rewarding ways to stick to the straight and narrow path of perversion. It feels so good to embrace what Society “knows” is wrong, like slipping into a warm bath of anti-psychotics.

Fucking is older than Society, older than economics, older than humanity. Sex existed long before the first primate wiggled the first thumb, and then proceeded to stick it in an orifice.

Do you think it’s maybe time we relaxed about sex a little?

Because hysteria over sex workers, or gay people, or any normal, healthy aspect of human sexuality is really just an extension of freaking the fuck out about sex. There’s a tendency to deny sex workers personhood, making them either receptacles of our disgust or avatars–even deities– of sexuality. Sometimes both. But, much like Zaphod Beeblebrox, they’re just these guys, you know?

As long as we imbue their jobs with all this emotional, existential and philosophical weight, is it any wonder they want to remain anonymous? Let’s all treat sex work like the honest work it is, and then maybe sex workers will want to disclose their real names. Until then, we deserve to take all the puns and belabored alliteration they want to give us, and like it.

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I’m at the point where I get kind of surprised when I learn that a woman doesn’t own a sex toy. I don’t call that jaded, though, I call it optimistic. I wish I could say the same for men, but far fewer guys of my acquaintance have (or admit to having) toys, so it rather pleasantly surprises me when a man tells me he has one.

I realize sex toys aren’t for everyone. They’re just so fun, though! Tech nerds like to compare their gadgets, I like to talk about which sleeve, vibe, or fetish gear you like best.

So inevitably, I like to read confessions that deal with all that stuff. It’s a sex toy ConTuesday!

I just dropped almost a hundred bucks on a Lelo Siri! It’s charging now, and I can’t wait to try it! (And I just called my boyfriend and left him a message regarding the same. . .)

Do you love it? I still love mine. It is my absolute, number one go-to masturbatory aid, not counting Natalie Dormer.

I bought my wife our first toy for Valentines Day…The Lilo Irus. There was no fireworks the first time out, but we sure had fun.

It was such a turn on to hear ”I wonder what it feels like inside?” Not to mention the sight of it moving to and fro, in and out. I can’t wait to have her wiggling and twitching with me at the controls, or to catch her using it alone ;-)

Another LELO! I am not one for too much brand loyalty, but goddamn it do I ever want more of their toys.

Sometimes it takes a little while to warm up to a toy. Or sometimes, like with people, you have to try a few before one can really hit the right spots. Hope you guys found your fireworks. Trying new things isn’t just what marriages crave (from what I, single filer who should do her taxes already, have heard), but it’s also so much fun!

I’m a guy, I love sex and masturbation. My sex life is good, but my personal time is amazing! I enjoy things that I don’t feel very comfortable sharing with my current partner. (I’m not even sure I’ll find one who would make me that secure)

One of my dark secrets is hot wax, Until tonight I hadn’t used it in probably a good 6 years. Laying in bed, candle lit I tried to remember how hot it would be. Was it going to be too much now? When my partner gets home will she smell the scented candle? Maybe she’ll discover a stray wax droplet somewhere and ask questions…

On a dark-secret kink scale of zero to you’ve-got-to-be-fucking-kidding-me-I’m-filing-a-restraining-order, I sure wouldn’t divide by hot wax. I don’t know about the safety of playing with regular candles, whose wax gets a lot hotter than dedicated sexy candles manufactured just for wax play, but I’m assuming (and hoping) you do as an experienced practitioner.

I can’t tell just by reading if you’re worried your partner will learn your secret, or simply want a way to invite her into your wax play, or both. If you want to share the fun with your partner, may I suggest a gateway drug? That thing’s about as intimidating as a Persian kitten.

I’m obsessed with the idea of using a sex swing with my fiance. He’s agreed, and we have one ordered… who wouldn’t want to use grown-up playground equipment for nefarious ends? My confession is, I consider that the first in a sequence of baby steps toward my ultimate obsession. I REALLY want to rig it with a pulley system so he can pull me off his cock and drop me back down while I beg for mercy. I’m picturing an interrogation scene where I go from reluctant to depraved as the sex progresses.

He reads your blog, I’m hoping he’ll read this. That’s one of the baby steps!!!

Oh, I see. Using the sacred trust that is ConTuesday for your little passive-aggressive games, are we?

And who wouldn’t want to see grown-up playground equipment desecrated? Really? I guess your elementary school didn’t have any paraprofessionals patrolling recess time. Well, they oppose playground fun in all its forms and age ranges, and I assure you they are not smiling.

Just fucking with you. I support your dream, your baby steps, and your fantasy, which I’m pretty sure I saw approximated once in a samurai movie or something. I agree, it sounds delightful! Just remember to test the pulleys ridiculous amounts before your maiden voyage. Good luck, you crazy kids!

Got a secret? Let’s turn it into a confession.

Wow, so yeah, this is a thing: A Cat-5 Cable Flogger. Fuck yes. Now, I’ve never flogged nor been flogged by anyone, ever (and this flogger looks particularly ouchy for a first flight), but I want one anyway. Because, you see, it is a cat-5 flogger. That’s just too adorkable.

I love kissing. Fucking love it. Human mouths may well be little cesspools, but I floss my cesspool every day. So, um, wanna make out?

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My sexual stomach is tolerably strong. There’s a lot I want to try, and there’s even more I’m willing to try. And even if it’s not my kink, I try to be accepting. You like to make your partner bleed? If your partner likes to bleed, that’s beautiful, my friend. Want to have sex with your sibling? If you’re both over the age of consent and into it, I’m certainly not going to try to stop you. If you’re into the whole scat thing I really don’t want to know about it, but I wish you joy. From way over here at the other end of the internet, I wish you joy. And I know I’ve made it clear that I’ve had severe aesthetic issues with anthropomorphizing animals, but I’m even working on my furry acceptance. I hugged a high school mascot last week and only had to take one panicked shower afterward.

I believe I’m within limping distance of sex positivity, inching slowly from “I’m scared to put a penis in my mouth” ten years ago toward the Platonic ideal of open, loving acceptance of all safe, sane, and consensual human pleasure.

But for some reason kissing grosses me out.

It’s everywhere: people gently brushing lips, tongues crawling into one another’s mouths like great, glutted worms. It’s disgusting to look at. I know they’re having fun, and it’s just about the most socially acceptable form of romantic/sexual interaction. Still, my entire body revolts just seeing it.

Try finding a movie where they show tits but skip that moment of body horror. It simply doesn’t exist. Every sex scene has a nauseous distraction. To me, PDA at the mall is more obscene than porn. Clearly I missed my calling as an old-school, by-the-rules prostitute. Well, by one of the rules, anyway: No kissing, lots of coming.

The human mouth is a cesspool. Simple fact. We all know this, right? Is it unreasonable to not want to cross-pollinate my filth with yours, no matter how fond of you I might be?

I’ll put my mouth lots of places. Oral sex is fine (it’s amazing how much cleaner genitals are than pie holes), as is mutual kissing from the neck down. Maybe even the cheek if I really, really trust you. But mouth-to-mouth? Save it for when you have to resuscitate me, and then hand me a bottle of hydrogen peroxide.

As you might imagine, this quirk isn’t an easy sell for most people. I realize that kissing doesn’t squick most people out; quite the opposite. It’s a lot to ask, wanting someone to forgo their primary avenue for expressing affection in favor of, what? Hugs? Nuzzles? Conversation hearts?

Still. I just can’t. I can be sex positive, but kissing positive? That just isn’t me.

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