quizzical pussy

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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I remember a time when I was mortified to buy tampons. This was before self-checkout was widespread, and there were no real ways to work around that slow, petrified slog up to the register to hand the cashier unassailable evidence that I had a vagina, and that stuff came out of it.

Then I got over it, laughed at myself, and was afraid to buy condoms and spermicide products. When I filled my prescription for birth control I could tell myself a little story about how I was really on it to regulate my periods so this wasn’t about sex, even though it had this amazing side effect of greatly reducing my risk of pregnancy! But the condoms, the contraceptive eggs: those decisively pointed to the fact that stuff also went in my vagina, and that I was doing everything I could to facilitate the process.

But after you’ve bought condoms enough dozen times that wears off too, and the scariness goes out of the adventure. You don’t have to buy other stuff to buffer the potential shock a cashier might have, thinking that maybe you’re going to leave that store and go have sex immediately, forsooth! You don’t have to avoid the male-manned registers in fear of leering smiles. You just don’t care anymore, unless they happen to not have your favorite brand in stock.

My last hold-out was lube. For a while there, I could buy almost anything without a blink, save lube. See, I usually only use lube for anal play/sex, so there’s an extra stat boost in transgression that a cashier might judge you like really harshly, and oh wait, they don’t fucking care what I buy!

I think it’s part of growing up to realize that it’s not that big a deal to buy any product in a store that routinely stocks it.

Ohai. It’s ConTuesday, the official day of internet confessions from God knows whom! Here come some now…

I got the hood of my clit pierced a few years ago because guys had too hard of a time finding it – my clit’s too small. That’s not a problem anymore!

I have a fantasy where I’m a dog at a dog show and the judge comes up and does the judgey thing where they check the teeth and the coat and whatever else on the dog. And then the judge checks my balls and starts feeling me up and talking dirty, giving me a handjob. Different stuff happens from there. I’ve looked into puppy play but it seems (at least in my area) that puppy play is pretty nonsexual. Or at least the sexual stuff happens between dogs only. You know how there’s the joke about putting peanut butter on your junk and getting the dog to lick you? I tried that with honey and I have to say: get a dog with good technique! No teeth!

At the advanced age of 44, I find myself with a boyfriend whom I love and am attracted to, and a pretty irresistible attraction to other men. He’s older than I am, and he’s on the downhill curve of his sexuality. I’m way more revved up than I was earlier in my life, and still get plenty of attention from attractive men. I love my boyfriend (did I mention that?) and I’m very attracted to him (he’s hot!), but he can’t quite keep up with my sex drive. We’ve talked about the possibility of opening our relationship, and that could be fun, but even though I find myself attracted to other men, I don’t really want to do that. I don’t really want to fuck other men while I’m in love with my boyfriend, and I don’t want him to fuck other women. Maybe if we kept it between ourselves, maybe if we just had threesomes, it could work. I don’t want to be left out of his sexual experiences; if he’s having one with another person, I want to be there sharing it with him. If I have a sexual experience with another man, I want him to share it with me — I’m really sexually oriented toward my boyfriend, and very attached to him, and striking out on my own just doesn’t seem like much…fun. This is all quite painful because I’ve finally found a man who I could see myself growing old with, and this sex thing keeps gumming up with works. I really don’t know what to do.

[The other] week someone said “my girlfriend’s clitoris is too big for my taste”. I want to meet his girlfriend. If there’s one physical attribute that really affects me, that moves me past sensible personality-match thinking, it’s a big clitoris. Luckily for me it’s not the kind of thing that shows.

Got a secret? You should go here and share.

My ex Edwin and I have been talking a bit lately. I specifically don’t want to be the type of person who can’t be friends with exes, but the fact that I have a history of dating douchebags doesn’t help my cause there. But forgiveness is divine, I heard one time, and I can totally be divine if I set my mind to it.

I’m inclined to give Edwin a pass for a few different reasons, but the largest is that he really is so self-centered and socially clueless that he almost certainly never meant any harm, even when his behavior left a great deal to be desired. While I don’t want to date or fuck or even be close friends with prohibitively self-centered and socially clueless people (socially clueless is sometimes endearing to a point, but there are limits), I don’t mind a casual friendship with one here and there.

It’s weird to talk to an ex after a long period of no contact. Sure, he’s called me a few times sporadically on some pretext or other, but we stopped talking regularly last Fall, and now we seem to be inching toward a casual friendship point again. I guess. There’s something awkward about not knowing what you’re supposed to talk about, what’s going to open up old wounds or just plain be too personal. I pay attention to these things; I’m not sure he does.

In just a few conversations he’s mentioned a lot of odd and personal things, including but not limited to the following:

• He can’t go to the club without being hit on by all the ladies. (He’s mentioned this one on at least three separate occasions.)
• He lasts longer in bed than he used to.
• He’s so damn good-looking.
• The shower in his new residence is perfect for fucking in.
• He wants to find a Halloween costume this year that will show off his damn good-looking body.

It’s not that I have an issue with intimate disclosures (duh), but it all seems a little over-the-top, considering. Maybe he still harbors some resentment about the break up and wants to “[tell] me what I’m missing”, or maybe he thinks these are the sorts of things I’d be interested in because we’ve always been pretty candid in the past. Whatever the reason, these tidbits read as slightly off coming from an ex. Or possibly anyone else: I don’t want to hear anyone go on and on about what it’s like to be insanely fetching. Who even says that? It all ties in perfectly with his ongoing self-centered, socially clueless shtick.

I’m not exactly worried that he’s trying to entice me back or anything. Well, maybe a tiny bit, but I’m not vain enough to assume it. For now I’m just going to call it curious, funny, and slightly off-putting.  Still well better than our relationship when we were dating, though!

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I’ve never (literally never, which is probably weird at my age and player level) given nor solicited a phone number at a random pick-up spot. Flirting from a stranger always shuts me down right away. I know it’s terribly rude, but I don’t mean it that way. I’m just a shrinking violet. Really, ask anyone! (Okay, not really. But I really do hit a brick wall when it comes to flirting.)

But the fact is that with the cell phone number of a near-stranger I’d be tempted to send disturbing, creepy text messages, like “You’re painfully beautiful when you sleep,” and “We’re almost out of milk.” Because at that point in the possible courtship you really have nothing to lose and can really fuck with someone. And I’m afraid that it would seem like a perfectly good idea at the time!

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I have to confess I haven’t been doing very well lately. My health has taken a turn for the worse, much to the chagrin of my sex life (and life in general). It’s getting to where I’m just too exhausted to see my boyfriend regularly, let alone pursue madcap sexual adventures. I’m hoping this is very temporary, but in the meantime I thought I’d infuse a little positivity by posting some of the most joyous– perhaps verging on gloating– anonymous confessions to ever appear in my inbox. Read and enjoy, because these people certainly are! I’m into it.

My long distance girlfriend came to visit last week. A good time was had by all, including some fun with chocolate sauce and a basting brush. By the end of the week she was around, she was referring to me as “The Energizer Bunny” and “A God in Bed”. Even managed to make her legs give out at one point. I just had to brag a bit.

(Re: June 29th confessions) Being bi is totally awesome for avoiding jealousy. My partner and I check out women or men together and we share porn all the time. (Gloat brag gloat)

I got the hood of my clit pierced a few years ago because guys had too hard of a time finding it – my clit’s too small. That’s not a problem anymore!

Last week I bound my breasts for the first time. I love being female and I love my boobs, but I wanted to know what it would feel like to have a flat(ter) chest. And it was awesome! I was bound all afternoon at work, put my (Share XL) cock on before I went to see my partner, and greeted him with a big, packaged hug.

Sometimes I get the feeling I’m easy to fall in love with. This isn’t the type of thing you can just tell people.

Got something to brag about? Or bitch about? Or just confess anonymously? Bring it all here.

Hopeless tool of the patriarchy that I am, I just don’t like having very much pubic hair. I’ve been shaving to various degrees since I was sixteen, even though no one was helping me enjoy it until two years after that. It’s a tactile thing: I like feeling smoothness when I play with myself; I don’t want hair dampening sensation. To me, a shaved pussy doesn’t look much– if at all– better, and as long as I can sort out what’s where I don’t mind other people maintaining a healthy bush themselves.

But I’ve always had different standards for myself than I have for others. That’s why I feel confident saying you’re a degenerate for reading this smut.

In the realm of pussyshaving, though, you know what I hate? Razor burn. I hate it with the passion that we reserve for those who disagree with our politics and cut in front of us in line. It itches, and looks ugly, and sometimes even hurts (especially if you try to shave over it). I’m going out on a limb and guessing that every person who’s ever seen me naked, and not mentioned a razor burn that I had at all, didn’t exactly swoon over it either. I only fuck the brave, oblivious and/or polite, apparently.

Because, you see, I tend to get it a lot. Those chicks with gorgeously naked genitals swathed in silky, flawless skin? I’m not sure what they’re doing but I suspect they’re not shaving. Or maybe they are, and my skin is even more sensitive and fussy than I thought. Or I’m a Oh God I’m a freak of nature, aren’t I?

Bikini Zone cream has always helped the issue, but I accidentally transferred it from my hands to my lips after applying once, and the taste is not something you want on your pussy unless you’ve utterly despaired of getting oral sex that day. So there went that solution.

It’s actually been a lot better lately because I’m following the rule of only shaving with the grain of hair growth, which I used to think was for pussies. It turns out that it really, truly is, and should be observed accordingly. I’m also shaving a little less often (mostly because I’m exhausted and therefore not as precious about my bush these days), and conscientiously applying coconut oil after shaving.

Still, based on the recommendation of some head-shaving friends, I’m wondering if a safety razor is actually a gentler, superior shave, or just makes them feel like fancy gentlemen. Also, if this stuff works.

Whenever I get even the faintest whiff of myself trying to be sexy I get that feeling you get when you introduce your most embarrassing relative to the coolest people you know. Just. No.

Oh god, no.

This…

…is going to get a whole lot worse before it gets better.

I’m so sorry, guys. I cannot take her anywhere.

This feeling informs very little of my behavior during actual sex (I have convinced myself, and dearly hope is true), but it dramatically influences–nay, dominates–the way I flirt, or even interact with my friends and the people I fuck. A great example of this is the fact that I do not, will not, can not send anyone sexy/risque/flirty/myspace profile/whatever pictures.

No part of me projects these self-judgments onto other people who take, send, and share sexy pics of themselves. Oh, not by any means. Please feel free to test me on this.

Over the weekend I went to a party at the local goth club. Objectively speaking, I can get pretty tarted up as long as I’m convincing myself that this is “just for fun” and not anything remotely close to trying to be sexy. I do tend to give myself the benefit of a doubt when it comes to dressing. It’s similar to my completely sense-making habit of enjoying wearing cute underwear but being terribly embarrassed whenever I’m found out. This particular night I put on a short skirt, high (as I can manage with my walking issues) heels, a t-shirt I assaulted with a pair of scissors, and these adorable striped thigh highs. And a good time was had by all.

Laramy wasn’t able to come out, having had kind of a shitty day. So as I got home and started to strip off my sweaty clothes, he was on my mind and I had a dramatically uncharacteristic thought process:

1. These thigh highs are kind of cute…
2. Laramy’s mentioned a couple times that he likes my legs…
3. He’s had a super bad day…
4. I never send him pics of me…
5. Ergo… maybe it would cheer him up if I emailed him a picture of my legs in aforementioned thigh highs!
6. I’d better hurry up and do it before I think this through any further.

And I wasn’t even drunk or anything! I’m not going to say that what I produced in the following moments using a camera phone, specialty hosiery, and an inexplicable lapse of inhibition was a “sexy pic”. It really wasn’t. The whole thing was supposed to be a silly “thinking of you” gesture, I guess. But after I sent it, I realized that it was hazardously close to a “sexy pic” attempt. The more I thought about it the more I started neurotically wondering if it was going to come across as entirely pathetic or just mostly pathetic, and by the time I got up the next morning I was grimly expecting the worst.

To his great credit as a gentleman, Laramy’s reaction via instant message was a lot more “I like the thigh highs” than “You preposterous creature, what’s with the flailing abortion of a jpg in my inbox?” But it was a bit of a struggle to resist asking, “So like, that picture is pretty much an embarrassment to everyone involved, right?” I felt kind as if I was watching myself in horror as I proudly brought roadkill pie to the cool kids’ sushi and sake party. My stoicism through all this was an inspiration to both of me.

Mere minutes later, I kid you not, a friend sent me a genuinely super-sexy pic of her amazing bare breasts, asking me to forward it on to Laramy. Which I did, gladly, content that I had actually found a way to at least help brighten up his morning in a much more productive way than my previous attempt.

Have you ever played “I’ve Never…”? If not, you have to take a drink now because that’s how the game works.

And oh, here are some anonymous internet confessions that may be related…

I’m a 25-year-old male virgin, and I’ve seriously considered hiring a prostitute to change that. The strange thing is that I know that it would not be particularly difficult for me to put myself out there and get laid the way everyone else does, but hiring a professional is oddly appealing to me. Perhaps because there is much less risk of rejection? I think it’s more complicated than that, but I may be rationalizing. The decision has been a source of some anxiety for me lately.

I’ve never received oral sex. I’ve been in one relationship and my gf just was never into the idea of it enough to give it a try. She’s my ex now and after we split, I started testosterone to make a gender transition. I love what testosterone has done for my genitals. They feel and act like my brain says they’re supposed to. It makes me want oral more than ever. But I don’t know how to explain my anatomy and I worry that I’ll never get someone to go down on me b/c what I’ve got is unusual. I think it’s quite sexy myself, but I’m aware there’s a lot of myth and prejudice floating around about trans bodies, and orientation and kinkiness (or lack thereof) don’t seem to make a difference in the level of transphobic BS. Worse than that, I’m afraid that getting a blowjob is somehow going to make me dissatisfied with my cock, either because my size will compromise the experience or because my partner says or does something interpetable as dislike or pity. I don’t want pity. I want someone who’s as into my cock as I am. I don’t know how to find that and I sorta think that admitting how good I feel about myself will come off as crass because it’s cliche that men are all about their dicks, right? And no one wants to hear about that. But I really, really, really want a blowjob!

Sounds like you’re proud of your body without being a narcissist, which is sexy. And chicks like me abound, and we love giving blowjobs to sexy guys. Thus, I find it hard to believe this story isn’t going to have a happy ending. Please let me know how your first blowjob goes!

I haven’t had sex in five years and I’ve never dated. I’m almost thirty and I have no idea what I’m doing! I thought this was only supposed to happen to religious fundamentalists.

I frequently lie about my sexual experience (pointedly the lack there of). To myself I count the times I had sex as one, but he didn’t get his dick all the way in before he came so I’m even lying to me about it kind of. The real confession is that I read sex blogs and pretend I have the bloggers sex lives when I’m talking to my friends.

Calling all firsts, lasts, fantasies, lusts, fables, and laments: send me your secrets here.

“So what have you been up to?”

“Same old same old.”

“Last time I saw you you were naked, so…”

“Yeah, that’s pretty much what I meant by same old same old. Turns out I’m naked a lot.”

“Cool.”