My husband is a pervert. I found some porn on his computer and, out of curiosity, decided to take a look. And there was this guy sticking a speculum up an actress's ass—followed by… lollipops! LOLLIPOPS! Those colorful ones! Then she pushes them back out of her ass—basically shitting them out! After that, he takes turns banging her with his dick and a Chupa Chups, shoving both into her mouth… I literally—and I mean *literally*—threw up. Now I’m disgusted by lollipops, by porn, and by my own husband...

One time, I got the urge to try out a giant dildo—3 inches in diameter. I ordered it. My husband saw it and was absolutely flabbergasted; he said, «Are you telling me that thing is actually going to fit inside you?!» It didn't fit—not even close. Afterward, I didn't know what to do with it. Throwing it in the trash wasn't an option; I didn't want pensioners or homeless people rummaging through the bins to find it—or worse, for some kids to stumble upon it, since they root through the trash, too. I couldn't keep it at home either—our child is getting older and might find it, plus there was simply no point in keeping it around. So, I decided to burn it. I took it with us to our summer cottage and told my husband we needed to toss it into the barbecue grill, pile some firewood on top, and let it burn up. My husband laughed his head off and suggested we just bury it instead. But I wouldn't give in. And so, late that evening—with no one else around at the cottages, the air cold, and a fine drizzle falling—my darling and I stood over the grill, burning a giant dildo… The top half melted completely and lost its shape, but the thing never actually burned away. The next morning, I wrapped it in a plastic bag and took it to the dump. Now I don't have to worry about anyone finding it!

I have a slightly strange hobby: I collect penises… Just photos of them, though! I meet men of all ages online, engage in lewd chats with them, and trick them into sending me photos—though I never send anything back myself. Afterward, I use a photo editor to frame the images, adding their name, age, and the date; then, once a month, I go out to get them printed. You should see the look on the staff’s faces when they open the folder containing 50 dicks—they practically choke as they ask me exactly what I want printed!

I want to have a threesome with my girlfriend; the thought of having another cock inside her really turns me on. During sex—specifically when she’s riding me—I tease her with my fingers down there and whisper for her to imagine that she has two cocks inside her. I ask, «Do you want this?» She says yes, and she gets really aroused. But I don't know how to actually bring this fantasy to life! I’m afraid that a threesome might ruin my relationship with the woman I love… yet I want so badly to give her that double pleasure.

Guys, you shouldn't watch porn! Honestly—I’m in my mid-twenties—I’ve actually had a couple of instances where I couldn't finish while with a girl. Yeah, there wasn't much emotional connection or intense arousal, but the ladies themselves were physically quite attractive. I remember my first time and the first girls I was with—I could barely contain myself just from the sheer joy of seeing a naked female body. My dick was practically hitting the ceiling. Now, thanks to this visual addiction, things have gone downhill. I ran an experiment: a couple of weeks without porn, minimal masturbation—and everything went back to normal. Now, even when I'm really horny, I'm actually afraid to jerk off!

Back in my freshman year of university, I met a girl who was a year older than me. She was very heavy-set—especially in the butt, thighs, and arms. Yet, thanks to the absence of an «apron belly,» combined with huge breasts, big blue eyes, and a long blonde braid, she was damn attractive. We’d say hello and chat a little, but nothing more than that. One day we ran into each other and decided to hug (hugging was just starting to become a trendy thing back then), and I got a massive, rock-hard erection—I couldn't even get a word out. I had to lock myself in a bathroom stall to blow off some steam; otherwise, I couldn't have possibly gone to class.

My husband has never been the polygamous type, but something must have just snapped in my brain—and I consider myself a perfectly sane woman, mind you; I simply can't find any other explanation for my actions—so I decided to put him to the test. I signed up on a dating site using a fake name and photo. My husband failed miserably: he promised to leave his wife (me), sent photos of his junk, and so on. When I finally got fed up with it, I simply told him to pack his things and get out. Now, however, he claims it was just a mistake, that he loves me deeply, and that he wants to come back. He’s begging for my forgiveness—after all, we’ve been together for six years.

I used to hate traffic jams; they absolutely infuriated me, to the point of trembling with rage. But now I’ve found a way to entertain myself: a remote-controlled vibrator. The moment I hit a traffic jam, I simply clamp this little marvel of technology between my legs. And that’s it! Now, the trembling comes from pure pleasure. I can easily climax five or six times before the traffic finally clears.

In terms of intimacy, I’m a woman with extensive experience, yet I remain somewhat unjaded. Recently, I found myself wondering what the most unusual thing that’s ever happened to me in bed might be. Then I remembered: back in my youth, I dated a guy who absolutely adored having me sit on his face while wearing nothing but lace panties—and he’d beg me to «step on the gas» as hard as I possibly could. The result of this particular maneuver was an erection of epic proportions, which meant our intimate session would last all night long. To this day, I can’t even look at legumes, because back then I was eating them in massive quantities—which meant I was farting 24/7, and not just when I was sitting on my boyfriend. I guess you could say I’ve already farted my fair share.

I once had a fling with an impotent man. And you know what? The guy didn't have a single hang-up about it. He told me his issues had started back in his youth, and he’d undergone various treatments with mixed results. In the end, however, he simply mastered cunnilingus to an otherworldly degree—and learned to use his fingers with absolute, sheer artistry. Plus, his natural charisma—and the aura of sex surrounding him—is simply off the charts. Yes, he admitted that he has occasionally disappointed women who don't consider it «sex» without the involvement of a penis; but on the whole, his sex life has been quite successful. He experiences arousal and desire just like anyone else; he derives pleasure from oral sex and is fully capable of ejaculating—it’s just that he doesn't get an erection, or if he does, it goes down immediately. And it’s really no big deal—he’s even managed to have children.

I don't wash up before sex. At all. Ever. My wife thinks I’m just being spontaneous and passionate. In reality, I simply want her to smell my scent. The real me. Sweaty, masculine, unwashed. If she only likes sleeping with me after I’ve taken a shower, then it’s not *me* she likes—it’s the shower gel. She puts up with it. That means she loves me. Once, I went three days without washing (on purpose), and she still got into bed with me. That’s when I realized: I’d successfully conditioned her. Now, my unwashed skin serves as a test of her sincerity. And she passes it. Although… no, she doesn't really pass it. She just gave up.

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