Time Delay

Territory Both Familiar and Un-

noreply@blogger.com (Zeitgeist the Clown) — Mon, 15 Nov 2010 22:12:00 +0000

In my last post (okay, I suppose it's now "Two posts ago" due to the fact that the post preceding this one was an explanation/commentary on the mishap/fuckup that occured while writing this post) I mentioned that I had a completed post sitting on my hard drive, awaiting flash drive travel to the library to be posted.

But since my computer is currently in pieces in my brother's workshop, that post isn't going to see the light of day anytime soon. It's title was "Unfamiliar Territory", and it talked about how things were starting to go well for me. Heh. I apparently should not have tempted fate like that.

[For the record: I don't necessarily believe in fate. I am certain, however, that fate is out to get me.]

Since I have no idea how long it will be before I actually have a computer again, I've decided to attempt writing blog entries here at the library. So what you're reading right now is oddly experimental (please make sure that you're wearing an apron and safety goggles).

It feels strange and somehow wrong to be trying to write outside of my home. Plus, there are these signs affixed to every monitor here that include the text: "Library computers are for research purposes only. They are not to be used for word processing - please use the computer lab for this purpose." Of course, since I don't have access to their computer lab . . .

Anyway, I'd be hesitant to try and recreate the curiously upbeat and optimistic "Unfamiliar Territory" post, as that would be poking at fate with a sharp stick again. Fortunately, the typical 'suck' of my life has reiterated itself sufficiently so that I can balance out the recent goodness with some of the usual craptacularness.

Social Circles

There are more people in my life now than there were six months ago. I seem to be developing a new social circle. (Okay, so, in actuality I'm more likely leeching off a subset of Darklady's social circle, but it's got the same basic result.) I've got friends.

Oh, nobody that I could call in the middle of the night to help me dispose of a corpse or anything, but still . . . friends. That's just plain weird. Outside of my siblings and their spouses -- and the increasingly rare appearances by my pal Zorch (not his real name) -- I haven't spent time with anyone whose company I enjoyed in . . . I honestly can't remember how long. Until recently.

And now I get to see these fine people about once a week or so. It's crazy! I'm actually socializing. Socializing with people that actually seem to like me. (Or are good enough actors to hide their distaste of this hideous newcomer. But really, either way is good for right now.)

The Knee

Of course, the whole socializing thing takes place after I've spent a day killing time in shopping malls. By time I get to the Darklady's place, the first order of business is scarfing down pain pills due to the increasing amount of pain in my right knee.

So, when I went to the doctor a couple of weeks ago, I mentioned that to him, and he sent me to the hospital for x-rays, the end result of which was a diagnosis of severe arthritis. There are areas of my knee which are nearly bone-on-bone. And, of course, there's pretty much nothing that they can do for me. "Lose weight" was the only useful suggestion, and that'll be a lengthy process that won't see results anytime soon. Sigh.

Okay, knee pain and ugly diagnosis are depressing me now. ("Bone on Bone" would be a great name for skeleton porn. But I just don't like it as part of my knee pain diagnosis.)

Karaoke

One of the discoveries that I've made while spending time up at Darklady's Wonderground is the ancient and sacred art of . . . karaoke! And while I don't really know if I'm any good at it (I've been assured that I don't suck at it, so I suppose that's something), I do know that I enjoy it immensely. In fact, I loves me mah karaoke!

Standing there and belting out karaoke tunes at the top of my lungs (or actually trying to sing some of the less shout-y selections) is just incredible. I've literally been singing stuff from A to Z. (My very first night I sang both Aerosmith and ZZTop material) Paul Simon, Counting Crows, Creedence Clearwater Revival, Radiohead, Elvis, They Might Be Giants, Leonard Cohen, and so on and so forth. (Sebastian the Crab from the Little Mermaid - "Under the Sea".)

Plus, I get applause that -- to me, at least -- doesn't seem like it's pity applause or sarcasm. None of the awkward social contract applause of 'I'll pretend to enjoy your bad karaoke if you pretend to enjoy mine'. (Not that there's a whole lot of bad karaoke at the Wonderground's biweekly Naughty Karaoke Thursdays. Some, yes. But not a lot.)

Overdraft

Although, accessing my social circle, attending Karaoke (and other Wonderground events), and so on all cost me money. $16.55 round trip to Portland from my crappy little town on a multitude of buses over several different transit systems. Plus food court lunch money and other incidentals. It might not seem like that much, but when you both factor in my ridiculous fixed income, and multiply it by how many weeks there are in a month it turns into a comparative fortune.

Back in September, it proved to be too much for my struggling little bank account, and I overdrew. Whoops. It wasn't too awfully bad, though. No, 'too awfully bad' was saved for when I overdrew again near the end of October. BIG fucking whoops.

I don't have the exact figures with me, but by time I deposited my November checks, over half of my money ended up going to pay for October's overdraft fees. Grr.

Women!

There are women in my new social circle. And some of the women seem to like me. More specifically, some of the women have been flirting with me. (With me! I couldn't believe it myself!)

Some of them are flirting just to be flirting, but some of them . . . some of them are open to advances being made toward them. (I know this, because I've asked.)

First was Stormy, who just oozes sensuality/sexuality, and for reasons passing understanding seemed to take a little bit of an interest in me. A little bit of fooling around has taken place at a couple of Wonderground events. Hopefully, more fooling around will take place in the future.

And then came Leanne. I've discovered that I can't seem to put together a coherent sentence about Leanne while sitting in the library with people walking to-and-fro around me. But the post-after-next on my schedule of blogging is an entry tentatively entitled "Leanne", and so it's possible that I might talk about her therein. (You know, what with the post being named after her and all.)

Hopefully I'll be able to grab some more private time on a computer somewhere -- Darklady's computer after Naughty Karaoke guests have left and she's gone to bed, my brother-in-law's computer during a visit there, or something. Who knows.

[Because I really NEED to blog about Leanne. I have things to say, and I'd like to say them before I explode.]

Computer

Obviously, the computer going 'snap-BOOM-fizzle' has been a personal crisis of major proportions. Can't write (in peace, quiet, and private). Blogging has become dangerous, as my confusion between 'publish post' and 'save now' demonstrates. Can't listen to music. Can't watch DVDs. Can't watch porn. Can't masturbate. (Okay, I can still masturbate, I just have to use my imagination for inspiration instead of porn. Scary!) There are many, many, many actual 'Can't's associated with 'no computer', and my day-to-day life has become a low-tech prison sentence.

Sigh.

Okay, my brother got everything apart and discovered (in addition to the dead mouse) that my fans were most of the way clogged, and that all of the heat sink compound had kinda melted. Hmm. After far too much time had passed for my anxious and impatient taste, he replaced the heat sink compound, cleaned everything out, put it all back together, hooked it all up to a monitor and keyboard, and pushed the button.

And . . . nothing. Computer still dead. Not even progressed as far as zombie.

So now his theory is that either/or/both the motherboard or processor are fried. Not good. Not cheap. (And remember the bank and it's overdraw fees from a few sections back? Yeah.)

Both of my siblings have recently purchased houses. And in the temporary 'staying with friends for a few weeks' period between leaving their previous residence and moving into their new house, both my brother and my brother-in-law got rid of their stockpile of extra computer parts. Just my luck. My brother-in-law's pile included an actual functioning (mostly obsolete but still functioning) computer that I could be using as a spare until mine is eventually a working machine again. But, no.

Photo Shoot

Where are we? I've lost track. Good, bad, good, bad, good, bad . . . I guess we're back to good again.

I've always wanted to get into erotic photography. I believe I've said as much a time or two here in the blog. Well, there's finally some progress to report on that front.

The Darklady has agreed to model for me! We're trying to find a 'free' day in her ever-busy schedule when this can be accomplished. (A day when she's free AND I'm able to be in Portland.)

I still need to pick up a tripod. (And a couple of important props.) But I'm eager for this. I've got a list of themes/series/pictorials/what-have-yous that I've got in mind for this thing. All of them perfectly normal, of course, having sprung from the depths of MY mind.

I wonder about the consequences of these photos turning out well. Fantasies include Darklady saying, "We should do that again--take more pictures of me!" and other women seeing them and saying, "Ooh--now take pictures of me!"

The Other Thing

No. Uh-uh. There's another entry in the 'bad things of the sort that typically happen to me' column, but I'm not going to blog about that. (At least, not right now. My Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder addled brain keeps telling me that I need to write a blog post about that situation. And I keep trying to stab my Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder addled brain with a ball-point pen, hoping to kill it. So far, we're at an impasse.)

Suffice to say . . . fate REALLY hates me.

Gettin' Thumped on the Head

And the final topic of the post . . . I honestly can't decide whether it's good or bad.

Darklady has started thumping me on the head. (Getting thumped on the head = the kind of thing I'd consider familiar territory.)

It seems that Stormy had made some complaints about my level of self-deprecation and verbal self-abuse to the Dark One, who agreed that something needed to be done about ended up being charitably referred to as "my self-esteem issues".

Darklady's recent solution to this has been to thump be on the head anytime she hears me say anything derogatory about myself. I've been getting thumped on the head a lot when I'm over there.

(People concerned for my self-esteem = definitely the kind of thing I'd consider unfamiliar territory.)

The only problem is that now Darklady has started recruiting. Other people have thumped me on the head, saying, "That was from Darklady."

My life is strange.

Frustration With Blogging (probably #1 of many)

noreply@blogger.com (Zeitgeist the Clown) — Mon, 15 Nov 2010 21:58:00 +0000

While in the process of trying to write a blog entry at the library (instead of on my computer at home, as [insert local deity of choice] intended) I hit the 'Publish Post' button instead of the 'Save Now' button.

Fuck.

The post in question was incomplete. The unfinished first draft. I cut-and-pasted the unfortunately posted entry into a Notepad file (that's right, the library computers don't have actual word processors installed), then immediately deleted the post.

Of course, not knowing all of the intricacies of how the web-r-net works, I suspect that just hitting the 'delete' button didn't completely solve my problem. I know that some of my readers get my blog through means other than actually going to the Time Delay site and reading it there.

RSS Feeds, Google Reader, Tabbloid Delivery Service, and who knows what else. Blog-to-email. I dunno what's all out there, and how people all read the blog. Anyway, if you received a blog post from me today that looks like it's a half-finished first draft . . . well, it was. Sorry. Hoping to have it finished, proofed, and (re)posted before the library closes at 5:00.

But no promises.

Everybody's best friend (with benefits?),
Zeitgeist the Clown

Aaaaaarrrrgggghhh!

noreply@blogger.com (Zeitgeist the Clown) — Tue, 19 Oct 2010 20:12:00 +0000

What is it about having a written piece finished and ready to bring up to the library to post on the blog that gives me computer problems?

Sure, the computer problems don't happen every time I've got a completed blog entry on my hard drive, but it seems like every time I do have computer problems, there is a finished piece a-waiting that I then can't access.

This time, I think that it's primarily (but not completely) some kind of video card issue, given that the screen went dead in the middle of watching a DVD, and that subsequent attempts to use the computer have seen the video fail during the start-up process. No video, and no sound either.

When I opened up the computer to see if maybe the video card had come loose, or if the problem was something else that I could both spot and fix, I noticed that there were several things that looked like they should have been connected to something, but that weren't. And then there was that other thing . . .

I borrowed my dad's phone and called my brother-in-law. "Hey, computer-repair monkey? I have a question -- when you put my computer together, did you happen to install a dead mouse?"

Yes, ladies and gentlemen, there was a dead (presumably electrocuted) rodent with it's jaws locked around a bundle of wiring. What. The. Fuck. ?.

(Turns out that my brother-in-law hadn't installed a dead mouse, and was just as astonished as I to hear of it's presence. Or so he said.)

Sadly, he doesn't currently have time to go through it and figure out what's what and what's wrong. Neither does my brother, who took it anyway, and figures that he'll look at it "when he gets time". No computer for me for who knows how long.

So instead of getting to read the rare optimistic and uplifting post today (two topics: karaoke and girls -- actual specific girls that make me think I might not be doomed to eternal virginity and even more eternal loneliness), you have to read me bitching about my fucked up computer.

[On top of which, I somehow managed to overdraw my bank account by about $35. Leaving me $96.00 in the hole after overdraft fees. It'll go deeper before I get my check on the first. "Yay" (he says sarcastically.) This means no trips to Darklady's Wonderground up in Portland in the immediate future, either. Kill me, kill me now.]

Well, maybe I'll get some reading done. I hear they've now got these things called "books" that are like e-books or web fiction, but on sheets of paper that are all stuck together. (Weird.)

Everything I Know About Sex I Learned From Porn

noreply@blogger.com (Zeitgeist the Clown) — Mon, 04 Oct 2010 19:51:00 +0000

After making a mere six posts throughout the first half of 2010, in August I finally laced up my blogging shoes and hit the dance floor. I posted on August 11th and 12th. Then thought to myself, “Two posts in as many days? Yikes!”

Then the following week I posted on August 17th. And 19th. “Two posts a week, two weeks running?” I thought. “I’m back!”

I have since realized that those four posts were a false start. I’ve realized that because it’s nearly a month and a half later, and I have yet to write another post. (Whoops.)

So, here we go again.

Let’s Open With a Joke

One day, Mrs. Jones asks her fourth grade class a question. And back in the third row, Timmy excitedly puts his hand up. Timmy knows that the answer to the question is ‘sex’. And since Timmy’s parents never bothered to set the parental controls on their computer’s web browser, Timmy also happens to know exactly what ‘sex’ is.

So Mrs. Jones calls on Timmy and lets him answer her question. Timmy gets up from his desk, standing straight and proud, and begins to speak. Mrs. Jones is so shocked by the unexpected words coming out of Timmy’s mouth that she doesn’t even think to cut him off as he says the following:

“First the guy licks the girl’s pussy. Then the girl sucks the guy’s dick. Then the guy sticks his dick in the girl’s pussy and slides it in and out for awhile. Then they change positions, and the guy sticks his dick in the girl’s ass and slides it in and out for awhile. Then, finally, the guy jerks off on the girl’s face. And that’s how babies are made.”

[Okay, so, I never said it was going to be a good joke.]

Sex Ed Sunday

There’s something new and exciting on the October schedule of events for Darklady’s Wonderground. “Sex Ed Sunday”. Just what is Sex Ed Sunday, you ask? Hmm. I asked the same thing. Only instead of just musing to myself, I mused over the phone to the Dark One herself.

According to Darklady, she’s not yet 100% certain of the format, but she’s got some definite ideas in place. She has a bunch of really interesting documentaries and sex ed films that she wants to play for the assembled throng. She wants discussion – both post-film discussion and otherwise. Workshops are another component being worked on for the new event.

The inaugural installment of Sex Ed Sunday is set for October 10th, and the ongoing event will probably be either a monthly or bi-weekly part of the Wonderground schedule. (Although it looks like it will only happen the one time in October, as there’s already a lot of stuff booked on the Wonderground calendar this month.)

[Since the library I use for my internet access doesn’t like sites that are even aware of the concept of sex, I don’t know if www.darklady.com keeps up-to-date information and schedule of events for the goings-on at the Wonderground. But I’m sure that more info can be had by emailing Darklady@Darklady.com. Tell her Zeitgeist sent you!]

Of course, Sex Ed Sunday – something I’d desperately like to attend – takes place on a Sunday (surprise, surprise, it’s only mentioned in the name of the event, after all). And since some of the transit systems I use to get back and forth from here to Portland don’t run on the weekends . . . I end up out of luck for this one.

And I could really, really use some sex education.

My Sexual Education

I went to high school way back in the eighties. In a small, predominantly Catholic town. Now, sex education was indeed taught, but it took the form of a single week-long unit in health class. One week. That’s it.

Guess which week I was out with an severe case of the flu?

I got sick, and missed the entirety of the sex ed provided by the local education system. Yikes.

Back in the fifth grade, Johnny Dirtnap [not his real name] and I learned the basics of sex from our fellow classmate Oroborus [not his real name], who’d had the benefit of an extensive birds-and-bees conversation from his parents. Between that and the content of ‘Letters to Penthouse’, I was an expert on human sexuality. (That’s sarcasm, by the way.)

I do understand the basics of how to fuck. I should, after all, I’ve watched enough fucking. First on VHS, then on DVD, then on Windows Media Player clips, and so on. Fucking, finger-fucking, face fucking, butt fucking, tit-fucking, and so on and so forth.

But sometimes I’m honestly not even sure which nostril you penetrate for recreational sex and which nostril you penetrate for reproductive sex. (Wait – that didn’t sound right. Hmm. I DO need some sex ed, don’t I?)

I know that ejaculation inside the vagina can lead to pregnancy or the spreading of STDs. (Or, as my brother likes to put it, “Unprotected sex leads to STDs, including pregnancy.”)

Speaking of which . . .

Safe Sex (vs. Incompetent Sex)

I’m hoping to become sexually active before too much longer. (I’m also hoping to win the lottery. And gain super-powers. I sometimes think I’m working with roughly the same odds on any of those.)

I need more information on safe sex than I currently have in my brain. Especially since the more time passes, the more elaborate and kinkier my fantasies become. What is safe? What is unsafe? How does the hierarchy of risky behavior unfold?

(These are especially important questions considering how colossally fucked-up my immune system is. CFIDS has turned me into a magnet for illness, and the last thing I want to do is to needlessly expose myself to some of the sexually transmitted nonsense that is no doubt lurking in some of the genitals I’m interested in.)

The safest course of action is, of course, the use of condoms for any and all sexual activity. (Okay, second safest: As a virgin, I’m already deep in the midst of the true safest course of action.) I sometimes wonder if I shouldn’t be using condoms for masturbation. (Who knows where my hands have been?)

But ARE condoms necessary for everything? I honestly couldn’t tell you. I’d look it up on the internet, but as I alluded to earlier, researching safe sex on the library’s computers tells me THIS SITE HAS BEEN BLOCKED.

For example: I knew that the whole unprotected blowjob thing was a risk for the cocksucker. What with the guy’s medically questionable semen shooting into their mouth and everything. But I’d be embarrassed to admit just how long I thought it was perfectly safe for the cocksuckee. The only STD bodily fluid concern I considered in cocksucking was the semen, and since the only semen involvement with the guy getting pleasured was his own on it’s way out . . . no risk.

I have since been made aware that I was incorrect in my assessment of that activity. But who knows what other misconceptions I’m still holding on to?

#94

I actually took my lack of sex education into account when I put together the 101 things to do in 1001 days list. Item #94 reads: “Research STD risks and safer sex methods.”

Sex Ed Sunday would be ideal for this, alas. Plus there’s always the fantasy that I’d get a ‘lab partner’ who’d let me practice the things that I learned. Darklady’s Wonderground IS stocked with safer sex supplies and does have designated snuggle/play spaces, after all. (Not that I’ve yet to benefit from that. Sigh.)

Oh, well. Maybe someone will take notes I can borrow.

UPDATE from TheDarklady's Twitter Feed (found just prior to posting this) --

Just decided on my 1st Sex Ed Sunday topic: Showing & then discussion of "Beyond Vanilla: A Unforgettable Journey to the Wilder Side of Sex"

Why I Need to Find a Slut and What Kind of Slut I Need to Find

noreply@blogger.com (Zeitgeist the Clown) — Thu, 19 Aug 2010 16:00:00 +0000

I want to have sex. I need to have sex. (Hey, are you doing anything right now? Would you like to have sex with me?) It won’t be very long before my list of requirements for a partner are simply ‘consenting and has a pulse’. And I’d really, really like to have sex before my standards slip down below even that.

Condensed Synopsis From a Failed First Draft

Okay, so, my first attempt at writing this piece was noticeably way too long before I even got into the subject matter indicated in the post’s title.

I started off with a sort of half-assed apology to anyone who might be offended by my use of the word ‘slut’ (as I know that there are women out there who see the word as their gender’s equivalent epithet to the infamous ‘n-word’). It was about half-apology, half justification, and wasn’t especially all that well written. (I’d like to think it would have polished right up into linguistic brilliance during the second draft, but since I never finished the first draft of that particular version of this post, it never got that far.)

Then I went on to talking about my now legendary status as a 39 year old male virgin living in 21st century America. And how I’d desperately like that status to change so that I was a sexually active etc., etc. Long-time readers of the blog already know all of this (all three of you), as do my ever-growing legion of Japanese spam-bot followers. (Domo arigoto, virtual roboto!) Any new readers have now been clued in to that fact by this paragraph.

After that I went on (and on (and on)) about self-esteem issues, feelings of failure, being the outsider at ‘sex-positive’ gatherings, and the like. Wow, did I go on. I recently had an experience at a Darklady event that made me want to step out into traffic, and I think that heavily influenced some of my thoughts there. Plus the heat and light of the sun had been playing havoc with my ever-present headache that day, so much of it was written while on Vicodin. (“Do not operate heavy machinery while on this medication” is all well and good, but where’s the warning about writing while on the stuff, huh?)

This section is about 350 words long. It encapsulates about 1600 words worth of stuff from the first draft I clearly wasn’t all that happy with. You’re welcome.

What Is This ‘Slut’ You Speak Of?

Slut. Back in olden days of yore, the word referred to a woman who was dirty, untidy, or slovenly. Basically, if you had poor hygiene and/or a messy house, you were a slut.

It could also mean a scullery maid. If you worked in the kitchen, you were a slut.

(And, it was apparently sometimes used as a synonym for ‘bitch’. If you were a female canine, you were a slut.)

In more recent days . . . of . . . yore(?) . . . the word slut came to mean a woman of loose morals and low character. But what they really meant by that definition was an unmarried woman who (Gasp! Shock!) had sex. And enjoyed it.

In these modern days (probably yoreless) the sex-positive crowd is reclaiming ‘slut’ as a positive word rather than the insult and epithet that it’s been used as for the past 600 years.

The Kink/Fetish/BDSM crowd tends to use ‘slut’ as a term of endearment. Sometimes a term of empowerment.

Last time I checked (back before the library blocked access to the site from their computers), one of the most popular groups on FetLife was “Sluts, Cunts, and Whores”. The group description said it was for people who either wanted one, or who identified as one. Or just generally for people who were comfortable with and enjoyed their sexuality.

And the first book I always hear recommended during any discussion on the topic of polyamory is entitled “The Ethical Slut”.

Oh, there’s still popular culture’s interpretation of a slut as the party girl who will sleep with pretty much anybody. (Oftentimes because there’s something wrong with her, psychologically.) But more and more, ‘slut’ is starting to simply mean ‘sex-positive’.

Someone who has sex. And enjoys it. (No gasp. No shock.) Claims their sexuality as part of their identity, and presses forward, full throttle. God bless ‘em!

Why I Need to Find a Slut

Actually, I think I already covered this. 39 year old male virgin living in 21st century America, remember?

Wouldn’t I like to have my first time be with someone I have an emotional attachment to? Yes, but it’s been proven to me time and again that this is a scenario that’s just not in the cards for me.

What about turning to a professional for help? Heh. I toyed around with the idea of saving up money to hire an escort. But that didn’t really go all that well.

A couple of months ago I set some money aside, figuring that if I did that every month, I’d reach my ‘escort payment’ goal in about six months or so. Sadly, not having that money in my account where it really belonged caused me to overdraw. The massive overdraft charges caused me to overdraw the next month as well. I did everything I could to not overdraw a third month in a row, including neglecting to pay a few bills. Which led to my electricity getting shut off. It’s on again now, but I’m paying a $150 deposit in installments over the next three months. (Which may well cause me to overdraw my account. Aaaaaaarrrrrrrggggghhhh!)

No, what it comes down to is that I need to find myself a naughty girl. A horny chick. A sex-positive woman. Yes, ladies, I’m looking for a modern-day slut.

What Kind of Slut I Need to Find

The easy (and obvious) answer is ‘a slut who’s willing to have sex with me’. But that’s probably a far less specific definition than is required here.

I’m constantly informed by my low self-esteem that what I need is the pop culture slut – the uber-promiscuous sex-addicted party girl who will have sex with anybody. (Yes, even with me.) But I keep trying to ignore my low self-esteem, in the hopes that it will go away.

So, I sit here and consider the possible options as logically as I can. What kind of slut DO I need to find?

There are rumors and legends among my people (my people being great big fat men) of women who are sexually aroused by, well, great big fat men. So much so – the mythology goes – that they simply can’t keep their hands off of us. Sluts for the larger gentleman.

I’m not sure exactly where I place these stories on line of credibility. More likely than the Roswell crash? Less likely than the Loch Ness Monster? I don’t know. I just know that I’ve been classified as obese for going on twenty years now, and I have yet to meet one of these so-called ‘chubby chasers’.

However, if these women really do exist, then – yes, please! The thought of meeting someone who is turned on by my 450+ lb frame rather than revolted by it is definitely a winning option in my book. Someone for whom my being tagged by the ‘BHM’ (big handsome man) euphemism is such a fetishy turn-on that any other potential physical shortcomings fall by the wayside would be a perfect option. So a female ‘fat admirer’ tops my list of potential sluts.

One of the universal sexual fantasies for a guy is that of deflowering a virgin. Dude breaking in a fresh chick. (Or some prose that’s more flowery and poetic, if you prefer.) Virile man bedding an inexperienced young girl and taking her into womanhood on a cascade of pleasure.

It doesn’t seem that the reverse-gender variant is as popularly sought-after a scenario for her – the experienced woman seeking out the virgin male to grant him his magical ‘first time’ – but I have heard that there are women out there who do seek out this situation. Sometimes it’s an addendum to the ‘cougar’ philosophy, where it’s not just the older woman seeking the younger man, but rather the specifically inexperienced younger man. But other times it’s just the joy of running around taking the virginities of men.

Cherry-poppin’ sluts. Another big grand hope in my life.

Then there are those with a specific yearning for the hard-luck case. The sexual charity-work slut. The woman who gets off on the idea of helping satisfy the carnal needs of the disabled, differently-abled, and sexually unable. Similarly would be submissive-leaning types into the service aspect of things, with an special interest in potential tops/doms who fit into the kinky and disabled category.

I can’t believe I didn’t stop and write a few thousand words about my host of medical problems during the aborted first draft of this thing. I could have. I qualify for kinky and disabled. I should qualify for the attentions of those attracted to them.

What Do I Do Once I Find an Interested Slut?

Okay. The overwhelming focus here is/had been/will be the loss of my virginity. I want to fuck. I want the heretofore unexperienced PIV intercourse.

[I’ve been informed by males who have lost their virginity – and women who have taken the virginity of males – that the actual PIV section of my first time is going to last a MAXIMUM of three minutes. So, greedy me, what I really want isn’t just a woman who will let me have sex with her, but a woman who will let me have sex with her twice. Because really, three minutes? I’d like my memories of my first time to include more intercourse than that, with lots of foreplay, afterplay, and betweenplay.]

Of course, I want the full spectrum of sexual activities. Sex. Oral sex, anal sex. Mutual masturbation. Groping, stroking, probing, fondling, licking, sucking, etc. Foreplay leading to sex. Foreplay-style activities for their own sake. Catering-to of fetish and fantasy. And so on.

I’m attracted to all types of women. And I AM hot for the BBWs. But . . . about fifteen years or so ago I found someone (a very sexy, soft, round and plump someone) who had been willing to take my virginity before the realities of physical geometry interfered. Before the discovery that I am (hey, welcome back low self-esteem!) too fat to fuck a BBW. Our interlocking parts did not – could not – get close enough to actually interlock.

I want some sexual playtime with all different types of women, but as far as the actual sexual intercourse thing goes . . . not only do I need to find myself a slut, I need to find myself a thin-to-average sized slut. The classic HWP (height/weight proportionate) girl.

Yeah, I’m not asking for much, am I?

101 in 1001 - The 101 Things to Do in 1001 Days List

noreply@blogger.com (Zeitgeist the Clown) — Tue, 17 Aug 2010 19:46:00 +0000

. . . and, of course, the old obsessive-compulsive brain insisted that post #101 be about a list of 101 things. Go figure.

So many goals, so little time.

The Backstory

Several years ago I discovered something called the ‘uberlist’. Intended as a replacement for the classic New Year’s Resolutions, which – let’s be honest here – no one ever follows through on anyway, the uberlist was a list of specific goals to accomplish throughout the course of the new year. 95 things to do in 1995, 99 things to do in 1999, 101 things to do in 2001, 110 things to do in 2010, and so on.

I’ve posted about the whole uberlist thing before. In The Top Ten List I talked about how in 2008 I decided to do an ‘naughty’ uberlist in addition to my normal one. A list specifically for Zeitgeist the Clown as opposed to the name listed on my ID cards. Then in 39 Things to Do in Year 39, I did a smaller sex-based uberlist for ZtC, this one being based on how many years in my personal lifetime calendar rather than the more popular one marking off Jesus’ birthdays.

But while I was cruising along, trying-and-failing to make progress on the 39 Things list, I discovered the existence of the Day Zero Project, more commonly known as the 101 Things to Do in 1001 Days List.

The Day Zero Project

The 101 Things to Do in 1001 Days list works just like it sounds like it’d work. You make a list of 101 tasks. You have 1001 days in which to complete those tasks. Simple.

I like it much better than the Uberlist concept.

First of all, my obsessive-compulsive brain approves of the uniformity of the number of tasks as opposed to the constantly increasing calendar-year based list. One hundred and one. Regardless of when you start it. (I also like the fact that – since it isn’t tied to a year – you can start the project whenever you damn well feel like it. January 1st, February 29th, June 9th, August 5th, December 23rd, etc. Whenever.)

The longer stretch of time is also a vast improvement over the uberlist format. Roughly 2.75 years is a much more manageable period in which to tackle 101 tasks than is a single year. It allows me to take on tasks that I can prepare for ahead of time, waiting until year two or three of the list before actually starting.

The only real drawback is that when jotting down the name of the list by hand, there’s really no place on either ‘Day Zero Project’ or ‘101 Things to Do in 1001 Days’ to conveniently stick an umlaut. Did the ‘U’ in ‘Uberlist’ require an umlaut? No, but I sometimes stuck one there anyway. (Hell, I sometimes put an umlaut in the word umlaut. Sometimes I’ll stick in two.)

Umlauts forever! (It’s entirely possible that I’m a wee bit goofy.)

The Day Zero Boilerplate

Originally, the Day Zero project required you to start a blog, reprint their little boilerplate ‘rules’ section (verbatim), and then link your blog back to their main site. Since then, they’ve revamped and upgraded everything, and now the whole project is run off of their website. All centralized. Everybody’s list in one place. No need for your own blog.

I don’t like it.

So, I’m doing it more-or-less the old way. Plugging the 101 in 1001 data into Time Delay, starting with the inclusion of their little boilerplate rules, thusly . . .

The Mission: Complete 101 preset tasks in a period of 1001 days

The Criteria: Tasks must be specific (ie. No ambiguity in the wording) with a result that is either measurable or clearly defined. Tasks must also be realistic and stretching (ie. Represent some amount of work on my part).

My 1001 Days

My stretch of 1001 days began on March 1st, 2010. It will end on November 27th, 2012.

I started working on the list sometime around August, with the intention of ‘officially’ putting it into effect last fall, but – well, it’s my usual excuse. Massive pulmonary embolism, hospitalization, etc. I finally decided to start the thing at the beginning of March so that it was up and running before KinkFest, in the hopes of maybe accomplishing some tasks while there.

The actual list of 101 things comes a little later on in this post. And it may look like I ignored some of the criteria. ‘Tasks must be specific (ie. No ambiguity in the wording) with a result that it either measurable or clearly defined.’ Hmm. Whoops.

Here’s the thing – My list is just that. A list. A little checklist of 101 tasks. Yes, there’s ambiguity, and yes, there are examples of undefined results. But that’s because most of the line items on this list aren’t even full sentences. That will be addressed . . .

Progress Reports and Expoundments

In my last post (“The Unavoidable Anniversary Post”) I mentioned that this post was going to be the first of the new ‘category’ posts. And so it is. This first ‘101 in 1001’ post contains the bare bones list. If I’d fleshed the list out and explained everything to my satisfaction, this post would be eleventeen uhquabazillion words long.

After this, the 101 in 1001 category will primarily be concerned with Progress Reports and Expoundments. (My spell checker doesn’t like the word ‘expoundment’. But that doesn’t really surprise me, as it didn’t care for the numbers ‘eleventeen’ or ‘uhquabazillion’, either.)

Progress reports are, simply enough, little updates as to the state of completion of my chosen tasks. During these reports, I’ll let you know when I complete tasks, or when I make notable progress toward completion. Or if I miss the deadline on task #01 and end up blowing my brains out in a state of deep despair. Things like that.

Expoundments are when I expound on the list items, more fully explaining them by turning ‘not even sentences’ into multiple paragraphs.

Okay. This brings us to the list itself.

The “101 Things to Do in 1001 Days” List

001.) Lose my virginity before 12.23.2010

002.) Have sex
003.) Receive oral sex
004.) Penetrate someone anally
005.) Perform oral sex on a Woman
006.) Perform oral sex on a Man
007.) Lose anal virginity

008.) Have sex with Darklady
009.) Have sexual intercourse with Freya
010.) Participate in a group sex experience
011.) Be approached by someone for play (sex, BDSM, or similar)
012.) Set up play partners for events prior to those events
013.) Find a recurring BDSM play partner
014.) Find a(n at least) temporary submissive for the Leatherwoods event

015.) Masturbate a woman (vaginally) with a banana
016.) Fist a woman (vaginally)
017.) Gently masturbate a woman (vaginally) with a baseball bat
018.) Indulge my foot fetish
019.) Engage in ‘watersports’ activities with a woman
020.) Write on a naked woman with Crayola Washable Markers (or the like)
021.) Play with a woman in a hot tub
022.) Play with a strap-on equipped woman
023.) Play with a woman who is in full clown make-up
024.) Engage in age play activities with a woman
025.) Play with a woman costumed as Batgirl
026.) Enjoy Some Non-Penetrative Sex (Tit-Fucking, Axilism, etc)
027.) Beat the previous year’s National Masturbation Month masturbation count (both solo and mutual)
028.) Masturbate for an audience (of at least one)
029.) Be seen naked/reverse barefoot by a crowd
030.) Undress a woman (or women)
031.) Keep a pair of panties as a souvenir

032.) Play with an (otherwise-naked) collared and leased woman
033.) Bind a woman with cuffs, chains, rope, duct tape, or other likely materials
034.) Play with a bound woman (BDSMI)
035.) Dom somebody
036.) Perform some nipple play/breast torture
037.) Spank a woman (and other impact play)
038.) Do some wax play

039.) Have someone suck on my toes

040.) Put together a toybag
041.) Put together a first aid kit
042.) Obtain some sex toys
043.) Obtain some bondage gear
044.) Design/make permanent duct tape bondage gear
045.) Get some creative and odd things for my toybag
046.) Get a flogger and learn to use it
047.) Get a violet wand
048.) Get fetish clothing
049.) Make masks

050.) Get internet access

051.) Blog more often (ideally on a regular schedule)
052.) Go through all of my old Time Delay notes for as-yet unwritten posts, & either write or abandon them
053.) Create a stockpile of written material
054.) Expand the ‘Yes Brodie’ post into a book-length essay
055.) Write a porn screenplay
056.) Script a sexually explicit comic (book or strip)
057.) Write a letter to Penthouse
058.) Reorganize my mammoth stockpile of notes for as-yet unwritten erotic stories
059.) Write some erotica
060.) Enter (and place above 16th in) Literotica Survivor
061.) Write (and ideally perform) some spoken word style performance pieces intended for erotic open mic night

062.) Start selling adult-themed stuff (t-shirts, etc.) through CafePress
063.) Put together a work of erotica (or pornography) to sell through CafePress or Lulu

064.) Find an artist for projects needing art
065.) Collect/commission erotic art

066.) Develop Zeitgeist the Clown as an actual persona
06?.) Build Zeitgeist the Clown as a brand
068.) Pimp the blog and get more readers
069.) Spread the word about BDSMI
070.) Keep FetLife page (and other networking sites) updated
071.) Start a FetLife group
072.) Get a POBox under my scene name
073.) Give a workshop or presentation

074.) Podcast

075.) Start taking erotic/pornographic photos
076.) Open Tumblr site for reposting erotic photos from other Tumblr sites
077.) Take at least one photo for each of my preferred Tumblr tag/categories

078.) Organize my porn collection
079.) Build a better porn collection
080.) Make my own porn compilation
081.) Make my own porn

082.) Make more friends on FetLife
083.) Make real-life friends in the BDSM/kink/sex-positive community
084.) Find/build a network of rides to and from events
085.) Start attending munches
086.) Attend a BDSM/Kink/Sex event (in addition to KinkFest)
087.) Put together a BDSM resume/negotiation worksheet/what-I’m-into list
088.) Give Craigslist another try

089.) Learn some basic rope bondage
090.) Learn a demonstrable BDSM/Kink/Fetish/Sex skill
091.) Read at least 30 non-fiction books on BDSM/Kink/Fetish/Sex topics
092.) Learn how to kiss
093.) Learn some pedicure skills
094.) Research STD risks and safer sex methods

095.) Lose enough weight to have sexual intercourse with a BBW
096.) Build up stamina (sexual and otherwise)
097.) Find a way to fund my BDSM/Kink/Fetish/Sex life
098.) Develop necessary social skills for participation in BDSM/Kink/Sex-positive community
099.) Work on eliminating my OCD-based ‘full disclosure’ problem
100.) Start acting on potential opportunities when presented instead of first endlessly deliberating
101.) Find a brand/make/style of condom that fits

The Unavoidable Anniversary Post

noreply@blogger.com (Zeitgeist the Clown) — Thu, 12 Aug 2010 20:57:00 +0000

This is Time Delay post #100. Today is the second anniversary of my first post. (First two posts, actually.) It strikes me as the blogging equivalent of one of those rare planetary alignment thingies.

How could the big anniversary post NOT happen when it’s a double anniversary convergence? Really, there was no way to stop it.

This Hadn’t Been the Plan

I hadn’t planned on doing anything big here in the blog for either post #100 or the second anniversary. I figured I’d throw in a little self-indulgent celebratory paragraph between the title and first subheading, and then ignore it thereafter, going onto whatever was the topic at hand. (The intended topic for post #100 has been relocated to post #102.) This was the plan for both #100 and for the 2nd anniversary.

It wasn’t just that I hadn’t planned on devoting a full post to this stuff – I’d actively planned NOT to. Post #100 should have been done ages ago. The fact that it’s only now finally coming out is embarrassing. And the whole second year of the blog was . . . let’s just say ‘disappointing’.

Even when I realized the opportunity to bind post #100 and the 2nd anniversary into a single unit, I wasn’t planning on doing anything more than a simple intro paragraph.

So, what changed?

Mainly, it occurred to me that an anniversary post didn’t need to focus entirely on where the blog has gone – it can just as easily look forward at where it’s going. I’ve had a few changes in mind for awhile now, and I think that maybe by posting an intention to implement them there’ll be a better chance I’ll actually stick to them.

A Quick Chunk of Backstory

Okay, I’ll try and make this slice of personal history as concise as possible: In 1989, I accidentally wrote a novel. (Whoops!) Sat down to write an original short story for a friend’s small press publication, and didn’t type ‘The End’ until I’d written over 77,000 other words before it.

In 1990 I began work on a ‘monthly’ (it averaged more like bimonthly from start to finish, but not that cleanly) Max Headroom fanzine.

From 1991 to the beginning of 1993 I didn’t do a damn thing.

[Okay, I did some small stuff. I wrote a few things for other peoples fanzines. I started writing a few stories that were doomed to incompletion. And, of course, somewhere during that time period was the stuff with Dot (not her real name). Which, in addition to being a catastrophic pseudo-relationship, also managed to produce a doomed-to-rejection Star Trek-The Next Generation screenplay.]

Yes, I was having medical problems, but there were long stretches of time where my word count was zero, and the health stuff really only counted for a diminished output, not a ceased output. So, I was excuseless.

Then, over the course of about a week in 1993, nearly everybody I knew got on my case for not writing anything. To this day I don’t know if it was extended coincidence, or an elaborately planned episodic intervention. But it caused me to start a new zine.

No real consistent theme or topic. Just whatever was on my mind at the time, I guess. Over the next four years, I produced somewhere between 36 and 39 issues (depending on how you count them). Just over half a million words.

From there I moved on to a different zine, from there I moved to an e-zine, from there I moved to a blog, and so on and so forth. Several blogs and a couple of screen name changes later, and here I am. (Hi!)

Blog! Do it! Blog!

So the posts on Time Delay have been embarrassingly few and far between here of late. It’s like I’m not doing a damn thing. Oh, sure, a rare post here and there, but nothing worth bragging about. Hell, nothing even worth admitting to.

I like to place the blame squarely on the massive pulmonary embolism back in October that filled both my lungs with blood clots. Nearly killed me. Landed my ass in a hospital bed for a week. Put me out of commission for a long while. (Made me miss Darklady’s Halloween party – now THAT’S how you know it was serious!)

But in all honestly, I’d been in a posting slump even before that, and that whole thing was long enough ago that I should be firmly back in the blogging saddle again.

The last week in July, my obsessive compulsive brain realized that the 2nd anniversary was approaching AND that I was just a post away from the 100th. And it started screaming inside my skull. “Two posts by August 12th!” It was insistent.

So now I had this goal of getting posts #99 before and #100 by the 12th of August. Plus I had the accompanying fear that I’d fail at even that simple but seemingly vital goal.

And then . . . one day last week I logged into Twitter and found a DM (direct message) from an old friend of mine with whom I’ve all but lost touch. (Someone who I’d completely lost touch with before I found him on Twitter and we started following one another..)

The message was a mere four words long. (Four words, and three exclamation points.) I don’t know whether he was suddenly curious about what was going on in my life, or if he was struck by the urge to play Jiminy Cricket, chirping conscience-chatter in my ear. But whatever his reason, the writerly ‘call-to-arms’ from out of the blue added fuel to the fire of my ‘must blog OR ELSE’ mentality.

Sitting there at the library, reading that short little message, I had a flashback to 1993 when he (and practically everyone else I knew at the time) told me I needed to write something.

Oh, and the Twitter DM? “Blog! Do it! Blog!”

So here I am. Blogging.

Looking Back on a Disappointing Year Two

I wrote and posted 81 entries in the first year of the blog. Year two brought us a mere 18.

I suppose it’s lovely for symmetry, following 81 with 18, but it’s not all that great for volume.

Once again, the report on this year’s KinkFest proved problematic. (Part one is up on the blog, but doesn’t really cover the event all that much. Part two exists only as a placeholder. And as for the rest of it . . . well, we’ll get to that later on in this post.)

There’ve actually been a bunch of things I wanted to post about whose topical expiration date has come and gone. Other event reports. Not to mention an intended multipart post on my whole medical ordeal.

Looking Forward to a Magnificent Year Three

Year three on the other hand (he says confidently) is going to be nothing short of fantastic!

Changes

Obviously, the first change from it’s current condition is frequency of posting. I’ve decided I’d like to post a little more often than almost never. My thought here is an official policy of ‘at least once a week’, with an actual weekly goal of two posts. Maybe a third post when I’ve specifically got a third thing to say, but not as a regular thing. (I’ve noticed that posting three times a week for a month or two is the best way to drain me of all interest in posting more than ‘rarely’.)

I’d like to put some more effort into the ‘second draft’ stage of the blog. I still get complaints that my posts are too long, which is something I’m never quite sure how to fix. (And no, the advice “Make them shorter” is not at all helpful. Thanks, though.)

In addition to posting miscellaneous and scattered topics all willy-nilly, I’d also like to start posting some stuff within structured categories.

The next Time Delay post will be the first post in it’s own category, for reasons that should become obvious once you read it. And I’ve got other categories in mind, besides.

‘Fetish and Fantasy’ seems like a decent category for (and an excuse to finally write) some of the posts on various fetishes that I’ve been putting off, seemingly forever. (The foot fetish stuff, more info on clown fetishism, and so on.) Plus, some of the classic fantasy scenarios that especially turn me on (and some not-so-classic fantasies that turn me on even more).

I’m thinking about a category tentatively entitled ‘Blog Therapy’. I’d like to use my two or three human readers and seemingly infinite number of Japanese spambot readers as a therapist, and just talk stuff out.

[Oh, by the way – I’d like to apologize to Time Delay’s Japanese spambot audience for the fact that I keep disallowing your comments. But the sites you link to are all blocked by the library’s filters, and since the majority of your messages are ‘cleverly’ clickable links . . . I just feel uncomfortable allowing your posts, not knowing where you’re sending people. Sorry, Spambots.]

And then – (okay, deep breath Zeitgeist, you can do this) – I want a category called ‘Erotic Fiction’. I want to start writing short stories that are either erotic or pornographic in nature (that’s step one, and it’s a BIG step considering my writer’s block problems regarding fiction), and then post them here in the blog.

Other categories exist, but have yet to make themselves known to me. Isn’t that always the case?

The other change in mind is to some of the topics that have been sitting on the schedule for awhile. One day, while staring at the list of posts I needed to write, it occurred to me that both the KinkFest Report and the 10th Annual Portland Masturbate-a-Thon Report would have to include some hefty chunks of text on foot fetish. This made me start musing off on tangents, and the next thing I knew, I was preparing an alternate list of blog posts based on commonalities of content within some of the posts I was finding it difficult to write.

I’m still planning on (belatedly, at this point) covering this past KinkFest. It’s just that I’m no longer planning to do it in something called ‘The KinkFest Report’. Instead, I’ll be inserting little chunks and snippets of what went on at KinkFest into other posts, like “Sucking on Sexy Bare Toes” and “Why I Shouldn’t Be Allowed to Run Around Naked”. (Among others.)

Still No Cake, Ice Cream, Or Dancing Girls

When I wrote the self indulgent pieces for both post #50 and the 1st anniversary, I made noises about wanting the blog to be so popular and successful that when I hit the next big anniversary (which would have been either of the two that combined to form this thing), I wanted cake, ice cream, and dancing girls. Or strippers. Or prostitutes. (Not real picky, me.)

Maybe next time. Post #150? Or #200, maybe? Or the 3rd anniversary?

Hey, the traditional 3rd anniversary gift (yeah, wedding, but still) is leather – and if August 12th falls in the middle of Oregon Leather Pride Week again next year . . . hmm . . .

Cake, ice cream, dancing girls, and leather bdsm gear (to maybe use ON the dancing girls).

Escape From My House

noreply@blogger.com (Zeitgeist the Clown) — Wed, 11 Aug 2010 19:00:00 +0000

Lately (the past month or so) I’ve been starting to meet new people. Meeting people means introducing myself. [Hi! I’m so-and-so.] The traditional introduction usually either includes or leads to a description of oneself. [I do this for a living, I do that for recreation, I listen to this type of music, watch this type of television, and man-oh-man, do I ever hate dogs!] Which in my case (thanks to how my obsessive-compulsive brain works) oftentimes means having to justify myself. [This now, is the long and involved story behind why I’m in the current shape that I’m in – physically, socially, occupationally, financially, etc.]

Anyway . . . one of the self-referential snippets I keep dropping into these description/justifications is: “I’ve been practically a shut-in for the past 22 years”.

Chronic illness, and a lack of things like a vehicle and/or driver’s license have kept me house-bound much of the time.

In the beginning, I had friends that made sure I got to where I really needed to go. They’d take me to the odd social function. I’d go to the occasional movie. A concert, now and then. The yearly science-fiction convention. And so on.

But these people have all long since moved on. They’ve either developed their own lives and moved away. Or things like weird tumors or self-inflicted gunshot wounds had them move on in a completely different way.

Suffice to say, the more time passed, the more isolated I became. And the more isolated I became, the more excited I got by the occasional opportunity to flee my house.

The Bus

My crappy little home town is one of the stops on the route for something called the CARTS bus. (Chemeketa Area Regional Transportation System). An arm of Cherriots (the transit system serving Salem), the stated purpose of the CARTS bus is getting students from outside its city to and from Chemeketa Community College. But it’s available to anyone with bus fare, so it’s become much more than just a glorified school bus.

Sadly, my crappy little home town doesn’t offer enough traffic to justify anything more than the bare basics – a start-of-day pick up at 6:30 am, and end-of-day drop off at 6:45 pm.

Several years ago, it had been a different story. I can remember looking at the schedule for the bus and seeing stops several times throughout the day. Way back when, I even rode the bus, once. Went to Salem. Almost had a seizure on the bus during the ride to Salem. Then nearly panicked when the bus was five minutes late that evening, thinking I’d missed my ride home.

I pretty much decided that a trip to Salem wasn’t worth that much hassle.

Yeah, I’ve got reasons to be in Salem, but for most of them, the bus isn’t of any use to me anyway. The Salem Munch, for example. This is something I really need to start attending, but it runs from 6:00 pm to 9:00 pm. And the last bus home leaves town at 5:55 pm. Helpful? No.

And, of course, it only runs Monday through Friday. So anything going on over the weekend is out. Very limited usefulness.

Multiple Transit Systems

Several months ago, I started looking into bus travel again. Not so much to get to Salem, but using the CARTS bus as a springboard to elsewhere. Once the CARTS bus gets you to Salem, you can use the Cherriots system to get you all over Salem and Kaiser. As well as two other places.

Cherriots does a run to Spirit Mountain Casino at Grande Round. Which would be great if I had a stake – either a renewable stake, or luck with things like cards and dice. But I don’t so I chose to focus on the other non-Salem/Kaiser destination. Cherriots collaborates on a Salem-to-Wilsonville (and vice/verse) run with SMART (South Metro Area Regional Transport).

SMART – in addition to servicing the mass transit needs of Wilsonville – also does a run to the Barbur Blvd Transit Center in Portland. A once you’re in Portland, the legendary Tri-Met system can take you all over the place.

A trip to Salem might not be worth the hassle of a bus trip. But a trip to Portland? That’s a whole different story.

Parties at Darklady’s

So there I am, talking to Darklady during the 2010 Portland Masturbate-a-Thon, when she says to me, “I wish you lived in Portland. We’d hang out.”

Well, as soon as I got my brain started again, I told her that I’d recently discovered that by getting up at the crack of dawn, I could take a series of busses up to Portland. The only problem being that while I could also take a series of busses home from Portland, I couldn’t really do both in one day the way the schedules were set up.

This is when she tells me that I should take the bus up for some of her mid-week events, and just crash overnight on one of the beds or couches down in the Wonderground (there’s a forthcoming post about Darklady’s Wonderground in the works) for the night.

So since mid-July, that’s what I’ve been doing. About once a week, heading up for whatever the event-of-the-week is. I’ve been to a couple of ‘Potluck and Porn’ events, a Game Night/Social, the beta-test for Naughty Karaoke (which I wasn’t supposed to be at, but – well, long story), and most recently, Darklady’s birthday party.

I’m taking this week off (the actual premiere of Naughty Karaoke, which I hate to miss, but it’s taking place on a Friday, and the lack of weekend busses would strand me in the Wonderground until Monday.)

Killing Time in Shopping Malls

Last year, I did nearly all of my Christmas shopping online from the internet terminal up at the library. This year, I suspect that the bulk of my Christmas shopping will be done at Lloyd Center. (And Clackamas Town Center. And possibly Washington Square, home of Oregon’s LEGO store.)

Yes, I’ve been hanging out in Portland area shopping malls.

In theory, I’m looking for other things to do in Portland between my pre-noon arrival at the Barbur Transit Center and 6:30 ‘doors open’ time at Darklady’s Wonderground. But it’s summertime, and I don’t take well to things like heat or light, so I tend more toward indoor stuff. Shopping malls are simple. I can window shop. I can refuel at the food court. I can sit and read a book. I can sit and watch women going by in flip-flops, with various shades of toenail polish and toe rings, and other forms of social contract that say, “Hey, I WANT you to look at my feet!”

Untapped Potential

So, I’ve been riding on CARTS, SMART, and Tri-Met.

But there are other transit systems that connect up with this network at points along the line. I know that both CAT (Canby Area Transit) and SCTD (South Clackamas Transportation District) share some bus stops or transit centers with some of the rides I’ve been on. Meaning that I could expand my travels to Canby and Molalla.

CAT covers Canby, but also does a run from Woodburn through Canby to Oregon City and back again. Woodburn has it’s own transit system. I haven’t checked on Oregon City, but I’d be surprised if it didn’t. (The Oregon City Transit Center is also a Tri-Met stop.)

One of the things that’s kept me from making another attempt at using the Craigslist personals has been my basic housebound-ness. That, and having to limit myself to a small regional area.

But Silverton, Salem/Kaiser, Wilsonville, Portland, Oregon City, Molalla, Canby, Woodburn, etc.? And me now theoretically able to hit any bus stop in that range? Hmm. The prospects are far more encouraging.

Sitting at home masturbating, hoping an appropriate woman falls from the sky vs. taking some action and traveling beyond my four walls to search for appropriate women? Even if it’s just a one-afternoon-stand with a woman from the casual encounters section of the Ctaigslist personals, it’s infinitely better than I’ve been doing.

Bad (Bus) Trips

Of course, there’s a slight problem with the bus schedules. They never seem to take into account my tendency to get on the wrong bus. (Usually the same number/destination as the bus I’m supposed to get on, but the one on the other half of its run, heading in the direction opposite the one I need to be going in.)

Because of this, I’ve started asking a question when I get on board. “Will this bus take me to such-and-such?”

So, my last trip up to Portland, I get onto a Tri-Met bus, and ask the driver, “Does this bus go to the Lake Oswego Transit Center?” He tells me it does. And while he’s not exactly lying, he doesn’t volunteer the info that it won’t get there for hours and hours, and that the bus I want is the one going the other way, that’ll only be something like 40 minutes away from the LOTC.

To make matters more annoying, before I can figure out that I’m going the wrong way, he gets off the bus, switching out for a new driver.

So when we hit the last stop and it’s Portland College, I’m justifiably confused. I have to wait through the (new) bus driver’s 20 minute break before we get back on the bus headed to where I’m going. I update my internet-supplied travel itinerary in my head, and realize that I’m now three hours behind schedule. By time I arrive at Washington Square (to finish shopping for Darklady’s birthday present) it will be about the time I planned to leave the mall, heading for her place.

YIKES!

And then, as if to properly cap off the trip where the busses all hated me . . .

Going back home the next day, there’s heavy traffic from Portland to Wilsonville. The bus driver warns that we might not make the bus from Wilsonville to Salem. Which has me rightfully nervous. But we do indeed make it in time, and all looks well. Then the bus from Wilsonville pulls into Salem five minutes AFTER the bus heading for my crappy little home town has left. Aaaaarrrggghh!

Stranded in Salem. Without a celphone. In a world where the fact that everyone has a celphone means that payphones no longer exist. And I apparently don’t look like the kind of guy you want to lend your celphone to.

So I started walking. After about fifteen blocks in what turned out to be the wrong direction I heard rumors that there was still a bank of payphones at the Salem Center mall. Another twenty-plus blocks and I still hadn’t found/reached the mall . . . but I had located the Salem Grand Hotel and Convention Center.

I figured if there were pay phones anywhere in the city, a convention center was a good bet to locate them.

It was a bet I would have lost. No pay phones. They did, however, have something even better over in the hotel. Right next to a big soft cushy leather chair. The legendary white courtesy phone. Dial 9 for an outside line.

I knew that my sister was working until 10:00 pm. I knew that Dad (and his girlfriend) were at the coast, having been given a pair of tickets to an Oak Ridge Boys concert. That left the rest of my social circle unaccounted for.

My brother-in-law, apparently, doesn’t answer his phone if he doesn’t recognize the number. Nor does he place any importance on listening to any voicemail anyone calling from an unfamiliar number may have left. (Sigh.)

My brother was unable to answer his phone when I called. And Zorch (not his real name) also opts not to answer his phone if he doesn’t recognize the number. But unlike my brother-in-law, he does listen to the resulting voicemail right away. So when I called back five minutes later, he answered (huzzah!) and informed me that he was actually in Salem at the moment, and about twenty minutes from getting ready to head back to our crappy little home town. Forty minutes later (and the realization that Zorch either can’t count or can’t tell time), and we were heading home in his Dad’s convertible. Which was a much more stylish ride than the bus, anyway.

Warning

So, anyway . . . I’m on the loose. LOOK OUT! Hee hee hee!

Procrasturbation - Writing About May in June

noreply@blogger.com (Zeitgeist the Clown) — Thu, 10 Jun 2010 20:02:00 +0000

Well, here I am, once again posting 'something completely different' in the middle of what should be a consecutive string of multi-part posts. If you’re sitting there in the future, reading this in the blog archive, then nothing else should seem amiss to you (hopefully). But those of you reading this more-or-less in realtime may have noticed that the space where Part Two of the KinkFest report is supposed to be is still occupied by a placeholder for that particular post. Because while the computer is once again up and running, there was some file loss, and one of the newly corrupted files in question was that one. And I haven’t yet started the post’s reconstruction from the (also partly corrupt) memory systems packed into my skull.

That post – along with the two final posts in the ‘KinkFest Report’ series – will happen, they’re just taking longer than I’d hoped.

Anyway, I’ve finally convinced my obsessive-compulsive disorder-addled brain to drop it’s insistence that parts #3 and 4 of the KinkFest Report be Time Delay posts #98 and 99 so that I could move on to other things in the meantime. Like the now belated report on National Masturbation Month. Speaking of which . . .

Guess What I Did In May?

May. National Masturbation Month. The time of year when it’s okay – not only okay, but actually expected – for you to put on an outlandish costume and go door-to-door, begging for candy.

Wait, no – that’s not right. That’s not right at all. That’s Halloween, not National Masturbation Month. Now I understand why my neighbors were all looking at me funny.

Never mind. Start over.

May. National Masturbation Month. The time of year when it’s okay – not only okay, but actually encouraged – for you to stroke your erection until you ejaculate. (Or if you’re a girl, spin your vulvawheel until it lands on ‘Orgasm’. Yes, everything I know about female anatomy I made up while watching ‘Wheel of Fortune.’ Why do you ask?)

Anyway, I spend part of May jacking off. Whee! Although, not as much of May as I had originally intended . . .

Oh! I Was Just Supposed To Fuck My Hand?

The first week in May was the key. I spent the first half of that week fucking my hand, just like the good little celebrant I am. But by the end of that week, instead of continuing to fuck my hand, I had somehow managed to fuck up my hand instead. Couldn’t hold a pen or a pencil. Couldn’t use a butter knife. Couldn’t jack off.

My body has been host to a revolving inventory of aches, pains, and cramps of various intensities for over twenty years now. I’d been having minor problems with my right hand since mid-to-late April. But that first week in May, a pain developed in the middle of the night that woke me from a sound sleep. Bad but tolerable in and below my middle and ring fingers if I’m not doing anything with them. Excruciating if I bend them or try to lift any weight with that hand.

Like an idiot, I just typed the words, “It’s better now” and then had to delete that. I’ve said it so often to people who have asked, “How’s your hand” out of a sense of duty-bound politeness that it’s become a stock answer. The truth is, I’ve simply become accustomed to the pain being there.

The doctor wants to wait and see if it goes away on it’s own, but if not, he’s pretty sure it will mean another injection of cortisone for me. Whee. (The period instead of exclamation mark at the end of the single-word sentence ‘whee’ denotes heavy, heavy sarcasm. Just in case you were wondering.)

Weird Little Aside

I just used the word ‘sarcasm’ in a post about masturbation, and somehow it seems like it should have a different definition, or at least be used in a different context. Just the sound of it. Sarcasm. Follow my train of thought here:

I pumped my dick until I had an orgasm.
I pumped my wit until I had a sarcasm.

Maybe not. I don’t know.

The Running Total

Just as soon as the release of orgasm meant more to me than not suffering the pain of wrapping my poor fucked up hand around my cock and pumping for however long it took, I went right back to it.

Last year (when I still had a celphone), I used my Twitter account heavily throughout May, sending out a tweet every time I jacked off. My official 2009 National Masturbation Month Masturbation Count was 42. (Which, if you’re a big Douglas Adams fan, raises some interesting possibilities for the Ultimate QUESTION to Life, the Universe, and Everything.)

I’d hoped to beat (ha ha, I said ‘beat’) last year’s count, but that was just not to be.

I started the month out well. At the end of May 2nd, the running total was 7 acts of masturbation. But the total at month’s end was only 30. Just fractionally less than an average of once a day.

Inspiration

Of course, these 30 acts of masturbation weren’t accomplished in a mental void.

While my hand was a blur on my cock, my brain was in it’s exercise wheel, running as fast as it’s little anthropomorphic brain legs to carry it. Processing the story or letter to Penthouse I was reading. Or processing the porn I was watching. Or processing the sexual fantasies being projected onto the big screen in my head.

The letters from Penthouse are all from my stockpile of Penthouse magazines. (Obviously.) The stories were all things I found on Literotica.com on the rare occasion that I found myself somewhere with uncensored internet. The visual porn is courtesy of old, old downloads, and a company called SugarDVD (which is basically Netflix for porn DVDs). And the fantasies all sprang from my fevered imagination.

I couldn’t begin to tell you what I stroked myself to, story and letter-wise during National Masturbation Month. It was always just whatever I was in the mood for.

The video porn I can be much more specific about. I can break it down into three categories. About 10% of the time it was – just like with the stories – whatever miscellaneous piece of porn I was in a specific mood for. Roughly 30% of the time it was the Rebbeca Riley scene from “Footsie 2”. Little foot fetish girl getting fucked on a casting couch, her bare feet all over the guy fucking her. Yes, please.

The other 60-ish% of the time, it was a Violet Blue scene from “Kick Ass Chicks #45 – Pigtails”. VB played a nerd girl seducing a musician away from his (unseen) cheerleader girlfriend. That scene just absolutely mesmerized me. [Keep this in mind, we’ll come back to it later on in the post.]

And then, of course, beyond other people’s written or scripted sex, I did actually have a few naughty thoughts of my own. Almost all of my May masturbation fantasies involved the Darklady’s forthcoming Masturbate-a-Thon party. Fantasies about meeting new people and doing things to them. Thoughts about meeting new people and having them do things to me. Fantasies about being a bad boy and ignoring the ‘masturbation’ theme, and finding somebody to take my virginity. (Usually my core heterosexual virginity, but sometimes the fantasy ran to me losing one of the more non-traditional virginities.) Fantasies about a physical encounter with Darklady herself. Oh, my – the physical encounter with Darklady fantasies I had. Masturbation-themed, mutual masturbation-themed, BDSM-themed, and generally sexually-themed. (At least twice my brain fell off its exercise wheel it was so shocked!)

Another Weird Little Aside

Baby New Year. Cupid. Leprechauns. The Easter Bunny. Uncle Sam. An entire catalog of monsters, spooks, practitioners, familiars, and pumpkin-headed weirdos. The turkey. Santa Claus. The ‘old man’ counterpart to baby new year.

Most of the major holidays have one. A symbol. Mascot. Spokesperson. Mythological character. However you define it and whatever you want to call it.

So who represents National Masturbation Month?

I asked myself this question . . . at about 3:30 am. After I’d taken the pills that let me sleep, but before they’d kicked in. The next morning, according to the notepad I keep on a clipboard next to where I sleep, my initial thoughts on a National Masturbation Month representative were a two-headed hermaphrodite named Pumpy (alternately spelled Pumpie), with a tattoo of a pumpkin on one ass-cheek, and a tattoo of a spider on the other.

What. The. Fuck?

Pumpie, sure. Pump your cock. Pump a dildo in and out of your pussy. Pumpkin tat, sure. Pumpie being stylistically short for pumpkin. I have no idea what the spider tat was for. I have no idea why I thought any of it had seemed like a good enough idea to write down.

I still want to know who represents National Masturbation Month. But I’m now pretty sure I shouldn’t have a hand in that selection process. Certainly not at bedtime.

The Portland Masturbate-a-Thon

Usually held right at the end of May, this year, Portland’s Masturbate-a-Thon – much like this National Masturbation Month report you’re reading now – is being held over until June.

And Darklady has had a long, weird road getting this one off the ground. This time, the event is taking place right where she lives – literally. Because after a venue mishap or two, the tenth anniversary Masturbate-a-Thon is returning to its house party roots.

The party theme has gone from “A Decade of Decadence” to “Back to Basics – And What’s More Basic Than Masturbating In a Basement?”

[I swear, there’s got to be some crude anal sex joke based off of a permutation of the phrase ‘I’d like to masturbate in your basement’, but I just can’t seem to locate it.]

I’ve managed to find a ride to and from Darklady Estates, and the stalker in me is so excited to finally see where she lives. [Kidding. Sort of.]

In all of the pre-party information, we’ve learned that among the entertainment for the evening will be a handful of performers from the adult entertainment industry. Including Amber Chase, Sofia St. James, and Noname Jane. None of these three were names that I was familiar with, so I attempted to research them as best I could using the heavily filtered internet at the library. And while I couldn’t really get any info on the first two, it turned out that Noname Jane had a Wikipedia page.

Her current moniker of ‘Noname Jane’ is a response to losing a court case brought against her by a sex journalist whose pseudonym was the same as Noname Jane’s original working name in the adult film industry. The courts decreed that the sex journalist had the rights to the name, and so the porn actress would have to find a new name.

So just what was the name in question? Violet Blue. That’s right. Appearing at Datklady’s Masturbate-a-Thon will be the porn actress I kept jacking off to all throughout May. The woman I kept staring at and thinking, “My God, I’d like to suck on her toes” while playing with myself. (Oh, and I thought a few other things, too.)

Next Year

Next year’s National Masturbation Month will be better. I’ll masturbate more. My overall masturbation count will be higher. And not only will I jack my cock, but I’ll find someone who will let me stroke their clit to an orgasm as well for the whole mutual masturbation ‘points’.

Time Delay’s National Masturbation Month coverage will be better next year, too. There will be some sort of ‘Welcome to National Masturbation Month’ post to open up the month, in addition to an end of month report discussing how my celebration of the month went. And I’ll discuss the topic throughout the month. I’ll post about all of the places I’ve masturbated in my life. I’ll talk about having masturbated CJ way back in the day. (Maybe I’ll even talk about having masturbated ON CJ way back in the day.)

The above statements are things I believe to be true. They are my plan. Of course, last year, that was all kind of my plan for this year, and that all fell through. But next year for sure. Really.

I know it. So . . . it’ll either happen just like it says in the above paragraphs, or it’s a fantasy that my obsessive-compulsive brain is currently masturbating to.

'Cause that's how I roll? [placeholder for REAL post]

noreply@blogger.com (Zeitgeist the Clown) — Fri, 16 Apr 2010 18:11:00 +0000

Step One - Outline all four parts of KinkFest Report
CHECK

Step Two - Write parts one and two of KinkFest Report
CHECK

Step Three - Post part one of KinkFest Report
CHECK

Step Four - Begin writing part three of KinkFest Report
CHECK

Step Five - Have computer crash
CHECK

Step Six - Post temporary piece on blog stalling for time
CHECK

Step Seven - Bang head against wall
CHECK

Okay, looks like my work is done here. See you all later.

The 2010 KinkFest Report (part 1 of 4): Pre-KinkFest (and Christmas in March)

noreply@blogger.com (Zeitgeist the Clown) — Mon, 12 Apr 2010 18:29:00 +0000

At first glance it might seem like the rarest of all possible occurrences. So rare, in face, as to be literally unbelievable. Like spotting Elvis. With Bigfoot. The two of them co-piloting a UFO. During a solar eclipse. On February 29th. Right before the announcement that the winning lottery numbers are the ones on YOUR ticket.

But this is not a mere figment of your imagination, dear readers . . . this really is the beginning of a KinkFest Report. I went to KinkFest 2010, and now – unlike last year – I’m actually writing a full event report about it. And in a reasonably timely fashion, no less. (Reasonably timely, at least, for a blog entitled ‘Time Delay’.)

To Go Or Not To Go?

The plan had actually been to NOT write a KinkFest report this year. Oh, not because attending the event and then procrastinating-to-infinity on writing the report worked out so well for me last year. No, this year’s lack of a KinkFest report was going to be because I had decided to not attend this year’s KinkFest.

“Stay home,” I had told myself. “Save money, save the hassle of finding transport to and from the event, save yourself all the drama of trying to find a play partner for the dungeon parties. Save what little sanity you’ve got left.”

Then the list of presenters came out.

I’ve been a longtime fan of Lee Harrington’s work. Both as Lee Harrington, and in a previous incarnation (pre-gender transition) when he worked professionally under the name of Bridgett Harrington. Writer, educator, photographer, bondage rigger, model, former porn actress, focus of many of my foot fetish fantasies (along with other miscellaneous depraved sexual yearnings) in years past, and so on and so forth. Former resident of Oregon, currently living in Arizona.

I’ve been promising myself for years now that if I ever had an opportunity to meet him, I’d seize it. If I become aware of Lee returning to Oregon to make a professional appearance or teach a class or whatnot, I’d be there. Someway, somehow.

Since initially making myself that promise, I’ll occasionally discover that he’s just BEEN here and already left. (Way to keep up to date on stuff. Go me.) The last time I discovered that he was coming to my state, he was scheduled to be teaching a workshop in Salem. Salem! I can get a ride to Salem. Of course, this workshop ended up taking place while I was in the hospital recovering from my massive pulmonary embolism.

So what’s all this got to do with the price of beans in fairy tales, you ask? (It’s a milk cow, by the way.) Lee Harrington’s name was on the list of presenters for the 2010 KinkFest.

Which meant that despite my earlier decisions, I was now going to the event.

The Road to KinkFest

Between the first of the year and the week leading up to KinkFest, I posted a grand total of TWICE. Not my most post-intensive period to date.

Last year, I posted an entry entitled “The Road to KinkFest – 57 Days and Counting”. This was eventually followed up by “The Road to KinkFest – 43 Days and Counting”. And so on. The pattern continued with 29 days, 14 days, 5 days, and 3 days. (And between 14 and 5 there was also a post entitled “Beds” that was ‘pre-KinkFest’-centric.)

What I didn’t post, (following all of that ridiculous build-up) was an actual KinkFest Report.

So I promised myself that if I attended KinkFest again, I wouldn’t lead up to it with a bunch of prelude posts. I did run the one prelude post this year, two days before the event, musing about what I wanted in a play partner.

The Nametag

In the days before the KinkFest, I made my usual preparations for this sort of event. Packed clothing. Bought food. Made notes based on the schedule found on the official website. (Hoping that said schedule wouldn’t change, invalidating what was intended to be my personal schedule.)

I tried to get up to the library as often as I could to read what was going on in Fetlife.com’s KinkFest group.

The major controversy to be found there was news of the decision that the conference committee had made regarding proof-of-membership. Instead of the traditional convention nametag, they were opting to go with bright red hospital-style plastic bracelets. No bracelet, no admittance into the dungeon (or anywhere in the hotel but the welcome desk).

Reading some of the posts in the discussion, you’d get the idea that this decision was sure to cause the end of all life as we know it.

There were some valid complaints. People who weren’t staying at the hotel would have to go home each night to family and friends wearing a bright red bracelet with ‘KINKFEST 2010’ printed on it. (And not all of these attendees were ‘out’ as kinky.) Some conference attendees were meeting up with photographers during the event for BDSM photo sessions. And now nude photography had become nude-with-a-plastic-bracelet . . . not quite the effect they were going for.

My only complaint about this whole thing was that they were doing the bracelets INSTEAD of the nametag, and not in addition to it. The name badge was a necessary thing. Not only was it how people could identify others by scene name, but it’s also where I traditionally keep my hotel key during these kind of events. (And so how am I supposed to get into my hotel room if I don’t have a name badge? Use my pockets like a philistine?)

So, I dug out my clear plastic badge-on-a-lanyard from the 2008 KinkFest (2009’s name-badge is covered with event-specific stickers), pulled the card with my name on it out of the thing, cut a 3x5 card down to size, and made myself a new name card.

Then, the more I thought about it, the more I realized that not having to have an official name badge might not be a bad thing. Because instead of a single name card, I could have several which I could swap out throughout the event for different purposes.

I cut several more 3x5 cards down to size, and started making myself more name cards for the event.

“…We Interrupt This KinkFest Report…”

Okay. The subject matter now deviates from the topic of KinkFest. Why? Because I’ve decided to talk about something that went on far longer than I initially thought it would, and which finally culminated during KinkFest weekend. So it kinda fits in a KinkFest report. (One that I’d write, anyway.) But it also kinda doesn’t.

This year at Christmastime, Santa Claus failed to deliver a present to the Darklady. He put a little something together for her, but wasn’t able to get it into her hands during the holiday season.

That was the official version of events. The reality behind that statement – for those of you who don’t believe in Santa – is that I put together a Christmas present for Darklady this year, and despite my best efforts, couldn’t get anyone to transport it from here to there in a timely fashion.

Despite being perennially broke, my OCD-addled brain mandates that some money does get put away throughout the year and ‘forgotten’ so that by time November/December rolls around, I’ve got money for Christmas shopping. (This is one of the very few actual benefits of my obsessive-compulsive disorder.)

In the months leading up to the 2009 holiday season, I decided that I wanted to get something for Darklady. I’d been reading her Twitter feed (and listening to some of the buzz during the various Darklady parties I’d attended), and she’d been having a really crappy year.

I wanted to give her some kind of opening-of-present-moment-of-wow during the Christmas season. Something intended to make her day. Fill her heart with joy, and all that other crap they drone on and on about in all that Christmas music.

So I decided to do a Christmas stocking.

Now the problem was this: I could count on one hand the number of days when I’d had any face-to-face social interaction with Her Darkness. I didn’t know her well enough to know what to get her. How do I fill a stocking for someone I didn’t really know?

I started making a list, and found that I actually did have a few gift ideas based on things I knew about her. How did I know these things about her? Via Twitter. (Huh. Twitter.)

Once I realized that, I mined Twitter for more Darklady info. But even with a bunch of Twitter-supplied info, I still wasn’t prepared for the project at hand. There were some things that her Twitter page suggested, but that I needed more info about. Specific preferences, and so on. How do I get this info, I asked myself. I couldn’t just email her in early December and ask gift-giving questions. Could I? No.

But one of Santa’s elves could . . .

So I created a new email account under an assumed name (a Christmas-y one) and wrote her an email pretending to be one of Santa’s elves, trying to update her file following some data corruption. (Hey, it’s not like I was claiming I was the Nigerian Minister of Finance or anything.)

I figured this was a shot in the dark. She might answer it. She might ignore it, as an email from a potential stalker. Turns out, I was sort of correct all the way around, because her reply to the elf’s letter included the words, “In answer to your flatteringly stalker-like questions. . .”

Her answers (to my flatteringly stalker-like questions) helped me figure out what was all going into the stocking. I did my shopping. Internet shopping via the library computers, real life shopping by proxy, sending my sister out into the December madhouse shopping-mall world with money and a list. (I’d made a lot of recovery progress since my early October hospitalization for having lungs full of blood clots, but I really wasn’t up to the Christmas shopping crowds yet.)

Then stuff happened which I’m not really at liberty to discuss which made the person who had previously agreed to deliver the stocking for me no longer able to do so.

Trying to find a substitute to play ‘delivery elf’ was a comedy of errors that makes me want to cry. After Christmas had come and gone, Darklady received another email from Santa’s elf, explaining that her package had been sent out with one of Santa’s delivery elves a few days before Christmas, but that the North Pole had lost contact with the elf, and that a search (and possibly rescue) effort was underway to locate both him and the present.

More time passed, and I still couldn’t get anyone to run the thing up to Portland for me. Darklady continued to get updates from the Elf, until finally the week before KinkFest, she was informed that the package had been located. (That email also went on to explain that the delivery elf had stopped at a strip club to ask for directions when he got to Portland in December, and ended up going on a two month long beer-and-stripper bender. And had since then defected from the elves, joining the classically hard-drinking leprechauns.) Anyway, Santa was now in possession of her present, and would be in Portland March 19 – 21 . . . and would like to meet with her to hand over the package in person.

She agreed to meet ‘Santa’ in the lobby of the KinkFest hotel Friday afternoon before the event officially began.

Darklady’s ‘Christmas in March’

So there I was. Sitting in the hotel lobby wearing a Santa hat and a nametag which read ‘Zeitgeist the Claus’. Reading a book to pass the time and help keep my nerves at bay. (This IS Darklady we’re talking about, on whom I have this massive crush.)

One of the hotel employees did a double-take at my Santa-ness as he was walking past, then stopped and said, “Are you really early? Or are you late?”

“Late,” I told him, “But I blame the elves.”

I had actually gotten into the book by time she arrived, so she was able to sneak up on me. I’m sitting there on a couch reading, and all of a sudden, there she is – standing over me, and saying, “You were second on my list.”

The last email from the elf implied that the person she’d be looking for was kinda Santa-looking. And after reading that, she tried to figure out who her ‘Secret Santa’ might be, based on that visual clue and the letters from the elf, and not only did I make the cut, I was her second guess. Deep down, I was all manner of giddy and giggly just to know that I was even on her radar.

She looked incredible, by the way. I’ve never seen her not look eminently desirable – in person or photo – but she’d dressed up to meet her Secret Santa, and the effect was just stunning. I, of course, neglected to mention this to her because I’m completely socially inept to begin with, worse around women, and worse still around women I’ve got a thing for.

I told her that the present was up in my room, and asked her if she’d mind accompanying me up and opening it there. She was fine with that, so up we went.

The reason why I didn’t have it down in the lobby with me: Over the years, my Christmas stockings have gotten a wee bit out of hand. I haven’t been able to fit all the contents of a ‘stocking’ into a single normal-sized Christmas stocking for years now. Usually, during the Christmas eve stocking exchange at the family get-together, whoever ends up getting the stocking from me is handed a brown paper bag full of stuff with a construction paper stocking glued to the outside.

But with the whole Darklady/huge-crush thing, I was going for presentation. No reused grocery bag for her. No, she got something else. Something . . . large and awkward. Two normal-sized stockings. Five tiny stockings. All safety-pinned to a base made from a cut-to-fit piece of foam-core board inside one of those novelty 3-foot tall stockings. The big stocking was empty save for the foam-core (and a jigsaw puzzle that wouldn’t fit anywhere else). All the other stockings were filled with holiday swag.

And THAT whole apparatus was ‘wrapped’ in two (clean, obviously) black garbage bags covered in ‘Do Not Open Until Christmas’ stickers.

On the way up to the room, in and amongst other small talk, she pointed out that she’d even worn her titleholder’s vest to meet Santa. (Darklady was the 2004 Ms. Oregon Leather.) Reference to her outfit. Fishing for a compliment? As a fish, I’m just dumb. I should win a prize for social ineptitude. I still didn’t tell her how incredibly hot she was.

Anyway, we entered my hotel room, and I told her the true story behind all of the delays in getting her present to her. She then told me that even if there hadn’t been a present at the end of the correspondence, she’d thoroughly enjoyed getting emails from the elf during the process. (And once again complemented me on my writing skills.)

Upon presentation, she eyed the package with suspicion, noting that by size, shape, and body bag-like wrapping it kind of looked like I’d gotten her a corpse. I assured her that it wasn’t and joked that it was more likely a full-sized cardboard cut-out of myself, stark naked. (Yikes!)

She had brought her digital camera with her to document the process, and unwrapped it in stages, stopping to take photos as she went. When finally fully unwrapped, it was standing on the floor, leaned up against the bed. She started slowly emptying the stockings of their contents. At one point she had to readjust the position of the big stocking, and discovered more stockings pinned to the back of it. Surprise!

Between Twitter and what Santa’s elf was able to learn, I’d apparently made the right calls on what to stuff the stocking with. The stocking seemed to be a success. She appeared happy with it’s contents. Merry Christmas in March!

Then she packed it back up and went home. And apparently, once home, she took more photos. Laid out all the loot with the stocking in the background, and posted that photo on Facebook, along with a note about what a great Secret Santa I am.

She also changed her Twitter user icon to that same picture, and tweeted: “@ZeitgeistClown is the best Secret Santa! Sweets, rubber duckies, soap, Slinkies, sexy panties, pocket duct tape, booze & Sarah Palin comix!”

It took months to actually deliver the present, but when I finally did, it looked like it was worth the wait for her. And her reaction to it was definitely worth the wait for me.

NEXT – KinkFest, Day One

What I'd Like in a Play Partner (or Partners) at KinkFest

noreply@blogger.com (Zeitgeist the Clown) — Wed, 17 Mar 2010 18:24:00 +0000

KinkFest approacheth. Friday, March 19th is the opening day of Oregon’s annual 3-day long kink/fetish/BDSM conference. I’ll probably arrive. And afterwards, I might leave. (Oh, I’m all registered and prepaid and everything, but my ride to the event hasn’t fully committed to taking me, and at this point, I haven’t yet found a ride home again. Something’ll work out at the last minute, I’m sure. Probably.)

This year’s KinkFest promises to be the best of the one’s I’ve attended thus far. The KinkFest committee has booked the entire hotel for the event to keep all of the vanilla lookie-loos away from the area.

There will be ‘Community Gatherings’ going on throughout the event where you can meet up with like minded individuals for socializing and kinky networking. The current schedule lists gatherings for Age Players, Foot Fetishists,Polyamourists , a Gay Men’s gathering as well as a separate all-inclusive Queer/Gender Variant gathering, and many others. There’s also going to be a group gathered to discuss the topic of “The Dichotomy and Perceptions of BDSM and Sex - Why some Flog and Don't Fuck while others Fuck and Don't Flog”. Given my interest in BDSMI, I’ll definitely be there for that. Sadly, there’s no BBW/BHM gathering on the schedule. (Sigh.)

Of course, there’s the usual far-too-many workshops I want to attend given the small number of workshop periods that contain them. (Plus the fact that some of the community gatherings I want to attend take place during workshops I also want to attend.Aaaargh!) One of the scheduled workshop presenters is Lee Harrington, whom I’ve wanted to meet for ages and eons now.

And perhaps most exciting, there will be a ‘5-minute dating for tops and bottoms’ workshop to set up play partners for the dungeon party.

Whoa – segue! The title of this post is “What I’d Like In a Play Partner (or Partners) at KinkFest . . . what a coincidence!

Somebody to Spank

Two of the standard elements of BDSM are spanking and bondage. And I want to spank somebody. I think about pulling down her pants/hiking up her skirt. Bending her over and bringing my hand down hard on her panty-covered ass. I fantasize about sliding her panties down her legs, and letting them pool at her feet. Smacking her bare ass over and over again with a wooden paddle.

Yeah. I want someone to spank.

I want a nicely shaped bare bottom to abuse with either bare hand or spanking implement. A naughty girl who needs a spanking to keep her in line. Or a good girl, embarrassed about how she craves some corporal punishment for it's own sake. A horny girl, who gets off on it. (Or who simply gets further aroused by it, and then needs other things from me to actually get off.)

Somebody to Bind

Then, of course, the other BDSM staple. The bondage. I'd like somebody to bind.

I use the term 'bind' rather than 'tie-up' because I can't actually operate a rope without an instruction manual (and probably not even then). My preferred bondage medium has always been duct tape. (I've also used police-style handcuffs, and I've used chains. But neither are in my possession at the moment.)

I'd love to strap a willing playmate into leather cuffs for playtime, but I'd have to specifically find a playmate who had her own leather cuffs for that to happen.

There are a plethora of bondage fantasies in my head, but at their core, it's all pretty much just 'strip her down, tape her up'. I want to secure her to a bed. A chair. A spanking bench. Table. Et cetera and so on. Different potential positions. All sorts of thoughts on what to do once she's bound.

But the big, king, grand-daddy of my bondage desires . . . is this wrist-to-ankle hogtie thing that was in the first bondage magazine I ever saw. I want to do that. (Ropeless, would that be a wrist-to-ankle hogtape? Is hogtape even a word? Fuck it, it is now.)

Naked woman laying on her front, knees tucked up underneath her. (Sort of on her knees and shoulders, I guess, with ass in the air.) Left wrist pulled back and secured to left ankle. Right wrist secured to right ankle.

I want to bind someone in this position. I can see it in my head. I can almost feel her ankle in my hands. Her ankle, her wrist, the roll of duct tape, adhesive on my fingertips . . .

I’m also interested in the immediate aftermath. What to do once I have the person in that particular predicament. Does that upraised bare ass cry out for a spanking? Are the exposed orifices to be investigated? Plundered? Obviously, everything depends on the limits set during the pre-scene negotiation. Having finally experiences putting someone in the wrist-to-ankle hogtape, I’d probably be content with the tease and torment of simple sensation play.

I also wouldn’t mind rolling her over onto her back, so her toes were in the air . . . but I’ll talk about toes later on.

Somebody to Flog

I'd really like to flog someone. Unlike the rare spanking, and the equally rare incidence of bondage, flogging is something that I have zero experience with.

But I've seen it done, and from the spectator's sidelines, it looks good to me.

Last KinkFest I told myself that by time the 2010 event rolled around, I'd have either purchased a flogger from S.M. Hertz, or saved up enough money to buy one from them in the dealer's room.

Yeah, neither of those things happened.

So as I'm sitting here promising myself that I'll either have or purchase an S.M. Hertz flogger (by/at) the 2011 KinkFest, I'm still hoping for a flogging opportunity now. I want to find someone with their own flogger who will let me try it out on them.

Maybe I can find a Top interested in teaching me how to use a flogger. Maybe one willing to lend both his flogger (the implement) and his floggee (the person).

Anyway since we’re on the topic of my not owning a flogger . . .

Somebody With Their Own Toys

You may have already noticed a running theme of "I'd do this, but I don't have those toys/tools/etc." in this post. Said trend will only continue.

My toybag contains four things. A wooden paddle I bought at KinkFest 2008, a roll of duct tape, a blindfold I won at Darklady’s Masturbate-a-Thon, and a very expensive vibrator I won in a contest at Sextoys.com. Four things. That’s it.

Actually, I’m not sure it even contains the roll of duct tape right now. I may have repurposed that particular piece of bondage gear for miscellaneous home repairs. I might need to hit Wal*Mart before the event.

(And when I say ‘toy bag’, what I refer to is my actual collection of BDSM toys – there isn’t actually a bag around them. They’re usually just tucked away on a shelf inbetween KinkFests.)

So I need one of two things. Either more toys (toys, equipment, gear, etc.), or a partner who comes with their own fully equipped toybag.

Somebody to Fist

Ah, fisting . . . this has been a huge fantasy of mine for ages now. I want to put my hand in someone. (Specifically, vaginal fisting. The thought of anal fisting creeps me out a little. This big of a hand is not meant to go into that small of a hole. And while, yes, I do carry it at these events, I'm not sure even the mighty duct tape could fix a person split completely in half.)

My first (and thus far only) experience with fisting was at my first KinkFest, back in 2008. They had a workshop on fisting, and the instructor opened herself up (so to speak) to the audience. A long line formed, and when it was my turn, the guy in front of me pulled his hand out, and I started to thrust my hand in. I wasn't able to get my hand completely inside of her, but I was thrilled to have at least technically been involved in the fisting of someone.

Of course, sticking my hand into a stretched open hole wasn't my fisting 'dream date'. No, I wanted to start at the very beginning. First the fingering, then loosening her up and stretching her wider on my own. (Not having the 20 or so guys in line ahead of me doing it for me).

Fing, finger, fingest. (You can't spell 'fingest' without 'f-i-s-t', you know?) I want to slowly work my hand deep inside of her, and bring about her slippery moaning arousal and writhing, thrashing, bucking orgasms. (Yes, I do have a high opinion of my hand. Thank you for noticing.)

Somebody to Mark (Not What You May Think)

I’ve been to two KinkFests now, and one of the things that I’ve noticed is that on Saturday and Sunday mornings (following the Friday and Saturday night play parties) you can find people sitting around comparing marks. Bruises, welts, ropeburn, etc.

Bottoms take pride in wearing their marks. Just as tops take pride in inflicting them.

But while I definitely want to inflict both impact play and bondage upon the flesh of a willing female bottom, it’s the in-the-moment act that I’m looking forward to. I don’t really see ‘leaving marks’ as doing anything for me. Not those kind of marks, anyway.

The marks that I’d like to leave on a woman would come from the tip of a Crayola Washable Marker. (Or a Sharpie Permanent Marker – not actually permanent on human skin, but longer lasting than the Crayola.)

Graphoerotica – images of naked women with words written on them in marker or lipstick or other likely ‘inks’ – turn me on like you wouldn’t believe. I want to create some of that myself.

Labeling her flesh with words like ‘slut’, ‘whore’, ‘fuckhole’, and other derogatory terms. Or if she’s not into that, write instructions. ‘Pinch here’, ‘cock goes here’, ‘squeeze this’, etc. Or just be generally clever. ‘I just let a fat man write on me.’ (When I do finally lose my now nearly-legendary virginity, I’d like a photo of her with the words ‘I just let a fat man fuck me’ scrawled on either her bare belly or back.)

Somebody With Abusable Nipples

I am – for the most part – a situational sadist. It’s not that I’m interested in doing things that end up causing a woman pain. It’s that I’m interested in doing things that end up causing a masochistic woman pain.

Not that I’ve had a lot of actual experience with it thus far. But in my fantasies, when she comes to me (whoever she happens to be) she doesn’t just want it – she needs it.

The fantasy is delivering the spanking, the flogging, the whatnot in an effort to satisfy her craving for it. And not simply to satisfy a BDSM interest of mine.

So it’s not all women. Just masochistic women.

Of course, that all goes out the window when I see nipples. Nipples whisper, “Pinch me! Hard! No, harder – as hard as you can!” Not just the nipples of masochistic women, either. All women’s nipples tell me this. They taunt me. “Come pinch us!”

So far, I’ve never used a nipple clamp on anyone (I don’t actually own any nipple clamps – I should probably scrounge up some clothespins or something.). And the amount of strength I’ve got in my hands varies wildly because of some of what I’ve got going on medically, so oftentimes pinching is less effective than it could be.

But for the past few years, I’ve had this fantasy of making someone in a BDSM environment use their safeword just by pinching their nipples.

Somebody With Suckable Toes

This is a kink desire, not a BDSM desire. I have no deep yearning to listen to a woman tell me things like, “On your knees at my feet, you worthless slave! Worship my feet! Clean my dirty sweaty feet with your tongue!”

What I want is to find a woman with cute feet (clean, preferably) who likes having her toes sucked on. I want this woman to accept my offer to suck on her toes – an erotic act performed among equals, not in any capacity of her domming me, of me submitting to her.

Someone Who Will Pose

At one point there was talk of setting up a special photography area at the otherwise no-cameras-allowed event. I don't know if this is something that the conference organizers decided to go ahead with, or if it was just a musing that went nowhere. But I want someone willing to pose for my digital camera.

Either in the (possibly non-existent) photography area, or behind closed doors in a hotel room (mine, hers, theirs, someone else's, whatever). I want me some pictures. I want naked frolicking exhibitionists. I want bondage photography. I want images of my bright red handprint on her bare butt. I want photos of Crayola marker graphiti across exposed body parts. I want pictures of sexy bare feet.

Pictures of (comparatively shy) people for my private collection. And maybe even pictures of some wild exhibitionists willing to let their photos appear here on the blog.

Who knows?

Freya (Crush or Fetish, Part III)

noreply@blogger.com (Zeitgeist the Clown) — Mon, 08 Mar 2010 21:49:00 +0000

In the second installment of ‘Crush or Fetish’, I talked about how I’m just a little bit goofy over Darklady. This time (as I’m sure you’ve already surmised by the title of the post) I want to talk about my interest in a woman called Freya.

What’s In a Name?

I suspect that her parents didn’t actually name her Freya. I also have my doubts that they named her Lana. I’m almost certain that they didn’t name their child LatexAndLube.

Freya seems to be a multi-nomenclatural creature. (Kind of like me.— I’m Zeitgeist the Clown here on the blog and in the kink community, I use different names elsewhere on the internet for different purposes, I’ve got a pen name in case I ever actually get off my ass and write a novel, and my real name is a loosely held secret.)

‘Freya’ presented a couple of workshops at last year’s KinkFest. (That also seems to be the name she goes by in the local kink community.) It’s the name I typically assign her in my brain.

‘Lana’ works as an escort in the Portland area. (I’ve been to her website a couple of times, on the rare occasions that I go somewhere with uncensored internet access. During my first look-see at her site she was ‘Lana Love’. Currently she’s ‘Lana from Savannah’). I’ve mused about why she chose Lana – wondering if she’s a fan of Lana Lang from the Superboy mythos (or the more recent ‘Smallville’ TV series), or perhaps if it’s because Lana spelled backwards is ‘anal’.

And on FetLife.com, she’s known as ‘LatexAndLube’. I don’t know if she has other aliases. Nor do I know her real name. Although I’m curious about the answer to both of those questions.

What’s In a Description?

I have a few strengths as a writer. Relaying physical description is not among them. Luckily, I copied down some text off of her website awhile back in which she describes herself.

So what does Freya look like? Like this . . .

“I am 5 feet 2 inches tall, petite, yoga-fit and flexible. I have glossy-brown curls to my shoulders, creamy smooth skin, pretty blue eyes, and a mega-watt smile. I have very shapely legs, a cute firm butt, a small round tummy, and luscious 34C breasts. My feet are size 6 with high arches and adorable toes.”

In other words: Cute. Hot. Sexy. I think that if she were to curl up in the fetal position she’d fit in my pocket. Being non-blonde earns her many bonus points, as does the fact that her biological canvas appears to be unmarred by tattoos. Oh, and those toes ARE adorable.

The Huge Messaging Blunder

In early January of 2009, the list of workshops and presenters for that year’s KinkFest was posted on the event’s website. Still a relative newbie to the BDSM world (and with my library-only internet access being both time-limited and content-censored), most of the presenters were unknown to me. Freya being no exception to that ‘most’.

But I was enthused by the topics she’d be teaching. Her two workshops were “Visit Uranus – An Anal Pleasure Workshop” and “Strapping On and Getting Off – Penetrative Pleasures for Top and Bottom”, and I was deeply into the on-again phase of my on-again/off-again desire to experience anal play.

KinkFest 2009 had 24 workshops. There were six different workshop periods. Which means that there are a minimum of 18 workshops an attendee WOULDN’T be attending. And my “oh-my-God-I-must-attend-this-workshop” list was 12 items long.

Add to that the fact that I had decided to volunteer that year. I had assumed (correctly, as it turned out) that my volunteer duties would be workshop monitor (mainly guarding a doorway, making sure that anyone coming into the room was indeed an actual conference member.) So there would be a number of workshop periods where I’d be assigned to a specific workshop, with no hemming and hawing and possible last minute changing of my mind as to where I was going.

And then add to that the fact that when the initial version of the schedule came out, one of Freya’s workshops was scheduled opposite a fisting workshop that promised a live demonstration of a woman inserting her bare foot into another woman’s vagina. (Foot fetish? Check. Fisting interest? Check. Yeah, I simply could not miss that one.)

I couldn’t tell whether or not I’d be attending either of Freya’s workshops. Wanted to, but . . . I didn’t know.

But given the nature of her workshops, something else had occurred to me. One of those ideas I get that lodges itself in my brain and I simply can’t get rid of. An idea which caused me to seek her out on FetLife and send her a message.

I asked her . . .um . . . well, she was going to be packing a strap-on to an event with two play parties. (An event where she’d be teaching classes on butt-fucking.) And I was just itching to lose my anal virginity. C’mon, you know exactly what I asked her.

The problem was that when I discovered her FetLife page, I messaged her right then and there. Sitting there at the computer at the library. Open message window. Write message. Send.

That’s not how I traditionally do things. I write this stuff at home, on a word processor, where I have time to think about what I’m doing. Where I’m not rushed due to the library’s computer use time constraints. Where I’ve got the time to reread it, put it through a second draft if need be, and above all – stop and consider whether what I’m sending is actually a good idea.

If she accepted my offer to play – if she was looking for someone to use her strap-on with in the dungeon, and picked me because I offered her my ass early – and I wasn’t able to attend either of her workshops, I thought that during the course of scene negotiation and foreplay and whatnot she could go over some of the more basic info that I’d’ve missed by being elsewhere when she was teaching her room full of workshop attendees.

That premise got garbled in my actual (hastily written) message to her, and it read like a request for her to repeat her workshop just for me instead of enjoying the dungeon party.

I didn’t actually realize this until I got her response. She very nicely told me off, and I went and reread my message to her, then crawled underneath a table to hide from the world. Whoops. (She also told me that in addition to being a workshop instructor she was an escort, and if I was looking for that kind of play without ever even having met her, I should make an appointment. Ouch.)

Once I got back home (where I could take my time and think properly), I wrote her an apology, which I sent off the next day upon my return to the internet.

She very graciously accepted my apology, told me that there were no hard feelings, and said that even if I didn’t manage to attend one of her workshops, I should find her to say, “Hi.”

KINKFEST 2009 – A FREYA SPECIFIC MINI-REPORT

Okay, if all of my blogging plans had succeeded, there would be links in this section to my 2009 KinkFest report. Sadly, I never got around to actually writing my 2009 KinkFest report. So I will write now a short (for me, anyway) ‘Freya-Specific’ version of my trip through the event.

Meeting Freya

After having made a fool of myself through the FetLife messaging system, I had pretty much decided to NOT seek her out to say “Hi”. My plan was actually to avoid her. This plan was foiled during the Friday night dungeon party when she walked right up to me, shook my hand, and said, “Hi! I’m Freya! We messaged on FetLife?”

It turned out that I was worried about nothing. I apologized again for my first attempt at communicating with her, but her reaction to the huge messaging blunder was more along the lines of simple amusement than anything else.

The Next Day

The next day, while she was giving her first workshop, I was off playing ‘door guard’ somewhere else. (And while the workshop I monitored during that time as part of my volunteer schedule wasn’t bad or anything, it turns out that I’d’ve much rather been at Freya’s.)

Later that evening, after the workshops were done for the day – but before the dungeon opened for that night’s play party – there were a handful of people clustered in the ‘socialization area’ set up in the joint of the ‘L’ shaped path from the registration desk to the dungeon.

People arrived in and departed the area. (In my first draft of this post, that line read “People came and went”, which could have had multiple meanings when reporting on a BDSM/kink/fetish conference, thus the change. Heh heh.). I mainly stayed put because the chair was comfortable.

Then Freya showed up. She was barefoot, which grabbed my interest right away. She’d apparently been barefoot all day. (At least barefoot. Sometimes fully naked, I later discovered.) She pulled up a chair and joined in on the conversation that was happening.

She seemed interesting, like someone I wanted to get to know better. She was very sexy. And she was barefoot.

Someone there pointed out how pretty her red toenails were. That was when I mentioned that I’d also noticed, and had been trying not to stare, because if I stared to long, I’d be unable to keep from putting my hands on her lovely bare feet. Which is when she told me that she’d been walking on them all day, and held her left foot out to me.

So, I started massaging it. As I did so, she slid down off of her chair onto the floor in front of me, with her foot straight up in my lap so I had better access. And she started making some noises which I chose to interpret as “oh-my-God-that-feels-good”.

After awhile of massaging, she looked at her watch, and realized that she was going to need to leave soon, as she had somewhere to be. She pulled her left foot away and replaced it with her right. “Do the other one . . .”

So I started massaging her right foot, and it wasn’t long before she started making those great noises again.

The lady who’d commented on her pretty toenails – listening to her moans and sighs of contentment – smirked and said, “Oh, I don’t think she likes that. No, not at all.”

I joked that she sounded like she was in great discomfort and I should probably stop. She made noises of protest, but I continued my line of thought. “I know what it is . . . she just doesn’t like my hands. She’d rather I massaged her foot with my lips and tongue.” I’ve honestly no idea why I was so bold that evening. But when she didn’t immediately say no, I stopped massaging, leaned forward, and took her toes in my mouth.

She pulled her foot out of my mouth, and said, “I’ve been walking around barefoot all day . . .”

I held her foot up and looked at it. It looked reasonably clean to me. I said so, then swallowed my excess saliva and licked it from heel to toes. Then I took her big toe in my mouth and sucked. I sucked on each toe on her foot, slid my tongue into the valleys between her toes, and then took all five toes into my mouth and played my tongue across them.

She made much better noises when I used my mouth than when I had been using my hands. But time was up before I could move back to her left foot to lick/suck on those toes. She had to leave, with only half of her toes sucked. To this day, I consider that unfinished business.

Unlikely Dream

The final schedule change and the specifics of my volunteer schedule made it possible for me to attend her strap-on workshop, which would be held during the final workshop period on Sunday. After going to bed late Saturday night/early Sunday morning, I dreamt about that.

In my dream, I’m sitting in and amongst the crowd of workshop attendees as Freya is teaching the basics of strap-on play. And partway through her presentation, she steps into her harness, buckles everything into place, and asks for a volunteer from the audience. She asks if anyone present wants her to fuck them.

Of course, my hand shoots up first, and she picks me. (I suppose it helps that I’m normal-sized. I’m never obese in my dreams.) I go up front and strip down while she lubes up her rubber cock. Then I get down on my hands and knees, and . . . sadly, my dreams are also always at the very most R-rated. Never X. I don’t dream sex. I dream right up to it, then sometimes scene-change, jump-cut past it, or for all I know break for commercial.

But when I woke up the next morning, I thought, “Yeah, right. That would be great, but it ranks high on the Unlikely Scenario scale.”

Prelude to Possible Disaster

This section won’t seem Freya-specific, but it needs to be here to help set up the next section. Bear with me.

The second to last Workshop period of KinkFest was my last workshop monitor duty. And halfway through that workshop, my left arm started twitching.

Fuck! (That’s what I said to myself when it started.) Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!

The twitching left arm is sometimes just a twitching left arm. It makes me something of a spectacle, but that’s it. Lasts anywhere from a few minutes to a couple of hours. Sometimes.

Other times, the twitching left arm is a prelude to a full-blown, drop-to-the-ground and flop-around-like-a-fish seizure.

And I can never tell which way it’s going to go. Not until it either stops, or I come to on the ground, looking up at concerned (and usually freaked out) people looking down at me.

Freya’s Strap-On Workshop

Freya’s workshop was to take place in the same room where my last stint as workshop monitor had been. So once that workshop was over, I just moved from my chair at the doorway to a chair near the front of the room and waited for the next presentation.

It wasn’t long before Freya padded into the room on bare feet, set down her bag of toys, then proceeded to strip the rest of the way. Freya would be teaching her class naked.

Oh . . . oh, my. It’s not like I hadn’t seen naked women before. And I’m not just talking about the lifetime of porn. I’d been to five dungeon parties (four of them over the course of KinkFests 2008 – 2009, and another at ‘The Asylum’ in Eugene). And I’d been to several Darklady parties. I’d seen naked women. Hell, it’s not even like I’d never seen naked women teaching KinkFest workshops before, come to think of it. But Freya . . . there was just something about the naked Freya.

I’ve tried to figure out how to explain this without sounding like a complete idiot, and after much careful rumination I’ve realized that my only option is to simply go ahead and sound moronic. It just can’t be helped.

I’d recognized her as having a pretty face and a sexy body. I’d discovered that she was interesting. After sucking on the toes of her right foot, my obsessive-compulsive brain was telling me that I had a connection to her. (Shut up, brain.) But seeing her naked . . . everything shifted. It was like going from black-&-white to color. And one- to three-dimensional. And zero to 60. All at once.

Her body was like Eve’s, pre-apple. Clothing just didn’t belong there. When she introduced herself in the dungeon on Friday night, it hadn’t been lust at first sight for me. But that Sunday afternoon, it was definitely lust at first sight of her naked.

Freya, sans clothing, had floored me. I’m a little surprised that her nudity didn’t push my twitching into seizure right then and there.

Anyway . . . once it was time to begin, she passed around a stack of hand-outs with information on anal sex, strap-on play, and a few other sex topics. She talked about the basics of anal penetration. Then she strapped a dildo to herself.

Apparently not a huge fan of the traditional strap-on harness, Freya is more of a do-it-yourselfer, and can attach a big fake cock to herself or another with a metal ring and a piece of rope. Or a long leather strap. Canvas strap. Rubber tubing. Pretty much anything you can wrap and tie around the waist and thighs.

Attaching the dildo to herself didn’t detract at all from her magic naked powers, but it did ramp up her kink/fetish quotient. OH so incredibly hot.

She then revealed that she had more dildos. More lengths of tie-ables. More rings. And asked if any of the women in the audience wanted to come up and have a little something strapped onto them, to see what it was like.

Several did. Some stripping, some stripping part-way, some modestly choosing to wear their ‘cocks’ over their pants. Freya attached a synthetic phallus to each volunteer.

After that . . . as I sat there twitching, trying not to do anything for fear that it would lead to seizure . . . she addresses the audience again, asking if anyone would like to be fucked.

Had I fallen asleep? Was I dreaming? Was this dream a rerun? I could not fucking believe it.

Did I want Freya to fuck me? Did I want naked, strap-on equipped Freya to fuck me? Yes I did. Did I want to have her just start the process, having it push me the rest of the way into full-blown seizure, and have them tell the inevitable paramedics that the seizure appeared to be caused by the anal sex I was having? Not quite as much.

FUCK!!! (My inner voices repeated.) Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!

I didn’t raise my hand.

She did get a volunteer, and thus demonstrated her anal sex/strap-on skills for the group. (She did have an assistant in case none of the workshop attendees volunteered.) Freya fucked her volunteer in a couple of positions. (Meaning that I got to watch Freya fucking someone in a couple of positions. Really, really hot.)

Eventually, the class drew to a close, and the majority of the attendees began filing out of the room. Others stayed to talk to or ask questions of Freya. Myself among them.

Once most of the others had gone on their way, it was my ‘turn’. I told Freya that I wanted her to know just how incredibly hot she looked, sporting the strap-on. She thanked me for the complement, and said that it’s a piece of information that men need to pass on to women who look good to them with the dildo strapped-on, as it eases self-consciousness they might have about how they look with the phallus.

I also told her that I’d enjoyed her class, and that had it not been for the twitching, I’d’ve volunteered when she asked. (I gave an in-a-nutshell explanation of my seizure disorder, and how I was trying to avoid that happening.)

I said other things, too. This far removed from the event, I couldn’t tell you what they all were.

On one level, I was standing there conversing with her. But on another level, all my brain knew was that my flesh was starved for physical contact and she was the world’s greatest physical nourishment. I’m not saying that I wanted to paw at her tits or anything (although let’s face it – I DID kinda want to paw at her tits, but that’s beside the point), I just wanted to touch her, flesh on flesh contact, my hand on the arm of her naked body. Anything.

But even just the casual contact seemed presumptuous. And the question, “Do you mind if I touch you?” seemed either demeaning or creepy. Plus – I was still twitching. It’s probably best to not try and put my hands on anyone when my body is jerking around.

So I finished my conversation, said goodbye, and left. Sigh.

Not Really a Punchline, But . . .

After the event, my pal Zorch (not his real name) picked me up from the hotel and took me home. He asked how it all went, so I told KinkFest stories. And, partway home, the twitching escalated, and I went ahead and had that full-blown seizure in the front seat of his car. On the highway.

Fun!

Darklady’s Masturbate-a-Thon Party – A Freya-Specific Recap

During my report on Darklady’s Masturbate-a-Thon party (which took place two months after KinkFest), I mentioned seeing ‘a woman that I met at KinkFest’ among the revelers. Since I’m bringing this up now, you can probably guess the identity of that particular woman.

Early on in the evening as I stood there in my (slightly freakish, I’ll admit) clown get-up, I found myself doing a double-take as a woman passed by me. “Was that Freya?” I asked myself?

The next time I saw her she’d changed into the Emperor’s New Clothes, and I was able to say, “Yep, that’s Freya.” Stark naked from head to toe, looking just as I remembered her.

I got to watch Freya (unnamed in the M-a-Thon report, just ‘a woman that I met at KinkFest’) involved in a group sex act. I’d retell that here, but Alt-T/W (the Verbose-a-Meter!) informs me that I’m WAY over my intended word count, and not yet nearing the end of the post. Eeeee!

Why Freya?

Freya is one of my two current fetish crushes. Why?

Well first of all, does anyone even remember what a fetish crush is? I swear, it’s been so long since I wrote and posted part one of this three part series I had to reread the earlier posts to double check some of the fine points.

The Fetish Crush – a combination of the fetishization of the childhood ‘crush’ and the concept of a crush based on kink/fetish rather than emotional attachment. Oftentimes directed toward authorities or celebrities on either a local or national/global basis. (It’s more involved than that, but . . . word count climbing ridiculously high!)

For a kid with a crush, it could be another kid, a teacher (authority figure), or an actor, model, or rock star (celebrity).

Workshop instructors are teachers. Sort of an automatic ‘authority in their field’ kind of thing. That’s Freya. And a fact that I neglected to mention in all of my rambling up above, she does fetish modeling. That probably counts as BDSM community celebrity even if the workshop instructor doesn’t. (Although I think it probably does.)

Being stunned stupid by her naked body probably explains a lot of why she has slid so easily into the fetish crush slot of my brain.

She’s definitely someone that I’d like to know better. We’ve messaged back-and-forth a few times on FetLife.com, but nothing that really counts as a conversation. I’ve never had a one-on-one conversation with her in real life, but her and I were two parts of a five-to-seven (or so) person chit-chat during some downtime at the 2009 KinkFest (the situation which led to me sucking half her toes).

Plus, there are the inevitable naughty little sex fantasies percolating in my head. But fantasies about Freya outweigh fantasies about most other people. Why? Well . . .

The Physical Plausibility of Sexual Intercourse

I don’t really have a ‘type’. I’m attracted to all sorts of people for all sorts of reasons, lots of times having nothing to do with their physical form. But I do like thin girls. And fat girls. And tall girls. And short girls. And so on.

Back during my association with C.J. (not her real name) I was the world famous mathematician (?) responsible for the discovery of humanity’s most important equation (??). Called the ZtC Formula, it goes like this: Plump woman + obese man + small penis = celibacy.

Try as we might, CJ and I could not get our interlocking parts to interlock. And believe me we tried. By one point I was thinking like the Kama Sutra as written by M. C. Escher. But it just wasn’t happening.

It occurred to me at the time that if I wanted sex (the classic definition of sex, the whole penis-in-vagina intercourse thing) I was either going to have to lose several humans worth of weight, or somehow attract a thin girl into my bed. (Or possibly some combination of the two.)

Freya’s a thin girl. A yoga-fit and flexible thin girl. Freya seems like a far more plausible sex partner than anyone else I’ve had my eye on in recent years.

I think about this. At times I dwell on it. Having read her FetLife.com profile page, I know some of her kinks and fetishes, and see where they line up with some of mine. I think about us ending up at the same event. I fantasize about getting together with her to ‘play’.

Sometimes I think about an event-less scenario, where she invites me to her place. I get a ride up to Portland (or wherever she actually is), and we spend an afternoon/evening (possibly an overnight) together. When I leave her company, I no longer have my legendary virginity. And I’ve got a lot of miscellaneous kink experience.

But my Freya-based thoughts aren’t all fantasy-type fantasies. I’ve got a few ‘realistic’ sex-based concepts kicking around my brain as well . . .

The Escort Option

"The love I feel for my body translates into warmth, love, and acceptance for the lovers in my life. I have an appreciation for all shapes, sizes, body types, and people in general."

The above quote is also taken from her website. So what do those words mean, when found on a professional girl’s website? Even if her appreciation for ‘all’ shapes, sizes, and body types doesn’t extend to my massive, heavy, gelatinous frame . . . I suspect that if I can afford her hourly rate, she’ll fake it for me.

(That’s me being half-cynical and half-self-deprecating, by the way. From what little face-to-face contact we’ve had, she seems the type to mean exactly what she says in the above quote. But then, what do I know?)

A session with Freya runs about the same as the truncated amount of SSI/Social Security Disability I live on each month. [That IS NOT a euphemism for ‘Wow, she charges a lot.’ It IS a euphemism for ‘My God, I’m poor!’]

So my general problem with the escort option is that I can either have sex with Freya, OR I can pay my utilities and other bills, and buy food and water. Hmm.

So far, attempts to save up haven’t worked. Although I’m going to try it again starting in April. See if maybe I can squirrel away enough money over the course of nine months to afford her services. (My birthday is in December, and if I’m still a virgin the day before I turn 40, I fear impulsively eating a bullet or jumping off a bridge or something.)

Crush or Fetish – Finally Finished?

When I wrote and posted the first installment of “Crush or Fetish”, I mentioned how the previous three-part-series had taken seven weeks to complete. Yikes! I promised that wouldn’t be the case with this one.

That was on August 17th, 2009.

And with today being March 8th, 2010, as embarrassing as a stretch of time as it’s taken to get this whole thing out . . . I can honestly say, it wasn’t seven weeks.

(I think I need a drink.)

Happy New Year! (and Other Old Business)

noreply@blogger.com (Zeitgeist the Clown) — Thu, 28 Jan 2010 21:02:00 +0000

Last week (Jan 22nd, to be exact), I sent this oh-so-optimistic message out over Twitter: With any luck, blogging resumes next week. And now that I've said that 'out loud', I fully expect to get hit by a bus or something.

Tomorrow is the last day of last week's 'next week', and I'm not going to be able to get up to the library (where the internet lives). Which means that I either post something today, or I'm a big fat liar. And while there's really nothing I can do right now about being big and fat, I do try my best not to be a liar. So . . . gotta post today.

The problem is, I never got around to writing this - the post I've been intending to write - while sitting in front of my computer at home. So right now, I'm sitting here writing this at the library. I'm actually writing my blog entry in the 'new blog entry' window instead of just pasting a previously written batch of text into the thing. It feels weird.

The reason that I'm telling you all this is so that if this turns out to be poorly written, filled with typos, and just plain ugly . . . it's because I'm out of my normal writing environment, and running without my normal multiple draft process.

[It's entirely possible that I'll post this now, and then edit it to reflect a second draft early next week.] [Feb 1st note - In fact, that's exactly what just happened. ZtC.]

Okay, on with the blog.

What Are You Doing New Year's? New Year's Eve?

Ten! . . . Nine! . . . Eight! . . . Seven! . . . Six! . . . Five! . . . Four! . . . Three! . . . Two! . . . One! . . . Happy New Year!

Whoo! Yay!

Should old acquaintance be forgot, and never brought to mind? Should old acquaintance be forgot, and old lang syne? For auld lang syne, my dear, for auld lang syne, we'll take a cup of kindness yet, for auld lang syne.

Okay. Yeah, I know. It’s January 29th. Some might say it’s a little late to be doing the whole ‘happy new year’ thing, but you know what? This blog that you’re reading is called ‘Time Delay’. So I’m well within my rights to lag behind a little on holiday recognition if I want.

I think that it helps my case a little that I haven’t actually posted anything since mid-October. So it’s not like I was posting other stuff around December 31st, 2009 and January 1st 2010, then waited until now (nearly a month later) to mention New Year’s during the course of regular blogging.

I’m blaming everything on the massive pulmonary embolism (or 'PE' as the hospital staff tended to shorten the diagnosis down to) that felled me like a giant redwood back on October 1st. Everything is all messed up. The blog is late. I’ve got undelivered Christmas presents sitting here. Even the library books are overdue. It’s almost as if ‘Time Delay’ has become a self-fulfilling prophesy.

[Yes, that’s right. I’ve still got undelivered Christmas presents sitting here. One of which is simply waiting for it’s intended recipient to come pick it up. But the other one – that one needs to be delivered. My pal Zorch (not his real name) had originally volunteered to play Santa’s elf for me and get it to it’s ultimate destination sometime during the week before Christmas. But then his work schedule got in the way. Then personal stuff kept postponing the journey from here to there. It’s now more than a month past Christmas, and still the thing sits here. The very existence of this increasingly delayed present now makes me anxious. It’s an understandable gift within the context of Christmas, but removed from the holiday season, I’m afraid that it’s going to seem far too weird. The whole situation is starting to depress me. I’d deliver it myself, but – as I’ve said before, and will likely say again – Portland is just too far to walk.]

Desire, But No Drive

I've been wanting to continue writing and posting stuff ever since I got back home. But once I sit down at the computer, I find that there's none of the required 'umph' to get me going. Blogging seems important at all times except when I sit down to blog.

Sitting down to blog has accomplished the playing of lots and lots of Minesweeper and Spider Solitaire. It's seen me rewatch the first five seasons of House (among other miscellaneous stacks of TV-on-dvd). It just hasn't seen me do any actual blogging.

Half-Written and Unposted

While I was convalescing at the home of my siblings (and their significant others), I did manage to produce a series of half-finished blog entries. I wrote about my PE experience and hospitalization. I wrote about horniness in the face of mortality. I wrote about lots of things. No single complete blog entry, but lots and lots of half-entries, partial entries, and 'good starts'.

Unfortunately, when I finally was ready to go back home, there were no blank DVDs in their house. And I didn't have my flash drive with me. So all of the stuff that I'd written (along with a bunch of stuff that I'd grabbed from online -- including countless naughty pictures found on Tumblr) were left on my (then) future brother-in-law's computer.

Eventually, all that stuff was burned to disk and delivered to me. But there was a problem. My sister's (then) fiance burned it to disk, and then immediately deleted it off of his computer. Now, it might just be a function of my OCD that makes me double check to make sure that the files on the disk work before I ever delete anything that needs storage/archiving. But I can't understand these people who burn a disk, don't bother to check it, then delete the files off of the hard drive.

The disk, as you've probably surmised, was unopenable. Corrupt. Dead. All files lost.

Big blogging set-back.

Darklady’s Voodoo Tiki Lounge Polyween Party (and Other Unbloggables)

I had planned on writing and posting some event reports in November. Darklady's Halloween party, for one. And OryCon (Oregon's annual sci-fi convention).

Why didn't I post about what went on at these events? Because I didn't end up going to them.

I discovered in late October that although I'd been planning to attend Darklady's party, my lungs weren't yet up to the task. Then when Zorch's November schedule came up, it turned out that he'd had the dates wrong in his head, and ended up having to work when the con was. (Luckily, this was discovered before the cut-off for membership purchase and hotel room reservation. That last possible moment is usually when Zorch’s procrastination tank runs dry.)

Potentially amusing side note - when OryCon fell through, Zorch said, "Well, let's do RustyCon instead." RustyCon takes place in Washington, and this year was held January 15th through 17th. Unfortunately my sister's wedding was the 16th, so that ended up not happening, either. Right now we're looking at MAYBE doing Norwescon (also in Washington) in early April. I'm not holding my breath.

Other Things

Okay. So now I'm blogging again. (Maybe. Unless this is a one-time aberration, which it may very well be. Couldn't say for sure. Too early to tell.)

Before I continue on with the recently conceived post topics floating around in the back of my head, I've got to finish up some unfinished business in the next few posts.

For example, I never did get around to concluding the three-part 'Crush or Fetish?' series. And I want to get the posts about all of my PE-nonsense out of the way.

And the Most Important 'Old Business' Note of All

The last post I made prior to the whole PE episode was my event report on Darklady's 'Detention Hall Mini-Party' back in early September. While 'writing' the second draft/edit-&-cleanup versions of the post, I discovered this clumsy and awkward (but kinda catchy) turn of phrase contained therein: 'Plus, with the ever-present dark glasses (thank you, extreme light sensitivity), it probably looks like I’m trying to look like I’m not trying to look.'

Now, the logical thing to do under these circumstances would probably have been to reword it so that it read more smoothly. Rewriting everything after the parentheses, so that it read something like, “it probably appears that I’m trying to look like I’m not actively leering, ogling, and just plain staring at the naked people and their erotic activities.”

But logic and I oftentimes seem to be at opposite ends of the spectrum. So, instead of fixing it, I left it as it exactly as it was, then ‘hung a lantern’ to call attention to it. My ‘fix’ was simply to add this bit in parenthesis right behind it. 'Man, I want to have someone set the last half of that previous sentence to music.'

Not long after posting that piece, I discovered that one of my readers went ahead and did that very thing. He took the time and effort to set the damn thing to music.

Of course, when I initially found it, I clicked on the link, and was informed that I had to have Flash Player 9 installed in order to listen to audio. And since I don't have the authority to randomly install software on the library's computers . . . I ended up having to wait until I was recovering at my brother and sister's house, post-PE before I could finally listen to it.

Go here. Listen. It's inspired. Kind of makes me want a 'Time Delay' soundtrack album.

My Recent Medical Crisis, Part Zero -- Prelude to a Prelude

noreply@blogger.com (Zeitgeist the Clown) — Sat, 17 Oct 2009 08:27:00 +0000

My previous entry hit the blog on September 16th. So I've once again gone another month without posting. And, as always, I've got my excuses prepared. I gotta tell you, though. This time, I think my main excuse is the best one yet. Sure, I've got little side-excuses. All of my trips to the library in late September were unplanned-for, so I never had my flash drive with me. I had stuff to post on the "Time Delay Overflow" blog that never got posted because of that.

But the main reason that it's been a month since I last posted was because I've been incapacitated with scary health stuff. A life-threatening medical problem with accompanying hospitilization? Yeah. The blog was justifyably gathering dust this time.

So, without further ado . . .

Spoiler Warning - I'm Not Dead!

Okay. Over the course of several forthcoming blog entries I'm going to be telling a story about my current medical situation.

This story starts out with me feeling more poorly than usual. It includes two trips to the ER, both of which result in me being admitted to the ICU. And by time the story catches up to what is currently 'present day' as I sit here writing this, it'll also involve a stretch of daily trips to an outpatient clinic for daily injections, the world's most bruised stomach, and a (still ongoing) convalescence at the home of my siblings.

But since I have no idea how far into this story I'm going to get the first time out (or at each successive stage thereafter), I've decided to reveal some of the key plot points up front, so that those of you with an actual interest in my life will know what's going on before I finally get to writing about things like a diagnosis. Building suspense and setting up cliffhangers are fine in fiction, but it's probably not fair to run several posts worth of this story before ever getting to a diagnosis. That'd just be mean. So:

And the Diagnosis Is . . .

I suffered a pulmonary embolism. I had -- unbeknownst to me -- blood clots in my leg that broke off and took up residence in my lungs. "Multiple blood clots in both lungs," as the ER doctor told me. This made me basically stop breathing, and as breathing is apparently a necessary biological function, this caused all manner of wacky problems. (Including chest pain.)

A day after they sent me home, I developed pain running down my left arm, in conjunction with my chest pain -- which I've always been told was the primary warning sign of a heart attack. So, I went in again, and this time had a much longer stay, despite the much welcome news that I had NOT suffered a myocardial infarction. Don't know what that pain was, but it wasn't a heart attack.

Anyway, the doctor told me that my recovery time (as far as being able to breathe like I should be able to, and return to all of my pre-embolism activities) will be "weeks, if not months". (Yikes.) And I'm now on blood thinners, in an effort to keep new clots from forming. Which is good on that count, but . . . I'm the king of falling down and cracking my head, and I am always covered in little cuts and scrapes. So now I'm on medication which makes my blood take longer to clot. I keep expecting to get a superficial cut on my arm during a fall or seizure and bleed to death from it.

Sickness Ain't Sexy

I'm not sure how many posts it'll take for me to tell the whole story. I am one long winded sumbitch, after all. Nor am I sure how often I'll be posting. My siblings have internet here at the house, so I've got access while I'm here. But for some reason writing seems to tire me out. So I'm not going to rush this. (Or, I'm going to try not to rush this, at least. I'll either take it easy, and do this in managable installments, or start a marathon writing session and be found passed out on the floor underneath the computer desk. Whichever.)

But pulmonary embolism (and all the fun stuff that goes with it) doesn't really seem all that sex-oriented, and this is still a sex-blog (as much as it's ever been, anyway). So the posts dealing with my recent medical nonsense will probably go up on the blog among and between other posts about naughtier stuff.

After all, I'd really like to spend a little bit of time talking about pussy. And the whole nurse fantasy/fetish thing. Non-descriminating female sexual intercourse enthusiasts (or, to use the more common and typically derogatory term for that particular archtype, 'sluts'). Erotic and/or pornographic still images found online (and some of my personal preferences therein), Some strange thoughts that I've had (post-embolism) regarding submission. Questions of etiquette in a sexual setting. There's also some discussion to be had about my renewed sense of urgency regarding the loss of my virginity and becoming 'fully' sexually active.

(Plus I've still got to eventually finish writing/posting the 'Fetish Crush' series.)

Prior to all of this recent medical nonsense going on, I did have a vague schedule for the blog, but that's been all shot to Hell now. (Especially by the fact that all of my notes on just what that schedule was are currently on my computer at home, whereas I'm here at my siblings' place.)

So the big Time Delay ship is currently running without charts. (Or sails. And with just the one oar, I'm rowing in circles. Plus, there's nobody manning the galley. Yikes.)

But as for now, it's naptime. Zzzzzzzzzzzz . . . . .

Darklady's Detention Hall (an Event Report)

noreply@blogger.com (Zeitgeist the Clown) — Thu, 17 Sep 2009 01:42:00 +0000

On September 5th, I attended another Darklady party. (Woo-hoo!)

Welcome to another big damn long event report. (Even ripping large chunks out of the first draft, this still ends up being over 5000 words. I’ve got to work on that ‘brevity’ thing.)

The Ride

My ride to-and-from this party was the same one kind enough to give me a lift to-and-from Darklady’s Masturbate-a-Thon back in May. His name is JeannieJ, and I’m now wondering about proper pronoun usage for a guy in full drag temporarily using a female name. Huh. Well, considering that later in the party I’d see him slide his cock into a very horny woman, I think I’ll stick with the whole he/his/him thing in this case.

JeannieJ was dressed schoolgirl, with an incredibly short skirt. (There were a lot of schoolgirl outfits at the party, but I’m pretty sure that JeannieJ’s had the shortest skirt of them all.)

My planned costume hadn’t happened, so I was just there with a backpack full of school supplies and a notebook filled with (naughty) homework assignments.

From Back to School to Detention

The party had originally been announced as Darklady’s ‘Back to Reform School’ Party. It looked like it was going to be the same basic format as her other big events (at least, those few I’ve managed to attend) have been. Both floors of the venue. With socializing, milling about, dancing, etc. on the upper floor. And more intimate shenanigans on the lower.

But low RSVP return caused her to alter the plan beforehand. She canceled the Back to Reform School thing, then announced a smaller event for the same day: Darklady’s ‘Detenion Hall’ Mini-Party.

When this information first got to me, I would have described it as her ‘downgrading the event from party to mini-party’. But that turned out to be almost stupidly incorrect. What instead happened (at least, from the point of view of my personal party experience) is that Darklady – being the fine social alchemist that she is – took all the potential of a big party, crammed it into a centrifuge, and somehow created a form of ‘party concentrate’.

I always have fun at these things, but it’s usually mostly voyeuristic fun, with maybe a little bit of ‘almost’ participation thrown in if that seemingly rare occasion presents itself. But this party . . . this party was something else entirely.

Welcome to Detention

We arrived early (JeannieJ had volunteered to provide music for the event, so he had to load songs and set up playlist and whatnot before the doors opened at 7:00).

It was interesting being down in what is normally the ‘Rubitorium’ space (where most of the actual sexual interaction at a ‘big’ Darklady party takes place) and seeing a wholly different layout. The entire party condensed to one level instead of it’s usual two. There were the usual couple of mattresses behind dark gauzy curtains for semi-privary, as well as one “Hey, Everybody! Watch Us Fuck!” mattress set up. But in place of all the other fuck-me beds were chairs and benches and so on.

A giant sheet hung down from the ceiling in place of a screen to catch images from the projector. Throughout the night it treated us to old black-and-white health-class sex education films, and porn. (Mostly this really weird thing involving Japanese women competing to see whose pussy was physically strongest – a set of physical challenges including spoon bending (NOT using the Uri Gellar method), pencils-breaking (not just A pencil, but a whole pussy-full of them), hauling a trailer filled with other woman, and so on. Other bizarre tasks included dart launching, and some kind of crazy vaginal fire-breathing. (And you thought vagina dentata was scary – “A fire breathing cunt burned down my house!”)

The aforementioned music was a mix of 70s, 80s, and 90s. There was a pot-luck buffet, and a cash bar. Table and chairs, with a stack of party games. All sorts of shindiggy goodness.

A lot of people were in costume. There were a lot of schoolgirl outfits (which got my approval). Some juvenal delinquents with the cigarette pack twisted up in the short t-shirt sleeve. A couple of people showed up in teacher-wear. There was even a nun.

Most of those that didn’t wear a costume matching the party’s theme dressed somewhere along the SEXY to FETISH line.

Oh, and the lovely blonde tending bar was topless.

“Are You Going to Continue to Talk in Class?”

Shortly after the party began, the spanking bench was brought out. A couple of BDSM players (man and woman, don’t know if they were a ‘couple’ or not) went over and set up an impressive array of implements of impact. [Sorry, couldn’t think of an ‘imp-‘ word to use in place of ‘array’. Alliteration FAIL.]

They laid out their tools and toys for easy reach, then laid out their victim on the bench. She was a black BBW, and she was seemed both ready for a spanking and still hesitant about the whole thing. She stripped down to her bra and panties, got on the bench, and then one of the spankers removed her panties, giving her a, “Wait—what?” moment. But she didn’t cry foul and didn’t call her safeword.

They started her out with the standard warm-ups – light tapping the prep the skin, and so on. And after a little bit of that, well, then it was game on. Paddles. Floggers. Canes. Was there a whip? I didn’t actually watch the entire performance, so I can’t attest to their full set of impact toys.

Periodically, the BDSM woman would get into the theme of the evening, and ask her spankee questions like, “Are you going to continue to talk in class?” To which the spankee would, of course, answer, “No!” (Well, usually “No!”. Sometimes it was “Maybe.” At least once it was “Yes.”)

After it was all over, the spankee took her no doubt very sore ass over to a couch to lie down, get a blanket draped over her, and recover.

Strip Poker

In the information sent out prior to the party, one of the things mentioned was Strip Poker. This is another item on the big long list of things that I’ve always wanted to experience, but never have.

In addition to just wanting to play Strip Poker, I also have occasional exhibitionist tendencies that usually lose the battle to my body-esteem issues. It occurs to me that one of the very few ways I’m ever going to be naked in a room full of people is if I HAVE to be. For example, if the rules state that I have to remove my clothing for losing at Strip Poker.

So I promised myself that if the opportunity arose to join a game, I would.

At some point during the evening, while I was watching the hot redhead that I haven’t mentioned yet (Yeah, that’s linear continuity for you!), one of the schoolgirl-attired women walked by carrying her shirt. Someone nearby commented on her lovely bra-encased breasts, and she explained that the reason they were out was because she had just lost her shirt playing strip poker. Lost her shirt, then quit, not really wanting to lose anything else.

Ah ha! Strip poker! I vacated my chair and found the game, then grabbed an unoccupied chair and . . . set it off to the side, sat down, and watched. What a chicken.

The game was Texas Hold’em, and whoever had the lowest hand each round lost an article of clothing. There were three guys playing (not a huge draw for me), and the spankee who I’d already seen mostly naked earlier in the evening when she was bent over the spanking bench.

A couple of hands after I started watching, the dealer asked me if I wanted to play. So I gathered up my courage and moved my chair from the sidelines to the player’s side of the table.

I wasn’t playing to watching my fellow players strip. (Occasionally, women that I’d be interested in seeing wearing less clothing would wander over and watch, but none would ever sit down and play.) No, at this point, I was playing to lose. The exhibitionist desires thought they’d finally found a way to defeat the body-esteem issues.

The game ended as a result of all but one player losing ALL of their clothing. That one player – the last man standing, or ‘last man clothed’ – hadn’t had the worst hand in a round all game. He hadn’t taken off a single article of clothing. That last player was, of course, me.

What the fuck?

Hot Detention Hall Redhead

There’s a standard piece of sex furniture at Darklady events called a ‘monkey rocker’. It looks kind of like a mutant, mostly-headless rocking horse with a dildo poking up through its saddle.

To use the monkey rocker, you put a condom on the dildo (it is a shared toy, after all), lube it up if necessary, and then climb on top (making sure that you’re either properly partially naked, or at least have an appropriate orifice exposed to the rocker’s ‘business end’). The dildo then slides up inside you (I’m assuming it works equally well vaginally or anally). You grab hold of the handle where the head would be on a traditional rocking horse, and then begin to rock back and forth.

And what does the act of rocking do? It pushes and pulls the dildo up into and down out of you. The monkey rocker fucks you.

After the spanking, flogging, whipping, caning, et ceteraling was over, the spanking bench was moved out of the way, and the monkey rocker was brought out. And it wasn’t too long afterwards that this sexy plump little redhead walked over to it and prepped it for use. Then she climbed aboard and started a-rockin’. “This is one of the reasons I come to Darklady events,” she said to nobody in particular. “I can’t afford to buy one of these for myself.”

I watched this Hot Detention Hall Redhead (which is now officially her ‘not her real name’ name – and I’ll call her HDHR for short) fuck herself on the monkey rocker for awhile. I could have stayed there and watched her for as long as she wanted to ride, but . . .?

One of Darklady’s rules (and I’m paraphrasing here) is that respectful watching from a distance is fine. Creepy leering is not. And I haven’t yet figured out the distinction. I’m kinda creepy looking to begin with. Plus, with the ever-present dark glasses (thank you, extreme light sensitivity), it probably looks like I’m trying to look like I’m not trying to look. (Man, I want to have someone set the last half of that previous sentence to music.) Which is creepy in and of itself.

So I watched for awhile. But then I got up and wandered the perimeter of the party. When I got back to the monkey rocker, she was still riding it, but the guy that she’d come to the party with (husband, boyfriend, owner, slave, fuckbuddy, or whoever) had now joined the action. She was still straddling the monkey rocker, rocking away, but now he was behind her, fucking her as well. (Anally, I’m assuming, although I suppose it’s possible that he and the rocker were giving her a double vaginal penetration.)

I sat in a different place to watch this time, because somebody was sitting in the chair I had vacated. Sitting, creepily leering, and slowly jacking off. It didn’t take too long for her to look over at him and . . . invite him over. He traded his hand for her mouth, and now she had either phallus or phallic-shaped objects in all three holes.

I watched that for awhile before moving on to the Strip Poker table.

After becoming the big Strip Poker winner (?) I ended up standing outside the bathroom door, needing to pee. And guess who should step into place behind me? That’s right: HDHR and her partner. By this point, all she was wearing was her shoes and a pair of red stockings and garters.

While waiting for the bathroom to become available, I told her, “You are incredibly hot. I just thought you should know that.” She thanked me for the complement, and before further small talk could happen, the bathroom door opened. So, in I went.

After I was done, HDHR and I switched places, and I took up a position where I could see the bathroom door, but not so close that it would seem like I was waiting to ambush her. She left the bathroom, engaged in two bouts of conversation with other people, and then I made my clumsy awkward move.

“If I asked nicely, could I get permission to play with your nipples?” She thrust her breasts out at me, which I took as permission. As I started to take hold of them, she said that I’d need to be a little bit gentle – while she normally liked rough nipple play, they’d already had a lot of play that night, and were starting to get tender.

So, as I’m standing there lightly pinching and rolling the nipples of this mostly naked sexpot, there’s a thought bubbling up from the back of my brain. The question that I’ve wanted to ask every woman whose bare breasts I’ve ever played with at one of these events, but only ever think of after we’ve parted ways.

While still playing with her nipples (and now also moving my hands outward, squeezing her breasts), I look her in the eyes (again: very effective with the dark glasses) and ask, “Is there anything else I’m allowed to do?”

She asks me what I have in mind, and I suddenly realize that saying, “One or more of the following:” and then rattling off a long list of sexual activities probably won’t be the most endearing move. So I say, “I don’t know . . .” while my brain stumbles for a better response.

I’m about to tell her that she is incredibly sexy and I am woefully inexperienced, and that what I have in mind is pretty much anything she’s comfortable letting me try. But then before I can marry that phrase to the pause at the end of “I don’t know”, she tells me that she’s tired, and needs to eat and then rest for a little bit. But then maybe she’ll find me later on in the night and we can do something.

Of course, being told “not now, maybe later” is a familiar answer. It means, “Good Lord, no! I don’t want you touching my sex parts! You’re just lucky I’m far more well mannered to scream out what I’m thinking instead of giving a polite-but-nebulous answer.” So, I figured that was the end of it.

Later on, I see HDHR talking to JeannieJ for awhile. Then she disappears again. Eventually I start talking to JeannieJ about the inflatable dice game that was going on (I think that maybe I was in Detention for writing non-chronological event reports). While he’s telling me I need to go play the game, HDHR comes back over, leans over to him, and says something very quietly in his ear.

Then she leans in toward me and quietly says, “. . . and you can come along and do some touching if you want.” I follow this procession to the one exhibitionist mattress, where HDHR lays down on her back, and JeannieJ starts playing with her right breast. I lay on my side next to HDHR and start playing with her left. Still wondering just what the definition of ‘some touching’ all entails.

Playing with nipples, squeezing breasts, rubbing and stroking any and all of her exposed flesh (and stocking-encased flesh, for that matter). It’s very, very nice. I’m liking this a lot. JeannieJ is doing the same, and at one point his hand goes down between her legs, and she makes a noise of protest when he slips a finger up inside of her. So, the finger retreats, and he continues doing what he had been. Same thing I’ve been.

Then he starts sucking on her nipple. There’s a little while where he sucks on right nipple while I merely twiddle with her left. (“Some touching”.) So I ask, “Am I allowed to suck, or is it JUST touching?”

She tells me to suck on her nipple. I lick it a couple of times, then vacuum it into my mouth, which makes her gasp. I’ve got the nipple, areola, and some of the surrounding farmland in my mouth, and I’m alternately sucking it in and pushing it outward with my tongue.

The second time that JeannieJ’s hand starts to work between her legs, there’s no protest. And as the pleasure-noises HDHR was making increased, JeannieJ abandoned her breast and concentrated fully on what he was doing between her legs.

So for awhile, I was sucking on one breast, groping and fondling the other, then switching between the two (as best I could from my position on her left side). For awhile, anyway. We’d attracted the attention of another horny-looking guy, and when HDHR noticed that, she told him, “You can join in, if you want,” which sent him immediately mouth-first to her right breast.

JeannieJ used his fingers to bring her to orgasm a couple of times, based on the screaming, thrashing, writhing, and, “Oh, God, Yes, Yes, Yes!”-ing she did. Then came the point at which she let out a low moan and said, “I need a cock in my cunt . . . and one in my mouth.”

She rolled over onto her knees and elbows, and my brain is now going a mile-a-minute. I’ve got a huge stomach and a small penis. I love the size and shape of HDHR’s ass, but it’s not conducive to someone with my body type fucking her from behind. So that’s out. But her mouth . . . I could find my way in there. Could this be it? Could this finally be my first real blowjob?

And as I’m about to tell my body-esteem issues to fuck off and strip from the waist down, the other guy turns to JeannieJ and asks, “You want the front or the back?”, stripping down himself. It’s amazing how I can weigh 450 lbs and sometimes be practically invisible.

It was quickly agreed that JeannieJ would start out as the cock she needed in her cunt, while the other guy would put his in her mouth. JeannieJ went to put on a condom (which he had to have me open for him, as his hands were too slippery from having been up inside of her), and the other guy positioned himself in front of her. Before she started sucking on him, HDHR told me that I could still keep my hands on her, which I did. (Yes, it felt like the consolation prize. But the consolation prize was still a naked redhead, so . . . )

JeannieJ fucked HDHR while she sucked the other guy’s cock. Then, after awhile, they switched – the other guy fucking, and JeannieJ getting sucked. It didn’t take very long for the other guy to fill his condom and pull out. I’d been stroking her bare back and the side of her ass. I thought about asking permission to finger her, but her mouth was full, and I figured that if she didn’t want me there, she’d let me know.

So I slid a finger inside of her, and let it explore. In and out. Around the walls. With a second finger, I was able to do more, and she started making interesting noises around JeannieJ’s cock, still in her mouth. Better noises came when I had three fingers working in her. I had a fourth finger on that hand, and I sent it in search of her clitoris. I found it fairly easily and stroked it a few times, and that’s when she broke her oral rhythm on JeannieJ – to tell me that the clit was too sensitive, and to leave it alone. So, while she took JeannieJ’s cock back in her mouth, I tried to figure out where to put that fourth finger. Guess where I picked? Right alongside the other three.

At this point, all I wanted to do was to grab the bottle of lube and continue pushing my hand inward. Add my thumb into the mix, then slide my hand into her up to the wrist (and maybe beyond). Finally fulfill my longheld fisting fantasy. But I didn’t know if she’d be into that. Didn’t want to stop and ask permission. Didn’t want to be exiled from the play area (so to speak). So I just continued the four-digit fingering that I’d been doing.

Eventually, JeannieJ came and when that happened, I pulled my fingers out of her. She got up into a kneeling position, and looked like she was done. The other guy (still watching the scene) tossed me a towel so I could wipe the combination of natural and artificial lubricants off of my hand.

After wiping anything resembling thick goo off of my hand, I went to the bathroom to actually wash. When I came back, the other guy had apparently recharged, and was double teaming HDHR along with the guy she came to the party with.

The Inflatable Dice

There were a pair of inflatable dice at the party. Naughty dice. The kind where one die lists an action, the other die lists a body part. So you can roll results like ‘Kiss Lips’ or ‘Tickle Ass’.

The first dice (which would quickly become known as the ‘noun’ die) had the following written on its faces: Ears, Lips, Neck, Chest, Ass, and Your Choice. The ‘verb’ die’s six faces read: Rub, Massage, Lick, Kiss, Tickle, and Surprise. Each dice was inflated to about a foot in all its little cube-like dimensions.

Starting early on during the party, you could almost always find a couple of people playing around with them. But at some point, ‘a couple’ morphed into a group, and there was a rough circle of chairs and couches holding a dozen (give or take) players. Whoever got to the dice first rolled them, performed the action on whoever rolled the dice previously. Then that person became the recipient of the action that came up on the next dice roll, and so on.

I’d been thinking about joining the game earlier. Straddling the wallflower/active-participant-in-life barrier. That’s when HDHR came over and offered me tactile access to her gorgeous frame, which seemed like the better deal. But once that whole encounter was over with, it was to the dice game I returned. Only not just as a lookie-loo this time. I sat down in a currently unoccupied chair in the circle, and made a grab for the dice as soon as I could.

I honestly can’t remember what my first roll was, or who I had to deliver the action to. (It was probably either rub or massage lips – I know that I racked up an inordinate amount of those rolls throughout the evening.) But whatever it was, I took the roll, did the thing, and then sat down.

Then Darklady took up the dice, and rolled ‘massage ears’. She walked over to me, and massaged my ears. With her breasts. (Hey, it didn’t say WHAT to massage ears with, after all.) That’s probably why I can’t remember my first roll. Darklady’s breasts erased my short-term memory before it hit long-term storage. She rubbed her tits on the side of my head, and then leaned in and thanked me for coming to her party. Yeah, uh, it’s great to be here. No, really – GREAT TO BE HERE!

[Let me say right upfront that I had fun with that dice game. There were some women there whose nouns I was very eager to verb. But in all honesty, I’d have been perfectly content at that point to send all of the other players home, and just continue the game with Darklady and myself. Why? I don’t know. Maybe because I have this giant fucking crush on Darklady, and I was in a situation where it was possible that ‘naughty touching’ might ensue? Perhaps.]

I tried not to hog the dice. Moreso – and this was the difficult one – I tried not to lunge for the dice immediately after Darklady took a turn so that I could verb some of her delicious looking nouns.

There was one woman who was very ticklish, and every time I rolled after her, the verb was ‘tickle’. And whatever that virus was, it spread, because soon everyone was rolling ‘tickle’ for her.

I rolled ‘tickle your choice’ for another very lovely lady, and when she asked me what I wanted, I told her that ideally, she’d need to take off her shoe. She said, “I can do that, it just takes a few minutes.” (Very high heel, lots of straps and buckles.) So she removed her shoe, and I tickled her stocking-clad foot. And, of course, complimented her on having very nice toes.

I had my someone surprise my ass with a one strike, double handed spanking. I had someone surprise my chest with a purpling of my nurples.

I rolled ‘massage chest’ after one of Darklady’s rolls once, and since it did say massage chest and not massage bra . . . she removed said support garment for the duration of my massage. And as I’m standing there pretending that groping and fondling qualifies as a massage, something occurs to me. “Wait a minute,” I exclaim as I slowly begin sinking to my knees. “It didn’t say WHAT to massage your chest with!” And as Darklady agrees that, “No, it didn’t” I begin using my mouth.

So there I am, on my knees, sucking on Darklady’s breasts, thinking to myself, “This is the best Darklady party EVER.”

Afterwards, we both sit down again, and not too many turns afterwards, someone rolls ‘surprise your choice’. Which makes my brain light up. I respectfully wait for someone else to take one more turn verbing Darklady’s nouns. But after that, the next time she throws the dice, I snag them before she even carries out their commands.

Of course, once she’s done that, she excuses herself to the restroom, so I have to wait. When she finally gets back and sits down, I stand up. I make a big production of moving the dice around, but then deliberately place them on the ground so that they read ‘surprise’ and ‘your choice’. Then I look around at the other players, and ask, “That’s a legitimate roll, right? That counts?” I figure the worst that will happen is that I’ll be made to reroll, and still get to do something to/with Darklady.

But no demand for a reroll comes. A couple of people laugh, but everyone seems okay with it. So I walk up to Darklady, who asks, “Which of my ‘nouns’ are you going to ‘verb’?” And I just sadly shake my head at her illiteracy, and point at the dice which I inform her clearly read, ‘suck toes’.

Again, I’m half-expecting her to veto this and make me choose again. Or roll again. She momentarily gives me a look like she’s going to veto it. But then she starts removing her shoe, and asks, “One foot or both?”

So now I’m sitting cross-legged on the floor with both of Darklady’s fishnet-covered feet at my disposal. (I was really hoping to get bare toes, but the stockings, it appeared, were staying on.) Since it’s kind of difficult to suck on individual toes through stockings, I started off by putting all five of the toes on her right foot in my mouth. Running my tongue over and underneath the group of them. Licking up and down them. And so on. Switching back and forth from foot to foot.

She’d occasionally lurch forward. Shudder. Make a noise that I couldn’t interpret as being good or bad. Despite having the opportunity to suck on Darklady’s toes, I wasn’t going to force her to endure this if she wasn’t into it, so I asked, “Is this okay?”

Turns out, the noise was a good noise. The lurching and shuddering were very good lurching and shuddering.

Whenever it wasn’t her turn in the game, she’d been in conversation with the people around her, which is the only reason why I didn’t suggest that the two of us leave the game and move to a couch or mattress where I could do a more proper job. (Maybe even a job where I could play my fingers up between her legs while her toes were in my mouth.) But every time her turn was over, she returned to her conversation, and however good it looked like getting her toes sucked was making her feel, I DID NOT want to be told ‘No, thank you’ by Darklady.

Later on in the game, she rolled the dice following one of my rolls, and the dice came up ‘kiss chest’. Again pointing out that it read chest and not shirt, she had me go topless (apparently proving that her requests are at least as powerful as strip poker), and then proceeded to lick, suck, kiss, and bite my chest for what seemed like several minutes. Yes, please.

“Blog, Baby, Blog!”

The party, originally scheduled to end at midnight, finally started to break up around 1:45 or so. JeannieJ went and retrieved his music, I went to the buffet table and reclaimed my sister’s cake pan, and then we prepared to depart.

Before we disappeared, Darklady reappeared (she’d disappeared about twenty minutes earlier – poof!) She thanked us for coming, I thanked her for having us there, told her that I’d had an incredible time, and so on.

And then she said it. She grabbed me by that arm, and exclaimed, “Blog, baby, blog!”

Now, she was visibly ‘a little drunk’ at this point, but since she went on to praise my writing, telling me that I was intelligent and articulate, I’m choosing to believe that it was the Dark One talking, and not the bottle.

In fact, at that moment I thought that my brain was going to cum in it’s pants. (Yes, my brain wears pants. You think I want it running around inside my skull bare-assed naked? Think again.)

I’m a big lonely, horny, fetishy pervert, and I got to suck on (among other things) her toes. But having her praise my writing? That’s tied for 1st place.

The rest of the party wasn’t so bad, either . . .

I CURRENTLY HAVE (YET ANOTHER) LEG INFECTION. ONCE IT GOES AWAY, EXTRA MATERIAL FROM THE FIRST DRAFT (“AND YOU THOUGHT THIS POST WAS LONG”) ALONG WITH OTHER ADDENDUMS WILL BE AVAILABLE FOR PERUSAL AT THE OVERFLOW BLOG HERE.

Sugasm #172 (Here on 'Time Delay', It's Now Sugasm-PLUS)

noreply@blogger.com (Zeitgeist the Clown) — Mon, 14 Sep 2009 03:14:00 +0000

Well, here we are. It’s my fourth Sugasm. (And the second that I didn’t get to vote on for one reason or another.)

Anyway, I will now post the current edition of the Sugasm, as is my obligation for having submitted a blog link to them this time around. But after the reposted Sugasm material, there’ll be more actual blog post. So, stick around, would’ja?

Sugasm #172

HNT courtesy of Sweat Shop Sissy.

The best of this week’s blogs by the bloggers who blog them. Highlighting the top 3 posts as chosen by Sugasm participants. Want in Sugasm #173? Submit a link to your best post of the week using this form. Participants, repost the link list within a week and you’re all set.

This Week’s Picks

A Hot Fuck in a Parking Lot
“We got more daring and soon clothes were a hindrance to our insistent hands.”

I Think I’d Rather Misbehave
“I bet the secret thrill of this has your cock already climbing to attention.”

The Painter
“He says something, small talk, and I stutter something back, lost in the blue depths of his eyes.”

Sugasm Editor
Strildo?

Editor’s Choice
Yet Another Reason You Should Buy a Vibrator

Erotic Poetry
Enigmatic dance
Loved It.

Erotic Writing & Experiences
24 Hours To Cum
Be Careful What You Wish For…
Desire
Embarrassed, Amused and Turned On
Helping Hand
HNT 4 (and a savoury story)
Masturbation Madness
Mornings…
A much needed fucking…
Now She’s Giving The Orders
Shopping Day
This is Lolita on drugs (2)
This Is My Remedy
The Year 39 Update
You don’t want biographical info. I know what you REALLY want.

Sex Advice
Anal Play: Fingering
Brush Up Your Orgasm
Shay’s Condom Tips

NSFW Pics, Videos & Audio
Burns of punishment
Famosas azotables
Fit to be Tied
Free Heidi Montag Playboy Pictures – September 2009
Learning the lesson…
Naked and Caned

BDSM & Fetish
4 Scenes
Collar, Cuffs And Clamps
Driven by lust….
Honey Pass Me the Nut Cracker
The Negress Natters: Submission.
The perfect body for three-minute porn

Sex Humor
How Many Licks?

Thoughts on Sex & Relationships
The Confession…Coming Soon
Half-Nekkid Heavenly Body
In Search of…. my Clitoris
Is this the dark side of porn?
(Mis)Adventures In Dating: Do You Know Who I Am?
Nonstop Orgasms – HER Perspective

News, Reviews & Interviews
Anal Pleasure and Health by Jack Morin
Icegasm Kit
Top Five Tuesday - Win 1000 FREE Porn Minutes

Why There’s More Than Just the Current Sugasm In This Post

I discovered the existence of the Sugasm shortly after I began blogging. And when I found it, I thought to myself, “Holy crap, I need to join this thing! I need my hinky little sex blog listed among all these other fine works!”

So why didn’t I join up, all those months and months ago? That’s a very good question. The answer to which is three simple words. Obsessive-compulsive disorder.

This is MY blog. Therefore, the material presented herein should consist of posts written by ME. And not posts that are entirely reprinted from other sources. This is what my brain keeps telling me, so this is what I’ve done.

Well, eventually (about a month or so ago), I wrestled my brain to the ground, and while pinning it to the floor with my knee, I went ahead and joined the Sugasm.

But it didn’t feel right. Everytime I reposted a Sugasm, it felt like it wasn’t really my blog. I’d look – for example – at entry #88 and think, “Wow, I can’t believe I’ve written 88 posts already!” And then realize, “Oh. I haven’t. Some of those have been Sugasm reposts.” Writing 85 posts is still an accomplishment, but I’d feel deflated.

I don’t know why the solution didn’t occur to me earlier. Not simply reposting the Sugasm, but reposting the Sugasm INSIDE a Zeitgeist the Clown-written blog entry.

So that’s the new plan. And today is its first test.

The Sugasm Selection Process

If I can get to a computer WITH internet access and WITHOUT ridiculously strong content filters between getting the e-mail (informing Sugasm participants of what the current blog entries are) and the voting deadline, then I vote.

It doesn’t always happen. (Sometimes both the email and deadline arrive when I’m in the midst of one of my week-long periods of zero internet access.)

The process goes like this. I open up the email of this week’s Sugasm participants. Then I click on the first entry on the list, save that page to my flash drive, then close it (unread) and move onto the next one, repeating the procedure until I’ve got the entire batch of competing blog entries tucked away on the drive.

Once me and my trusty flash drive get back home I dump everything onto my computer, and read all of the Sugasm candidates. As I do so, some of the posts get dragged-and-dropped into a file marked ‘Sugasm Potentials’. (The others – the poor little blog entries that couldn’t – just stay where they are.)

Then I move my concern to the Sugasm Potentials folder, where I start moving some of the hopeful blog entries into a folder marked ‘Nope’. I usually end up with more than three entries remaining, and that’s when I try and pick the three best from a batch of blogs that are all equally excellent. Yikes.

(And most often, I’m doing this the day of the deadline, which means that once I’ve made my picks, I have to call my brother or sister, have them log into my email account, and send my votes in for me. God, I miss having my own internet.)

I Didn’t Vote, But . . .

This time around, I didn’t have the opportunity to vote. I went to my sister’s house on the early afternoon of Saturday, September 5th. While there, I used their internet for awhile. For some reason, the e-mail from Sugasm had gone into my Spam folder instead of the main folder, so I hadn’t even seen it earlier in the week.

I read through the e-mail, and discovered that the voting deadline had been the night before. (Whoops.) I went ahead and did my page-grabs of that week’s entries anyway. If I’m expecting them to read my submitted entry, it’s only fair that I read theirs, right? (Plus, I knew that I’d be doing the first Sugasm-PLUS thing for this edition, and I wanted to at least be able to tell you all who I WOULD have voted for.)

Saturday night was Darklady’s Detention Hall party (which should be the subject of my next blog post, if all goes well). So I wasn’t able to read any of the blog posts that day. (Or the next day. It was Monday before I got around to it.)

I started out with a folder containing 46 submitted blog posts. And after reading all of those, I’d moved a full half of them (mathematically half – 23 of the damn things) over to the ‘Sugasm Potentials’ folder.

Then I started chucking blogs from there into the ‘Nope’ folder, and ended up with seven blogs remaining.

I reread those seven entries, then skimmed over them a few more times before I was finally able to narrow it down.

The four blog entries that ALMOST made it to my top three for this round of Sugasm voting were –

“How Many Licks” – this is actually the second time in a row that the entry from ‘Phone Sex Confessions’ was in the final batch that I had a difficult time picking the ultimate three entries from. This definitely goes on the list of blogs I need to go grab some archives from next time I’m over at my brother’s house.

“4 Scenes” – having the interest in BDSM activities that I do, I like to read reports of scenes from play parties when I can. Sadly, few of them really grab me like this one did. I’m not sure if it was the writing style, the specific activities reported on, or both, but I liked the end result. A lot.

“Shopping Day” – Let’s see . . . day-long anal stimulation, dominance and submission, anal sex . . . and a flashback to the origin of her relationship with her ‘Daddy’. Yes, please.

“A Hot Fuck in a Parking Lot” – Saying ‘dirty little stroke story’ might sound like a pejorative, but it’s not. We need dirty little stroke stories, especially well written ones like this.

So if these incredible works of kinky bloggage didn’t (or more accurately, ‘wouldn’t have’) made it into my final vote, then what would have?

My top three votes would have been for . . .

“I Think I’d Rather Misbehave” – Dirty little stroke story. More specifically, the hottest (according to my preferences) piece of erotica in this week’s batch of Sugasm entries. Yes, it’s all tease and no action, which isn’t usually my thing, but . . . this one worked for me.

“The Negress Natters: Submission” – It’s not just scene reports I like from the BDSM community. Being technically a novice at most (if not all) things BDSM-ish, I like getting intelligent input whenever I can. And if it’s input from the always entertaining Mollena, well, then so much the better.

“Half Nekkid Heavenly Body” – Nude woman in bathtub. I actually knew this would make the top three the moment I saw it. Why? Let me say it again: Nude woman in bathtub.

Me vs. Them

It’s always interesting to see how close my tastes are to the average tastes of the voters once everything is tallied up.

I made a quick stop at the library on Wednesday the 9th to check email and stuff (and announce the birth of my nephew on Twitter – no, my nephew wasn’t born on Twitter, and stop picking on my weird grammatical structure, would you?). While there, I also grabbed the official Sugasm to see who ‘won’.

The naughty image on the page was the Hot Nekkid Thursday picture of the woman in the bathtub that I’d(‘ve) voted for.

The top three entries were –

“A Hot Fuck in a Parking Lot” – which almost made my top three (and did make my top seven).

“I Think I’d Rather Misbehave” – which DID make my top three.

“The Painter” – which didn’t even make it over to the ‘Sugasm Potentials’ folder. Nothing personal, I just didn’t seem to care for it. I’ve enjoyed stuff from that writer before. This time, I guess the story just wasn’t my thing. No harm, no foul.

The Editor’s Choice was “Yet Another Reason You Should Buy a Vibrator” which was one of the 23 I had to whittle down to 7 (then 3). It was amusing, but this week had so much good stuff in it, that it was quickly passed over by things that more specifically keyed to my particular interests.

And that’s it for Sugasm #172.

Have the Terrorists Won?

noreply@blogger.com (Zeitgeist the Clown) — Fri, 11 Sep 2009 22:05:00 +0000

I’m honestly not sure how to start this one. Today isn’t a celebrated holiday, so I can’t say something like, ‘Happy 9/11, everybody!’. It isn’t really a national day of mourning or anything. (Not eight years later, anyway.) I’m just not sure of the current status of September 11th anymore.

Yeah, it’s the anniversary of (arguably) the most horrible day in American history. But life went on, and here we are.

I’m mainly here today to bitch and moan. (“So what else is new?” asks the dozen faithful members of my audience.) I’ve had a few complaints rolling around in my head for awhile now. Complaints about what? About certain aspects of life in post-9/11 America.

If (Fill In the Blank), Then the Terrorists Win

When the terrorist attacks hit, everything came to a halt. People were scared of another attack. Nobody was really sure what to do.

But then people like Rudolph Giuliani and George Bush started making the speeches. With a sentiment that can be summed up as, “If you _______, then the terrorists win.”

Basically, the message was, “if you allow yourself to be frightened by these acts – so frightened that all you do is spend your days hiding under your bed – then the terrorists win.”

What else went in that blank? Man, oh, man, what didn’t end up in that blank?

If you don’t go back to work, then the terrorists win. If you don’t go back to your regular lives, then the terrorists win. If you (the television networks) don’t go ahead and start the fall season, and give us new TV shows for people to watch, then the terrorists win. If you don’t start buying crap again (thus returning to your position in the economy) then the terrorists win.

Well, what about this? What about “mask”? Does “If you aren’t allowed to wear a mask in public, then the terrorists win?” Or “POBox”? “If you aren’t allowed to rent a post office box and receive mail under a pseudonym, then the terrorists win?”

Welcome to today’s topic.

You Can’t Wear a Mask in Post 9/11 America

Before Zeitgeist the Clown was the sex, kink, BDSM, and fetish persona you all know and love, he was something else entirely. A careful combination of clown and anti-clown assembled with great care for the intention of attending a science-fiction convention.

I had a costume quality oversized tuxedo (yes, oversized for a large fat man – yikes!), white fingerless gloves, a ‘bling’-style Crucifix ring on my finger, and because of greasepaint allergies . . . the mask. The mask was put together using instructions I’d found online in an article entitled: “How to Make a Duct-Tape Bondage Helmet”.

The final layer of the mask was white duct tape, and the clown make-up was applied with colored Sharpie. I looked stylish. (Or frightening. Take your pick.)

This was to be my first ever hall costume for a science-fiction convention, and I was excited.

Of course, when I arrived at the hotel and went to check in all decked out clown-wise, the clerk behind the desk told me, “You can’t wear that mask in here.” He then went on to explain that the hotel didn’t allow anyone to wear anything that fully covered their face in public areas. He specified that I was allowed to wear it in my hotel room if I wanted. And that if it was okay with the convention committee, I might be allowed to wear it inside closed rooms where convention-only activities were taking place, but not in the hallways moving from closed room to closed room. And certainly not in the lobby.

I was shocked. On one level, because I’d pumped a lot (for me) of money into the outfit. But on another level, I was shocked because this was OryCon. This was the home of the person with the fully covered head roaming the hall. My memories of this event from years past were filled with things like exquisitely made Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle costumes that left NO visible human skin showing. Full head masks on all manner of hall costumes.

I asked the guy, “Why?”, and he gave me a sad look. Partly for the situation, I guess, but partly because he thought I might be slow not to know the reason myself. His only answer was, “Welcome to post-9/11 America.”

It’s now years later, and you still can’t wear a mask outside of Halloween. (And I’m sometimes surprised that the government hasn’t simply cancelled that holiday as a threat to Homeland Security.)

I abandoned the original Zeitgeist the Clown concept after that initial costume fail. Only to reclaim it later on when I needed a scene name for the kind of stuff I normally write about here.

I have a new mask (which I wore to Darklady’s circus-themed Masturbate-a-Thon party this year in my capacity as The Official Portland Masturbate-a-Thon Solo Sex Circus Clown) that my sister helped me make (/ made for me).

I like masks. I’d start making and collection Zeitgeist the Clown masks, if only I’d be allowed to wear them. But like the man said . . . welcome to post-9/11 America.

The POBox Hassles

I originally got myself a post office box back in about 1987 or so. If I remember right I used a bill from Columbia House for proof of address, and an Oregon DMV learner’s permit that had expired a year earlier for ID.

I had that POBox until 2002 or so. The last time it came up for renewal, I simply didn’t pay for another year’s rental. The previous year I’d gotten a grand total of ZERO pieces of mail that weren’t just junk mail, and so I figured it was no longer really worth having. (Big mistake on my part, as I’d later come to learn.)

Late last year I decided that I needed a POBox again. I kept putting it off until early this year. When I finally went in to the post office to figure out what I all needed to obtain said POBox, the ID that they required was more than I had.

[Then I subsequently discovered that obtaining some of the ID they required took more ID than I had. Sheesh!]

Eventually, after changing my political party affiliation in order to get a new voter registration card to use as the final necessary piece of ID off of their list of acceptable forms of identification, I went back in again. And while filling out the form to apply for a POBox, a horrible thought occurred to me.

I asked the question, and discovered my fears were confirmed. In order to receive mail, you have to have ID. Even once you have the POBox, in order to receive mail at that postal address, you have to have ID that matches the name on the envelope.

When I had my first POBox, I received mail under my name, two pseudonyms, the name of the ‘company’ I published all of my zines under, and I had yet another pseudonym (never really used) listed under the ‘who can all receive mail at this address’ section of the annual renewal form.

But after planes hit towers, the rules changed. One of the main reasons that I wanted a POBox was so that Zeitgeist the Clown could receive mail. But Zeitgeist the Clown? He has no ID.

I tried finding ways around this. Looked for loopholes. Didn’t find any I could afford. The easiest way would be to start producing a zine entitled “Zeitgeist the Clown” (which I could easily do, just start dumping blog posts into booklets “Best-Of” style – I could even do it on CafePress and not have to do any real physical work for the project), and then spend $100 a year on a small business license. Huh. Yeah, not really a viable option for me, finance-wise.

I’m still thinking about getting a POBox. It just saddens me that I won’t be able to use it to it’s full potential.

Welcome to the Homeland

I’m an American. I live in America. And I was raised to believe that America was the ‘good guys’, and America’s enemies were the ‘bad guys’.

In World War II, the bad guys were the Germans. During the Cold War, the bad guys were the Russians.

According to my fellow Americans, the Germans lived in Germany. The Russians lived in Russia. But if you asked the Germans and the Russians where they came from, Germany and Russia wasn’t the default answer. It was, respectively, the Fatherland and Mother Russia. Mother Russia was sometimes also called the Motherland.

On September 11th, 2001, our enemies were terrorists. And they redefined the ‘bad’ in ‘bad guy’. None of this Geneva Convention-friendly, “Hey, load your weapons and meet us out on the battlefield” stuff. Nope. No declaration of war, just flip the switches from ‘airplanes’ to ‘massive flying bombs’ and crash them into buildings filled with civilians.

Lots of stuff happened here in reaction to the terrorist attacks on 9/11, not the least of which was the formation of the Department of Homeland Security.

Department of Homeland Security. The first time I heard it, my jaw dropped. Wow. I couldn’t fucking believe it. They’d already signed the USA PATRIOT Act into law. And after so many years of fighting villains who came from places like ‘the Fatherland’, and ‘the Motherland’, (the _______land) suddenly our country had gone from America, the Good ol’ U. S. of A. . . . to the ‘Homeland’. It made me stop and wonder if it was a sign of things to come.

“Papers? Papers, please? Papers?”

Terrorized But Not Terrified

When 9/11 happened, one of my biggest wishes was that I had a way to print and sell T-Shirts. [This was before I’d heard of CafePress. Long before any of my – so far all horribly failed – experiments with selling product through them]

I wanted to sell T-Shirts with the slogan, “Terrorized But Not Terrified”. Sure, you’ve struck us with terrorist attacks, but are we scared of you? Fuck no, we’re Americans, damn it! If anyone should be scared, it should be you. Scared of what we’re gonna do when we catch you little bastards.

I had a couple different designs in mind. The standard, with just the slogan. Then I wanted to add on to the slogan, for those really feeling manly and up to the challenge: “Terrorized, But Not Terrified – Come and Get Us”. And then (and I was never really sure about this one), the same basic elements, but with the slogan on the back and a bullseye on the front. A bullseye composed of thirteen alternating red and white circles, with the center spot being blue, and containing fifty tiny little white stars.

That was then. This is now.

We were terrorized on 9/11. I’m starting to get a little terrified now. Just . . . not of the terrorists.

You hear it all the time from people living in neighborhoods that have gone 'bad'. "This used to be such a nice neighborhood. But now I've had to put bars on my windows, and I'm scared to walk down the street at night."

They're aren't putting bars on the windows in my neighborhood. Think bigger. The government is putting bars on the windows of my country.

A long time ago, Benjamin Franklin said, "Those who would give up essential liberty to purchase a little temporary safety deserve neither liberty nor safety."

Much more recently, the Ghost of Benjamin Franklin said to me, "Those who would be forced to give up essential freedoms to purchase a little temporary homeland security are obviously living in post-9/11 America."

Ah, I'm Just In a Cranky Mood

I'm not anti-American. I'm not even specifically anti-Government. (At least, not since we got rid of Bush. Heh heh.) I'm just cranky. I want my POBox. And my mask. Me and my friends want some of the other stuff that's been denied us by the USA PATRIOT Act. And we don't want to live in constant fear that the bizarre and wide-ranging powers granted to government agencies by said piece of legislation will allow them to stomp on us for whatever they want, whenever they want.

Anyway, next post, Time Delay will be back to it's usual variety of sex, BDSM, kink, fetish (and whining about how I can't get anyone to engage in sex, BDSM, kink, or fetish play with me).

Oh, and remember: If you and your friends (and their friends, and their friends' friends) don’t read my sex blog . . . then the terrorists win.

MORE BLOG-LIKE RAMBLINGS ON THIS TOPIC ARE (OR MORE LIKELY 'SOON WILL BE') AVAILABLE ON THE OVERFLOW BLOG HERE.

The Darklady (Crush or Fetish, Part Two)

noreply@blogger.com (Zeitgeist the Clown) — Thu, 10 Sep 2009 21:45:00 +0000

This was intended to be posted way back on August 19th. It’s been mostly written since about that time. It mentions ‘upcoming’ events that have already happened here in real time. I’m leaving it like that because . . . well, just because I’m quirky, I guess.

In today’s post, I talk about Darklady, who is the object of my affection. Wait, is that right? Affection? Hmm. Erotic infatuation? Obsession? I don’t know. How about this: She is a living, breathing sexual fetish for whom I am a fetishist.

She is the Darklady, and she is one of my two current ‘fetish crushes’.

Who Is the Darklady?

The Darklady. Just who is she?

She is an erotic multimedia whirlwind. She’s one of those infamous movers-and-shakers. She’s a salacious empress with a naughty little empire.

Theresa “Darklady” Reed. Sex writer. (Journalist. Columnist. Blogger. Critic. Author of two produced porn screenplays, and a bunch of erotic stories.)

She’s an internet radio personality, a public speaker, a workshop presenter and panel discussion moderator. Party throwing genius and fundraising wizard. Coalition-builder. Et cetera and ad infinitum.

She was Ms. Oregon State Leather 2004, and a competitor for the 2005 Ms. World Leather title. Libertarian candidate for the Oregon House of Representatives in 2002 and Oregon Senate in 2004. She's been a member of the board of directors (ranging from generic board member to vice-chair) for a number of boards covering a variety of interests from business and politics free speech concerns and the BDSM community.

(Now, I don’t believe that a person is simply the sum of their credentials, but seriously . . . who wouldn’t adore a person that could boast the aforementioned resume? If we were the same sex, she’d be the answer to the question, “What do I want to be when I grow up?”)

She was once in a car wreck that caused her death. Three times. Luckily, they were able to revive her each time she died, And to the best of my knowledge, she hasn’t died since.

[I think that it’s completely unrelated to her death and resurrection, but she also has a group of followers. The Darklings – who aid and abet her in throwing her sexy parties – strike me as being less 'Disciples of the Resurrected One' and more 'Band of Merry Men (and Women)'.]

I want to know more about her. I want to sit and converse with her. But that doesn’t seem likely. Why? Well . . .

The Quest For Darklady

One of the more (personally) frustrating factors regarding Darklady is my near-complete inaccessibility to her. And not just because she lives in Portland and poor transportationless me lives umpteen towns away, either. The story begins thus:

I think that my discovery of the existence of Darklady was when I became aware of what would have been her (then upcoming) third annual Masturbate-a-Thon. It was held in May (I’m assuming) of 2003, and I SO wanted to go to that event.

The first Darklady party I actually attended was her late Halloween party in November of 2008. Between the 2003 Masturbate-a-Thon and the 2008 Halloween party, I wanted to attend every Darklady event that I heard about. Twice I almost went to one. On one of those occasions, the person I was going to go with called it off over a month in advance. The other time was when I was all set to attend the 2008 Masturbate-a-Thon, but lost my ride the day before the event.

Several years ago, I started seeing her name appear as a guest and panelist for OryCon (Oregon’s annual science-fiction convention). Starting in the early 90s, there was about a four or five year stretch where Casper (not his real name) and I would hit OryCon every year. Then my brother and I – usually accompanied by Zorch (not his real name, either) – hit a couple of OryCons in the early 00s. This ‘Darklady’ person I’d been trying to meet waited until I wasn’t going any more (still lots of interest in the con, but no money/no ride) before she became part of the show.

I’m told that Darklady’s influence at the con has finally created a late night ‘adult’ panel programming track. Something I’d always wished that OryCon would’ve had when I was attending.

(I’ve given thought to attending this year, but . . . my brother doesn’t have the money to go – or to lend me so I can go – and by time the convention gets here, his baby will be just a little over two months old, so that kind of nixes that. Huh. I wonder what Zorch is doing in November? Oh, Zo-orch . . .?)

In addition to her great big sex-positive parties, she also throws smaller events. Once or twice a month there’s a ‘Dinner and Porn Social’ where guests gather for a meal and to watch a themed porn double feature. The night before Valentine’s Day she ran a Quickie Dating-type party. She’s had a couple of ‘Naughty Karaoke’ events, as well as a couple of Erotic Open Mic nights. I’ve been to a grand total of none of these.

I’ve wanted to attend everything. But I always feel like a burden when I have her trying to find me a ride to one of her events. So I try and do that sparingly. I would definitely have tried to get in on the Open Mic stuff, had it not been that on both occasions I was away from internet access from before the announcement/invitation until after the event.

She’s got an internet radio show (“Darklady’s Sexpose”) on RadioDentata.com. I’ve never listened to it. Even if it did air when the library was open, I’m not sure that it would be ‘appropriate subject matter’ for the monks and seminary students milling about the library whose internet I use.

A weekly dose of Darklady’s voice, interviewing people from some branch of the sex community tree? Yes, please! But it doesn’t seem to be archived anywhere. In fact, I managed to stumble upon links to archives of her previous radio show from back around 2006, but both of the archives I’ve found for that are non-functional. Le sigh.

I do follow her on Twitter. But my lack of personal internet access usually means that on the occasions that I do make it up to the library, I get several days (sometimes as much as weeks) worth of tweets of hers to read through at once. There are usually a number of tweets of hers that I would have responded to, had I been able to do so in a timely fashion. But when the tweet in question is four days (or better) old, whatever oddball comment I have in mind doesn’t really seem appropriate.

She’s also got an anatomically correct action figure line, complete with removable outfits, accessories, and scale model sextoys. Plus a Darklady Estates playset and the Darkladymobile. Actually, I’m making that up. She really doesn’t. But wouldn’t it be cool if she did? Chances are, though, if these toys existed, they’d sell out before I found them, and my only chance would be searching eBay and paying ten times MSRP.

Three Times, and (Thus Far) Three Times Only

I have now encountered Darklady a grand total of three times. And, I’ve been at three of her parties. Go figure.

I finally got to meet her when I attended the “Harvest Festival of Hedonism Late Season Polyween Party”.

When I introduced myself, she remembered me from an email I’d sent her weeks earlier. (Which probably didn’t mark me as special so much as it marked me as having chosen a weird-but-memorable scene name. I doubt she remembers every Bob, Sam, and Zeitgeist the Clown that have sent her email. But really, one out of three was all I was hoping for using that example.)

I think that I probably spent most of that party with some sort of deer-in-the-headlights-stare (‘headlights’ in this instance NOT a euphemism for breasts), although I did eventually loosen up and play with a nice pair of headlights (information from previous set of parenthesis no longer applies), as well as get to suck on my first set of bare female toes.

My second Darklady event was her New Year’s Eve Party, which was – for me, anyway – shortlived and eventful. I arrived late, left early, had a full-blown seizure at some point between arrival and departure . . . and then there was the kiss . . .

First things first, though. As I was sitting there twitching, trying very hard not to start seizing, Darklady came over and sat down next to me, making sure that I was all right. I explained there was about a 50% chance that I’d be having a seizure soon, and she asked if there was anything she could do. There wasn’t, but she did continue to sit and talk with me for awhile. At some point after she left to resume her hostessing duties, 50 rose to 100, and I went ahead and hit the ground, seizing and convulsing.

I mentioned a kiss . . . Once it was officially 2009 here on the west coast, Darklady circulated around the party, dispensing New Year’s Kisses. When she approached me, sheer panic with my whole kissing situation (mouth full of bad teeth, limited-to-no kissing experience, extreme self-consciousness over all things smooch-oriented) caused me to attempt to plant one on her cheek. But she was having none of that.

She pressed her lips against mine, and kissed me. I kissed back, as much as I could, all the while thinking, “Jeezum Fucking Crow, I’m physically interacting with DARKLADY!” Then, with me having been well and truly kissed, she moved on.

This incident put two thoughts in my head that remain there to this day. The first of those is, “Darklady now thinks of me as ‘that lousy kisser with the bad teeth’.” The other thought is, “If I ever get my teeth fixed –“ (my dentist’s office staff is still fighting with the insurance company over whether or not I can get an upper denture plate) “—I wonder if I could persuade Darklady to teach me how to kiss?”

[Before writing this post, I reread a bunch of her old blog posts, and came upon the following chunk of text: “. . . French kissing, which I consider to be something of a litmus test, actually. Experience has taught me that if you can’t make my mouth happy, it’s unlikely you’ll make much else happy.” Doomed, I am! Doomed!]

Before Darklady’s 9th Annual Masturbate-a-Thon – The Solo Sex Circus happened, I had somehow become named ‘The Official Portland Masturbate-a-Thon Solo Sex Circus Clown’ by the Dark One herself. (It may have something to do with the fact that I spent all of National Masturbation Month announcing each time I jacked off on Twitter. Also the fact that I was too broke at the time to pay the entry fee, and being a semi-official guest of the ’circus came with free admission. This was another time I was glad I’d picked the scene name I did, as I suppose that ‘Zeitgeist the Accountant’ wouldn’t have been as good a fit with the circus theme and all.)

Darklady and I ran into one another a few times during the Masturbate-a-Thon party. Our first encounter was mainly her checking to confirm that it was indeed me underneath the fully encompassing headmask I wore in lieu of clown make-up. But later on in the party, I tried my hand at flirting with her a few times.

I honestly think that I kiss better than I flirt. [Which is to say, I don’t think I flirt well at all.] Can’t flirt, can’t recognize flirting when (or if) it is directed back at me. When I ask my brain for flirting material, what it hands me is usually far less subtle and way more sexual than I think is probably called for. Of course, I never realize that until afterwards.

[Is there a forthcoming post about my inability to flirt and/or recognize flirting? Probably. It’s just a question of exactly what ‘forthcoming’ means as an implied measurement of time.]

A fourth encounter is forthcoming. Her next party takes place on the 5th of September, and I’m currently attempting to secure a ride.

So, What Makes Darklady a Fetish Crush?

The fetish crush, as I’ve outlined it, comes in two basic forms. The first of these is when you take the classic ‘crush’ and fetishize it. Turning the basic unit of innocent infatuation into a kink for a dirty pervert’s fun. Whee!

The second form of the fetish crush is simply the crush of a fetishist. Not just, “I really like you,” but, “I really like you . . . and I’d like to suck on your toes and have you pee on me.” Etc.

My relationship with Darklady (yes, I’m currently referring to the conjunction of A.) ‘my interest in her’; and, B.) ‘the fact of her existence’ as a relationship for the moment – mainly because it’s an easy word to use) is a little bit of both. It’s partly a crush that’s been fetishized, and partly the crush of a fetishist.

I’ve got a crush on Darklady. And since she’s this incredible sexual entity, it’s almost automatically a fetish crush. But honestly, I’m focusing on – and fetishizing as a result of putting that serious focus on – the crush. Why? Hmm. Good question.

I know of Darklady. Met her three times now. And while I believe in the reality of things like lust at first sight and instant infatuation, I’m pretty sure that the whole ‘love at first sight’ thing is a phenomenon restricted to fictional characters.

I have these feelings for Darklady. Have had since I first met her at the 2008 Halloween party. And knowing that it couldn’t possibly be love, it must be a crush. Right? Sure I’m right. So I hang onto this whole crush thing with a weird deathgrip. And since I’m older than the playground hand-holding-(but-kissing-is-icky) yearning for the girl on the swings (or whereever) . . . it’s the fetish crush.

That’s the fetishized crush in a nutshell. Crush of a fetishist . . . that one goes shell-less, unless we can find a BIG nut somewhere.

Way back when, during a conversation about the opposite sex, someone asked me a question about what my type was, and I answered, ‘Yes’.

It’s not that I don’t have a type. It’s that I have more than one. (Several. Many.) If I gave it serious thought, I think it would be easier to list the couple of types that I DON’T go for.

As far as body types go, I like bodies, and Darklady’s got one. She’s nicely curved, and has used terms like ‘plush’ and ‘plump’ to describe herself. I like a woman with (as the euphamism goes) a little meat on her bones. She’s hot and sexy. (And her physical form is made even more so by the intelligence and personality driving it around.)

I love ideas, and I love clever phrasing, and normally when I find it, I think to myself, “Cool.” (Or more often, “Shiny”.) But when I hear the ideas and the smart piece of dialogue from the Dark One, my immediate thought is, “I want her.” [Like when she was having a discussion on Twitter about being atheist, and described it thusly: “Frankly, I'm pretty much like a monotheist except I believe in one less god. ;-)” I want her.]

I don’t know if I’ve got a ‘thing’ for women wearing glasses, or if it’s just that a number of the women I’ve found to be sexy have coincidentally been wearing them. But Darklady sports the spectacles, and whether they qualify as a fetish for me or not, she wears them well.

She’s got my favorite hair color, which is to say, NON-blonde. More specifically, she’s got long brunette locks shot with streaks of red. Not the kind of red that you find in the hair color of natural redheads, but rather the shade you’d find on the side of a fire truck. (A red firetruck, not a yellow one – I know that somewhere, someone was questioning that. I would have been.) So her hair is a fetish bonanza.

[And I know it’s not polite to discuss a lady’s age . . . so I’ll just say that she’s enough older than me to feed those ‘sexy older woman’ fantasies I’ve always had, but figured I’d have to abandon now that I’m currently in the age range that those ‘older women’ always were when I was a teen.]

Other fetishy stuff . . .

Back in late June, Darklady was tweeting from the floor of the CybernetExpo. And at one point, responding to a question about whether anything exciting was going on yet, she sent the following update: “So far the big gossip is that the man behind Marquee magazine wants to suck my toes & get a foot job from me. :-)”

Shortly thereafter, she updated that information with: “Alas, the man who wants to suck my toes is NOT the Marquee behind Marquee magazine, but perhaps it’s some kind of sign of things to cum. ;-)”

I found myself sitting in front of a computer up at the library not long after she sent those tweets, and I just couldn’t help myself. I had to throw my two e-cents in. I’d never actually seen the Dark One’s feet – shoes and boots, yes. Feet, no. But I was hot for this woman, and my mind was now flooded with thoughts of toe-sucking and footjobs.

I responded to that first tweet of hers with this message: “’Meanwhile, back at the ranch’ Zeitgeist the Clown yearns for the exact same thing from you. (Just thought I’d mention that.)”

I checked Twitter again before leaving for the day, and found that she’d sent this response: “@ZeitgeistClown Who knew my size 8.5’s were so much in demand? MUST get a pedicure again one of these days. The dogs are sad looking now.”

So, there has been the occasional Darklady-involved foot fetish fantasy since late June.

Reading her fetish list on FetLife (and doing the appropriate visualization and fantasizing while I do so) is another big turn-on for me. I won’t go into what she’s into, but looking at the list I find two things I’m not thrilled about, one thing that I could see myself getting into, and the entire rest of the list is, “Yes, please!”

Okay, so far I’ve mentioned fetish, fetish, fetish, fetish, and fetish. (Not to mention fetish, fetish, and fetish. Oh, and fetish.)

One of the things that Darklady has said is that for a sex writer and porn reviewer, her personal sex life is surprisingly vanilla. By choice. And again, I can’t tell if it was an epiphany or a last minute justification, but reading that was the moment that my brain nudged me and said, “You know, vanilla is probably where you should start out at, virgin boy.”

Time To Bring This To a Close

Even making a concentrated effort to ‘write short’ and shunting some of what I want to say to the overflow blog, this thing is still going to clock in at well over 3000 words.

So, to try and summarize my position once again: Darklady good. Fire bad. (Or something like that.)

Eventually I’ll get part three of this debacle up on the blog, wherein I’ll pine for my other current fetish crush.

MORE BLOG-LIKE RAMBLINGS ON THIS TOPIC ARE (OR MORE LIKELY 'SOON WILL BE') AVAILABLE ON THE OVERFLOW BLOG HERE

Blogjam (Excuses and Explanations)

noreply@blogger.com (Zeitgeist the Clown) — Thu, 10 Sep 2009 20:21:00 +0000

Welcome to the first ever Time Delay September post. Yeah, during the blog's first year, I kinda skipped the big 'S'-month. I had reasons. Health, injury, hard drive crash, etc. As a result of which, October's first post was mainly explanatory, and was subtitled "Excuses, Excuses".

But I'm running a much tighter ship now. Yeah, you won't see crap like missing stretches of time these days. Currently, the blog is right on time. (Looking around, whistling innocently, refusing to meet your eyes.)

Okay, fine. So, the blog's a mess, schedule wise. Fine. I admit it. But I'm taking steps to get it back on track, and that's gotta count for something, right?

Recent History

Not too long ago, I posted part one of a three part series called "Crush or Fetish?". In the introduction to that piece, I said the following: “. . . this time I’m planning on having it finished and posted inside of a single week . . .”

I can't believe that I actually said that. Typed it up, and posted it for all to see. I've got no idea what I was thinking. Had I wanted to thoroughly jinx myself? I don't know.

I don’t necessarily believe in fate . . . but I definitely believe that fate is out to get me. So why would I give it that much ammunition?

Anyway, in between posting part one of that series and now (when I'm preparing to post part two), my Dad's been rushed to the hospital at least twice (honestly, I've lost count of how often he's been in the hospital in the past few months for pneumonia and congestive heart failure problems). And there's been other stuff going on that's kept me not just away from the library (and therefore internet access), but away from my keyboard at home as well, which is 'where the magic happens' writing-wise.

So: Couldn't get the three parter written and posted in a timely fashion. Okay, I can deal with that. But what really irks me is that I couldn't even get the three parter posted consecutively.

A week after part one ran, "The Year 39 Update" got posted. Autoposted. I didn't choose to post it between parts one and two, specifically. But when I finished writing it in early August, I uploaded it to Blogger and set the 'post options' so that it would run the morning of the 24th. I didn't realize that would be in the middle of what I was trying to keep as an uninterrupted stretch of something else. Yikes.

And after that, I needed to repost the current "Sugasm" before continuing on with other stuff. (It's the rules. If your blog is listed in the Sugasm, you have to repost the thing within seven days. I've been in the Sugasm four times now. I reposted it on time once, late twice, and plan on posting the current one by the end of the week before or at deadline.)

Things are starting to calm down. We've gone from Dad being rushed to the hospital in a near-death state to babies being born. (At somewhere between 4:00 and 4:30 am on Wednesday, September 9th, I became a first time Uncle. After 48 hours of labor, my brother's wife discharged a 7 lb, 7 oz, 20.6 inch healthy baby boy.

Yes, that's right - he was born with a weight of 7/7 on the date 09/09/09. My brother tells me, "Yeah, the kid's going to have obsessive compulsive disorder, just like you and me."

Blogjam

Anyway, I'm determined to get back on track again. Write, write, post, post.

But now the number of posts I want to write vs. how soon I want some of them out vs. certain dates that my OCD-addled brain wants certain posts out on vs. what would normally be a reasonable order to release posts in . . . aaaaaaaarrrrrrggghhhhh!

Blogjam. Too many potential post topics, too little space/time.

For example . . . I attended a Darklady mini-party on Saturday. I should be posting a party report. I should be doing that with the utmost immediacy. (It was a spectacular event, I can't remember ever having a better time at a party, and I can't wait to get the report written and posted!) But before I do that, I need to post part two of the "Crush or Fetish" series. (After you've read both of the posts in question, you'll understand why. Part two of "Crush or Fetish" reads like an accidental and thematic part one of a second series that the party report would be the part two of.)

I've had some bitching that I've been holding off on doing for awhile now. The anniversary of 9/11 seems (to me, anyway) like the perfect time to do that specific bout of bitching. When is that? Tomorrow. So I'd like to get that stuff written up tonight and posted tomorrow if at all possible.

And then I still have to repost the aforementioned "Sugasm" this week. But unlike previous Sugasm reposts, this one will have additional original text to it. So I've got to write that as well.

The current plan is to write the post about Darklady's recent party for posting on Monday. That same plan has me posting two pieces today, one each tomorrow and Saturday, and then the one on Monday. Then hopefully back to the Monday - Wednesday - Friday schedule again.

The Time Delay Overflow

We've just learned that I have difficulty producing and uploading enough material for a blog. So what's the next logical step, if you're crazy? Why, a second blog, of course!

Okay, taking on the other blog won't so much give me two blogs as it will a total of a blog and a half. The new project is called The "Time Delay" Overflow Blog (http://zeitgeistclown.tumblr.com/).

One of the reasons for it's existence is to give me a place to put stuff that I want to write, but that doesn't really fit within the range of whatever post I'm writing on the topic du jour. It will also allow me to go a little meta, and talk about the blog posts themselves more. And hopefully, having a place for excess material will help me keep the word count of the posts in the main blog down to a reasonable size (that's the main complaint I get on the occasions that I do get feedback from readers. "It's too long! I died of old age halfway through! My great-grandchildren had to finish reading it for me, and they hadn't even been born when I loaded the page!" And so on.)

And Speaking of Too Much Text At Once . . .

Since I AM posting two pieces today (and despite my best efforts, the other one runs close to 3500 words), I suppose I should sign off here.

Signing off. And stay tuned.

Sugasm #171 (Late Again, Sorry)

noreply@blogger.com (Zeitgeist the Clown) — Sat, 29 Aug 2009 21:34:00 +0000

Sugasm #171

HNT courtesy of The Perverted Negress.

The best of this week’s blogs by the bloggers who blog them. Highlighting the top 3 posts as chosen by Sugasm participants. Want in Sugasm #172? Submit a link to your best post of the week using this form. Participants, repost the link list within a week and you’re all set.

This Week’s Picks

Kiss Me If You Can

“I love the buildup, the discovery.”

Back To School

“Back at school a stolen glance across the corridor shows me you haven’t forgotten either.”

On Critics and Criticism

“But is it fair? Is it right?”

Sugasm Editor

Review: Babeland’s Under The Bed Restraints

Editor’s Choice

Building

Thoughts on Sex and Relationships

Big, Beautiful Women

The Ghost of Sex Toys Future (Part Three of Three)

Play with Gigi and Iris

Sex Advice

How to Properly Finger a Woman

BDSM & Fetish

And It Rained

A bedtime story

Caning Galleries

Forgiven

Inspiration, pain, subspace and bliss in the afternoon

The Spanking TOP 5 – Delivery #4

Time for a Shower

Tongue & Cheek–Medical Fetish Photo Story

Sex Humor

How Much Dick Would A Dick Cock Cock if A Dick Cock Could Suck Cock?

Out With The Old

News, Reviews & Interviews

Aural Sex Contest

Electrogasm coolness!

Flexi Felix

Jimmyjane Form 6 review

Top Five Tuesday - Judging a Porn By Its Cover

NSFW Pics, Videos & Audio

5 schoolgirls spanked and caned

HNT ~ Dana Lends a Hand. Or Two.

HNT: Strawberry Season - Part 2

Jenny McClain

Kim Kardashian Fucking Sexy Wallpapers

La Petite Mort

Salacious ~HNT

Sex Poetry

Late In The Game

Erotic Writing & Experiences

Cock Love

Confessional: Her Husband

Friday Night Plans: Faith

Fuck

A Hot Summer’s Night Dream

Looks So Nasty in Those Khakis

The Package

The Tale of the Hot Blond Sex Machine (real story)

Wet Dream

The Year 39 Update

noreply@blogger.com (Zeitgeist the Clown) — Mon, 24 Aug 2009 16:00:00 +0000

Back in early January, I posted a list of 39 Things to Do in Year 39
(December 23rd, 2009 through December 22nd, 2010). My intention was to update this list on a quarterly basis. Mainly because I had hopes that I’d actually be doing some of the things on this list instead of just failing at every social function I attended. Whoops.

So here we are, eight months and change into the year, and I’m just now getting around to the first update. Yikes.

#1 – Lose Virginity

No progress here. Still a virgin. In almost every conceivable way. Of the basic sexual acts available to me, I’ve managed to perform a grand total of two of them in my lifetime. I’ve masturbated. (Oh, how I’ve masturbated . . . ) And I’ve gone down on a woman. (One time, and that was almost ten years ago now.)

#2 – Confirm or Deny My Bi-Curiosity

No progress. While no female has consented to play with me (actually, one did consent, but didn’t follow through – didn’t even show up, in fact), I haven’t really even approached any males. I really, really, really want someone to slide their erect penis in and out of my lubed up asshole, but I have no idea how to ask for such a favor. Plus, I have NO ‘gaydar’ whatsoever. With my luck, the first person I’d end up asking would be a macho homophobe, looking for a fight.

#3 – Perform and Receive Oral Sex

No progress. My cock – not ever sucked to completion in the entirety of my life – has yet to see the inside of someone’s mouth this year. (This millennium, actually.)

Likewise, nobody has offered me their pussy to lick or their cock to suck yet, either.

#4 – Participate in a Group Sex Scene

Given that I haven’t even managed to participate in the basic two-some, it’s a fair bet that a sexual configuration with higher numerical values has yet to include me. So: no progress.

#5 – Engage in a Sex Act on at Least 12 Separate Occasions

If you choose to interpret this as ‘engage in at least one sex act a month’, then I’m currently eight acts behind. Which is sad, considering that we’re only eight months in. Masturbation doesn’t count for this, so I’ve accomplished nothing. No fucking progress. (No progress fucking?)

#6 – Participate in Mutual Masturbation or Performance Masturbation

Performance can’t exist without an audience. So, technically, I can put a checkmark next to this one having watched people fingering/jacking themselves at Darklady’s National Masturbation Month party (The Portland Solo Sex Circus Masturbate-a-Thon).

However, I’d much rather have a checkmark here for having someone watch me masturbate. Or for masturbating someone. Or having someone masturbate me. (A handjob would work, but I’m yearning as only a fetishist can for my first footjob.)

#7 – Penetrate a Woman With a Banana

No progress. The fantasy of fucking a woman with a banana goes unfulfilled thus far.

#8 – Fist a Woman

No progress here, either. But I would like to take this opportunity to mention that I attended the “Fisting and Footing” workshop at KinkFest, and got to watch someone lay back and take another woman’s condom-covered foot deep inside her pussy. I don’t think I’ve been that aroused in my entire life.

#9 – Seek Out Opportunities to Indulge My Foot Fetish

Also at KinkFest, I massaged the bare feet of one of the workshop instructors (different workshop than the “Fisting and Footing” one). I started with the left, then eventually moved to the right. During the massage of her right foot, I subtly switched from using my hands to using my mouth. Okay, actually, it wasn’t very subtle. But it did put the toes of her right foot in my mouth, and neither of us were complaining about that. I had planned on switching back to her left foot, to lick and suck on those toes as well, but she ran out of time. There was somewhere else she had to be, and so she ended up having to leave on feet only half toe-sucked. How very sad!

So now I’ve sucked on three feet (that’s fifteen toes, not 36 inches). One matched pair last November, and now one single. I sort of consider that single to be ‘unfinished business’, and hope to one day get the opportunity to put her left foot in my mouth, just to even things out.

#10 – Have an Erotic Encounter With a Woman Who is Wearing Clown Make-Up

No progress. There was a female clown at Darklady’s Masturbate-a-Thon, but nothing happened between us. Not even conversation, despite my best efforts.

#11 – Participate in Watersports Activities With a Woman

No progress. I messaged two women on FetLife who had listed an interest in watersports and an intention to attend KinkFest prior to the event to see if I could maybe set up some kind of activity. One of them I got no response from. The other politely declined in a response to my message, then appeared in the hotel restaurant where I was having breakfast during the event. She leaned in, and in a low voice asked, “Are you the ‘Clown’ who asked me to pee on him?”

I confirmed that I was, and she asked if she could join me for breakfast. She did, and we talked throughout the course of the meal, and several times afterwards during the conference. She was intelligent, witty, and above all, cock-hardening sexy. (If they were casting for “KinkFest 2009: The Movie” she’d be played by Mary-Louise Parker from “Weeds” and “The West Wing”.)

Before I met her, my reaction to her decision not to fulfill my watersports fantasy was, “Gee, that’s too bad”. Afterwards, it was, “Why, God, why? What have I done to displease you? Why won’t this incredibly hot chick urinate on me? Aaaaarrrrghhh!!!”

(Actually, after meeting her, I wanted more than just watersports. There was a whole checklist of perversion in my head that I wanted her help with once she was more than just a photo and fetish list. Alas, twas not to be.)

#12 – Engage in Erotic Body Writing

No progress. Whenever I’ve taken my Crayola Washable Markers anywhere with me, they’ve remained capped and in the bag.

#13 – Play With, Torment, and Torture Nipples

One thing that Darklady parties provide me with is access to topless ladies. Enough of them that after asking a few times, I usually find someone willing to let me fondle their breasts. So, I’ve gotten to play with a few sets of nipples. Roll, squeeze, and pull. But it’s a sex-friendly party, not necessarily a BDSM-enthusiast crowd. So thus far I’ve avoided things like pinch, pinch hard, and pinch so hard my hand cramps up. That’s where my serious interest lies, but I can’t deny that I still have fun with roll, squeeze, and pull . . . so I’ll be content with that for awhile.

#14 – Perform Some Impact Play

No progress. Why spanking/paddling/beating didn’t happen at KinkFest is a longer and more depressing story than I’m getting into here.

#15 – Obtain a Flogger and Learn to Use It

Floggers are more expensive than I’d realized. No progress. Trying to save up money thus far hasn’t worked, as the bills keep insisting on being paid. Stupid bills.

#16 – Put Together a Toybag

Starting to slowly accumulate more toys – the CyberSkin Pussy and padded blindfold obtained at the Portland Masturbate-a-Thon , and the LELO Iris vibrator I won in Ginger Leigh’s sex toy giveaway. But still nothing on the order of a toybag or portable toybox for sex toys and BDSM gear.

#17 – Dominate a Submissive

No progress. Was hoping for a temporary submissive so I could attend Leatherwoods, but nothing happened there. Dagnabbit.

#18 – Do Some Bondage Play

No progress. When will I get to strip somebody naked and tie her up? I just don’t know.

#19 – Dom/Top For a Humiliation Scene

No progress. Haven’t found anyone who is local, into humiliation, and wants to play with me. Wow, do I ever need to start going to the Salem munches.

#20 – Experience the Bottom’s Role In a (Heavily Supervised) BDSM Scene

No progress. I’d like to shanghai my pal Zorch (not his real name)(who recently graduated, passed his boards, and is now a registered nurse) and drag him off to the Asylum Dungeon to stand around while I get flogged (or whatever) and make sure that they stop if I start having problems. And that nobody calls 911 in case I lose consciousness or have a seizure (both of which are regular occurrences, and not something I want to go to the ER for any more).

#21 – Obtain Some BDSM ‘Cred’

I don’t think there’s been any progress here, although it’s hard to tell, since even though I wrote it down as a goal, I’m still not 100% certain what it actually means.

#22 – Read a Minimum of 12 Kink or BDSM Manuals

I’ve finally started reading “The Ethical Slut”. And I’ve bought a few applicable books to start a ‘read me’ stack. Hanne Blank’s “Big Big Love”, “The Compleat Spanker” by Lady Green, and “Playing With Disabilities” edited by Robert J. Rubel, Ph.D.

I’m not worried about finding time to read. I tend to average a book a week even when I’m busy. When I dedicate a couple of weeks to reading I can plough through a surprisingly large amount of written material. My only real concern at this point is obtaining eight more books on the relevant topics.

#23 – Make More Friends on Fetlife

Since posting the original 39 Things to Do in Year 39 list, I’ve added six more people to my FetLife friends list. I’ve also met a few other people through the site that I’m conversing with, but haven’t yet ‘friended’ for one reason or another.

#24 – Start Attending Munches and Meeting People

One day in January, I attended two back-to-back munches. A Littles munch, followed by the Salem munch. And so far, that’s been it for me and munches this year. The fact that I don’t drive and don’t live in the city where they take place doesn’t really help my ability to attend at all.

#25 – Attend An Event (Several if Possible)

I went to KinkFest. (Not that you’d know it, by the lack of a KinkFest report in the blog.) That’s ‘attend an event’. I wanted to attend Leatherwoods, but as I said, that fell through. I don’t know if there’s anything else happening between now and late December. So that might be it for Year 39.

#26 – Attend a Sex Party (Several if Possible)

I’ve been to a couple of Darklady’s ‘sex-friendly’ shindigs this year, and am hoping to go to others. (The next one is early September, and is back to school/reform school themed.)

#27 – Spend Time at a Party or Event Nude

No progress. Too shy. Too aware that I’m fat. STOP LOOKING AT ME!

#28 – Find or Build a Network of Rides To and From Events

Fortunately, Darklady has been able to find people to take me to-and-from her last couple of parties. Otherwise I’d have had to just sit at home and cry for my complete and total lack of a transportation structure. Progress: None.

#29 – Find a Recurring Play Partner

No progress. Haven’t even found a one-time play partner this year.

#30 – Participate in Some Age Play

No progress. And the lack of progress here is yet another reason why I feel the need to start attending the age play munches. Finding BDSM play partners seems difficult enough. I fear that finding age play participants may just be impossible.

#31 – Do Some General Sexual Roleplaying

No progress. Having sex with a woman while pretending you and her are teacher and student having an illicit liaison is one thing – sitting at home and jacking off while pretending that you’re a teacher whose sitting at home and jacking off seems fairly pointless to me.

#32 – Start an Erotic/Pornographic Photo Album

No progress. No play partners equals no opportunities to take naughty photos.

#33 – Pimp the Blog

I pimped the blog on FetLife quite a bit in January and February. March’s ‘Time Delay’ offerings didn’t really have any pimpable topics, and after that the blog posts slowed to a trickle. I was posting so infrequently that I completely forgot that I was supposed to be trying to find new readers. (Duh. Or D’oh! Take your pick.)

I have been announcing most of the more recent blog posts on my Twitter account. But I need to get back to the more specific targeting that I was doing when I was matching topics to FetLife groups and posting announcements about blog posts that group members might be interested in.

#34 – Write Some Erotica

Back in February I posted a piece on the blog entitled ‘Beating My Head Against the (Fiction) Writer’s Block Again’, in which I talked about having written a piece which I submitted to Literotica.com for their annual Literotica Survivor contest.

The story in question (“Love Letter”) can be found here. I haven’t written anything since then. I’ve missed several of the sub-contests within the main contest, and losing out on those vital points has really lessened my drive to compete in this year’s competition.

But, one story counts as ‘some erotica’, so . . . I can put the big satisfying checkmark of completion next to this and move on. Ah!

#35 – Make Somebody Cum Mule For Me

No progress. Yeah, of course there’s no progress. If I can’t find anyone to suck my cock, I certainly can’t find anyone willing to swallow a tied-shut condom containing a load of semen that’s been sucked out of me.

#36 – Keep a Pair of Panties as a Souvenir

No progress. Again, in order to find a play/sex partner willing to let me have her panties, I first have to start finding play/sex partners.

#37 – Obtain Some Sort of Fetishwear

No progress. I did some price comparisons on leather vests before KinkFest. I’ve also given thought to picking up some kind of formal clownwear that I could pass off as fetishwear via the concept of uniform fetishism. Hey, a clown’s costume is a type of uniform. It counts.

#38 – Do Some Naughty ‘Stuff’ in a Non-Kink Setting

No progress. No strip poker. No co-ed skinny dipping. No truth or dare, no spin the bottle.

#39 – Play in a Hot Tub

No progress. Which just breaks my heart.

I was in a hot tub at KinkFest. Several times. Some of those times with other people, some of whom were female. There was a point at which a woman – another KinkFest attendee – kept letting herself float partially upward until her bare toes surfaced like ten little submarine periscopes. So I gathered up my courage, and asked the question: “The next time those toes come up for air, would I end up getting slapped if I played with them?”

Her response was, “I wouldn’t slap you. But I wouldn’t like it. And depending on exactly what you did, I might have to leave the hot tub.”

Oh. Well, fuck. Her toes surfaced again, and I kept my hands (and mouth, and everything else) to myself.

Later, in mid-July, the Salem Munch threw a picnic/barbecue thing. I was about to contact the organizers to possibly RSVP and start looking for a ride when I got an infection in my leg that sidelined me. One of the draws of this event? Nude hot tubbing. Argh!

Too Much ‘No Progress’, Not Enough ‘Progress’

If you see me at a party or an event, please, for the love of God, proposition me!

Offer to let me finger you. Ask me if I’d like to suck on your bare female toes. Offer to let me go down on you. Ask me fuck you. Offer to let me have sex with you and your girlfriend. Or you and your boyfriend/husband. Take my hand and lead me to the hot tub. Ask me to write on you.

Offer to let me suck your cock. Offer to fuck me in the ass. Invite me to a three-way with your girlfriend or wife. Or with your boyfriend. Or a four-way with both. Or an even larger group.

Help me put some more checkmarks on this list!

Crush or Fetish?

noreply@blogger.com (Zeitgeist the Clown) — Mon, 17 Aug 2009 20:03:00 +0000

Another three-part post. But this time I’m planning on having it finished and posted inside of a single week, rather than stretching it out over the course of seven like the last one ended up taking.

Of course, I wasn’t actually planning on that ridiculous seven week schedule for the last one. I never PLAN on these gaps and delays. They just kind of happen. In fact, if I hadn’t had this post nearly complete when Dad went into the hospital (again) on Saturday, there’d probably be nothing new here today.

[I swear, there are times that I think the hospital should issue my dad ‘frequent flier miles’ for his stays.]

But as I sit here typing this introduction thing, I’ve got the second and third part of this thing outlined, and neither part should take long to write, so I’m hoping that it all goes smoothly. Really, my only concern at this point is actually getting up to the library to post the damn things.

Oh, God Help Us, It’s Disclaimer Time Again!

Fetish is an overused word. And usually, when I see it being so carelessly tossed around, it’s also an improperly used term.

I bring this up because I’m going to be horribly misusing the word in this post, just like everyone else does, and I wanted you to know right up front that I DO know what it means. Despite what would be all the following evidence to the contrary if not for this little disclaimer.

‘Fetish’, when used in a sexual connotation refers to a body part, inanimate object, or abstract situation that – while not normally sexual in-and-of itself – is greatly arousing for the person that specific form of fetish affects.

I’ve seen and heard many a semi-informed argument whether a fetish is the same thing as a paraphilia. Paraphilias are acknowledged as medical/psychological disorders. A lot of people seem to think that ‘fetish’ and ‘paraphilia’ are interchangeable. But as I understand it, while paraphilia is an umbrella term that fetish sits under, fetish isn’t the only sexual behavior there. All fetishes are paraphilias, but not all paraphilias are fetishes.

Anyway, one of the biggest misunderstandings about what fetish actually means is illustrated by the guy who thinks that bare female feet are sexy, and then proclaims himself to have a foot fetish based on popular use of the word. (That could be me, by the way.) When in truth, one of the key ingredients in the definition of fetishism is the fact that a fetishist is unable to achieve sexual satisfaction without the object of his fetish being present.

I jack off. A lot. I’ve never jacked off with a foot in my lap (or my mouth, or whatever). And while I sometimes jack off to foot fetish porn, that’s only one in a large number of categories of masturbatory inspiration I’ve been known to use.

A true, by the books, according to definition ‘foot fetishist’ could only masturbate to foot fetish porn, and could only ‘complete’ a sexual act if there was some fetishistic footplay involved. (That’s not me.)

People these days seem to think that ‘sexual preference’ means whether you like having sex with men, women, or both – and that the term has no other uses. But a lot of what I see listed as fetishes (especially on places like FetLife) seem like they’d be more accurately listed as sexual preferences. I suppose that technically, I’d be considered more a foot preferencist than a foot fetishist. (Despite the fact that my spellchecker informs me that preferencist isn’t a word.)

The majority of the use I’ve seen ‘fetish’ gets falls somewhere in between the extremes of “I can’t get it up and get off unless she’s wearing studded leather” and “Like all guys, I think boobs are neat – therefore I must have a boob fetish!” Most people have what they call fetishes that aren’t (sex-)life or death necessary to get off, but are more than the basic genitals and erogenous zones.

And that’s the version of ‘fetish’ that I tend to use myself. I don’t list every part of a woman I like as a fetish (along with every sex toy I find interesting, and every fantasy that intrigues me), and I don’t seem to have any ‘true’ fetishes (nothing I can’t live without, if I had to). But if you ask me what fetishes I have, I can give you a long list of informal preferences that’ll probably make you sorry you asked.

The ‘Fetish’ of the Day

But this post isn’t about how badly I want to lick and suck on pretty bare female toes. Nor is it about my long-held desire to have some kind of erotic encounter with a woman made up like a clown.

I’m not here to talk about red hair, or unnaturally colored hair (fluorescent green, metallic purple, cotton candy pink, etc.), or pigtails, or glasses, or bridal lingerie. Today isn’t the day for discussion about body writing, or bananas as penetration toys, or girls named Molly (or Stephanie, or Jane), or any of a ridiculous number of things that really, really, really turn me on.

No, the current fetish of the day is something . . . different. Something that I’ve been pondering in the back of my head for some time now, wondering if it even IS a legitimate fetish (even by the loosely misdefined terms I’m using for it).

I Really Wish That Other Fetish Hadn’t Already Taken The Name

There are people who get off by watching a woman – either barefoot or wearing the infamous ‘sexy shoes’ – crush things beneath their feet. (Oftentimes live bugs and stuff.) This is known as the Crush Fetish, and it is going to cause me some problems this week.

As the existence of the previously known and acknowledged ‘crush fetish’ keeps me from using that name for what I’m going to be talking about, I will instead refer (once I get that far) to the Fetish of the Day as . . . the Fetish Crush.

Let’s hope that nobody confuses the two.

What Is a Crush?

When adults get themselves a boyfriend/girlfriend, the relationship is usually based on the existence of (whether real or not) love. But when kids attach themselves similarly, it’s only called ‘love’ by them. Adults look down on them and say that it’s just a crush.

Call it a crush. Call it puppy love, or infatuation, or whatever other term makes you happy. A crush isn’t a true emotional connection in the sense of romantic love. What it is, as near as I can tell, is an obsession.

But little kids don’t know obsession. They’re familiar with love, courtesy of television and movies and whatnot. And, of course, their parents, if they come from a non-dysfunctional family.

(A functional family is borderline. But if a dysfunctional family is way below the line, and a dystopia is the opposite of a utopia, then is a family that’s far above the line a ufunctional family? Why the fuck do I sit around wondering about these things?)

When a child becomes obsessed with another child (traditionally a child of the opposite sex in this still largely homophobic world of modern parenting) and ‘realizes’ that these feelings are ‘love’, it’s, “Oh, look, how cute, Jimmy has a little crush on Alison!” Or whatever.

But these crushes aren’t limited to age appropriate pairings. Or even category appropriate. Examples here are the kindergartener’s crush on his teacher, or the adolescent’s crush on the big famous rock-n-roller. [Not that I ever daydreamed about having a romantic relationship with Cyndi Lauper when I was young. Oh, heavens, no. *Turns and walks away, hands in pockets, whistling innocently.*]

So If That’s The Standard Crush, Then What’s Today’s Post About?

I’m a pervert. I’m into BDSM. I’m kinky (in theory, if not in practice). Kinky BDSM perverts don’t get ‘crushes’. And the only time that kinky BDSM perverts have something that could be called ‘puppy love’ is when they’re fucking their collared-and-leashed partner doggy style.

Since trying to become an active part of the BDSM and Sex-Positive communities, I’ve met people that I want to play with. I’ve met people that I want to fuck. But I’ve also met the other people.

What other people? I’m so glad that I pretended you asked. I’m talking about the people that I have to play with. (Not ‘want to’, but ‘have to’.) And the people that I think that I’ll die if I don’t fuck.

Unlike a small child, I understand obsession. As well as things like lust. I’ve met people that I know I’m not in love with (not yet, at any rate). But find myself obsessing over them.

Oh, not all the time. These people don’t occupy my every thought or anything. But I do find myself thinking about them more and more here lately. (Hence the blog post.)

Part of their recent increase in my thoughts is due in part – I’m almost certain – to my legendary virginity and my equally legendary desire to rid myself of it. I think that the conjunction of “This is someone that I have to fuck!” and “I have to fuck someone!” is causing me brain problems.

So Just Who Are My Fetish Crushes?

Ah, ah, ah . . . not so fast. Let’s start off with what type of people are my fetish crushes, and then move on from there.

So far, in the past year-and-a-half(-ish), I’ve attended: two KinkFests (which included two dungeon play parties at each event), the Halloween party at the Asylum Dungeon, three of Darklady’s ‘Sex-Positive’ parties (including her famous annual Masturbate-a-Thon), and a couple of munches.

Whenever I walk through a play party, I’ll watch people playing, and I’ll think to myself, “Man-oh-man, would I ever like to play with her.”

But here’s the thing: When I see a man and a woman playing together, I can’t tell if they’ve simply come together for the moment to play, or if they’re in a monogamous relationship, taking the opportunity to play in a semi-public forum. (Or on BDSM furniture that they themselves don’t own, or whatever.)

So while I walk around thinking, “I’d like to play with her,” I also find myself thinking, “I’d like to play with someone like her.”

I’d like to play with someone like her. Be in a relationship with someone like her. Have someone like her as a submissive/slave. Et cetera and so on.

I definitely have the mindset that I need to find myself an unattached woman for an eventual relationship (BDSM or otherwise) rather than plucking a specific somebody out of an already on-going situation.

But the more I experience the few goings-on that I’m able to within the local community, the more people I become aware of. I’m not so much actually meeting people as I am becoming familiar with the local players. The people that everybody knows. (The ‘Norms from Cheers’.)

Some of these people have made me think thoughts close to – but not quite at – Fetish Crush level interest. Some of them are people that I’d definitely seize the opportunity to play with, given the chance.

But my actual Fetish Crushes thus far have been more along the lines of celebrity/professional types in the local sex and/or BDSM fields. I’m talking about writers, artists, workshop instructors, and so on. People who I not only find incredibly hot, but who also hold what I see as being some position of authority.

Yeah, crush might usually be between equals, bur Fetish Crush – at least for me – is more along the lines of the teacher/rockstar thing.

I Repeat: Just Who Are My Fetish Crushes?

Well, I’ll tell you this . . . there are currently two of them. And if I really am back on a Monday, Wednesday, Friday schedule, then there are two posts left this week.

Cue evil laughter.

Mwa ha ha ha ha ha ha . . .

Cue ‘TO BE CONTINUED’ banner.

To Be Continued

The Ghost of Sex Toys Future (Part Three of Three)

noreply@blogger.com (Zeitgeist the Clown) — Fri, 14 Aug 2009 16:00:00 +0000

In the past, I had lousy luck with sex toys. But that’s starting to change.

I’ve got an LELO Iris to tempt a woman to come play with me. “All the better to fuck you with, my dear!” (Good Lord, I’ve gone from Charles Dickens to the Brothers Grimm.)

I’ve got a CyberSkin Pussy to help me get off. (In fact, just yesterday, I made sweet, sweet love to my CyberSkin Pussy while watching Sasha Grey stick her foot up inside of Stoya on my computer monitor.)

But is two toys (one for me, and one for her – whoever this currently mythical ‘her’ turns out to be) enough? I don’t think so.

Return to the Ginger Leigh Sex Toy Contest List

In the previous installments of this series, I’ve written about the sex toys I’ve owned in the past, and the sex toys I own now. Which means it’s time to look to the future, and discuss the sex toys I’d like to add to my meager collection.

I’ve already made a good start on that when I posted that list of
a thousand dollars worth of toys I wanted from sextoys.com for Ginger Leigh’s Fabulous Shopping Spree Contest. Of course, sextoys.com doesn’t carry everything I wanted, but we’ll talk about that later on.

Not everything on my forty item long list really qualifies as an actual sex toy. I mean, as much as I might want a wind-up masturbating monkey, I can’t justify spending any real time discussing it in this post. (Hell, knowing me, it might get a post of it’s own later on.)

So before I talk about the things on the Ginger Leigh Contest List, I must first whittle it down somewhat.

Today’s topic is sex toys and not bondage gear and other BDSM paraphernalia, so that knocks nine items off the list right there. Removing dirty card and dice games eliminates another eight. Naughty gift wrap, Mardi Gras pecker beads, the shot glass that looks like the nude female torso, that glorious wind-up masturbating monkey . . . things like this can all come off the list for today’s discussion as well.

And there are still things on the list that aren’t – to my mind, anyway – actual sex toys. More mundane items like condoms and dental dams are sexual necessities, but not really toys. And is liquid latex a sex toy? I wouldn’t think so.

Body crayons might qualify as toys, but they go, because Crayola washable markers do the same thing, and I picked up a set of those at Wal*Mart prior to a Darklady party. (Didn’t get to use them, sadly.)

I’m also removing the Feeldoe, the banana-shaped vibrator, the pony-tailed butt-plug, and the glow-in-the-dark speculum from the list. Because while these are all indeed sex toys, they aren’t among the sex toys that I want the most.

The Remaining Six Items

Paring the list down to six items gives us a selection of five things to stick my cock in, and one thing to stick in my ass.

Before I continue, I want to say that I love my CyberSkin Pussy. I’m grateful to Darklady for having them among the sex toys handed out at her Masturbate-a-Thon party, and I’m grateful to Topco Toys for providing her with them so that she could do so.

But to be perfectly honest, I’d really like to have something fuckable that was ‘hands-free’. Which is why both of the artificial vaginas on my list included more ‘body’ than just the opening of the vulva. Both the CyberSkin Pussy & Ass w/Suction and the Roxy Jezel’s Doggie Style Ass & Pussy are intended to sit on a flat surface (the CyberSkin Pussy & Ass even has suction cups so it won’t go anywhere while you’re mounting it) and get fucked without you needing to continually grasp a handle to keep it in place.

The next two items on the list are electronic masturbators. The CyberSkin Power Stroker is simply a work of genius. Like the rest of the high tech jack-off toys I’ve seen, you stick your cock in it, and it strokes you until you cum. But unlike the rest, this one isn’t battery operated. No, this one plugs into a USB port and runs off of your computer’s power supply. Like I said: Genius!

I’m usually watching my computer monitor when I’m masturbating anyway. (The computer is where my collection of porn clips live.) So this device make perfect sense.

The other high-tech masturbation toy is the Electronic Stroke Master. It does take batteries, but it’s got a little something extra that sings out ‘You Must Own Me!’ to my obsessive-compulsive brain. In addition to stroking you however many times it takes you to get off, . . . it informs you of just how many times that was.

The Electronic Stroke Master has a digital read-out that tells you how many strokes it took you to reach orgasm. It’s basically intended as an ejaculation training aid. Giving you a number to beat, so that you know when you’re increasing your ability to hold off cumming too soon. And by exactly how much.

Now, while I suppose that I would also use this function for it’s intended purpose, I mainly just want to know how many licks it takes to get to the center of a Tootsie Roll Tootsie Pop. Wait, – what? That doesn’t seem right. Let me try this again. I want to know how many strokes it takes to get the semen to spurt out of my cock. (Wise old owl refused to consult on that one.)

Johnny Dirtnap (not his real name) was always trying to find acceptable substitutes for a girlfriend for me. His favorite one of these was a rubber vagina that I could suction cup to a wall and bang away at. So really, it’s mainly nostalgia purposes that have caused me to include the low-tech Wallbanger Masturbator at the fifth position on this list.

I’m not sure that I could actually use this when stuck to a wall. The edge of a table, maybe. But with enormous obese gut and smaller-than-average penis, my stomach would probably hit the wall before my cock slid into the Wallbanger. Still, I’d find a way to fuck it. I’d find something I could suction it to that would work.

The last item on the six item version of the list is something called the “Up/Down Anal Pleaser”. It’s shaped like the standard buttplug, which is a little worrisome. I’ll remind you that I’m a big obese man, with – among other problems – a bad back. I have to contort myself a little more than an average sized person in order to be in a position to slip anything up my own ass.

But given what this object claims, I’d be willing to risk the discomfort of inserting it. Despite it’s external shape, it’s not a simple butt-plug. It has internal rings of stroking beads that – according to the product description – simulate anal sex.

I want to experience anal, at least once. (Probably more than once, but at this point I’m fantasizing about the act without knowing whether or not I’m going to actually enjoy it.) But I don’t have anyone willing to help me fulfill this desire. Nobody with a flesh-and-blood erection, nobody with a strapped-on dildo.

So if I can’t have actual anal sex, a toy that will simulate it would probably be the next best thing.

Of course, as it turns out, these six items total $377.44. And that’s before shipping. That’s more money than I get in a month. All of this stuff is kind of beyond my price range. At least, these brands from this store. Methinks comparison shopping might be in order.

Other Things I Want/Need

Thinking back to the anal probe fiasco of a few years ago (the inability to get it in my ass, not the toy getting eaten by mice), I find that I want some kind of anal probe that will function properly for me.

I’ve seen an anal vibrator that’s basically a vibrating egg/bullet mounted on a long flexible rod. Flexible, not fall-over-floppy. (Butt-Fucker On a Stick?) I don’t know if anyone has used this ‘flexible rod’ technology to produce a non-vibrating version, but even if they haven’t, who’s to say that I wouldn’t enjoy a little vibration where the sun doesn’t shine?

And of course, I want a RealDoll. Come on, honestly, who doesn’t want a RealDoll?

If You Build It, She Will [Come/Cum]

Do I need an assortment of dildos and vibrators? A clitoral stimulator? One of those neat little toys with a double phallus, both pointing forward, intended for simultaneous vaginal and anal penetration? Vibrating bullet? Vibrating butterfly? Ben-wa balls? Nipple pumps? A pussy pump? Something curved for g-spot stimulation?

Not for my own personal masturbatory use, no. These are things I do not need.

However . . . I want a woman in my life. Specifically, in my sex life. Fiancée/wife, girlfriend, BDSMI play partner, submissive, slave, friend-with-benefits/fuckbuddy, or whatever else I could get. (A one-night stand wouldn’t work, but God help me, an near-infinite series of one-night stands might fulfill me sexually if not emotionally.)

Anyway, the point is, once the miracle happens and I lure an adult female into my lair for sex, it wouldn’t hurt to have some female-specific sex toys. Something between an “In Case A Hot Chick Crawls Into Your Bed, Break Glass” box and a horny kinky male version of a hope chest. Containing dildos and vibrators and so on.

Building a collection of sex toys that I can’t even use might seem pointless. But I think of it as being kind of like buying a lottery ticket. There’s always that small chance that it will lead to my sliding a dildo in and out of someone’s hot wet pussy. You just never know.

Weird Stuff (No, Really . . . Weird, Weird Stuff)

Speaking of the lottery, if I were to ever hit the jumbogantic multigazillion dollar jackpot, I’d probably buy some of the weird stuff available from adult shops. As odd little conversation pieces if nothing else. (After buying all the other toys I talk about here, of course. Including a couple of RealDolls.)

I have NO desire to own the infamous baby Jesus butt plug. But the dildo shaped like the Grim Reaper seems like a good stylistic match.

Actually, sitting here at the keyboard at just after one in the morning, I’m having trouble remembering some of the weirder things that I’ve seen. I know that I’ve had a number of serious WTF!?! moments, both in adult shops and surfing the net (way back when I had my own internet access). I can remember the feeling, I just can’t remember most of the objet d’fuck that triggered them.

The one really weird thing that I can recall is The Feet. (Go figure.) Yes, some porn actress apparently known for doing fetish films had a casting made of her peds, and started selling either hard rubber or soft plastic reproductions of them.

And I’m guessing that they sold well, because since then, I’ve seen other reproduction feet available for sale. Weird. Weird, weird, weird. Rubber doll foot, chopped off at the ankle. (At least you can’t see blood and severed bone on what looks like a clean ankle slice.) Bare female feet arouse me, but these ridiculous things fail to turn me on. At all.

(And yet, I can’t deny the possibility that if I owned a set, I could eventually be discovered sucking on their cold lifeless toes. For practice, if nothing else. Creepy, but true.)

Zeitgeist the Clown’s Toy Reviews?

I find myself wondering how one goes about becoming a sex toy reviewer. Everybody else in the sex blogosphere does it, why shouldn’t I?

[I think that’s the first time I referred to myself as a member of the sex blogosphere. Come to think of it, it might actually be the first time I ever used the term ‘blogosphere’. Huh.]

Not having an actual sex life probably puts a crimp in things, but there must be some way to go about it.

My current thoughts on the matter are that I could test very specific products and write reviews that catered to the partnerless, bi-curious, obese, underendowed male demographic. I wonder how big that market is?

America IS getting fatter. And statistically, there should be as many below-average sized cocks as there are above-average sized ones. Hmm . . .

Seriously, though: If any sex blogging toy reviewers happen to read this post, and have advice for me on how to get into the world of obtaining free toys in exchange for writing about them, you should let me know. Either by commenting on the blog, or by sending an email to zeitgeist_the_clown (the ‘at’ sign) yahoo (period, colloquially known as a ‘dot’) com. [Address modified for protection against robots. Damn you, robots!]

Spirit, Are These Toys I Will Have, Or Might Have Only

Sex toys cost money, and I’m poor. So despite the fantasy of owning a big boxful of them, the reality is that I probably won’t.

Why am I pointing this out? Mainly because I felt that the post needed a heading with an ‘A Christmas Carol’ reference, and this is the one that I chose.

Hopefully I’m all finished thematically basing posts on Charles Dickens references now.

UPDATE -- "And Later That Day . . ."

This entry was autoposted at 9:00 in the morning (long before I was out of bed). But later on in the day I was using my brother's internet, and I discovered a contest whose prize is a $100 gift card to Eden Fantasys.

"Hmm", I thought to myself. "Yes, I would like a hundred bucks worth of free sex toys." Especially after just having posted what I did in today's post, yes? Yes.

And I thought that maybe you might want a chance at it, too. So, here's the deal: Go here and do what it says.

The First Anniversary Post

noreply@blogger.com (Zeitgeist the Clown) — Wed, 12 Aug 2009 20:54:00 +0000

On August 12th, 2008, I started a blog. This blog. Which means, it’s now the first anniversary of “Time Delay”. Whee!

It Doesn’t Seem Like a Year

Like the heading says: the whole anniversary thing kinda snuck up on me. It doesn’t seem like it’s been a whole 365 days since I started this thing.

There were two posts that first day. Then a couple more over the next couple of weeks. Then nothing for awhile. But then . . .

From mid-October through March I was posting like crazy. Three times a week for a lot of it. (And daily for a few stretches in December.) Three times a week might not seem like a lot to regular bloggers, but it’s a long walk to an internet connection from my web-less house. Plus the posts in question all tended to be longish. Usually in the neighborhood of 2000 to 6000 words apiece.

The blog was my purpose in life, and I was – for the most part – having a blast. And what they say is true: Time flies when you’re having fun.

Beyond that, the statement ‘it doesn’t feel like I’ve been blogging for a whole year’ is undoubtedly due in part to the fact that I’ve barely posted anything for the past four months. There’s been an awful lot of ‘dead air’ recently.

I don’t know if I’m back to three posts a week now, but I do know that there are three posts THIS week. After that, well, we’ll see what happens.

ZtC’s Ten Favorite “Time Delay” Posts

I decided to look back over the first year and pick out my ten favorite posts. Going over my catalog of posting activity, I was able to find about twenty or so contenders that I narrowed the list down from. I also found ten or fifteen posts that could easily fill up a list of Worst Posts Ever. (Not even just Worst ‘Time Delay’ Posts Ever, but actual Worst Posts in the History of Blogging.) But I’ve decided not to ‘brag’ about those, and just concentrate instead on the ones I really liked.

#10 on the list is a fairly recent post. The Ghost of Sex Toys Present (Part Two of Three) continues the story of my relationship with sex toys. This time talking about my two most recent additions to my toy collection (bringing the current collection to a total of two toys from it’s previous count of zero). It was fun to write, and I couldn’t wait to move on to part three in the series. And yet curiously enough, I did wait. Hmm.

ZtC’s Wish List (for Ginger Leigh’s Fabulous Shopping Spree Contest) was also a fun little sex toy oriented post to put together, coming in at #9 on my list of favorites. Having to sort through a stack of saved webpages and put together a wishlist of $1000 worth of naughty toys wasn’t the hard part. Nor was talking about why I wanted each toy. No, the challenge for me was sticking to the rules and limiting myself to a single sentence for each toy. Long winded me didn’t like that. No, long winded me didn’t like that at all.

#8 was written at the last possible moment, when I couldn’t think of anything that I really wanted to write. Based on that origin, I’m surprised that Reverse Day ended up on my list of favorites, but as I was skimming through blog entries the other day, I marked this as one of the posts to reread before writing the big anniversary post. Is it a little disjointed? Yes. Are the subtopics gathered and held together by a bare thread of commonality? Yes. Is that part of why I like it? I think so.

If I had done a top ten favorites list earlier in the year, 39 Things to Do in Year 39 would have been much higher than #7. The reason that it’s not higher now has nothing to do with the post itself, and everything to do with my failure (thus far, at least) to achieve the things on that list. But that gets talked about in more detail in a post later on this month.

#6 on the list is one of the Age Play posts. Age Play (Part Four), to be exact. I had serious difficulty choosing between parts four and five. I thought about including them both as a single unit, but that would be cheating. And as I knew that I’d be cheating later on in the list, I didn’t want to do it twice. So part four it was. This post deals with age play as it relates to me specifically – my views, the age play roles I want to play, and so on.

Masturbation cums in at number #5 on the list, and wow do I ever wish that I’d’ve been able to skip that oh-so-obvious pun back there. Alas, twas not to be. Moving on from that – the Masturbation post was the first one where I used subheadings, which went on to become a consistent device here in the blog.

Now we come to the post I’ve chosen for #4 on this list. Before I started writing it, I assumed that it would be a single post. Sure, it got a little out of hand during the creative process, but I don’t hold that against it. I posted it the first week in December, and for the purposes of this list, I’m going to pretend that was a slow week, with only the one post. Yeah, you guessed it. I’m talking about the “Sue, Rabbit, Penny, Dot, and CJ” post (actually series). Hey, it’s my blog, and I can cram a six post series into one ‘favorite’ slot if I want to. So that’s what I’m doing here. The prelude, the post about Sue and Rabbit, the posts about Penny and Dot and the two posts about CJ (Parts One and Two). The six posts about the first five girls/women I ever loved are number four on this little top ten favorites list.

Then, in at #3, is BDSMI. I like the post, but even more than that, I like the subject matter. (I only wish that I’d been able to get more feedback on it.) As someone who – so far – hasn’t been able to get into a BDSM relationship or even get a lot of ‘play’ at the few parties I’ve attended, the subject of BDSM’s connection-to/separation-from sex is one that never fails to make my brain light up and take notice.

#2. Answering the question that has astounded the ages. Yes, Brodie, There Is An Orange Rock Dork. Yes, I spent an entire lengthy post discussing the genitals of Ben Grimm, the Ever-Lovin’ Blue-Eyed Thing of the Fantastic Four. And while I was writing this masterpiece, the horny fanboy in me has never been happier.

And then we have the #1 spot, currently held by my event report for Darklady’s 9th Annual Masturbate-a-Thon – The Solo Sex Circus. I’ve been writing up weird little event reports since 1995. Mainly concerts, science-fiction conventions, and the like. First for zines, then for blogs. This is the first one that I really felt came together like it should have. Rereading it takes me back to the party. (And makes me wish I’d seized a few opportunities and propositioned a few people I neglected to the first time around). But most importantly, I received a comment on this piece . . . from the Dark One herself! How cool is that?

The Mishaps

As mentioned earlier, the past four months have been ridiculously post-light. Ten posts in four months, and two of those were simply reposts of Sugasms. So really, only eight posts that I actually had to sit down and write. An average of two posts a month, compared to my old standard of three posts a week. Sad. Just sad.

But as sad as it might seem, at least there were posts in those months. At least one in each, at any rate. Not like September. September – for one reason or another – found itself getting skipped completely. It was four posts in August, then nothing in September. (I had excuses – health problems (CFIDS), misstepping off a curb and fucking up my ankle, actually writing three posts but suffering a hard drive crash before getting them to the internet to post, etc.) Yikes!

But a post-less month and several post-light months weren’t my only mishap during this past year.

December had a fair number of Christmas posts in it (starting with the weekly ‘Advent’ posts, but there were others dotted throughout the month as well.) Now that there’s some distance between me and having written them, I discover that I only like a grand total of none of them. They all sucked.

I don’t know if I simply shouldn’t have been writing about Christmas, or if I should have been writing about Christmas better. Differently. I just don’t know.

Now that I think about it, I’m not very fond of my Halloween posts, either. Maybe I should have just ignored the holidays as a source of post themes altogether. Hmm. Something to think about for year two, I guess.

But perhaps the biggest mishap of all was the KinkFest mishap. KinkFest is Oregon’s annual BDSM conference, held each March at an undisclosed location in Portland. I attended my first KinkFest in 2008, and had a great time! And knowing that I would be going again this year, I planned to write up and post an event report following KinkFest. I also wrote and posted a few posts under a “The Road to KinkFest – X Days and Counting” banner where the X in question started at 57 and worked it’s way down to 3 (with stops along the way at 43, 29, 14, and 3).

There were other posts in there – ‘Bed’ notable among them – that were also somewhat KinkFest-centric. Leading up to the event, ‘Time Delay’ was pretty much KinkFest, KinkFest, KinkFest!

During the event, I send a number of updates from my celphone to my Twitter account. But after the event was over, I got sick. Too much running around at the event had tired me out to the extent that I had a CFIDS flare-up, and that apparently left me susceptible to bronchitis. The bronchitis stayed for well over a month. During that time, I wrote nothing. Including, no KinkFest Report.

Before the event it was All KinkFest, All the Time. Afterwards, it was nothing. KinkFest? I Know Not of This KinkFest of Which You Speak.

To date, there still hasn’t been a KinkFest report, and given how woefully non-topical it would be at this late stage, I’m starting to sincerely doubt that there ever will be a report on KinkFest 09 here in the blog.

Unfinished Business

It seems like one of my most used phrases is “there’ll be an upcoming post on that topic in the near future”. I’ve noticed that these upcoming posts tend to remain ‘upcoming’. As in still not here yet.

I keep promising to do a post on Foot Fetishism. And another post on some of the less common I’ve got. I’ve also mentioned wanting to do a post about my fetishistic attraction to the classic Batgirl.

I’ve talked about writing a post (possibly series of posts) about paperboy/customer fantasies and things that happened (or in most cases almost happened) to me on my paper route way, way back in the day.

There’s an ‘upcoming’ post on trying to find fetishwear for a guy my size that I still haven’t started writing yet. And I promised another post about Santa Claus for July which I clearly missed the deadline on.

I’ve talked about doing BDSM posts on Limits (Soft, Hard, and Otherwise), as well as a very carefully written post about consensual rape-fantasy play.

If I were to actually sit down and reread my entire years worth of posts from day one to day 365(ish), I’d find more. I know I would.

I’ve also promised a lot of follow-ups to posts that I haven’t yet followed up on. Just off the top of my head I know that I mentioned upcoming sequels / continuations / follow-ups to Yes, Brodie, There Is An Orange Rock Dork, Inebriation Play, The Clown Fetish, and Misconceptions and Context. Again: If I were to go through all my posts from start to now, I’m sure that I’d find more.

Also of note – I recently published the first two posts in a three-part series about sex toys. Then I reposted the (then) current Sugasm. Then I posted things on Monday and today that still weren’t part three of that series. It hasn’t been forgotten. It’s actually finished, uploaded, and scheduled for autoposting on Friday.

The Traditional Gifts

On a whim, I looked into the ‘traditional’ anniversary gifts. (Wedding anniversary, but I think that’s the only type that there are traditional gifts for.) I knew that the 25th anniversary was silver, the 50th anniversary was gold, and that one of the first ten was paper. But that was the sum total of my anniversary gift knowledge.

So, I called up my sister, who turned out to know exactly as much as I did. The difference is that the computer where my sister is currently living is hooked up to the internet. So when she doesn’t know something, my comeback is, “Well, look it up on Wikipedia.”

As it turns out, the gift for the first anniversary is paper. Which I found funny. All those years I spent in the zine world, producing my work on photocopied sheets of paper, and now that I’ve gone all internet-delivered content, I’m eligible for a gift of paper? Weird.

The second anniversary is cotton, which makes me think that maybe next year I’ll get a t-shirt printed for the anniversary. “I Survived Two Years of Doing ‘Time Delay’”, or something. (Ideally, something more along the lines of “In My Second Year of Blogging, ‘Time Delay’ Is What Attracted My BDSM Slave To Me”.)

The one that really made me laugh was the third anniversary. Here I am, doing a sex and BDSM blog, and I’ve got to keep doing it for a whole three years before I’m eligible for leather? Seems like the gift of leather would be right up front.

Anyway, year four is either linen or silk. Silk sheets, maybe, assuming that I can find a woman to slide around on them with me? Year five is wood, which made me think, “Ooh, stocks!” (I’ve got a few women-in-stocks fantasies.)

I was just going to list off the first five year here, but my sister read me the list of the first ten years, and year six is iron. Chains, shackles, lock and key . . .

Cake and Ice Cream

What I’d really like, though, is the simple and classic cake and ice cream that goes along with the anniversary of a birth. The blog is a year old now, and the blog wants cake and ice cream. And dancing girls. Or strippers. Maybe prostitutes. (The blog isn’t very picky on that count.)

The blog wants dancing girls (or whatever), the blog writer wants an under-the-table blowjob while he’s eating his cake and ice cream.

Sigh.

Maybe next year.